Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 (33 page)

Nadeesh lurch up, gasping with effort. "You think you can?"

"One can always try. In this case, one must."

"I don't understand."

"Never mind. You are too good a man to be murdered this way without my trying to stop it." A long sigh escaped the pitifully wizened man, and Strick heard the rattle in his scrawny throat.

"Bearing in mind that I am a spellwright, not a physician, let us discuss the bill in advance." 190 AFTERMATH

Nadeesh's smile was hideous, but genuine. "You certainly have me, sir. Name the price and I shall agree. Understand that if the patient dies, however, he cannot pay."

Despite the gravity of the complaint of his "patient," Strick laughed aloud.

They discussed his bill.

Hanse noted more construction/reconstruction on his way to pay a visit to Mignureal's widowed father. It was not something Hanse wanted to do. He had loved Moonflower, Mignue's gross diviner of a mother; he was able to admit that to himself, now. Ahdio and a couple of others at Sly's Place last night had already observed that the dark, youthful man called Shadowspawn was "different." They were right. Events on the desert and up in Maidenhead Wood had changed him a bit; the Mignureal experience had enforced responsibility and changed him accordingly; the constant dark shadow of sorcery and ghastly events in Firaqa had changed and matured him; and so had more recent experiences in Suma. The presence of the outsized red cat strolling along at his side, tail high, attracted plenty of looks. Hanse's eyes and the presence of so many

sharp blades worn openly here and there about his person persuaded people to keep their comments to themselves or low-voiced. Once he did hear a scornful laugh and knew it for a deliberate attempt at provocation.

He didn't even turn. Shadowspawn was "different," yes. At the shop where Mignureal's father Teretaff sold this and that . - . item, he was admitted by one of Mignureal's dark-haired and dark-eyed younger sisters. Since their number was several and Hanse had never been interested in children, he wasn't sure of this one's name. Odd, how she had bloomed in so short a time. Girls had a way of doing that, and the S'danzo did seem to bloom earlier than others.

He entered into warmth made heavy by a fragrant mix of odors, aromas, smells, scents of foods and leather and spices and perfumes and other herbal . . . things. The shop had always been cluttered. It was more so now, with Moonflower dead.

"Does your father have a, uh, woman friend?" he asked, feeling sneaky, and was not displeased by the shaking of a large-eyed head. What was this girl, about thirteen? That meant that the next one—the boy Cormentaff—was fourteen. Another member of the family was pushing sixteen too, as he recalled. The one with red hair, or almost red. What was her name, anyhow?

This one made girlish noises over Notable, who eluded her attempts to pet him. The cat disappeared behind a counter.

"He, uh, he's a one-man cat," Hanse explained. "Notable, if you knock anything over or get into anything it will go hard with you!"

"Mraow."

Hanse was not happy to discover that Teretaff already had a visitor. The aged S'danzo "chief" with the implacable eyes and straight mouth and the usual multicolored, modestly cut garb barely acknowledged Hanse's presence. Hanse was determinedly respectful. The Termagant was not visiting Teretaff, he realized; she was interested in the almostsixteen-year-old. Now both stared at Hanse, Jileel from huge round eyes the color of walnut wood flanked by a great deal of hair the color of a roan horse. Her blouse was striped yellow and green and was unaccountably stuffed; under a multiprint apron, her skirts showed six or nine other

colors and hues.

"You left here with my daughter," Teretaff said, but it was a question rather than an accusation.

"Precipitately," the Termagant said, straight-mouthed and flat-eyed. Suddenly Hanse has to tell them, no matter the consequences: "Yes. When I found Moonflower I went wild. I started running, ran into a fish

—a, un, Beysib, and killed it. Her. I think it was the one who ki—

who . . ."

"Oh, I do hope it was!" the almost-sixteen-year-old said ferociously, in a rather throaty voice.

"Jileel!" the Termagant snapped, inadvertently helping Hanse by providing the girl's name. Teretaff glanced at her, and back to Hanse. "I hope so too, Hanse. She did like you, my wife."

Hanse was surprised to hear himself say, "I loved her, Teretaff." All three of the others blinked. At last the old woman said, "You have changed, young man."

Hanse nodded. "We endured much. We even accomplished much, up in Firaqa."

"Firaqa?"

