Sarazin's stolen possessions: the prophetic book telling of his return from exile and his rise to glory; the Lost Bard of Untunchilamon, holding a complete recital of the 'Warsong' and the 'Winesong' by Saba Yavendar himself; a ring of invisibility; a magical green candle; an enchanted bottle holding a dread of dragons; sundry documents, some of which hold potentially incriminating notations by Sean Sarazin.
Sarazin told Jarl most of the truth – but not all of it. He did not mention his magic candle, his dragon bottle or his ring of invisibility. Those things were secret. Only Glambrax knew about them. Sarazin had kept them hidden from Bizzie, from his mother – even from Jaluba.
And he could not tell Thodric Jarl of those implements of power, for they were the surprise he was keeping in reserve. The power he meant to use to win the civil war which would surely be the end result of the conspiracy he was engaged in.
Only those enchanted objects could save him from finally having to resign himself to becoming Lord Regan's pawn. They were the key to his independence, his ambi- tion, his dreams. If Jarl found them he would have to reclaim them – without letting Jarl know what they were. Meanwhile… 'It's the documents which worry me most,' said Jarl. The documents, yes.
Sarazin had been careful. He had never committed to paper anything which could be incriminating in its own right. Nevertheless, the notes which were among his stolen documents might be enough to destroy his conspiracy.
'All Plovey needs is a list of names in your handwriting,' said Jarl. Then he'll move heaven and earth to get warrants to interrogate everyone on that list under torture.'
That was not just Jarl's opinion – it was also the truth. Plovey obviously did not have the documents as yet – but somebody did! The conspirators were doomed if Plovey got to the papers before they did. So the conspirators went hunting.
First, Thodric Jarl raided the premises of Madam Sosos- tris. He took twenty men, armed, masked and hooded. They smashed their way in, ransacked the place, inter- rogated the staff – but found no trace of the documents.
What they did find was that Jaluba was missing. She had disappeared, and Madam Sosostris had no idea where she had gone. Sarazin bethought himself of Madam Ix – but a raid on that fortune-teller's lair proved equally fruitless.
Sarazin briefed Glambrax, then sent his dwarf into the taverns of Jone to listen for rumours. But someone stomped the hapless mannikin in a tavern, and he was put to bed with a set of broken ribs.
Then Sarazin thought of Benthorn. His half-brother, yes! Little trusted, and little deserving of trust. He had not seen him around for the last few days. Why?
Sarazin conferred with Jarl, then the two led a raid on Benthorn's residence. But Benthorn was not there. Diligent enquiries – conducted at swordpoint – established that Benthorn was in Androlmarphos. Sarazin's half-brother had departed for the trading port days before Sarazin's goods had been stolen. 'So it wasn't Benthorn,' said Sarazin.
'It might well have been Benthorn,' said Jarl. 'He'd know we'd suspect him. He might well have briefed a thief to do the dirty work while he absented himself from the city. Likely we'll hear from him sooner or later demanding blackmail money.'
'I think it would be better if we heard sooner,' said Sarazin.
'Right!' said Jarl. 'For then at least we'd know where the danger lay.'
At Glambrax's suggestion, to force Benthorn to show his hand, they sent a courier to Androlmarphos to deliver to him a brief, anonymous note. It said: 'To love me is to love life. And vice versa.'
Then, when Sarazin's fear and panic had reached its peak, Jarl came to him by night.
What is it?' said Sarazin, startled from dreams of blood- stump torture and public execution. The Watch has caught the thief,' said Jarl.
That had Sarazin sitting up in a hurry.
'Good!' he said, spitting out the word with explosive force, punching his open hand with his fist. 'Have we got it all back? The book? The papers? The bard? The-' Was there something else missing?' said Jarl.
'A few trinkets,' admitted Sarazin. 'Souvenirs of travel. A little jade snuff bottle and a couple of other things.'
Well, nothing like that's turned up,' said Jarl dourly. We haven't even got the papers back. Or your pro- phetic book. But we've recovered the bard. The thief was wearing it,' 'Where is he?' said Sarazin. The Watch are holding him prisoner,' said Jarl. 'Let's go and see him. Now!'
'No,' said Jarl. We wait. Give him time to stew in his own juices. Then we have him brought to us. Then we work him over in a really major way. Torture, that's the thing. We'll have the truth soon enough. He's not going anywhere in the meantime.'
'How long?' said Sarazin, desperately. 'How long before we can start torturing him?'
'Oh, three days… maybe four,' said Jarl, watching Sarazin sharply. There's no hurry.'
There was in fact every reason for the most urgent hurry imaginable. But, by insisting on this delay, Jarl was putting pressure on Sarazin. Jarl suspected – rightly! – that Sarazin was withholding important information. With enough pressure, Sarazin would crack.
'So,' said Sarazin, taking a deep breath, 'we wait, then.' And the two glared at each other.
Sarazin suspected – and he was of course correct in his suspicion – that Jarl suspected Sarazin of holding out on him. Moreover, Sarazin suspected that Jarl suspected Sarazin of suspecting Jarl of such suspicion.
'While we wait,' said Sarazin, 'how about telling me the thief's name? Is it anyone we know?' 'No,' said Jarl. 'He's Drake Douay. Nobody I know.' 'Nobody I know either,' said Sarazin.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of this Drake Douay who was now his enemy. The thief who had made off with his bard, unique treasure of Untunchilamon. And with his prophetic book, his documents
… and his enchanted valuables.
'Douay,' said Sarazin, in his dreams, 'when we meet, you die.'