Implied Spaces by Walter Jon Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

Aristide said, and made a gesture of money falling from one palm into another, “may I suggest that while some of you organize the caravan to bring the treasure to the city, the rest of you should be offering bribes to the sultan’s advisors to make certain that the taxes you’re required to pay are minimal.
    “And furthermore,” he added, “since the caravan guards won’t be able to afford to rent all those animals, or bribe the sultan’s advisors, it’s clear that the merchants who command the caravans deserve a share of the treasure.”
    Which began another argument concerning how large that share would be. Aristide had no comment to make on this matter, and instead returned to his seated position. He looked down at his two prisoners, who slumped against the rock below him. One—the bowman he had tripped—was a man of middle years, with a scarred cheek that put his mouth in a permanent scowl and a beard striped with grey. The other was a tall man, very muscular, but who presented the appearance of youth, with bowl-cut hair and a face swollen by the blow from the flat of Aristide’s sword.
    “Where is the Venger’s Temple, by the way?” the swordsman asked.
    The older man gave him a contemptuous look from slitted eyes. “I will happily tell you,” he said. “Certain as I am that the knowledge will send you all to your deaths.”
    “Well,” Aristide said, “for heaven’s sake don’t keep me in suspense.”
    The older man gave a jerk of his head to indicate the way they had come. “The Temple’s in a side canyon,” he said. “Back up the valley.”
    Aristide looked at the younger man. “Do you agree?”
    “Oh yes. Also, that you will certainly die if you go there.”
    “How far?”
    “From here you can walk the distance in fifteen or twenty turns of the glass. But you’ll die. So don’t.”
    Aristide looked at him with curiosity. “Are the defenses so formidable?” he asked.
    “Not the defenses. The priests.” The young man looked at Tecmessa. “The Priests of the Vengeful One possess the same power as your blade.”
    Aristide’s face turned into a smooth bronze mask, his hawklike nose a vane that cut the wind. His dark eyes glittered with cold intent.
    “What do you mean?” he asked. He spoke with care, as if the simple sentence was a fragile crystalline structure that might shatter if he uttered the wrong syllable.
    “The priests cause people to disappear in a clap of thunder,” the captive said. “Just as you caused Ormanthia to disappear.”
    “It is a sacrifice ,” the older man corrected. His voice was a hiss. “The Vengeful One is a powerful god. He swallows his victims whole.”
    The young man gave a shudder. “True. He does.”
    The older man looked at Aristide. “He will swallow you .”
    “Perhaps,” said Aristide. “But on me he may break a tooth.” He turned to the younger man. “How many priests are there?”
    “Three.”
    “And they have swords like mine?”
    “No. They are armed with…” He hesitated, as if he knew how absurd this would sound. “Clay balls,” he finished.
    “Clay. Balls.” The delicate words once again chimed with a crystalline sound.
    “They dangle the balls from strings. The balls dart around as if they had minds of their own. And the balls… eat people.”
    Aristide’s profile softened as he considered the bandit’s words.
    “I shall look forward to encountering these priests,” he said softly.
    The older bandit spat.
    “I shall look forward to your death,” he said.
    “How do you know the priests send their victims to death?” Aristide asked. “It might be paradise, for all you know.”
    The bandit spat again.
    “I’ll cut your throat myself,” he said.
    “Now, now,” said Aristide. “I’ll have to tick the box next to your name that says unrepentant .”
    “ So we swear! So we swear !” The cry went up from the assembled captains. Aristide looked up from his conference. Apparently the leaders of the