The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [4]
“There’s nothing here to compete with us,” Marka said. “Good. And Myleton knows us. Everyone will come running to see us. Particularly Ebañy’s act.”
“And so they should,” Keeta said. “It’s spectacular. I’m not prying into his trade secrets, mind, but you can’t help wondering how he gets those effects. I’ve never seen him mixing chemicals or anything like that.”
“Do you want to know what’s really strange? I don’t know how he does it, either.”
“Really?” Keeta stared for a moment. “Well, by the Wave Father! Your man’s a tight-lipped fellow, that’s for sure. I hope he’s at least teaching Kwinto.”
“No, he’s not. He keeps saying it’s all real magic, just like they have in Deverry. There’s a funny name for it. Dwimmer or something. But Ebañy said Kwinto doesn’t have the talent for it. That’s why we have him juggling instead.”
They walked a ways in silence, then paused by the fountains, where clean water bubbled up into white-marble basins.
“I know it sounds like I’ve gone mad myself,” Marka said at last. “Talking of magic, real magic I mean.”
“Well, yes, but what if it isn’t mad? What if your husband’s telling the plain and simple truth? They always say that studying sorcery drives men insane, don’t they?”
“But it can’t be true!”
“Why not? The sun rises and sets again on many a strange thing. If Ebañy says he calls fire out of the sky with magic—well, do we have a better explanation?”
Marka merely shook her head.
“I keep thinking about Jill,” Keeta went on. “You remember her—she was travelling with Ebañy when we first met him, all those years ago now, but I can still see her in my mind quite clearly. A wandering scholar, she called herself. Huh. She was a lot more impressive than that.”
“Well, that’s true,” Marka said. “And Ebañy was always trying to get her approval for things, but he was afraid of her, too. I never knew why. Ye gods, I was so young then! I don’t suppose I really cared.”
“Well yes, it was a long time ago, all right. My memory could be playing tricks on me, but you know, looking back, I really do wonder if Jill was a sorcerer, and if your husband knew a great deal more about such things than we would ever have believed.”
Marka could think of nothing to say. The idea made a certain bitter sense.
“Ah well,” Keeta went on. “After the show tonight, when we know how much coin we have to spend, I’ll come back into town and start asking about the priests. If one of them can drive out demons, everyone will know about it, and maybe it’s only a demon that’s troubling Ebañy so.”
Since in winter the Bardekian days ended early and lacked a proper twilight, the troupe of performers went into Myleton well before sunset. At nightfall the western sea swallowed the sun in one gulp to leave only a faint greenish glow at the horizon. As oil lamps began to flicker into life in the bazaar, the troupe set up for a show. Although they carried a portable stage of planks in their caravan, Myleton supplied—for a suitable bribe to the archon’s men—a better stage than that, the long marble terrace running alongside the Customs House at the edge of the bazaar. While some of the acrobats set up brass poles for the standing torches, the musicians, led by Kwinto and Tillya, paraded through the crowd and cried the show with a loud banging of drums. Below, an audience gathered, small at first, then suddenly swelling as the word went round the bazaar: the Great Krysello is here! He’s going to perform! By the time the parade returned, there were