The Death of Nnanji Read Online Free PDF Page A

please. And, master, why don’t you see who else is out there and put off anyone whose business will wait until tomorrow?”
    He meant that he wanted no witnesses when he spoke with Katanji, who was usually skirting some law or other on the wrong side. Understanding perfectly, Horkoda wheeled himself over to the door and went out. Wallie opened the hidden liquor cabinet and filled a silver goblet with his best sweet wine. He put a much lesser amount in a second goblet, then turned to hand the first to Katanji as the treasurer strolled in.
    Katanji never bothered with formal greetings when he met Shonsu, because he knew Shonsu didn’t like them. He had given up carrying a sword years ago. He was dressed very simply, without jewelry or expensive trappings, in a brown robe that would have suited an elderly cobbler or priest, although a sharp eye would note that it was finely cut from first-quality silk and his shoes were crafted from kidskin. This was Katanji posing as a humble state servant. While Nnanji knew nothing of money, Katanji was a financial genius, the richest man in the world. Nnanji lived only for honor and fame. Katanji hadn’t an honest corpuscle in his bloodstream. His black curly hair was already receding, exposing the three sword marks on his forehead, only one of which he had come by honestly. His withered arm could have been concealed under his robe, but he carried it in a sling of silk brocade, as evidence of how harmless he was.
    He sniffed the air while accepting the drink. “Magnolia scent. Thana’s been here. What did she want?”
    “The exact opposite of whatever you do, I expect. To the liege’s happy return.”
    “And speedy departure!” They clinked goblets and drank. “Face it, big man, life is more restful when Nanj isn’t around. What did she want?”
    Wallie waved his visitor to a seat and resumed his own. “You go first.”
    “My dear nephew, Addis. You seen him lately?”
    “Starting to ogle girls, is he?”
    “They’ll be ogling him soon if we don’t hide the evidence. The question is what craft does he swear to? You know what Nnanji will say. What does Thana want?”
    “I think she wants him to become a priest.”
    Katanji pulled a face. “Priests must be able to chant. Have you ever heard Addis singing? He thinks his home key is what locks the house up. And he’s no more swordsman material than I was.”
    Said who? Granted that Addis might well have same of his uncle’s trader instincts; that didn’t mean he had no other talents.
    “He’s been working on you, too, has he? What does he have against his father’s craft? Just juvenile rebellion?”
    “Good sense.” No one but Katanji would dare make such a remark, and even he would have to be careful who heard him doing so.
    “He’d make a good priest,” Wallie said. “He may not sing well, but he can certainly talk.” Priests were more than prayer spouters and alms gatherers. They were also roughly the lawyers of the world, dealing with inheritance and civil disputes, just as swordsmen were policemen as well as warriors. There was no craft guild for politicians; priests were the closest.
    Katanji sipped his wine. “The boy says he wants to be a sorcerer. I told him that would be over his father’s dead body. The trouble is that being a swordsman is likely to be over his own dead body.” He chuckled. “Seriously, Shonsu, can you imagine him trying to wear the seventh sword? He’d be challenged in a minute. Every minute! That thing is a death warrant for anyone except Nanj to wear.”
    No swordsman could refuse a challenge. If one of the duelists died, the winner could claim his sword. “Or you, of course. Would you wear it now?” Only Katanji would be so brash as to ask that.
    Of course Wallie would, and without a second’s hesitation. The seventh sword was the Mona Lisa, the papal tiara, the Cullinan diamond. “Perhaps not. But he could own it without wearing it. Remember Arganari?”
    “No.”
    Wallie