Promenade Hall Gardens 01

He still hadn't got used to humanoids, even half-civilised ones like this who at least treated Him with the proper respect. He curled His body - which was more than two thirds tail and terminated in a barbed, can-opener spur - around the pedestal of a statue.

"I don't see what's so difficult. What's perfectly simple to Me ought to be comprehensible even to your idiot monkey brain," He said.

The humanoid animal on the bench gave a slow, appeasing blink and dipped its head. "Just as you say, Honoured One. But in order for my organisation to accept this commission we must have all this trivial detail. You surely understand that our agents, while possessing unmatched capability within their... allotted range of functions, require very simple and clear orders. They cannot match Your omniscience."

"It's perfectly perfectly easy! I want My chosen one back and I want the dirt that took her from Me, whoever it or they might be, to pay!"

"Subtle One, Your clarity of vision does You credit... but I must ask again, in order that we can get Your property back without delay, how it was stolen to begin with?"

The answer to that was something He didn't want to admit to! He spiralled up and down the pillar out of sheer frustration, lashing His tail. The animal watched Him respectfully. At length He replied. "I had placed My controls in her mind as is My custom. I ordered her to stay where I left her. In My absence they were - I assume, broken, and she was gone."

The animal was silent, waiting for Him to continue, and this wore Him down. His tail slapped against the pedestal over and over. "Someone stole her from Me, and all the power I invested in her out of the kindness of My nature! I don't know! I don't know how! You have your instructions - get her back and make the thieves suffer!"

"Gracious One. But if You are unable to tell us where they might be, or even narrow down our field of search..." The humanoid spread its hands in a pretty gesture of helplessness.

"Don't you have spies? Don't you have informants?"

"In many, many places, Cunning One, and yet none of them has seen anything answering the description of Your chosen servant."

"Then they're not looking hard enough!"

"And yet, Patient One, a green scaled animal the height of two men would be difficult to hide. We must conclude that she is outside my organisation's immediate territory, which is why it is especially important if You can give us any indication of direction..."

He screeched His disappointment, scaring off a pair of sparrows from their perch in the green, ornamental hedge. "Enough! I won't stand for this incompetence! These trivia are beneath My notice - this is what I am employing you to find out!"

"Ah, yes. On that topic..."

"What now?" He asked through gritted, glassy teeth.

"Had you given any thought to the subject of payment? Our standard price scale..."

"Payment? PAYMENT? I am your GOD!" Yes, that should tell the miserable animal! Asking favours from Him?! But behind this careful and dignified facade, He felt the beginnings of panic. He may have created the world, all of the worlds (He was pretty sure He'd done that, it was written somewhere), but He didn't exactly - strictly speaking - in practical terms - own any of it. Wait... He adjusted His perception; for a second there He'd almost been thinking like one of them. Earthly wealth was nothing. Deity, like royalty, did not need to carry money. People gave Him things for the pleasure of it! Stupid, stupid humanoid animal!

"Perceptive One, You are certainly a God. A God; one of many Who have sought to employ our services. We are a professional organisation. Even for Gods, we do not work for free. I am deeply sorry if I offend You with this base talk of money and guarantees, but if we can settle the issue now I shall not have to insult You further by mentioning it again."

It was enough to make His ichor boil, it really was. Of all the...! Obsessing over such trivial... irrelevances while His chosen one was wandering off somewhere! "Look here, you smarmy, jumped-up little mortal, I've had just about enough of this!"

"As you say, Patient One."

"You've used Patient One once already! Aargh! I'm off to hire someone who isn't a blithering monkeybrained idiot. And you can forget about any blessings or favours from me!" Gwaed uncoiled, slapped the ugly statue around the ear and vanished from sight.

The monk, because he was a good monk, set aside the urge to grin at this. Instead he settled down in one of the formal foot-tuck postures and meditated. Such fascinating characters one met in these private gardens.

"I want that as a pet!" A young voice, definitely.

Another, grown up, but slightly confused one, asked after a pause, "Which one?"

