The Brazen Gambit by Lynn Abbey Read Free Book Online Page B

messenger
could conquer defiance or pride. Her voice was meek, her eyes lowered, never challenging the dwarfs authority.
    And she had Rokka rattled. The dwarf drummed on the table and squirmed in his chair. By law, Pavek should
have intervened: he knew what she was. One word whispered in Rokka's ear and the druid would wish she'd been sent
to the obsidian pits before the dwarf was done with her.
    Templars were, however, only responsible for enforcing Urik's laws, not obeying them. Pavek stayed right where
he was, listening to Rokka's threats and insinuations, while the woman's expression never changed. He thought the
procurer would reach for his medallion, but incredibly, Rokka caved in. The dwarf said Urik needed what was in those
amphorae, sealed or tainted; he accepted the unsealed amphorae. After the woman's companions had laid down their
burdens, Rokka held up four fingers for salt, then three for the volatile oil.
    Pavek considered upright measurement: he was that impressed by the woman's accomplishment, but he rejected
the notion. Rokka's weights were light. Any honest efforts on his own part would only focus the procurer's frustration
on his own head. And the dwarf was undoubtedly looking for someone to blame.
    Pavek had come away from Metica's chamber convinced that if Rokka wasn't skimming the zarneeka, the
itinerants were: one or the other, not both in collusion. But the itinerants weren't simple nomadic traders, and Rokka
was slipping gold into an already generous ration of salt. Maybe they were working together, playing a dangerous
game against Urik?
    He pulled his hands back from the scale, allowing the pans to swing free.
    If it was a ruse, the whole confrontation had been an elaborate ruse. Pavek didn't know if dissembling was a
common skill among druids, but it wasn't among dwarves or procurers. When the brown-haired druid threatened to
take her zarneeka away with her, Rokka had been mad enough to kill. Then he'd capitulated.
    Urik's inhabitants needed Ral's Breath, but Rokka wouldn't give a gith's thumb for Urik or its inhabitants. Rokka
needed zarneeka, and not, Pavek guessed with certainty, for Urik's sake.
    The pans leveled. Pavek sealed the flasks with wax, then pushed them toward the woman without meeting her
eyes. He'd gotten two steps toward the lacquered clay jugs lying on the floor when Rokka called him back.
    "I'll handle that, Regulator," he said, rising too quickly from his chair. "You take my place here."
    It was unheard of: A regulator standing a procurer's duty,
    Rokka toting four heavy amphorae on his own broad shoulders.
    "Never think of it, great one. It's not my place."
    "Make it your place and maybe you'll keep it, Regulator. You're so good with writing-all that practice.
Scribble-scrape. Scribble-scrape. What else you got to show for it? Ink stains on your fingers? Or has our Great and
Mighty King promised you a place in the archives-? Scholar Pavek-sweeping bug-dung off the floor."
    As dwarves went, Rokka was soft-muscled. Maybe Pavek could best him hand-to-hand, maybe he'd need a
heavy stick. But the risks were unacceptable, and King Hamanu frowned on templars brawling in front of the rabble,
and the king's frowns were often fatal. So, Pavek let the procurer pass. He settled himself on the chair's leather
cushion, still warm and molded to the dwarf's differently shaped anatomy.
    The druid and her companions were already out the door. Pavek called for the next in line. His script was better
than Rokka's, and he was more efficient-dragging the salt-chest up to the table so he could negotiate, sign, measure,
and seal, all without standing up. He simplified the negotiations, too: asking each petitioner what he or she was due,
then shaping his scarred lips into an impressive snarl until the poor sod lowered the request.
    The city's tax-paying rabble was clever. By the fifth petitioner, the transaction had been completely ritualized and
the line moved at unprecedented