One timid, mousy little man near the back cleared his throat five times, casting awestruck, terrified glances at Ianira, then managed, "I-I did
Brian nodded. "Cue it up, would you, while I place a call?"
The loon began fiddling with his camera as Brian picked up the telephone behind the library counter, placidly ignoring the crowd which grew by fives and tens as word of the argument over the wager's terms spread through La-La Land. The telephone was answered testily by Nally Mundy.
"I'm in the middle of a session, here, so if you'd please call back-"
"Dr. Mundy, Brian Hendrickson here."
"Oh. Yes, Brian? what is it?"
"Ianira Cassondra tells me you offered Skeeter Jackson money to help Marcus the bartender pay off a debt.
A long silence at the other end of the line caused Brian to sigh. Skeeter had ripped off the old man, after all, and vanished downtime
"Yes, I did. But he never picked up the money. Odd, you know. Heard about that ruckus at the gate. I'd say Ianira's telling the truth. If Skeeter'd had time, he'd have picked up that money and something tells me young Marcus would still be with us. Don't trust that dratted Jackson much, blast him, but he didn't take the money. If I could just get one decent session taped with that boy, the mysteries about Temujin that we could solve-"
"Yes, I know," Brian hastened to interrupt. "You've been very helpful, Dr. Mundy. I know you're busy, so I'll let you get back to your session."
The historian hurrumphed into the phone, which then clicked dead. Brian cradled the receiver. "Well. Have you cued up that camera?"
The little man pushed his way through the crowd and handed over the camera, then knelt and kissed the hem of Ianira's gown. "May my humble camera bring you comfort and victory Lady."
Brian watched the whole thing unfold, from Lupus Mortiferus kicking down Skeeter's door to Skeeter's desperate lunge up onto the ramp, the hoarse cry he'd uttered for Marcus to wait, the man with Marcus bodily snatching him through-and, finally, Skeeter vanishing through the gate after them. He clicked off the camera thoughtfully, wondering what in the world had possessed Skeeter to such altruistic rashness. Then he roused himself slightly and handed the camera to Ianira, who returned it to the man at her feet. He uttered a tiny cry and pressed lips to her hand, then snatched the camera and scuttled more than a yard away before rising to his feet again, face alight as though he really had touched the hand of Deity.
Odd bunch of folks, Ianira's followers.
Brian cleared his throat. "It seems Ianira is telling the truth. Nally Mundy and that videotape prove it, beyond any question in my mind." When he glanced up, he wasn't surprised to find a crowd of nearly a hundred 'eighty-sixers; pressed as close to the reference desk as they could get, with more peering in through the door.
"Well. As I said, this unexpected gesture of altruism by Skeeter changes everything. I'm afraid, Goldie, I can't declare you winner by default on the grounds that Skeeter will be gone for at least two weeks downtime. Your wager stipulated a month, true, but that doesn't mean the month has to run straight through, uninterrupted. I declare this wager on hold until Skeeter returns. If he returns."
Ianira blanched and blinked back sudden tears. She clutched her children more closely to her breast. Alerted by their mother's sudden fear, communicated in that mysterious way between mothers and their offspring, the two little girls began to whimper.
Goldie sniffed. "If he returns, indeed. That maniac who's been chasing him has probably carved out his entrails by now. And it would serve him right!"
A tiny sound broke from Ianira's throat.
Brian caught Goldie's eye. "In the interim, you are hereby barred from scamming, scheming, or accumulating any stolen funds toward this bet. I wouldn't dream of interfering with legitimate business, particularly considering your recent loss, but in the interest of fairness, I would suggest placing an impartial witness with you at all times until Skeeter's return."
Goldie let out a sound like an enraged parrot and turned purple. "A guard! You'd set a guard on me? Damn you, Brian
"Oh, shut up, Goldie," he said tiredly. "You agreed to this idiotic wager and dragged me into refereeing it. Now live by my decisions or default in favor of Skeeter."
She opened and closed her mouth several times, although no sound emerged, then she compressed white lips. "Very well!"
"That's decided, then. Now. Goldie, I have it on good authority you've been selling lemming-fur cloaks down near the Viking Gate."
"And if I have?" Her chin came a several notches.
"Calling them blond mink, I think it was?"
"It seemed appropriate." Her eyes, were dark and watchful as a vulture's.
"Yes. Well, that constitutes a scam. All proceeds you've earned up to now and haven't logged in yet, you will hand over in the next fifteen minutes. Oh, and bring along the cloaks. You can sell 'em to your heart's content -- after this wager is officially over."
"Curse you," Goldie hissed. "And what am I supposed to live on?"
"You got into this, Goldie. You're going to have to get yourself out of it. That's it, then, folks. Now, if you all would kindly get the hell out of my library so I can get on with my work?"
Chuckles in the crowd drifted to him, then people began ambling out the door. Brian saw money exchanging hands as multiple, impromptu bets on the outcome of his decision were settled. Brian sighed. What a mess. Then, before the fellow could leave, Brian high-signed Kynan Rhys Gower, who hovered near the edge of the crowd.
"Kynan,- he said gently in the man's native Welsh, "I know your integrity is beyond question and I am also aware," he allowed himself a small smile, "that Goldie Morran cannot possibly bribe you. Would you agree to stay with her during the next two weeks, watching to be sure she does not cheat, until the Porta Romae cycles again?"
Kynan's wind-tanned cheeks crinkled into a broad, twinkle-eyed grin. "It would be my honor, should my liege lord give his permission."
Somewhere in the dispersing crowd, Kit Carson's famous laugh rang out. "Not only my permission, Kynan, I'll make up all lost wages from your sweeping job."
Goldie just glowered.
Ianira smiled grimly ."Thank you, kyrie Hendrickson. We downtimers have few friends. It is good to know there are honest people here who will champion our cause." She gave Kynan Rhys Gower a swift smile of thanks, then vanished into the dispersing crowd.
Kynan grinned at Goldie, eyes alight with savage mirth.
She said something profoundly unladylike and stalked out of the library. Kynan followed at his ease, winking at Brian on the way out. Brian suppressed a grin of smug satisfaction. With Kynan on the job, Goldie'd stay honest for the next two weeks. She wouldn't have a choice. And if Brian were any judge of solidarity in the downtimer underground community, more than Kynan's pair of eyes would be watching that purplehaired harpy through the days to come.
He allowed himself a soft, wicked chuckle, then waved off the rest of the crowd and got back to work.
After seeing Hendrickson, Ianira went to the top.
Bull Morgan saw himself as a fair man. Tough, God alone knew he had to be, to do this job-but fair. So when Ianira Cassondra walked into his office with her two daughters, he knew he was in serious trouble. There was only one thing she could possibly want from him. He wasn't wrong.
"Mr. Morgan," Ianira said in her beautiful, oddly accented English, which was neither quite Greek nor quite Turkish, but something far more ancient, "I appeal to you for help. Please. The father of my daughters has been taken away. The man who took him has broken the law before, by bringing him here, and now he breaks it again by taking him away. Please, is there nothing you can do to help me find the father of my children?"