Gardens of the Moon
“The tale is arduous and confused, alas,” he said, striding to join Baruk at the window. His handkerchief had disappeared. “Kruppe can only surmise as best a man of innumerable talents may. In moments of leisure, during games of chance and the like. In the aura of the Twins an Adept may hear, see, smell, and touch things as insubstantial as the wind. A taste of Lady Luck, the bitter warning of the Lord's Laughter.” Kruppe's gaze snapped to the alchemist. “Do you follow, Master?”
His eyes riveted on the man's round face, Baruk said quietly, “You speak of Oponn.”
Kruppe looked back down at the street. “Perhaps. Perhaps a grim feint meant to mislead such as foolish Kruppe-”
Foolish? Baruk smiled inwardly. Not this man.
“Who who can say?” Kruppe raised a hand, showing in his palm a flat disc of wax. “An item,” he said softly, his eyes on the disc, “that passes without provenance, pursued by many who thirst for its cold kiss, on which life and all that lay within life is often gambled. Alone, a beggar's crown. In great numbers, a king's folly. Weighted with ruin, yet blood washes from it beneath the lightest rain, and to the next no hint of its cost. It is as it is, says Kruppe, worthless but for those who insist otherwise.”
Baruk was holding his breath. His lungs burned, yet it was an effort to release them. Kruppe's words had drawn him into something-a place, hinting of vast stores of knowledge and the sure, unfailing, epreci_e hand that had gathered it, marked it on parchment. A library, shelves of black wood in sharp relief, tomes bound to shiny leather, yellowed scrolls, a pitted, stained desk-Baruk felt he had but stolen a single glance into this chamber. Kruppe's mind, the secret place with its door locked to all but one. “You speak,” Baruk said slowly, fighting to pull back into reality by focusing on the wax disc in Kruppe's hand, “of a coin.”
Kruppe's hand snapped shut. He turned and set the disc down on the window-sill. “Examine this semblance, Master Baruk. It marks both sides of a single coin.” The handkerchief reappeared and Kruppe stepped back, dabbing his brow. “My, but it is hot, says Kruppe!”
“Help yourself to some wine,” Baruk murmured. As the man left his side the alchemist opened his Warren. He gestured and the wax disc rose into the air, slowly moving to hover before him at eye-level. He studied the imprint facing him. “The Lady,” he muttered, nodding. The disc turned, revealing to him the Lord. The disc turned again, and Baruk's eyes widened as it began spinning. A whirring sound filled the back of his head. He felt his Warren resisting a pressure that grew with the sound, then his source collapsed.
Faintly, as if from a great distance, he heard Kruppe speak. “Even in this semblance, Master Baruk, blows the Twins” breath. No mage's Warren can withstand that wind.”
The disc still spun in the air in front of Baruk, a silver blur. A fine mist expanded around it. Hot droplets spattered his face and he stepped back.
Blue fire flickered from the melting wax, the disc dwindling rapidly. A moment later it vanished, and the spinning sound and its accompanying pressure stopped abruptly.
The sudden silence filled Baruk's head with pain. He laid a trembling hand on the window-sill for support, then closed his eyes. “Who carries the Coin, Kruppe?” His voice rasped from his constricted throat. “Who?”
Kruppe once again stood at his side. “A lad,” he answered casually. “Known to Kruppe, assuredly so, as well as to your other agents, Murillio, Rallick and Coll.”
Baruk's eyes reopened. “That can't be a coincidence,” he hissed, a desperate hope rising to struggle against the terror he felt. Oponn had entered the gambit, and in such reaches of power the life of a city and those within it meant nothing. He glared at Kruppe. “Gather the group, then. All you've named. They've served my interests for a long time, and they must do so now, above all other concerns. Do you understand me?”
“Kruppe will convey your insistence. Rallick perchance is bound to Guild duties, while Coll, given purpose in life once again, might well steady his gaze and tread and take this mission to heart. Master Baruk? What is the mission, by the way?”
“Protect the Coinbearer. Watch him, mark whose face rests on him benign or foul. I must know if the Lady has him, or the Lord. And, Kruppe, for this, find Rallick. If the Lord claims the Coinbearer, the assassin's talents will be required.”
Kruppe blinked. “Understood. Alas, may mercy smile upon young Crokus.”
“Crokus?” Baruk frowned. “That's a name I know.”