Sorceress of Darshiva
Page 24"Perhaps they have some reason for what they're doing," Silk suggested.
"What possible reason could they have to be negotiating with the Murgos?"
"I don't know." Silk spread his hands. "I wasn't there when they made the decision. Maybe Urgit offered them something they wanted."
Belgarath continued to swear.
About a half-hour later, they adjourned to the dining room and took seats near one end of a table that could easily have accommodated a half a hundred. The linen was snowy white, the knives and forks were solid silver, and the porcelain plates were edged in gold. The service was exquisite, and the meal was of banquet proportions.
"I must talk with your cook," Polgara said as they lingered over dessert. "He appears to be a man of talent."
"I should hope so," Silk replied. "He's costing me enough."
"I'd say you can afford it," Durnik noted, looking around at the luxurious furnishings.
Silk leaned back in his chair, toying with the stem of a silver goblet. "It doesn't really make much sense to maintain a place like this when I only come here about twice a year," he admitted, "but it's expected, I guess."
"Doesn't Yarblek use it, too?" Garion asked him.
Silk shook his head. "No. Yarblek and I have an agreement. I give him free rein in the rest of the world as long as he stays out of Melcena. He doesn't really fit in here, and he insists on taking Vella with him everyplace he goes. Vella really shocks the Melcenes."
"She's a good wench, though," Beldin said, grinning. "When this is all over, I might just buy her."
"That's disgusting!" Ce'Nedra flared.
"What did I say?" Beldin looked contused.
"She's not a cow, you know."
"'You can't just buy people."
"Of course you can," he said. "She's a Nadrak woman. She'd be insulted if I didn't try to buy her."
"Just be careful of her knives, uncle," Polgara cautioned. "She's very quick with them."
He shrugged. "Everybody has a few bad habits."
Garion did not sleep well mat night, although the bed he shared with Ce'Nedra was deep and soft. At first he thought that might be part of the problem. He had been sleeping on the ground for weeks now, and it seemed reasonable that he was just not used to a soft bed. About midnight, however, he realized that the bed had nothing to do with his sleeplessness. Time was moving on inexorably, and his meeting with Zandramas marched toward him with a measured, unstoppable pace. He still knew little more than he had at the beginning. He was, to be sure, closer to her than he had been at the start—no more than a week at most behind, if the reports were correct—but he was still trailing after her and he still did not know where she was leading him. Darkly, he muttered a few choice oaths at the madman who had written the Mrin Codex. Why did it all have to be so cryptic? Why couldn't it have been written in plain language?
"Because if it had been, half the world would be waiting for you when you got to the place of the meeting,'' the dry voice in his mind told him. "You're not the only one who wants to find the Sardion, you know."
"I thought you 'd left for good.''
"Oh, no, I'm still around."
''How far behind Zandramas are we?"
"About three days.''
Garion felt a wild surge of hope.
'"Don't get too excited,'' the voice said, "and don't just dash off as soon as you find the trail again. There's something else that has to be done here.''
"What?"
"You know better than to ask that, Garion. I can't tell you, so quit trying to trick me into answering."
"Because if I tell you certain things, the other spirit will be free to tell other things to Zandramas—like the location of the Place Which Is No More, for instance."
"You mean she doesn't know?" Garion asked incredulously.
"Of course she doesn't know. If she knew, she'd be there by now.''
"Then the location isn't written down in the Ashabine Oracles ?''
"Obviously. Pay attention tomorrow. Somebody's going to say something in passing that's very important. Don't miss it. "
"Who's going to say it?"
But the voice was gone.
It was breezy the following morning when Silk and Garion set out, wearing long robes of a sober blue color. At Silk's suggestion, Garion had detached the Orb from the hilt of his sword and carried it concealed beneath his robe. "Melcenes rarely wear arms inside the city," the little man had explained, "and your sword is very conspicuous."
They did not take their horses, but rather walked out into the street to mingle with the citizens of Melcena.
"We might as well start along the waterfront," Silk suggested. "Each wharf is owned by a different group of businessmen, and if we can find out which wharf Zandramas landed on, we'll know whom to question for more information."
"Sounds reasonable," Garion said shortly, striding off toward the harbor.
"Don't run," Silk told him.
"I'm not."
"You're moving too fast," the little man said. "People in Melcena go at a more stately pace."
Silk took hold of his friend's arm with a firm grip. "Garion," he said seriously, "we know that Zandramas and her underling have come here. She knows that we're after her, and there are people in Melcena who can be hired for various kinds of mischief.
Let's not make it easy for them by standing out in the crowd."
Garion looked at him. "All right," he said. "We'll do it your way.''
They walked at an infuriatingly slow pace down a broad avenue. At one point, Silk stopped with a muttered oath.
"What's wrong?" Garion asked him.
"That fellow just ahead—the one with the big nose—he's a member of Brador's secret police."
"Are you sure?"
Silk nodded. "I've known him for quite some time.'' The little man squared his shoulders. "Well, there's no help for it, I guess. He's already seen us. Let's move along."
But the man with the large, bulbous nose moved forward to stand in their path. "Good morning, Prince Kheldar," he said, bowing slightly.
"Rolla," Silk replied distantly.
"And your Majesty," Rolla added, bowing more deeply to Garion. "We weren't expecting you to appear here in Melcena. Brador will be very surprised."