"A city far north. Strange people with a strange religion. Ruled by a sort of council of sorcerers. The chief was also the most evil and I suppose the most powerful. He's dead, now. Teretaff, Termagant . . . Mignureal's powers soared, in Firaqa. She was glad to find a small colony

of S'danzo. They were unwelcome in Firaqa; S'danzo, I mean. That's no longer true. She . . . Mignureal has remained there, Teretaff. She's an accomplished Seer, now, an amoushem. Did I say that right?"

"Yes!" the Termagant said, astonishing Hanse by the sudden happy light in her eyes. "So! She flowered, then, and is respected, with the Ability."

192 AFTERMATH

"Yes. She Sees, Termagant, Teretaff; Mignue Sees beyond anyone else in Firaqa."

"She will do well there, then," Teretaff said, with some happiness and pride mingled with sadness. Tears had appeared in the walnut eyes of the girl beside the old woman, to hear that her sister was not coming back.

"But—you are here and she there?"

Hanse nodded. "It was not easy. Oh, we had our troubles—probably mainly because we were under the shadow of sorcery all the time. But I think we will always love each other. It's just that I had to come back, and she felt she had to remain there. She is happy there. Established."

"I am glad for her," Jileel said but her voice quavered and she sniffed.

'7am delighted'" the Termagant said, and again she astonished Hanse, by proving that grim mouth could smile.

Hanse wondered whether Teretaff might have been less equable about this news had the Termagant not been present, and so enthusiastic. Almost he wished that Jileel were not present. She kept staring at him, staring with those huge dark brown eyes. She always had, he remem-bered, when he had come to see Moonflower and then Mignureal, but now it seemed different. She was older, with the cusp of womanhood newly sealed upon her. And . . . could that be she in there, rather than the family laundry or a couple of smuggled melons, making her blouse stand out and strain so? Mignureal had not been constructed so! Of course her mother had been, but Moonflower had been huge everywhere, a truly obese woman whose size had made walking difficult for her. (She also remained the most beautiful woman Hanse had ever known. It was she who taught him, just by being, that beauty was not something a person wore, like clothing or skin, but was inside; it was something a person was.)

He produced the bag and handed it to a surprised Teretaff. It jingled.

"From Mignureal," Hanse told him.

"From Mignureal?" Now it was TeretaflPs eyes that glistened wetly. Hanse pretended not to notice. He nodded. "She insisted. She is doing well. That is for you and her sisters and brother, she said. It is, uh, considerable Firaqi gold, Teretaff. Gold because that way 1 had fewer coins to carry. Be sure to go to a decent bank to get a fair exchange on those flame-marked coins, now."

Teretaff smiled, then laughed, and embarrassed himself when laughter became sobs. In manner womanly, his daughter Jileel went to embrace him-Uncomfortable, Hanse began backing.

"I have to go now." He swallowed. "Got an appointment, you know."

"Young man."

Hanse swallowed again. "Name's Hanse, ma'am."

"Hanse, then. And I am called the Termagant. You know that I am the senior amoushem; first among the S'danzo with the Ability. Moonflower liked you. I know, and Mignureal . . . well. I admit that I never had much—I never had any use for you. That has changed. You may consider me friend. Hanse.

Still again Hanse swallowed. It was his way not to act honored, but he could not escape the feeling that this was like being acknowledged friend

by the Prince-Governor, as he had been. Suddenly his stance changed, and his grin was the old cocky one.

"My occupation hasn't changed. Termagant."

She blinked. "I do not hear you. A friend entrusted a bag of money to you for her father, and you brought it this long way." Damn! "Uh . . . well, that's different. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"What?"

Hanse shrugged. "I've got my reputation to think of."

"But young ma— Hanse, it is a bad reputation!" Hanse nodded. "It's mine, Termagant."

Between the old woman and her father, with her arm around him, Jileel giggled.

The Termagant shook her head. "I, however, have spoken. You are to consider me friend, Hanse."

"I'll remember. I have to go now."

As he left, he heard the Termagant's voice: "Very well now, Jileel, let's

test you again to see if that really was the Sight . . ." Hanse hurried on, clucking to Notable, thinking of the considerable amount of money he had secretly left with that banker in Firaqa for Mignue, dear Mignue ...

