“And what about me?” Fowler grumbled. “I know less about deserts than you do about ships. At least you’ve sunk a ship.”
Ruha reached over and straightened the checkered keffiyeh covering Fowler’s head and neck. “Just look strong and mean. That’s all that is expected of Bedine men.”
They reached the end of the avenue, where their guide stood waiting. Abazm clambered up a broad set of marble stairs to a tile-roofed portico of simple post and beam construction. The lintel had a pair of elaborate, long-tailed peacocks engraved along its length, while the beam ends resting atop it had been fashioned into stylized dragon heads. On the far side of the porch hung a pair of glossy, red-lacquered gates decorated with the yellow figures of rearing basilisk lizards. Next to each gate stood a Shou sentry armored in a conical brass helmet and a red silk hauberk imprinted with the tessellated pattern of its plate scale lining. Each guard held a long, curve-bladed polearm, the butt resting on the floor between his feet and the shaft rising vertically in front of him. Both men kept their slanted eyes fixed straight ahead, as though they did not even see the three strangers approaching.
Abazm strode straight between the two men and tugged on an ornate yellow pull cord. A muffled gong reverberated through the gates, then a small viewing portal swung open above the dwarf’s head. A scowling Shou official peered down his long nose at the merchant.
“We do not expect you, Abazm.”
Abazm clasped his hands and bowed so low that, had he worn a proper dwarven beard, it would have scraped the floor. “I have brought merchants from the distant sands of Anauroch, Honored One.” Without standing, he waved a hand at the coffer Fowler held. “They wish to have commerce with the Ginger Palace.”
The Honored One’s gaze flicked over the coffer, then back to Abazm. The dwarf stepped closer to the viewing portal, drawing a silver coin from his sleeve and deftly displaying it between his cupped hands, where the two sentries could not see it.
“I ask Prince if he wishes to see you.”
A sharp clunk reverberated through the gates, then one gate swung open. Abazm led the way inside, slipping his coin to the Honored One so smoothly that Ruha did not see it change hands. Inside, a path of white marble led across a huge, yellow-bricked courtyard to a double-tiered mansion. The building was of the same post and beam construction as the portico, save that the spaces between the posts were filled with white-plastered walls, silvery windows of rare and expensive glass, or red-lacquered doors decorated with yellow basilisk emblems. The pillars and lintels were carved with a great variety of stylized creatures: birds with tails of flame, tiger-faced jackals, furry imps with long curling tails, and a hundred more. The building’s two roofs, as the witch had seen from outside, were covered with scarlet tiles and swept up at the eaves. Every detail was arranged in perfect symmetry and balance, carefully contrived to impart upon the onlooker a complete sense of serenity and consonance, as though to imply that the master of the palace could control even the wildest whim of nature.
Ruha started to follow the Honored One across the courtyard, but suddenly found her path blocked by six guards who had apparently stepped out of nowhere. They were armed and armored as those outside, save that their emotionless gazes were locked on the witch’s face.
Abazm took Ruha’s sleeve and gently pulled her back. “Please, Mistress, we have not been invited into the palace.”
He pulled the witch toward a pillared gallery that ran along the inner perimeter of the curtain wall, where a long line of stone benches had been provided for the comfort of those waiting to visit palace residents. Ruha counted more than thirty merchants gathered on the seats. Many wore the billowing tunics and outlandish hats of Sembite merchants, but there were also dwarves in striped burnooses, elves outfitted in their customary leather and green, even a pair of bare-chested orcs dressed in silken knickers and garish stockings. No matter what their costume, they were all holding a coffer similar to the one in Fowler’s hands.
Ruha’s heart fell. Abazm had gotten them inside the Ginger Palace as promised, but it was going to be a long time before she could begin her search.
A few of the merchants called greetings to the dwarf. Abazm returned each salutation with artificial warmth and politely introduced his companions as Ruha and Fowal’sid of the Mtair Dhafir. Without exception, the dwarf went on to explain that his clients were incense traders from Anauroch, and then suggested a meeting in his shop—no doubt with an eye toward earning a commission if anything came of the arrangement. With each introduction, the witch silently cursed Abazm’s efficacy, but she forced herself to offer salutations and respond enthusiastically to her guide’s efforts. Before she finally reached a vacant bench at the end of the line, Ruha had made three appointments for two days hence— by which time she hoped to have returned the stolen staff to Yanseldara and be well on her way back to Storm Silverhand’s farm in Shadowdale.
Fowler remained strangely silent the whole time, preferring to stand behind Ruha with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. As the witch took her seat, he leaned close to her ear.
“I told you this plan was a foolish one. I’ve carried cargo for half a dozen of these fellows.”
Ruha looked back down the line and saw that several merchants were, indeed, staring in their direction. “Then sit down and do not look so suspicious. I am sure you are not the only half-orc they have ever seen. With luck, they will find it difficult to tell you from the others.”
Fowler scowled as though insulted, but sat down with the coffer in his lap and pulled his keffiyeh down his brow. Ruha settled in beside him, and Abazm clambered onto the bench next to her.
“Not to worry,” the dwarf whispered. “I am a favorite of the Princess Wei Dao. She will see that we do not wait more than three or four hours.”
“Four hours?” Ruha gasped. That was half the day, and from what Tombor had said, Vaerana would be able to delay Hsieh’s arrival little more than a day. “Is there no faster way?”
Abazm’s bushy eyebrows came together in an exaggerated expression of hurt. “That is fast” He gestured to the long line of merchants. “Of late, Prince Tang has been slow about his business. Some of these men have been waiting three days already!”
Ruha glanced at Fowler and caught him sneering as though he were going to speak. “Say nothing, Fowal’sid. At least we are inside.”
“Of course we are. Is that not what I promised?” Abazm cocked an eyebrow and gazed thoughtfully at Ruha. “But if that is all you wished, there was no need to hire me—as I am sure your friends told you.”
“They said you could arrange a quick audience.”
Ruha looked toward the rear of the courtyard, deciding to use the time to familiarize herself with the palace’s layout. She could see only the front part of the compound. The back half was sealed off by a pair of winglike ramparts that spread outward from the midpoint of the mansion, where it changed to a two story structure, to meet the walls of the outer curtain. Above these partitions showed the tiled roofs of two huge, single storey buildings located near the back of the compound.
In the front courtyard, where Ruha and the other merchants sat waiting, a narrow, L-shaped building stood in the southeastern corner of the enclosure. The witch concluded that this was the sentry barracks, for a steady flow of guards passed through the doors in both directions. A similar building sat in the opposite corner of the courtyard. Save for the two guards posted outside its doors, this structure seemed deserted.