The Wizard of Anharitte by Colin Kapp Page B

contesting of the records, yet his nervous glances at Barii showed that he knew retribution was still due. The steward’s act of photographing the entry had shaken him badly and his ashen hue was indicative of a deep and mortal fear. Knowing of the clerk’s association with the Pointed Tails, Ren was pleased to note that members of the clan moved protectively nearer to the clerk to guard him against danger.
    Di Irons was looking at his treacherous clerk with something akin to murder in his eyes. His sword hand convulsively gripped the hilt of his weapon. For a moment Ren thought that Di Irons was going to attack the fellow, but Barii moved between them and a slight lift of his eyebrows caused the prefect to relax.
    Ren relaxed too.
    All Anharitte was watching the outcome of this dispute—the supposed omnipotence of the Imaiz was now on public trial. Dion-daizan’s easy acquiescence to the challenge might mean only that he had chosen the slave market as the quicker route for regaining Zinder’s bond, but currently the wizard’s public image must have suffered a lowering as a result of Ren’s audacious move. Ren had well prepared the ground ahead. It was going to be an interesting battle.
    Ren awoke in the night with a start. A house servant was shaking his arm.
    ‘Agent Ren—wake up, please! The prefect sends for you urgently.’
    Shaking the sleep from his head, Ren roused himself and forced his mind to concentrate.
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘The prefect sends watchmen to guide you. The register clerk is dead.’
    ‘Damn!’ said Ren, struggling into his clothes. ‘What has it to do with me?’
    He went downstairs to remonstrate with the watchmen who waited in the downstairs office. The sergeant listened to his protest without expression.
    ‘The Lord Di Irons is aware of your position. Nonetheless he directs we conduct you to the place of the accident.’
    ‘Accident?’
    The sergeant refused to be drawn out. ‘Come, Agent Ren. Lord Di Irons himself will explain the matter.’
    Ren reached for his cloak, girded on his sword and reluctantly followed the watchmen into the night.
    The air outside was chill and damp with the clinging mists from the sea. The whole township was in darkness save for the occasional flare of the watch braziers and torches carried by his escort. The sudden transition from sleep to the cold darkness and the leaping flames of the brands touched the scene with unreality made only more credible by the hardness of the shifting, round cobbles underneath his feet.
    The route the watchmen chose was unfamiliar to Ren, involving numerous turns down narrow streets and alleys until his whole sense of direction was destroyed. Finally the party halted in front of a mean drinking place and Ren waited impatiently while the watchmen knocked on a small and unfamiliar door. Shortly, bolts were drawn and the great bulk of Di Irons himself loomed between the door posts.
    ‘Ah, Ren. Come in. You’re an astute man, so I’m going to give you an opportunity to exercise your cleverness.’
    The prefect leaned past Ren and instructed the watchmen to continue searching the area. Then he withdrew into the room and beckoned to Ren, The doorway was so small that even Ren had to duck his head as he entered. The ceiling inside was scarcely higher and the room stank of cheap alcohol and the presence of too many bodies. Ten of the Pointed Tails, Catuul Gras among them, sat in a circle around a flickering lamp, looking uneasily at Di Irons. On the far side of the room another door led out to a small brick courtyard, which two watchmen illuminated with poled lanterns. Across the threshold of this second door lay the register clerk. He had a fatal wound in his throat and blood spread wide across the floor.
    Di Irons was crushing. ‘I lay the responsibility for this piece of mischief at your door, Ren.’
    The statement caught Ren completely off guard.
    ‘Mine?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘But I had nothing whatever to do