"The one with the sharp tail!"

Another slight pause. "Well, he's gone. Anyway, I think both of them are too big for your parents to allow you to keep them as pets."

The answer to that was an exasperated "hmph!"

Pips flew out of the hedge between the monk over to the statue to check if it was damaged. Vlad followed more slowly and sat down on the bench, legs crossed entirely informally.

Not that it was any of the monk's business, but the god would probably make a good-sized steed for someone that small. As it wasn't his business, and he wasn't one for careless talk, he sat on that particular thought.

"Pleasant greetings to you," the monk said, directing the sentiment at either or both of them and meticulously meaning it. If he'd known he'd had an audience, he would have shown more finesse in his shameless mockery of the oblivious little god. Lesson: always behave as if there's a panel of judges taking notes.

The otter statue was perfectly fine, which in itself would probably have inspired Gwaed to further smiting pique.

The green imp next to the monk grinned and pulled the visor of his cap in a sort of salute.

Pips, on the other hand, didn't feel addressed. She stared into the ear of the otter statue, and after a bit of that started whispering things into it.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but it's a shame, it really is. Wanting to get work for free. No matter what work, it's a sad state of affairs when it's not respected." During this declaration Vlad produced an extremely small tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette.

"I never mind them trying it. Negotiations can be a very intricate dance. Sometimes your starting position can make all the difference." And sometimes none at all.

"It seldom works if one's not prepared to move at all, though." The monk smiled: a boyish, unthreatening expression that did extend to his bright blue eyes.

A few pleasantries later, the monk drifted away towards the inn building.

"Are you sure you don't want to put in an appearance?" Suitov asked as they strolled.

"Positive," Weft said. "I'm not in a party mood, and anyway, how could we possibly outdo last year?"

"Excellent point, as usual," said the mage.

"Why do we have to do this at night?" Weft asked.

"It makes the light show more impressive. No other reason."

"Evening like this, aren't you afraid of meeting a ghoulish menacing beast with big fangs and eyes that glow in the dark?"

"Little chance. I know exactly where he is and how much chocolate he's eating, the toad. It seems fountains command comparatively slight interest unless they contain wolves."

"Huh - wolves?" Weft said.

"So he says. Why, then? Are you afraid of the dark?"

"No. I'm what makes other people be afraid of the dark." He grinned for emphasis.

"Hmm. I know I'd be more worried if I couldn't see you."

There were, Weft reflected, two ways that statement could be taken. "Do we need it completely dark?"

Suitov had intended three. "Preferably. It won't be long now. Shy of twenty minutes."

Well, Suitov was an obsteperous, wicked and all-round disgraceful equivocator then. "This had better impress the stuffing out of me, that's all I can say."

He'd have preened if Weft had called him so. "I anxiously await, since your opinion naturally forms the benchmark for any of the little projects I undertake."

Ne'er-do-well. "Don't tease."

Pushover. "I'm not. I enjoy your perspective."

Villain. "Oh, trying to sweeten the judge, huh? Don't think you can win me over that easy."

Mug. "Perish the thought, Weft."

"Okay, now you are trying to drive me crazy," Weft declared, mostly managing to stop the laughter escaping from his eyes into his voice. He examinined the edge of one of his knives by the rapidly-collapsing light. "Enough about my unremarkable life. We are talking about you for once, and no wriggling out of it."

Suitov spread a hand good-humouredly. He was leaning against the edge of one of the gardens' fountains, which was currently not fountaining. If he leaned back and turned his head he had a view of the Hall's windows. Then again, if he'd been interested there was already a pair of eyes inside.

Weft continued talking. "When did you... ooh, no, I know. Tell me about your first love. I'll completely know if you lie to me, too, so don't try it."

Ice hesitated.

"I mean romantic love, before you try to squirm and say your family or something," Weft added.

"Not that," Suitov said, a little distant. "I'm merely wondering how to describe Fi."

The monk waited a couple of seconds.

