Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [152]
For a moment they drank in silence while Enopo gazed away as if he was remembering the beauty of his dangerous love. Salamander decided that if Enopo would tell him the reason for his exile, he now trusted the gerthddyn enough for Salamander to make his next move.
“You know, wine isn’t the only fine thing Bardek produces,” the gerthddyn casually remarked. “When I visited your lovely and refined homeland, I enjoyed a pipe or two of opium.”
“Now, look.” The minstrel leaned forward. “You want to be very careful with the white smoke. I’ve seen men become so degraded over it that they’ve sold themselves into slavery just to ensure they got more.”
“Really? Ye gods, I didn’t know that! Will just a pipeful every now and then do that to a man?”
“Oh, no, but as I say, you’ve got to be very careful. It’s like drink. Some men can drink or go dry; others turn into sots. But the white smoke has a stronger pull than drink ever can.”
Salamander pretended to be considering this carefully while Enopo watched with a slight smile.
“I know what you’re thinking of asking me, gerthddyn,” he said. “And I don’t know anyone who has the stuff for sale.”
“Well, if it’s as dangerous as you say, it’s doubtless for the best, but I was wondering.”
“From what I understand, in fact, it’s only the noble-born men in this city who use it.”
“Indeed?” Salamander sat bolt upright. “Where did you hear that?”
“From a man of my people, a merchant, who came through here about—oh, a month ago, I guess it was. He looked me up for my father’s sake, just to see if I was well and all, and he gave me some money my brothers had sent, too. We had a fine dinner with lots of wine.” He turned briefly wistful. “But at any rate, old Lalano and I were talking, and he mentioned the white smoke. Merchants back home were starting to sell it to Deverry men, he said, just now and again. He was troubled about it, because the trade’s disreputable enough back home, and he knew it was against your laws here. So as we talked about it, it occurred to us to wonder who would have the money to buy smuggled foods.”
“Who but the noble-born, true enough.”
“Or an occasional rich merchant, maybe, but these so-called lords of yours are certainly good at keeping a merchant poor.”
Now, isn’t this interesting? Salamander thought to himself. If Camdel had been smoking opium, it would certainly explain how the dark dweomermen had gotten their claws into him. He decided that over the next few days he’d do a little discreet asking around, as if he were interested in buying the stuff himself. At that point he felt the little tug on his mind that meant some other dweomer-person was trying to contact him. Casually he stood up.
“Excuse me a moment, Enopo. I’ve just got to go to the privy out back.”
With a wave of his hand the minstrel dismissed him. Salamander hurried out and went round to the stable yard, where a watering trough stood, catching the late sun. He stared into the dappled water and opened his mind, expecting to see Nevyn. Instead, Valandario’s beautiful but stern face looked up at him. He was too startled to think anything to her.
“So there you are,” she said. “Your father’s asked me to contact you. He wants you to ride home straightaway.”
“I can’t. I’m running errands for the Master of the Aethyr.”
Her storm-gray eyes widened.
“I can’t tell you what, exactly,” he went on. “But dark and dangerous deeds and doings are—”
“Less chatter, magpie! I’ll tell your father you’ll be delayed, then, but come home as soon as you can. He’ll be waiting down by the Eldidd border, near Cannobaen. Do not disobey him this time, please.”
The image of her face vanished. As he always did when confronted by his old teacher in dweomercraft, Salamander felt profoundly guilty, even though this time he’d done nothing wrong.
At dinner that night Blaen insisted on treating his cousin as an honored guest. Every time a page called him “my lord,” Rhodry winced, and hearing a servant use one of his old titles, Master of Cannobaen, brought tears to his eyes.