Yendi

by Steven Brust

As I walked under the doorway (no door), my head brushed a set of chimes and set them ringing. His back was to me, but I could see that he was making candles. He turned around and his face lit up in an almost toothless grin.

  “Vladimir!” he said. He looked at me, smiled at Cawti, and stood looking at me again. He and I could communicate psionically (he had taught me how), but he refused to do so unless it was necessary. He considered psionic communication something too precious to use casually—though, as was his custom, he never criticized me for using psionics as I do. So we traveled when we wanted to speak with each other. And, since we had to pass through areas where Easterners walking alone are in danger, and since he refused to be teleported, he seldom left the area.

  “Vladimir,” he said again. “And who is this?”

  Loiosh flew over, as if the question had been about him, and happily accepted some neck scratching.

  “Noish-pa,” I said, “I’d like you to meet Cawti.”

  She gave him a curtsy, and he positively beamed.

  “Cawti,” he repeated. “Do you have a patronymic?”

  “Not anymore,” she said. I bit my lip. Someday I’d ask her what that meant, but not now.

  He gave her a kindly smile, then looked at me, his eyes twinkling and a thin, white eyebrow climbing a broad forehead.

  “We’d like to get married,” I said. “We want your blessing.”

  He came forward and hugged her, and kissed both cheeks. Then he hugged me. When he pulled back, I saw tears at the comers of his eyes.

  “I’m happy for you,” he said. Then his brows furrowed, for just a moment, but I knew what he was asking.

  “She knows,” I said. “She’s in the same line of work herself.”

  He sighed. “Oh, Vladimir, Vladimir. Be careful.”

  “I will, Noish-pa. Things are looking better for me. I almost lost everything a while ago, but I’m all right now.”

  “Good,” he said. “But how did you come to almost lose everything? That isn’t good.”

  “I know, Noish-pa. For a while, the shadows were distracting me so I couldn’t see the target.”

  He nodded. “But come in, have something to eat.”

  “Thank you, Noish-pa.”

  Cawti said, timidly (I think it was the only time in her life she’s been timid about anything), “Thank you . . . Noish-pa.”

  And his grin became even wider as he led us inside.

  * * * *

  The next day I moved into Laris’s old office and set up business. I met with Toronnan, and set about trying to take control of the area Laris had been running—but that really belongs to a different tale. Besides, as I speak these words, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, so I may not be telling you about it after all. I’ve still got word out for Wyrn and Miraf’n, and money to pay for their heads, so I expect that very soon I’ll be seeing them—after a fashion.

  The same day I moved into Laris’s old office I finally got a chance to cook Cawti a meal. I have to say I outdid myself, too—goose with Eastern red pepper, Valabar-style kethna dumplings, anise-jelled . . . but you don’t want to hear about that.

  I will say, though, that while I was cooking, I came across an onion that had a small bad spot on the side. I cut the spot out, and the rest of the onion was perfectly fine.

  Life is like that, sometimes.

  END