by Daniel Hood
"Master Liam, at th'appointed hour, as usual!"
Lares's bow was small out of familiarity and friendliness, not disdain, and the old man ushered him in with a smile.
Well, at least the old man isn't uneasy around me, Liam thought with relief, and offered Lares a smile in return.
"It's becoming a ritual, Lares. They set the tolling of the bells by me."
Lady Necquer awaited him in the same upstairs parlor, and started up with a smile when Lares announced him. She came to him and, taking his hands, kissed him formally on the cheek. Thinking of the questions he wanted to ask and his unfavorable comparison of her with Rora, he coughed nervously and reclaimed his hands as soon as he could.
"Well, Sir Liam," she said, sitting gracefully, "what discourse have you prepared for me this day?" Bright color suffused her pale complexion, and a smile broke out uncontrollably on her face. She seemed intensely happy about something, and he smiled mildly, infected by her mood.
"I'm afraid I haven't prepared any talk for this afternnoon. But you, I think, must have some news. If you grin any harder your face will split in two. What makes you so happy?"
Her grin widened until it took possession of her whole face, and she suddenly leapt up and danced around the room.
"Oh, Sir Liam, my husband comes home this day, and will not leave me again for winter entire! My heart is full to bursting!" She hugged herself, and Liam smiled at her childlike joy. He took a breath and spoke heartily.
Childlike joy. He took a breath and spoke heartily . .. "Soon. When does soon, be soon! arrive?" He'll dine with me this night!" She danced thought of further, Rora's twirling dancing in around the the theater, whole the exact room, and oppositehe of with Lady a radiant Necquer smile, s pure, she girlish danced past giddiness. his chair, Favoring laying hima hand "He is briefly in the on his city even shoulder. now, attending pressing business, but "That's he'll be excellent home soon, news, and madam, mine for and I the think winter!" I have some other that will increase your happiness."
"oh?" She came to a reluctant halt, her full skirts whirling around her, and beamed abashedly at him. "You must excuse me, Sir Liam. I'm hardly company I can think little else but Freihett. But come, your news." Eagerly, she came and offering sat her beside whole him on the divan a hand on his arm, offering her whole attention with a forced serious look that threatened to break into a wild grin at any moment.
"It so happens," he began slowly, "that I had occasion to speak with someone who I believe was causing you some discomfort."
She nodded, still seriously, but the smile threatened hugely. He went on.
"A young man, an actor, who was presenting unwanted attentions."
The threat of a smile vanished, and she took a deep breath.
"There are some things I know about him that could have caused him a great deal of trouble, and it so happened that I was able to ... well warn him off if you see what I mean. I don't think he will be bothering you again. I did not mean to pry, madam, but the opportunity presented itself. I know it was not my place"
Taking her hand from his arm, her voice was strained and eyes downcaset on her lap, where her hands were clasped fiercely. "No, it was not your place ... how did you happen to speak with him?"
Liam stood and took a few steps to stand before an elegant hanging. He fingered its tassels absently, his back to her. "I was well acquainted with a wizard named Tarquin Tanaquil. He .. died recently, and several things indicated that Lons was involved in the death. I spoke with him about his involvement, and took the opportunity to sugest he leave you alone."
"The wizard was murdered?" The strain in her voice was greater.
"Yes. And certain things indicate Lons was responsible." He turned to look at her, and almost flinched at the pain on her face. "Lons had commissioned Tarquin to make the Teeth vanish, but couldn't pay the price. The knife that was used was a stage blade. His guilt could be established with these."
"He would not do that," she whispered, almost choking on a sob. "He hasn't the strength."
Liam went and sat beside her. "I don't think so either. Tell me, why did you want him to get rid of the Teeth?"
Her words came slowly, with great difficulty. He writhed inside at making her talk about it, but was also grateful that she was speaking freely, and had not chosen to be angry with him. He had feared she would think he had tricked her, had wormed his way into her confidence just for information. But she seemed wrapped up in her sorrow and confusion.
"He ... he wooed me, professed undying love. The summer entire, while Freihett was at sea. He spoke with such heat, so truly ... he said he needs must, that he needs must ... know me. I gave him no encouragement, no sign of returning his feelings, but he pressed and pressed. And all while Freihett was at sea, and those cursed Teeth waited to take him down, to crush him beneath the cold blue."
She gasped at the intensity of her vision, at the depth of her fear for her husband, and Liam waited silently for her to go on. Tears brimmed in her enormous blue eyes, but were not shed, and suddenly she smiled bleakly, looking defenselessly at him.
