Robert Asprin - Shadow Of Sanctuary

It was a slow night at the Vulgar Unicorn. Not slow in the sense that there hadbeen no fights (there hadn't) or that there weren't many customers (thereweren't) but rather a different kind of slow; the slow measured pace of a man onhis way to the gallows, for the Unicorn was dying, as was the entire town ofSanctuary. More people were leaving every day and those left were becomingincreasingly desperate and vicious as the economy dipped to new lows.

Desperate people were dangerous; they were quick to turn predator at thesmallest imagined opportunity, which in turn made them vulnerable to the realpredators drawn to the town like wolves to a sick animal. Anyone with an ounceof sense and a good leg to hobble on would have deserted Sanctuary long ago.

Such were the thoughts of Hakiem, the Storyteller, as he sat brooding over a cupof cheap wine. Tonight he did not even bother adopting his usual guise of dozingdrunkenly while eavesdropping on conversations at the neighbouring tables. Heknew all the patrons present and not one of them was worth spying on - hence noneed to fake disinterest.

He would leave Sanctuary tomorrow. He would go somewhere, anywhere, where peoplewere freer with their money and a master storyteller would be appreciated.Hakiem smiled bitterly at himself even as he made the resolution - for he knewit to be a lie.

He loved this bedraggled town as he loved the tough breed of people it spawned.There was a raw, stubborn vitality that surged and ebbed just below the surface.Sanctuary was a storyteller's paradise. When he left, if he ever did, he wouldhave stories enough for a lifetime ... no, two lifetimes. Big stories and littleones, tailored to the buyer's purse. Stories of violent battle between warriorsand between sorcerers. Tiny stories of people so common they would move thehearts of any who listened. From the princely military-governor with his HellHound elite guard to the humblest thief, they were all grist for Hakiem's mill.If he had personally commanded their performances they could not have performedtheir roles better.

The storyteller's smile was more sincere as he raised his cup for another sip.Then his eye was caught by a figure lurching through the door and he froze inmid-movement.

One-Thumb!

The Vulgar Unicorn's owner had been absent for some time, causing no smallquestion among the patrons about his fate. Now, here he was, large as life ...well, not quite as large as life.

Hakiem watched with narrowed eyes as One-Thumb slumped against the bar, seizinga crock of wine while his normally practised fingers fumbled with the stopperlike a youth with his first woman. Unable to contain his curiosity longer, theold storyteller untangled himself from his chair and scuttled forward with aspeed that belied his age.

'One-Thumb,' he cackled with calculated joviality, 'welcome back!'

The massive figure straightened and turned, focusing vacant eyes on theintruder. 'Hakiem!' The fleshy face suddenly wrinkled with a wide smile. 'By thegods - the world is normal.'

To the storyteller's amazement, One-Thumb seemed on the verge of tears as hestepped forward, arms extended to embrace the old man like a long-lost son.Recoiling, Hakiem hastily interposed his wine cup between them.

'You've been gone a long time,' he said, abandoning all semblance of subtlety.'Where have you been?'

'Gone?' The eyes were vacant again. 'Yes, I've been gone. How long has it been?'

'Over a year.' The storyteller was puzzled, and insatiable.

'A year,' One-Thumb murmured. 'It seems like ... the tunnels! I've been in thetunnels. It was...' He paused to take a long swallow of wine, then absentlyfilled Hakiem's cup as he launched into his story.

Accustomed to piecing together tales from half-heard words and phrases, thestoryteller rapidly grasped the essence of One-Thumb's ordeal.

He had been trapped by a magician's spell in the tangle of tunnels belowSanctuary's streets. Confronted by an image of himself, he had killed it andbeen slain in turn - over and over until this night when he miraculously foundhimself alone and unscathed.

As One-Thumb redoubled his lurid description, describing the feel of cold metalas it found its home in one's innards - again and again, Hakiem pondered thefacts of the story. It fitted.

Lately someone had been stalking wizards, slaying them in their own beds.Apparently the hunter's knife had struck down the spell-weaver who was holdingOne-Thumb in painful thrall, freeing him suddenly to his normal life. Aninteresting story, but totally useless to Hakiem.

First: One-Thumb was obviously willing to spill the tale to anyone who wouldstand still long enough to listen, ruining the market for second-handrenditions. Second, and more important: it was a bad story. Its motive wasunclear; the ending hazy and inactive; there was no real interplay betweenthe characters. The only real meat was the uniqueness of One-Thumb's abilityto tell the tale in the first person and even that weakened through repetition.In short, it was boring.

It didn't take a master storyteller to reach this conclusion. It was obvious. Infact, Hakiem was already growing weary listening to the whine and prattle.

'You must be tired,' he interrupted. 'It's wrong of me to keep you. Maybe we cantalk again after you've rested.' He turned to leave the Unicorn.

'What about the wine?' One-Thumb called angrily. 'You haven't paid yet.'

Hakiem's response was habitual: 'Pay? I didn't order it. It was you who filledthe cup. Pay for it yourself.' He regretted the words immediately. One-Thumb'streatment of drinkers who refused to pay was legendary throughout the Maze. Tohis surprise, then, it was One-Thumb who gave ground.

'Well, all right,' the big man grumbled. 'Just don't make a habit of it.'

The old storyteller felt a rare twinge of remorse as he left the Unicorn. Whilehe had no love for One-Thumb, neither had he any reason to wish him ill.

The big man hadn't just lost a year of his life - he'd lost his fire - that coreof ferocity which had earned him the respect of the town's underworld. ThoughOne-Thumb was unmarked physically, he was only the empty shell of his formerself. This town was no place for a man without the strength to back his bluster.

The end of One-Thumb's story was in sight - and it wouldn't be pleasant. Maybewith a few revisions the story - if not the man - had a future.

Lost in his thoughts, Hakiem faded once more into the shadows of Sanctuary.

The four travellers left the mountains at the end of the day, tired, cold, andhungry, and they entered Sanctuary.

The inhabitants of the city observed them and laughed, but they laughed behindtheir sleeves or after the small group passed. All its members walked armed. Yetthere was no belligerence in them. They looked around amazed, nudged each other,and pointed at things, for all the world as if none had ever seen a city before.As, indeed, they had not.

Unaware of the amusement of the townspeople, they passed through the marketplacetowards the city proper. The light was fading; The farmers culled their produceand took down their awnings. Limp cabbage leaves and rotten fruit littered theroughly cobbled street, and bits of unrecognizable stuff floated down the opencentral sewer.Beside Wess, Chan shifted his heavy pack.

'Let's stop and buy something to eat,' he said, 'before everybody goes home.'

Wess hitched her own pack higher on her shoulders and did not stop. 'Not here,'she said. 'I'm tired of stale flatbread and raw vegetables. I want a hot mealtonight.'

She tramped on. She knew how Chan felt. She glanced back at Aerie, who walkedwrapped in her long dark cloak. Her pack weighed her down. She was taller thanWess, as tall as Chan, but very thin. Worry and their journey had deepened hereyes. Wess was not used to seeing her like this. She was used to seeing herfreer.