He found a decent place to live, in Red Court in the Maze, and delighted the proprietor by laying down a few coins in advance. Silky the ever supple and ever ready was for testing the bed; this soon after leaving

Mignureal's family, Hanse just couldn't. He also couldn't admit that. He pointed out the need to find her employment, and they wandered. Sometime that afternoon he realized that he had no intention of living with the

tan-haired girl he and his loneliness had acquired up in Suma. All right,

he could handle that; he was not stuck with her and besides she was obviously not charmed with the Maze, Hanse's natural habitat. He did succumb to Silky's importunings to buy a melon. As he cut it, he noticed that the wooden handle of his favorite knife was loose.

"Damn!"

Next he noticed that she was talking animatedly with another of the 194

pedlar's customers, a Rankan. Good, he thought, and without any compunctions at all he walked away. Silky wasjust Silky, a passing fancy, but

a defective knife was serious business. Using this cut-through and that, he

was soon on the Street of Tanners. Three blocks down from Sly's Place was Zandulas's Tannery; one had only to follow one's nose to find it and the busy establishment of Zandulas's next door neighbor, Cholly. Cholly the Gluemaker was the man to see. Oh, his real name was Chollander, but only his wife called him that. Cholly performed a number of important services for Sanctuary, including the making of glue. In a town where bodies tended to appear with the morning sun and tended never to be claimed by anyone, a man who had use for them and thus rendered a free corpse-collection service was valuable. Come to think, "rendered" was the right word for the main part of Cholly's activities. The bear-sized man with the barrel belly greeted Hanse heartily and with surprise. "Why haven't I seen you for so long, Hanse? Must be a year or more."

Cholly was alone in his smelly, cluttered place of business, meaning that his two assistants were out on this errand or that. Taking orders for

delivering glue, probably, or the ancillary products of Cholly's trade. Selling jewelry, perhaps, or slightly used clothing. A bone or two, maybe.

Or nice long hair, perhaps, to make nice wigs.

Briefly and without much patience, Hanse told Cholly where he had been.

"I had no idea, Hanse' Oh—I guess you left before that sexy Rankan gladiator came to town, didn't you?"

"How can a gladiator be s— oh. You mean Chenaya Nutcracker? We, uh, met, Cholly."

"Oh? Surprised you don't grin when you say that, Shadowspawn. Surely Milady Swagger either insulted you, tried to kill you, or bedded you. Or all three."

Hanse clamped his teeth. "She bedded me, Cholly. That's the way it was, too—she collected me. took me home, and bedded me. She's goodlooking and she's cat-supple, I'll give her that. Bed is another matter. I

didn't enjoy it with her and we will not be doing it again. I prefer women."

Cholly saw the expression and heard the tone. Considerately and wisely, he nodded and said nothing at all. Then his visitor laid the wounded knife on his counter and the huge man shifted to his business demeanor. He picked it up in a big meaty hand, examined it, said "hmm" twice, and shrugged.

"Easily fixed, Hanse. Let's just make repairing this a welcome-home gift," Cholly said, already starting to work. "We'll use dry-tack. It's a

special sort of glue I made up; sticks by pressure." He grunted softly; a

man the size of Chollander the Gluemaker seldom found tasks large enough to require large grunts. "There. Now we apply the dry-tack wet, so, and allow it to dry. We don't have to wait long. I remember this old knife from years back. A really superior blade! Oh—you, ah, pick up any new knives up in Furakka?"

Hanse showed him a couple, knowing this lover of knives would consider both of them exotic because they were of foreign manufacture. "The really fancy one was a gift from the head mage up in Firaqa, a man named Arcala."

"Hmp! Never knew you to stay around a mage long enough to receive a gift! Hard to imagine, from a fellow who hates sorcery worse than anybody!" Cholly said, admiring it and the other knife Hanse handed him, a normal enough sticker. He examined both with the respect and care of a man who knew knives. "Nice," he said, laying them down.

"Here, look at this pretty thing while I finish the job on your old knife."

He placed in Hanse's hand a dagger whose blade was inlaid with silver. Sensing trade negotiations, Hanse naturally found it necessary to demean the seeming treasure. "Uh. Pretty," he said casually. "I'll bet this

fancy inlay weakens the blade, though."