"I was fifteen at the time," Suitov began. "She was seventeen, which made her a woman, and pretty, which made her the only woman in the world. You know how adolescent boys think; girls suddenly stop being equals and become mysterious, exotic creatures."

"No idea," Weft said (they're all lunatics as far as I'm concerned), "but go on."

"It was fairly innocent. She had very clear goals and was mainly interested in me insofar as I knew things she wanted to know. I contrived to learn a lot from her in return, particularly in matters pertaining to self-control in thought and emotion. Mutually profitable association."

So, fairly innocent meant openly using each other. Sounded about right to the monk.

"After their majesties called all the war nobles up, I'd've been sunk many times over at court if it wasn't for Fi. She was the one who changed my definition of politics from 'evil' to 'necessary evil'. Mostly, though, we spent a great deal of our time being cleverer than each other. Profitable but completely exhausting. I'd have married her if she'd have had me." He gave Weft a short, sharp look.

"Awwwwwwww," Weft said.

"Hrrmph."

"...and that was the first time I directly caused someone to stop being alive," Suitov finished in response to Weft's latest question.

The monk looked chilly, as far as anyone could tell with Weft. He said, "Is that why they call you--?"

"Probably," said Suitov, who was at the moment standing over by an ornamental hedge, unconcernedly tracing a grid in the darkness. "Now if I were to ask you about your first romance or first kill, you'd say..."

"Not applicable, and there've been so many I don't remember," said Weft. "Respectively," he added.

"...which goes to show you're a terribly unfair interviewer," said Suitov, overstressing his words to the extent that there was little doubt this complaint was not sincerely meant.

"And you, whether you answer my questions or not..." Weft began, then sighed. Instead of whatever he'd been going to say: "Go on and impress me, then."

A hand, more than three times human scale and made of water, rose out of the pool. The water level around it fell to make up the volume. The hand shape was illuminated, blueish white, from beneath the surface. It waved around for a second then withdrew.

Suitov, still over by the hedge, pulled his hand back up out of the barely-visible grid he'd inscribed in midair. "You see how it works?"

"You wave around over here and water piles up over there?" Weft poked the grid with a couple of fingers, causing two water fingers to rise briefly from the surface of the inactive fountain.

"You cause a pull here," Suitov elaborated, phrasing things seemingly oddly, "and it makes the same pull over there. Except magnified and upside down."

Weft tried again with a whole hand. The water waved at him. "Ice," he said, "this is so... incredibly pointless."

"As you say."

There came a ghostly arm upon the water, holding a blade; shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished away. "Good sir knight, give me a pressie and ye shall have this sword," Weft said, falsetto.

"I prefer scabbards," Suitov said, vague. "Are you impressed yet?"

Weft put his dagger away again, wandered over and looked at the surface of the pool. "Maybe. What's the point of it?"

"Well, it kept me out of mischief for a few evenings. Working out how to botch the surface tension made for some difficult maths."

"Very good," said Weft, returning to his side, "and what's it for?"

Suitov looked directly at him and grinned. Good lad. "At the moment, nothing. It's more of a proof of concept; useless. Much change in viscosity and the whole thing stops working, and I only worked out what to do about ice this morning."

"Yeah, I'd like to work that one out myself," Weft dug.

He reached down into the spell grid again, and the fountain waved a glowing blue hand at the windows of the hall.

"Basaltine says we're geeks," Suitov commented.

"What does he mean, we?" said Weft.

"And that we should do Deformed Rabbit."

"...is very shy, which means it likes to stick to itself. You've seen raindrops on a metal sheet."

Weft nodded.

"If the water didn't stick to itself, it wouldn't huddle in a drop. The rain would spread evenly and turn into a thin layer. Instead the drop acts like a little bag of water, almost as though it has a kind of skin. Have you seen a pond skating insect?"

"The ones that walk on water?"

"That's right."

"Yes, then."

"The only reason they can do that is because water pretends to have that skin. It's a very fragile skin, as you'll see if you throw a stone in, but it's there, and it's strong enough for things as light as insects to walk on top of it. Look closely enough and you'll see the water bending underfoot."