"I thought if I tasked him impossibly, he would give,me peace. I claimed the destruction of the Teeth as my price, and sent him away, sure he could not achieve it. It was a fond and foolish thought, wasn't it?" Liam shook his head sadly, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "But be did it. The wizard succored him, and he saved my husband's life. What could I do? I could not surrender to him."
After a long pause, she looked earnestly at him and added: "I did not surrender to him, Sir Liam, though he continues to plague me. He was to come to me on the day the Teeth vanished, but I put him off, feigned sickness, and on the day after my husband was home ... I broke my word, and did not pay him for my husband's life. I have transgressed doubly, in breaking an oath and entertaining a lover while my husband was away. You understand?"
It was important to her, and he nodded again, gravely. "Yes, I do understand. Does your husband know?"
"Yes. I gave him the whole story when he was well. The journey had taken much from him, you know."
"I can imagine. What did he say about it? "
"Naught, or very little. He credited me, and said he would not bold it against me. But he was terribly irked, l know. If Lons had been there, or he'd come across him, there'd have been more than harsh words."
It was time to stop, Liam decided. Lady Necquer's brave smile held, but her lip trembled, and he knew enough for now. She had not thought to wonder about his interest, nor to think that be might connect any of what she said with Tarquin's death. He bated himself for prying, but offered a directionless prayer of thanks that she had not realized what be was after.
"Come," he said, rising, "there's no reason to think on it any longer. Right or wrong, I think he'll stay away, and Master Necquer is back now to stay by your side."
At a sideboard he found wine, and filled two crystal goblets. He brought the goblets back to the divan and handed one to her. She took it gratefully and drank. Tears still brimmed in her eyes, dangling from tier eyelashes. He wanted very much to brush them away, but was afraid it might seem forward. Instead, he walked back to the hanging and examined it, sipping his wine.
After gulping down her glass, Lady Necquer went to the sideboard and poured herself another, from which she took a smaller sip before speaking in a deliberately bright manner.
"Now, Sir Liam, enough of all that. Enough and too much. We must regain our wonted mirth, and find a way to pass the time more in keeping with my husband's homecoming."
"What shall we talk about? I'm afraid we've covered what I know of the rest of the world pretty thoroughly."
"Well then," she said with a smile halfway towards her earlier happiness, "we shall cover you. I know where you've been and what you've seen, but nothing of you. Come hold discourse on Sir Liam Rhenford."
Smiling apologetically, he followed her back to the divan. "That is a very boring topic, mada
m. The rest of the world is far more interesting."
"I'll judge that, Sir Liam. You may begin."
Folding her hands in her lap, she assumed a very grave demeanor, as if she really meant to judge him. He laughed, and she joined him tentatively.
"Come, go to, go to! Tell me about you!"
"Very well," he said, pleased to see her smiling."What would you like to know?"
"What you do in Southwark," she answered promptly, and he had to pause and think.
"Nothing," he said after a while. "Nothing, really."
"Nothing? Naught? I'll not believe that. You certainly don't idle your time waiting to attend me in the afternoons!"
"Well, I suppose I am recovering. I have been a long time away from Taralon, and I thought it was time to get back."
"After your shipwrack?"
Had he mentioned that to her? He did not remember, but he was sure he had not told her the whole story. Now that he thought about it, he realized once again that he was not sure why he was in Southwark. The experience on the island had worn him out, and when he had finally reached Southwark, he was so grateful to be back in Taralon that he had settled there instinctively. To fill the time, he had half-invented the idea of writing, but that was not the real reason he. stayed in Southwark. It was safe, a part of Taralon that held no memories for him at all, but that was a part of his home nonetheless.
"Yes. I'm also writing."
"Stories?" she asked eagerly. "Or a play? Or poetry? I'll wager your verse is passing fair."
"Neither, I'm afraid. History. Or rather, my history, with some of the history of the places I've been." He smiled at her obvious disappointment, and spoke with a hint of reproach. "You seemed to think my stories of where I'd been somewhat interesting."
"Well, and they were," she admitted grudgingly, "when you told them. But if you cage them with bars of ink and walls of leather, they'll be stuporous, sleep-inducing, for it was your tongue that gave them life. You'd do better to make of them a romance, or better, a string of poems. Yes! A string of poems addressed to the sweetling who awaits you on shore!"
"But I didn't have a sweetling on shore," he protested.
Brushing aside the objection, she went on. "No matter; invent one! Call her ... call her Larissa, and pine longingly for her as you view the lusty beauties of the strange scenes you've visited! Mince your words and file your phrase, and harken back to her shining face whenever you mention some far-off wonder!"
