Free The Wizard of Anharitte by Colin Kapp

him a round of applause. Ren signaled for Catuul to continue.
    ‘Twelve to the eighth,’ said Catuul grimly.
    The Imaiz stopped and scanned the crowd, as if trying to estimate the cost of losing face. Then he shrugged resignedly and turned again to the auctioneer. Ren still judged Dion-daizan to be within the limits of his purse, but the wizard was obviously struggling with considerations that evidently weighed as heavily with him as the regaining of Zinder.
    ‘Twelve to the ninth,’ said the master of Magda in a voice that could scarcely be heard.
    Catuul Gras stole a warning look at Ren, but the agent had a reasonable idea of the Imaiz ’s true financial potential, based on the yearly spaceport dues paid to the House of Magda. He knew it was possible to squeeze the Imaiz even drier.
    ‘Thirteen to the ninth,’ said Catuul.
    ‘Thirteen to the tenth,’ said the Imaiz , his voice suddenly sharp with a new resolve.
    ‘What’s the old fox up to?’ asked Catuul anxiously. ‘Has he really got that much money?’
    ‘I think he has. But he’s becoming uncomfortable. I think just once more must take him to the limit.’
    ‘Fourteen to the tenth,’ said Catuul.
    The auctioneer had long since ceased to comprehend the magnitude of the figures being used and cared only that each bid was higher than the last. On a commission of even one percent his family would be rich for generations.
    Dion-daizan sat, his face suddenly bland. The auctioneer looked at him questioningly.
    ‘Dion—don’t you wish to raise?’
    ‘Of course not.’ The Imaiz ’s face was alive with humor, revealing a richness of personality he had hitherto concealed. ‘Believe me, it’s not through lack of finance, but in observance of a principle.’
    ‘Principle?’ The auctioneer was lost.
    ‘Yes,’ said Dion-daizan happily. ‘Anyone who would bid fourteen to the tenth power barrs for Zinder must have achieved a true appreciation of her worth. Far be it for me to deter such enlightenment. It’s not every day that my progressive policies gain such eminent recognition. Nor is it often in Anharitte that the real worth of a human being is so openly , acknowledged. May others soon become as wise as Director Vestevaal.’
    Ren watched with mounting horror as the hammer fell. The auctioneer’s voice boomed above the murmur of the crowd.
    ‘I hereby declare the slave Zinder to be sold to the Society of Pointed Tails acting on behalf of its client, Director Magno Vestevaal. The agreed price is fourteen barrs raised to the tenth power—a completely unprecedented sum for any slave at any time in history and a truly magnificent tribute to the slave-training policy of the House of Magda.’
    ‘Damn!’ Ren, ashen of face, staggered to his feet. It was too late to rescind the bid—the transaction was already complete. He turned appealingly to Catuul Gras.
    ‘What the hell’s Dion up to?’
    ‘Teaching the director a lesson, I should think,’ said Catuul grimly. ‘Well he’s certainly made his point—and at our expense. Let’s face it, Tito. He’s beaten us at our own game.’
    ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Ren, consumed by his own anger. ‘A man like Dion isn’t going to let Zinder go.’
    Zinder, from the rostrum, had displayed a keen interest in the proceedings. Far from seeming betrayed by Dion-daizan’s action, she appeared elated. She saluted her late master who, in turn, approached her to kiss her hand. Then Dion-daizan turned to the crowd and raised his hands in an expansive gesture of triumph. The ensuing cheer was probably the loudest roar of acclamation from human throats that Roget had ever known.
    The auctioneer took Zinder’s halter and led her, a symbol of apparent meekness, to Catuul Gras. The latter took the plaited rope as though it were likely to grow hot and looked somewhat stupidly at Ren.
    ‘The sale price is on guarantee from the Galactic Bank,’ said the auctioneer. ‘The contract settlement is now between the