Lies of Light

44

9Alturiak, the Yearof the Shield (1367DR) The Thayan Enclave, Innarlith

It’s all right, Kurtsson,” Marek said, though he wasn’t the least bit certain that was true. “That will be all for the night.”

The Thayan didn’t look at Kurtsson, didn’t want to exchange any sort of nervous or knowing glance. He listened to the other wizard stand, pausehesitatethen finally leave. Marek had every reason to believe that the Vaasan would be listening in on what happened nexthe had any number of ways of doing thatbut it wouldn’t matter.

“Good evening, Wenefir,” Marek said. He didn’t bother trying to smile. He didn’t even stand. “It’s late for a visit.”

“Not quite middark,” Wenefir replied. “But my apologies just the same.”

Marek put his hands on the table in front of him, palms flat down.

“Everything is well, I hope,” the Red Wizard said. “That remains to be seen.”

Marek cleared his throat and finally managed to smile. A sense of relief washed over him, though he wasn’t sure exactly why.

“May I offer you a drink?” Marek asked, and Wenefir shook his head. “Please sit.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” Wenefir said.

“Of course not,” Marek replied. “If anything I said or did gave you the impression that that thought had crossed my mind, please excuse me.”

“I will have a brandy after all.”

Marek didn’t have to stand to reach the bottle or a glass. He kept a tray at hand when he worked late. He poured the drink, and leaning forward in his chair, handed it to Wenefir.

“Please, sit,” he said again.

Wenefir took a sip of the brandya very small sip. Maybe he didn’t even drink any at all really, but just touched it to his lips. He sat on a stool, his wide, soft body almost seemed to drape itself around the little seat. He set the glass down on the table.

“That’s pretty,” Wenefir said, nodding at the flamberge that sat on a swatch of black velvet in the middle of the table.

“Isn’t it?” Marek replied, wondering if that could be what Wenefir had come forbut why? That sort of thing wasn’t really his style, or Pristoleph’s.

“Tell me you didn’t make it,” said Wenefir.

“Oh, no,” Marek replied with a chuckle. “No, that one’s oldhow old I’m still trying to determinebut old. It belongs to a friend, truth be told.”

“Truth be told” Wenefir repeated, a wistful look further smoothing his already soft features. “It must be a very good friend, to allow you to hold onto something of such obvious value.”

“It’s what I do.”

“It’s enchanted?”

“Of course,” Marek said. “Why else would I have it?”

Wenefir shrugged, and a little smile crossed his face. They sat for a moment in silence.

“I had a conversation, earlier this evening,” Wenefir said at last, “with Senator Pristoleph.”

“I hope he’s well.”

Wenefir nodded and said, “He appreciates your help in regards to the situation on the quayside, and elsewhere, and he understands your position in regards to the canal.”

“But…?”

Wenefir smiled, seemed relieved, and said, “There will be ships, either way.”

“Either way?” Marek stalled, though he’d sorted it out easily enough.

“He’s prepared to align himself openly with whatever eventuality you have in mind for the canal,” Wenefir said. “Of course, it would help if he knew your intentions.”

“Either way…” Marek whispered.

Wenefir smiled, so did Marek, and they both laughed.

“He is a man after my own heart,” said Marek.

“I’m sure he would be both delighted and horrified to hear that.”

Marek closed his mouth. His tongue felt dry all of a sudden.

“So?” Wenefir asked.

“Well,” Marek said, taking a deep breath. “My first impulse is to close the whole thing down, but I’m not sure that’s entirely possible.”

“No?”

“There is an expression, I think from Cormyror is it Sembia?” Marek said. “They say, ‘The cat is out of the bag.’”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that the idea has been expressed that a canal could be dug to connect the Sea of Fallen Stars with the western oceans. More than that the idea has been expressed that this little bit of empty land to the northwest of Innarlith is the best place to do it. And it is the best place, you know. I’ve consulted maps.”

“Have you?”

Marek let a breath hiss out of his nose and said, “I have.”

“So you’ll let him finish it?”

“Bane’s bloody corpse, no,” Marek said. “Not him.”

Wenefir tipped his chin up, smiled a little again, then nodded and said, “Ah. You’ll finish it yourself.”

“After a fashion,” Marek replied. “I will have it finished, but I won’t be using shovels and sweaty backs.”

“No?”

“Well,” the Thayan said with a wink, “if you can’t beat them, profit from them.”

“Another Cormyrean expression?”

“No, no, I’m quite sure that one’s Sembian.” They shared another laugh.

“There might come a day,” Wenefir said, “that Senator Pristoleph will desire an upward change in station.”

Marek felt his face flush. He forced a smile and said, “I was led to believe”

“Calm yourself, Master Rymiit,” Wenefir interrupted. “Just something to keep in the back of your mind. For the nonce, let’s say that Senator Pristoleph looks forward to the increase in shipping traffic the canal will provide, and he trusts in your ability to build it, using the many wondrous means at your disposal.”

Marek bent forward a little in a bow as Wenefir stood.

“Middark has come and gone, I should think,” Wenefir said. “I will thank you for your hospitality, and be on my way.”

Marek stood, bowed again, and watched Wenefir leave. When the door closed, he sat again and sighed.

The door opened a few moments later, and Kurtsson stepped into the room.

“Should I be concerned?” the Vaasan asked.

“Of course, dear,” Marek said, then paused to down the rest of Wenefir’s brandy. “A wise man is always concerned.”

“But if Pristoleph is-“

“Pristoleph,” Marek finished for him, “is doing what we always knew he would. And we’ll either survive him or not.”