At a T’cherian stall he bought and devoured tiny greenish cakes of vegetable bread. A length of yellow ribbon for Ki caught his eyes, and a little pot of soft soap scented with clover. A new leather pouch bound with thongs of red and blue next seduced him. But this last purchase left him with only a few copper bits to put into the new pouch, and thus he knew his shopping was finished. He turned his slow steps back toward the tavern.
‘Pleasure for coin?’ The same girl, or her sister in an identical pink robe. Again Vandien shook his head politely and tried to step past her. But she blocked him, coming so close that he smelled the spicy fragrance of her breath. ‘Pleasure for pleasure?’ she offered him in a softer voice.
Vandien raised his brows at her. He was not an ugly man, though most looked twice at the long scar that made a fine seam down the center of his face. He knew the power of his dark eyes and charming smile, and wasn’t above using them to his advantage. But an abrupt offer like this of such flattering nature was outside his experience. The adolescent portion of him crowed.
‘I’m a fool,’ he admitted to her. ‘Or a crazy man. Perhaps I’m just happy with my present luck, and won’t risk changing it. But I’ll thank you for thinking of me.’ With a regretful shake of his head, as if he himself could not actually believe he was refusing her, he stepped past her. A needle of pain ripped into his thigh. Even as it raked up his spine, he lost the power to cry out. He staggered two steps and fell.
‘My brother!’ the woman exclaimed hysterically. ‘He’s having one of his attacks! Please, someone, help us!’
Vandien lay in the dust stupidly, watching the feet mill around him. Dust was in his eyes, and he was breathing in dusty air, but he couldn’t blink or sneeze. He could hear, and the woman was ranting on about her poor brother and begging for aid. Her sweet voice was sharp enough now to scale fish. Vandien was not surprised when someone decided finally to help her. It was easier than listening to her.
His mind should have raced as he was hauled to his feet, and his arms draped across the woman’s shoulders and her benefactor’s. But he found himself oddly complacent, an observer rather than a participant in this peculiar play. The woman lived several streets over and up a flight of stairs. He rather resented the way he was dragged up them with no thought of his shins and ankles as they whacked across each step. It was distasteful to be plopped onto a stained couch and covered with a dirty blanket, and offensive to have to listen to the benefactor noisily taking his reward. He did not watch, for they had laid him with his face to the wall, and he could not move. His eyes ran tears to wash out the dust he could not blink away. Even more annoying was that he could not close his eyes and sleep as he so longed to do. He stared at the cracked masonry wall before him, and finally drifted into an open-eyed sleep, or an unconsciousness very like it.
Ki stared down into her bowl. At most there was a swallow or two of the rosy Cinmeth left. After that she would have to reach a decision. She could take her wagon out of the city and trust that Vandien would figure out she had gone north, back to her regular trade routes. Or she could leave a definite message with the tavernmaster for him. Or she could take her wagon back to the innyard and spend the night at the inn, trusting to luck that her wagon wouldn’t be burned in the night. Or she could walk through the evening streets, calling Vandien’s name at every corner.
She quaffed down the Cinmeth, and held her bowl aloft for more. She would wait just a little longer for him. She would have just one more drink, and if he was not here by then, she would decide what to do. She watched the tavern boy pour the spicy liquor into her bowl. It was her fifth. So let Vandien come and find that she could be as impulsively reckless as he. She could trust her luck just as he always did his. But that was the trouble with his damn luck. It was always good, cushioning his falls, so that he never learned a lesson or two of cautiousness. Nor punctuality.
A rattling sound turned her head in surprise. The serving boys were letting down the windowslats. One boy was making the rounds of the tables with a tray full of little candles on clay plates. He kindled one for Ki and set it carefully before her. Ki stared at him curiously, for he was not the usual tavern boy. They tended to be stout little lads picked for their sturdy bodies and tough little legs that could jog up and down from the cellar all evening. But this lad was slender and delicate, appearing nervous and fearful even of the candles he was kindling. His grey eyes were faintly luminous in the semi-dark of the tavern. His hair was pale as moonlight, as were his brows and lashes, which stood out against his mellow brown skin. Despite his coloring, the bruises of hard fingers were plain on his small wrists and thin arms. The boy caught her staring at him, and his fearful eyes were almost accusing. Ki raised her bowl and drained off half the potent Cinmeth to wash away that look. Where had the child learned so immense a wariness?
But when Ki set down her bowl, the boy was standing right before her, the tiny candle flame dancing reflected in his eyes. He glanced fearfully all about before he spoke. The words came as carefully phrased as an actor’s.
‘Do you wait for a man with a line like this?’ He drew a thin finger down his face, starting between his eyes and running beside his nose to his jawline.
‘Perhaps,’ Ki parried warily. Her hand went to her coin purse, but his eyes did not follow it. Her answer had left him uncertain. He glanced around again, as if to take encouragement from someone, but found no one there. His eyes were panicky when they came back to hers.
‘I’ve a friend marked like that,’ Ki admitted hastily.
The boy sighed out loudly in relief. He licked his lips and picked up his lines. ‘Then I’ve a message for you. He’s had a bit of trouble. He sent a man to the tavern to find you, but the man couldn’t stay. I do not know why, but the Rousters have put him out the Gate. He waits for you there.’
Ki shook her head in disbelief. But it had to be true. That would explain why his horse was no longer tied in front of the tavern. Damn his impulsiveness! She wondered what he had said and to whom. She hoped they hadn’t hurt him.
She gulped down the last of her Cinmeth, and made a small coin ring on the table for the boy. He looked at it, but did not move. With a sigh, she added another. Even the tips in this town were more than she could afford. ‘Take it!’ she told him a bit testily, and he slowly picked up the little coins. She rose quickly, but her head spun. Damn and damn and damn. See what happened when both of them got impulsive on the same day, she chided herself. She dreaded what she would find. Vandien would fight back. She knew he would. But his rapier, which made him the equal of many a taller, huskier man, was on its hook inside her wagon. Ki had seen the Brurjans the city kept as Rousters. They were hulking, quarrelsome beings, their faces dark with fur. They painted the hooves of their horses red. Ki had reached the door before she remembered.
‘Which Gate?’ she called across to the serving boy.
With a stricken look he hurried to her side. He pointed out into the street and gave her the count and directions of the turns. ‘It’s called the Limbreth Gate,’ he ended in a small voice. Then, as if he were speaking a family motto, he added, ‘If you are looking for it where I tell you, you will find it. But you must be looking for it.’
‘I will.’ Ki reached to tousle his hair, but he flinched away so wildly that her heart squeezed within her. He scuttled away from her. She was almost tempted to go after him. But he was likely bound into service, and buying him out of it would be a lengthy affair, requiring the presence of his parents and much haggling with the tavernmaster. She would keep him in mind, she promised herself, and perhaps do something about it after she had found Vandien. She wondered if the Rousters had broken him up much, and hastened her footsteps.
The cool night air soothed her skin and eyes and made her feel steadier, but it could not calm her worries. She forced herself to move slowly and confidently. She had no desire to call the attention of any Rousters to herself. It was full dark in the strange streets. At least the Cinmeth had not made her head pound as wine did. It floated airily