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There will be plenty to satisfy all. Consent with me, and I promise that you
both will leave Lybondai with new clothing, sturdy mounts, and money in your
pockets. What say you?
I say that these clothes suit me fine, and that I will not shake the hand of
one who acceded in trying to have me murdered. Behind him, Simna s fingers
flew over iron as the agitated swordsman tried to work faster. But the bloated
padlock was proving as obstinate as a teenage daughter refused permission to
attend the annual Fair of Crisola the Procreant.
On the trader s shoulder, the watchrat crouched low, digging its tiny claws
into the material of bin
Grue s sleeping gown. The merchant s smile vanished. I m sorry to hear that,
lover of sheep dags. It means that I will be forced to finish what the helpful
but lamentably ineffectual Moleshohn was unable to do. Extending his left
arm, he opened his fingers to show what he was holding.
Ehomba eyed it emotionlessly. Behind him, Simna ibn Sind looked up from his so
far futile efforts. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Initially wary,
he quickly now found himself more perplexed than fearful.
It was another box.
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
IV
What are you going to do with that? The swordsman s tone reflected his
uncertainty and confusion.
Tavern us to death?
A second thin, humorless smile split the trader s no-nonsense visage. His jaws
worked redundantly, grinding on an invisible cigar. Did you think I had only
one box, night thief? I have a box full of boxes.
Not all are home to the benign. Casually, as if utterly indifferent to the
consequences of his action, he tossed the box in their direction. Ehomba took
a step back as it struck the floor between them.
And began, exactly as the portable tavern bin Grue had brought to light
previously before them, to unfold.
No mirrors flashed the light of delectation from behind a bar attended by
indulgent countermen. No lithe-
limbed maids danced between tables bearing pitchers and goblets of imported
libations. There was no cadre of good-natured celebrants to welcome the
travelers into their company.
That did not mean that the box was empty.
As the box continued to open and its unfolding sides to multiply, a towering
figure rose from its center.
It wore heavy iron armor and had shoulders like a buffalo. The massive skull
hung low on the chest, and mordant eyes blazed deep within the cold-forged
helmet. A spike-studded club rested on one shoulder, and its thighs were as
big around as Simna ibn Sind s entire body.
Brorunous the Destroyer. Bin Grue announced the apparition s arrival with a
contented grunt.
A second figure emerged from the softly pulsing, inch-high platform generated
by the ever-expanding box. Eight feet tall and thin as a whip, it leaned
forward so that its elongated arms touched the floor.
Resembling a cross between a spider monkey and an assortment of cutthroats
Simna had once known, it held a pair of throwing knives in each hand and
drooled like an idiot. A demented, homicidal idiot.
Bin Grue spoke again. Yoloth-tott, Cardinal Assassin to Emperor Cing the
Third of Umur.
Other figures began to appear, massive of limb, effusive of arms, and maniacal
of mien. They crowded together in the defiled space limned by the ichorous
phosphorescence that spilled from the dilating box.
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Haramos bin Grue had a name for each one, though he did not call them out as
if reciting a register of old friends. His tone was unimpassioned and
impersonal, the same he might have used to itemize any inventory.
The result was a pageant of perversion, a bringing together of slavering,
marching evil not to be found at any one time in any one place anywhere in the
world.
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
Behold, he proclaimed flatly when the final apparition had been called forth
and the box had unfolded its last. No greater aggregation of murderers,
butchers, and psychopaths is to be found anywhere. All gathered together for
your consideration. They act only at the bidding of the master of the box that
contains them, and I can tell you from previous experience that their extended
suppression in a much-
confined space does nothing to improve their already misanthropic temperament.
At such times when they are freed from that confinement, as they are now,
they re eager to express their sentiments.
Simna ibn Sind had drawn his sword. No coward, he was ready to stand and
fight. But, looking at the awful assemblage of accumulated annihilation
arrayed before them, he could not help but be less than sanguine about their
prospects.
Still, there was something the cold-blooded merchant did not know.
The sky-metal sword! he whispered tensely to his tall, phlegmatic companion.
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