Part 4 (1/2)
Teatime had been thinking, in the cracking, buzzing fireworks display that was his head. What he had been thinking about was immortality.
He might have been quite, quite insane, but he was no fool. There were, in the a.s.sa.s.sins' Guild, a number of paintings and busts of famous members who had, in the past, put...no, of course, that wasn't right. There were paintings and busts of the famous clients clients of members, with a noticeably modest bra.s.s plaque screwed somewhere nearby, bearing some una.s.suming little comment like ”Departed this vale of tears on Grune 3, Year of the Sideways Leech, with the a.s.sistance of the Hon. K. W. Dobson (Viper House).” Many fine old educational establishments had dignified memorials in some hall listing the Old Boys who had laid down their lives for monarch and country. The Guild's was very similar, except for the question of whose life had been laid. of members, with a noticeably modest bra.s.s plaque screwed somewhere nearby, bearing some una.s.suming little comment like ”Departed this vale of tears on Grune 3, Year of the Sideways Leech, with the a.s.sistance of the Hon. K. W. Dobson (Viper House).” Many fine old educational establishments had dignified memorials in some hall listing the Old Boys who had laid down their lives for monarch and country. The Guild's was very similar, except for the question of whose life had been laid.
Every Guild member wanted to be up there somewhere. Because getting up there represented immortality. And the bigger your client, the more incredibly discreet and restrained would be the little bra.s.s plaque, so that everyone couldn't help but notice your name.
In fact, if you were very, very renowned, they wouldn't even have to write down your name at all...
The men around the table watched him. It was always hard to know what Banjo was thinking, or even if he was thinking at all, but the other four were thinking along the lines of: b.u.mptious little twit, like all a.s.sa.s.sins. Thinks he knows it all. I could take him down one-handed, no trouble. But...you hear stories. Those eyes give me the creeps...
”So what's the job?” said Chickenwire.
”We don't do jobs,” said Teatime. ”We perform services. And the service will earn each of you ten thousand dollars.”
”That's a lot more'n Thieves' Guild rate,” said Medium Dave.
”I've never liked the Thieves' Guild,” said Teatime, without turning his head.
”Why not?”
”They ask too many questions.”
”We don't ask questions,” said Chickenwire quickly.
”We shall suit one another perfectly,” said Teatime. ”Do have another drink while we wait for the other members of our little troupe.”
Chickenwire saw Medium Dave's lips start to frame the opening letters ”Who-” These letters he deemed inauspicious at this time. He kicked Medium Dave's leg under the table.
The door opened slightly. A figure came in, but only just. It inserted itself in the gap and sidled along the wall in a manner calculated not to attract attention. Calculated, that is, by someone not good at this sort of calculation.
It looked at them over its turned-up collar.
”That's a wizard wizard,” said Peachy.
The figure hurried over and dragged up a chair.
”No, I'm not!” it hissed. ”I'm incognito!”
”Right, Mr. Gnito,” said Medium Dave. ”You're just someone in a pointy hat. This is my brother Banjo, that's Peachy, this is Chick-”
The wizard looked desperately at Teatime.
”I didn't want to come!”
”Mr. Sideney here is indeed a wizard,” said Teatime. ”A student, anyway. But down on his luck at the moment, hence his willingness to join us on this venture.”
”Exactly how far down on his luck?” said Medium Dave.
The wizard tried not to meet anyone's gaze.
”I made a misjudgment to do with a wager,” he said.
”Lost a bet, you mean?” said Chickenwire.
”I paid up on time,” said Sideney.
”Yes, but Chrysoprase the troll has this odd little thing about money that turns into lead the next day,” said Teatime cheerfully. ”So our friend needs to earn a little cash in a hurry and in a climate where arms and legs stay on.”
”No one said anything about there being magic in all this,” said Peachy.
”Our destination is...probably you should think of it as something like a wizard's tower, gentlemen,” said Teatime.
”It isn't an actual wizard's tower, is it?” said Medium Dave. ”They got a very odd sense of humor when it comes to b.o.o.by traps.”
”No.”
”Guards?”
”I believe so. According to legend. But nothing very much.”
Medium Dave narrowed his eyes. ”There's valuable stuff in this...tower?”
”Oh, yes.”
”Why ain't there many guards, then?”
”The...person who owns the property probably does not realize the value of what...of what they have.”
”Locks?” said Medium Dave.
”On our way we shall be picking up a locksmith.”
”Who?”
”Mr. Brown.”
They nodded. Everyone-at least, everyone in ”the business,” and everyone in ”the business” knew what ”the business” was, and if you didn't know what ”the business” was you weren't a businessman-knew Mr. Brown. His presence anywhere around a job gave it a certain kind of respectability. He was a neat, elderly man who'd invented most of the tools in his big leather bag. No matter what cunning you'd used to get into a place, or overcome a small army, or find the secret treasure room, sooner or later you sent for Mr. Brown, who'd turn up with his leather bag and his little springy things and his little bottles of strange alchemy and his neat little boots. And he'd do nothing for ten minutes but look at the lock, and then he'd select a piece of bent metal from a ring of several hundred almost identical pieces, and under an hour later he'd be walking away with a neat ten percent of the takings. Of course, you didn't have have to use Mr. Brown's services. You could always opt to spend the rest of your life looking at a locked door. to use Mr. Brown's services. You could always opt to spend the rest of your life looking at a locked door.
”All right. Where is this place?” said Peachy.
Teatime turned and smiled at him. ”If I'm paying you, why isn't it me who's asking the questions?”
Peachy didn't even try to outstare the gla.s.s eye a second time.
”Just want to be prepared, that's all,” he mumbled.
”Good reconnaissance is the essence of a successful operation,” said Teatime. He turned and looked up at the bulk that was Banjo and added, ”What is this?”
”This is Banjo,” said Medium Dave, rolling himself a cigarette.