There was a saying about getting your sweet and eating it too."
Kalasariz wasn't fond of sweets. But he did enjoy the sentiment.
The spymaster slept well that night. But just before First Prayer he had a dream about a strange little creature with a man's body and a demon's face. It was gobbling up a sweet roll, scattering crumbs, left and right.
When it was done it brushed itself off and looked him square in the eye.
"Shut up! it said. Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
He didn't know what to make of the creature or its antics. But for some reason it frightened him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Unlike Kalasariz, Safar slept little that night. Every straw in his mattress and lump in his pillow made itself known. A few days before the only major worry he'd had was a vague and somewhat academic fear that the world faced some great threat. At the age of twenty summers he was incapable of taking it personally. The spy master's visit, coupled with his recent difficulties with Umurhan, made him feel less immortal. He was in trouble and that trouble had grown from the granite hills of Umurhan's displeasure to the bleak peaks of Kalasariz suspicions.
In short, he was besieged from all sides and was in a confusion about what he ought to do. Adding to that morass was the confusion created by Nerisa's gift plus his fears about Nerisa herself. Someone, for whatever reason, had marked her.
Everyone on the streets knew Nerisa ran personal errands for anyone at the Foolsmire with a copper or two to pay. Most certainly some of the young men who hired her held controversial views. That didn't make Nerisa a conspirator. This was also a fact all knewincluding any of Kalasariz minions who made the Foolsmire their territory. So why had the informer lied? Why had he singled Nerisa out?
Then it occurred to Safar that he was the target. Someone might be striking at him through Nerisa. But once again came that most important of all questions: Why? Then he realized that answer or not, his fate might be racing toward an unpleasant conclusion. The only intelligent thing to do was to flee Walaria as quickly as he could. Such an act would certainly turn Kalasariz suspicions into an outright admission of guilt. Safar thought, however, it would be even more dangerous to remain in Walaria at the mercy of the spymaster.
He decided to run. He'd flee home to Kyrania as fast as he could. But what about Nerisa? He'd have to come up with some plan to protect her from any reprisals his flight might cause.
Safar was relieved as soon as he made the decision. He'd learned much in Walaria, but it had been a mostly unpleasant stay in an unpleasant city. He missed his family and friends. He missed the clean mountain air and blue skies and molten clouds and snowy slopes.
Only one thing stood in his waya lack of money. To make a successful escape he'd require a hefty sum. He'd need a swift mount and supplies for the long journey home and money for Nerisa as well. Where could he lay hands on it? There was no sense asking his sponsor, Lord Muzine. Not only would the money be denied, Safar thought it likely the request would be immediately reported to Kalasariz.
There was only one person he could think of who could help.
But once that approach was made, there'd be no turning back.
Safar rose before first light. He washed and dressed and made a quick trip to a nearby bakery and bought a sticky roll filled with plump currants. He rushed home, brewed a pot of strong tea and while he drank it he summoned Gundara.
The little Favorite popped out of a cloud of magical smoke, coughing and rubbing sleepy eyes.
"Don't tell me you get up early too! Gundara whined. The gods must hate me. Why else would they allow me to fall into the hands of such a cruel master?"
Instead of answering, Safar held up the sticky roll. The Favorite's eyes widened. Is that for me, O Wise and Kind Master?.
"None other, Safar said.
He extended the roll and the Favorite grabbed it from his hand and gobbled it up, moaning in pleasure and scattering crumbs and currants all over the floor.
When he was done he sucked each taloned finger clean, smacked his lips, then said, If you gave me another, I'd kill for you, Master. From his tone Safar knew it was no jest.
"You'd kill for a piece of pastry? Safar asked.
Gundara shrugged. Money is no good to me. Or jewels or treasures. I live in a stone turtle, remember? But a bit of something sweet… mmmm… Oh, yes, Master. Lead me to your victims this instant. I can help you conjure a decent poison guaranteed to reduce an entire city to a hamlet."
"I don't kill people, Safar said.
"More's the pity, Gundara answered. Killing's much easier than most tasks. He stretched his arms, yawning. If it isn't killing, Master, exactly what is it you want me to do?"
"Make yourself as small you can, Safar said, and hop up on my shoulder."
"How boring, Gundara complained, but he clicked his talons together and instantly shrunk to the size of a large flea. Safar had to look very hard to see him. Gundara called out, voice just as loud as when he was full size, You'll have to help me with the shoulder part, Master. It's too far to hop."
Safar held out his hand and the black dot that was Gundara ran up it, scrambling over the rough cloth of his sleeve until he reached his shoulder.
"I have some important business to conduct this morning, Safar said. I want you to keep a close watch for any danger or suspicious people."
"Do I get another roll when I'm done, Master? came Gundara's voice.
"If you do a good job, Safar promised.
"And one for Gundaree too? the Favorite pressed.
Safar sighed. Yes, he said. Gundaree can have one too."
"Make it with berries, next time, the little Favorite requested. Currants give me gas."
The city was stirring to life when Safar set out. Traffic was light but a few shops were opening and workmen were gathering in the front of others, munching olives and black bread while they waited for their employers arrival. Safar passed the wheelwrights shop, which always started early to repair wagons that'd broken down on the way to market. A hard-eyed man leaned against the wall near the entrance. He stared at Safar when he went by.
Safar bent his head closer to shoulder. Any trouble there? he asked.
"Just a cutpurse, the flea speck that was Gundara answered. Don't worry. You're too poor for his taste."
Safar went on, but kept his pace slow so his Favorite could sniff for spies. He was certain Kalasariz would order his informers to trail him. Although Safar was only a mountain lad, unwise in the ways of the city, he had much experience with nature to rely on. Animal or human, hunters always behaved the same way. Wolves on the stalk, for instance, might post a sentry near their intended victim. When the flock moved about the sentry would keep close watch on the sick sheep that had been chosen for dinner. As the flock moved from place to place the wolf would follow only so far, passing on his duties to another sentry so as not to arouse suspicion. And so on throughout the day until the intended victim fell behind the flock, or strayed too far from the rams. Then the sentry would howl the news and the pack would strike.
This is how Safar imagined Kalasariz informers would work. They'd post a spy on the street near his home, who would alert the others when he emerged. Then he'd be passed along from spy to spy until he returned home for the night.