"Ohhh."

"And that's what surface tension is."

"Water fabric behaviour," Weft said to himself in his native language. "I understood that," he added in common, with a hint of disbelief. "I'm sure that was the version for babies, but even so... thanks for putting it in terms an idiot can grasp."

"You aren't an idiot," Suitov said quietly. "I'd prefer not to hear you refer to yourself that way again."

Weft shrugged. "I don't consider it an insult."

"Even so. Humour me."

"Whatever you say. I have to go, Ice. Um, you probably, I mean, there's no reason you'd remember, only - I've got a prayer time overdue."

"Ah, the strident call of duty. Can't it wait?"

"It already has. Now, don't you try to get me in trouble, little lordie. I see through your schemes."

"There's no putting anything past this monk. He's far too sharp for me."

"Don't you forget it."

"I won't. Well then, Weft, see you in a day or so, I suppose."

"Don't be daft, Suitov, you know it never takes that long. I'll be done in less than two hours."

"Oh, of course. Mind must be wandering. 'Bye, then."

Weft swanned off without a backward glance, as always.

Suitov looked at the surface of the water, which had calmed almost to stillness. He produced a piece of paper, folded it into a little boat, launched it and moved away.

Shortly afterwards a watery hand reared up and, with one quick movement, crushed the boat down into the depths.

Suitov smiled without much pleasure and cancelled the spell. Very nice in theory. However, since scaling it up that far would require more power than the magelord could generate (about a hundred and fifty times more, actually), what he had was what he'd told Weft - a shiny waste of time.

Worked very smoothly, though. He wrote himself a note about the grid. It had only been intended to represent where the control for the spell was. Weft had seemed to expect it to deform when a hand passed through, though, and Suitov thought that was a good idea. Easy to fake, or a slightly harder job to make a real-time representation; decisions...

That noise from inside was rather irritating. Suitov tried to concentrate for a while, before giving up and taking magical recourse.

Weft was, thankfully, relaxed enough (and far enough away, lurking as he was in the herb garden) to be oblivious.

Having dropped the sound-dampening field, Suitov had set up a few glow spells, about as bright as tea lights, on the ground around him. A brighter point source was hovering over his shoulder, allowing him to write in the notebook he held.

He looked up and set the book aside, still open, when he noticed Weft approaching from the herb garden in which he'd been praying. The monk was a hymn in motion: poetry, but poetry cheapened with dreary devotional music. Hmm, he'd have to remember that comparison in case he ever wanted to annoy him. "Hullo, Weft. Was all well at home?"

Weft gave him a long, slit-eyed look. "Oh. You again," he said eventually. "All is perfect at my home, not that you care."

Suitov's full attention was concentrated now, not that one would realise it. He spoke offhandedly. "I've been thinking more about that suggestion you made," he said, "and I'm convinced you've provided the solution."

"There's only one kind of solution I provide. What suggestion? In fact, what was it again that you dragged me out here for?" asked Weft with a touch of aggression.

With an ambiguous degree of irony, Suitov said "The pleasure of your company." Receiving no reply, he added "By the by, I've been trying to remember. Have I ever told you about the first woman I loved?"

"Love? You? Yeah, right!" Weft retorted. At Suitov's steady look, he amended "Sorry. Reflex. No, not that I remember. But my heart pities whoever the poor woman is." Standing gracefully and still, he nevertheless contrived to convey an air of sullen restlessness. He didn't want to be here - and he wanted Suitov to know it.

"Just so. Am I keeping you? I apologise. I didn't mean to. Run along if you want."

Weft prowled away without a backward glance, as always.

Suitov closed his notebook, dismissed the spells around him except for one of the glow lights, and sat in thought for a second or two.

That hadn't been typical. They'd never been so overt before. The nerve! he thought, and he wasn't sure whether he was referring to himself or to some other people, far away.

Well, if that's how they want to play now. I can't wait to learn the new rules. He smiled restively and rose to his feet.