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as he reached the street. Even several buildings away, he could hear the honch
laughing at him.
"At least I still have my money. Tomorrow I'll buy a fat sweet roll and some
fried meat." The thought of such a meal, with a cup of spice-bark tea, helped
him sleep, for the imagined tastes and aromas drove out bleak thoughts and
optimism alike.
When morning came, the thought of sacrificing his meager assets for a mere
breakfast had less appeal.
He settled for crusts left out for a neighbor's chickens. Though he could have
snatched one of the birds as well, Benadek was careful to behave in this, his
own neighborhood. His claim on his burrow was tenuous, and if a hue and cry
should go up, even over someone else's folly, he could lose it to
thief-hunters who would burn his blankets and kick down his dirt walls.
The day promised to drag on and on. Purposeless, he wandered squares and
marketplaces, never spending too long in any one urchins were always suspect
whether they pilfered or not, and guards acted first, and invented incidents
to sustain their arrests as they needed them.
Before midday his perambulations took him by the inn, where he saw six strange
honches in black leather, bedecked with trail gear and strange weapons. When
he saw the objects of their interest, his heart sank: they surrounded two
mules, one carrying the leather trunks from Achibol's chamber. His dismay was
multiplied when two more honches exited the inn, propelling a protesting and
expostulating
Achibol between them.
The honches surely bore his hoped-for master no good will. That was an unhappy
circumstance, not likely to cheer the magician or make him receptive to the
importunements of a skinny urchin.
Achibol should be able to use his spells and magic to free himself, but he
seemed to be doing no such thing. He fumed and jerked in his captors' grasps
like any cranky boffin, helplessly. Is he a fraud? Why doesn't he destroy his
persecutors?
What grieved Benadek most was that Achibol had been leaving without him the
laden mules told the tale. Affecting an air of nonchalance, he strode by
within the mage's sight. The honches did not notice him, but Achibol's voice
rose above the city sounds . . .
"I've decided to teach you what you wish to know," he said abruptly. "To enter
the inner temple, you must find the talisman with five and twenty keys." He
directed his voice past the honches. Benadek understood: he saw the sorcerer's
talisman hanging from a thong on the riding mule's saddle, and lifted it free.
Achibol's fleeting grin rewarded him. He slipped back, still within earshot,
and pretended to doze against a water trough on the far side of the street.
"The keys, used in the proper order, will open the inner temple doors. But any
one of them, used in improper order, could destroy you and all you strive
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for!" The speech was clearly intended for Benadek, not the honches, but
Achibol was at pains to conceal that from his dusty leather-clad captors.
"Wait!" one honch grated. "A scribe has been summoned." Even as he spoke, an
eighth honch came around the corner dragging the boffin Benadek had victimized
before.
Achibol sneered. "Are you ready, now?"
"Tell us how you enter the temples," snarled the honch leader.
"You heard my warning: touch only those keys I tell you."
"I heard that, old man. Scribe! Note down that caution."
"The first key will be marked with four crossed lines, the second with a
star." Benadek peered at the talisman, and found two buttons so marked. He
extended a finger and cautiously touched [#], and then
[*].
"Keep this simple, now," the honch cautioned.
"Would you have me miss a step? You'd end up lost in eternal night. Listen
well, and hope your scribe does too." The honch, chastened, leaned a bit less
closely. "The next key will be marked with an upright cross. Touch it once,
and then once again."
Benadek saw a button marked [x]. No, an upright cross! He touched the [+] key
twice. Blue letters on a white ground began marching across the tiny window
over the keypad:
REDIRECT OUTPUT: READY.
ENTER INSTRUCTION SEQUENCE.
Achibol risked a glance in Benadek's direction. The boy nodded slightly. "Find
the keys numbered one, three, nine, and two, and touch them in that exact
order. Scribe! Have you written that?" The scribe, his brow furrowed in
concentration, nodded even as he scratched at his paper. "Make sure of it,"
Achibol stressed, "for should one of these guardians be inundated in
demon-fire that burns forever, or turns inside out with his bowels to the
breeze, those who survive will fetch you to correct your error."
The scribe paled. "The numbers, good master. Say them again." Achibol repeated
them. Benadek tapped the sequence: [1] [3] [9] [2], and nodded again. The
numbers appeared in the window, after the message already there.
"The next sign has the form of a bent arrow which points leftward . . ."
"A moment, old man! Just how will we know left from right? Won't it depend on
how the key is held?"
"These are no ordinary keys." Achibol sniffed. "You'll know."
"Perhaps we'll keep you here, old fraud, until we enter a temple or two, and
your words prove out."
Benadek touched the key. Numbers scrolled too rapidly to distinguish
individually. The talisman emitted a chirp. A surreptitious glance told him
that no one but Achibol had noted it. The magician allowed himself a faint
grin. Benadek saw that the scrolling numbers were gone, replaced with another
cryptic message:
INTERFACE: NERVESYNC MODULE 4:
ENGAGED.
CAUTION: PROJECTOR IS WITHIN ACTIVE RANGE OF
CONTROL UNIT. IS
OPERATOR SHIELDED?
1: ABORT 2: PROCEED
3: DELAYED ACTIVATION
Benadek did not understand the message in its entirety, but its urgency did
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not escape him. He raised a questioning eyebrow toward Achibol. The old man
looked at him and said, "You must delay your progress then, for guardian
spirits of sleep will seek freedom, and you stand in their path. Remove
yourself from the vicinity of the keys for a time."
"How long? How will we know it's safe to return? And how far must we go? Try
no tricks or clever words, old man. You alone will suffer for them."
"When the `3' is touched, walk away at an ordinary pace. Forty such paces, and
you'll be safe. As soon as you've gone the distance, you may return at once." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]