Part 29 (1/2)

Aurelius spread his hands in a disturbingly familiar gesture. ”A philosophical difference. But you should be glad I don't want to put your family on the front lines of a magical war. They tend to take a fearful toll on innocent bystanders.”

”Not that you care.”

”Of course I don't. You see how frank I am with you. In a very few years, as I or Morlock count them, you will all be dead anyway. But I know that you care and, as it happens, that gives us a common interest.”

”If I could get my family away-”

”No. I must ask you not to do that. Anything like that would surely give Morlock notice I am coming. I must be allowed to enter the house at a time he does not expect. That means you, your brother, and your children must all be there.”

”So that you can use us as human s.h.i.+elds. To limit the severity of Morlock's counterattack.”

”No. I just want access. I would let you and yours flee before I went in to confront Morlock. If I can find some way to a.s.sure you of that, I'd like to do so.”

I sort of believed him. It made a certain amount of sense. Whatever sort of force he was planning to bring with him, Roble and my boys could probably make trouble for them. I wouldn't rule Fasra out of any action, either: what she lacks in muscle she makes up for in moxie.

”I'm not agreeing to anything,” I said.

”I don't expect you to.”

”But how will I reach you if I decide to go along with you? Because I'm never setting foot in this h.e.l.lhole of a city again if I can help it.”

”What? Aflraun?” The old man smiled broadly. ”I like it. The place has flavor.”

”So does henbane,” I said. ”Don't waste time with me, Aurelius. You either read this possibility in your little map of the future, or you can't do half of what you say.”

His smile became even broader. He drew his map of the future from his heavy cloak and unrolled it. Inside the map was a crooked coin; it looked as if it had been bent somehow. He handed it to me.

”If you decide to help me,” Aurelius said, ”break the coin. You can do it with your fingers with a little effort, as long as you do it intentionally; it won't break by accident. When you break it, I will know and I will come to the crooked house so that you can let me in.”

”How long will it take you to get there?” I pocketed the coin.

”As soon as I can,” he said composedly. ”It may depend on circ.u.mstances. You understand.”

I understood. He probably had it figured to the splintered half-heartbeat, but he wasn't going to tell me. A knowledge-h.o.a.rder. Well, I already knew that about him.

”Is your name also Ambrosius?” I asked, trying to knock him off his game a little.

He laughed pleasantly, but after a few moments it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything.

”Is the old woman in the jar your wife?” I asked. ”She said she didn't know you. a.s.suming you are who you say you are.”

”I am,” the old man replied, ”but I am more than that. You'll have to get used to this, if we are to have an acceptable alliance, Naeli. I tend to tell the truth, but I will always know more than I say.”

A crooked shadow fell over the table. I looked up to see Morlock standing beside me. ”Good day to you both,” he said.

I said a faint h.e.l.lo. Aurelius muttered something, and his fingers twitched toward his open map with the moving multicolored squiggles. Then he froze as Morlock put down on the table a blue glazed jar, much like the one I had seen in his workshop. Morlock unhooked his sword belt (thrown over his shoulder as a baldric) and hung it on the back of a chair. He sat down without waiting for an invitation.

”The Badonhill Hostel,” Morlock said, stretching out his legs comfortably. ”I suppose you call yourself Aurelius around here.”

Aurelius had been watching Morlock with his mouth partly open. Now his mouth snapped shut, and I was almost sure his pale cheeks were flus.h.i.+ng slightly. ”I have a perfect right to that name,” he said after a moment.

Morlock laughed raspingly.

Now I was sure about the blush. Aurelius's jaw clenched twice. Then his face relaxed and he said, ”May I offer you something, my boy? A gla.s.s of wine, or perhaps something stronger? I taught them how to use a still, here, and they make the most remarkable beverage out of potatoes. I'm sure you'd enjoy it.”

”No, thanks.”

I had no idea what that exchange meant, but Aurelius obviously felt he had scored a point. ”If you change your mind,” he said kindly, ”let me know. I always keep a little nearby. Very nearby.”

Morlock reached out and tapped the open map. ”Teleomancy?” he asked.

”Yes,” Aurelius said curtly.

”It won't work.”

”Won't it? Won't it, indeed? Why not, pray tell? Listen closely, Naeli. We are to be favored with a lecture by the master of all makers. Do try to pay attention.”

”Intentions are not actions. And not all events are intentional acts.”

Aurelius laughed now. His laugh was more musical than Morlock's (everyone's is), but somehow it was more unpleasant. He rolled up his map of the future and said, with a polite smile lighting his face, ”Well, I must make the best of what poor talents I have. Corrected, whenever possible, by your enormous wisdom.”

Morlock opened his hands, closed them.

”A daring retort,” Aurelius said to me. ”With conversation like that, it's a wonder his wife left him.”

”Hey,” I said, ”leave me out of your p.i.s.sing match.”

Aurelius's features wrinkled more deeply with distaste. ”A delightfully urbane image. Yes, Morlock, by all means let us leave Naeli out of our p.i.s.sing match. Was there something else you came here to say? Or was it just to give your aged father a few pointers on teleomancy and other forms of urination?”

Aged father. That certainly explained a lot.

”My true father has been dead these three hundred years or more,” Morlock said somewhat heatedly.

”Ah, yes,” Aurelius drawled. ”Old Father Tyr, gone through the Gate in the West, to sit in judgement with Those-Who-Watch until the end of time. That's the story they tell under Thrymhaiam, isn't it? Trust a dwarf to invent a tedious afterlife. just sitting, you know, and judging. What a pity he isn't sitting here now. To judge what became of the man he raised. But his dead hand lives, doesn't it, Morlock-his grip from beyond the grave?” Aurelius gestured at the sheath hanging from the empty chair. ”Tyrfing: 'Tyr's grip.' That's what the name of your deadly sword means, doesn't it?”

”Maybe I should have called it 'Merlin's tongue,”' Morlock replied.

”Good G.o.d, how unkind,” Aurelius said, now very much at ease. ”What would Old Father Tyr say if he heard you talking that way to your ruthen father?” He snapped his fingers, and Zyrn appeared from the half-hidden doorway. ”Are you sure you won't have something to wet your throat? I can see this is going to be a long conversation.”

Morlock looked at Zyrn's face, which Aurelius (or Merlin?) had yet to do in my presence. Morlock said to his father (ruthen father: I think that means natural father, as opposed to harven-the foster father who raises you), ”The conversation needn't be long. I just came to see that Naeli wasn't poisoned again.”

Aurelius/Merlin shook his head irritably. ”We've been over that, and we're friends now-I think I can say that, Naeli?”

”You may,” I said. ”I won't.”

”Well,” the old man said, ”I myself feel the need of a little something. Zyrn-”

”Zyrn,” Morlock interrupted, ”would you be free?”

The waiter's flat pebble-like eyes fixed on Morlock's. ”Master?”