They went on in the same vein for a while, as Lady Necquer mapped out the collection of poems she expected from him, and he objected to it every step of the way, laughingly complaining that he was no poet, and had had no girl waiting for him while he traveled.
The idea seemed to inspire her, and though she too giggled at her own high-flown fancies, there was a seriousness as well.
If I were a poet, Liam thought, itwould make good verse. But I'm not, he reminded himself, and reminded her as well, an objection she countered with the suggestion that he perform vigils with the priests of Uris.
"Oh, and Uris-tide is nigh! If you begin tomorrow, you can complete the course of the devotions by midnight of the feast! The goddess'll surely inspire you!"
"I doubt that; Uris is not widely worshipped in the Midlands, and would hardly look favorably on me. Besides, don't men have to shave their heads to attend the vigils?"
"They do," she agreed, and looked at him for a long moment before bursting into giggles at the image of him without any hair at all, with even eyebrows shaved, as was required of supplicants to Uris.
"It sounds a high price to pay for poetic inspiration," he said, but she did not hear, trying to stifle her own mirth. She did, however, hear the heavy tread on the stairs and the voice that came from outside the door of the parlor.
"Poppae! Poppae! I'm home!"
Toe door swung open, and Necquer entered, still in his dusty traveling cloak and mud-spattered riding boots. Her giggles subsided in a gasp, and she leapt to her feet and ran to him, kissing him quickly and often without discretion. He staggered under her affection, and put his arms around her to steady himself, smiling indulgently. Then he noticed Liam, and greeted him with an ironic nod.
"I'd shake your hand, Rhenford, but mine are full at the moment."
Suddenly, Poppae cried out, and ran her hand delicately down Necquer's cheek. Just above the line of his beard a bright purple bruise was blooming.
"You've taken a hurt!"
"It's nothing," he murmured brusquely, taking her hand in his and drawing it away. "An unruly pair of highwaymen, without the sense to be afraid of my guards." She made to fuss about it, but he stopped her with a brief kiss. "It's nothing. You won't even notice it in a few days. Now, Rhenford, I must say I'm glad to see you here. I take it you've been entertaining?"
"Actually, I've just been trying not to be boring."
"Go to, go to," Lady Necquer scolded, shifting so that she could see both men, but leaving her arms around Necquer. "He has kindly borne my maunderings and incessant weeping over your absence, and entertained me most regally. He has even promised to pen me a string of poems!"
Necquer smiled at Liam's look of surprise. "Poems, eh? You're more talented than I realized, Rhenford."
"More talented than I realized, Master Necquer. I didn't know I was a poet."
"Well then, you'll stay to dinner and maybe Poppae can instruct you in the art."
"Oh, yes, do stay, Sir Liam!"
Liam was surprised to notice that Necquer honestly meant the invitation, though his wife's agreement had been hasty and not entirely heartfelt. And the merchant had not been at all disturbed to find his wife closeted with another man, even though he had recently found out someone was wooing her. Had he ruled Liam completely out as a threat?
Lady Necquer's obvious desire to be alone with her husband would make that a fair judgement, he thought wryly.
"I'm afraid I cannot. I promised I'd dine with a friend tonight."
Frowning, Necquer accepted the refusal, to his wife's ill-concealed delight. "Another time, then," he said, disengaging himself from his wife to offer Liam his hand.
"Certainly," Liam said, and took the merchant's slim hand, which was warm and moist with sweat. "You really should wear some armor, and a helmet." He pointed with his free hand at Necquer's cheek.
"I do," the merchant laughed, letting go his grip on Liam's hand. "They tried to sneak up on us in the night."
Liam smiled and headed for the door with a slight bow. Lady Necquer, perhaps regretting her fickle change in interest, stopped him and kissed both his cheeks warmly.
"I'll expect you on the morrow, Sir Liam, though earlier. Say noon, if you've no objection. You'll not slip out of that string of poems so easily. We will discuss it then."
"Your servant," he said with a tremendous show of humility and a low bow, and backed out of the room.
At the bottom of the stairs Lares stood gazing reverently up.
"It's no small blessing t'have him back, eh, Sir Liam?" "No," Liam said with a chuckle, thinking of Lady Necquer ecstatically greeting her husband. "No small blessing indeed. Goodnight, Lares."
A small wave of anger broke over him in the street. He had spent his afternoons entertaining her, turning his own life into an amusing tale to while away her waiting hours, and she had abandoned him the instant Necquer had come back. Necquer, who left her alone for months at a time!
The anger passed into reproach. It was foolish to think that way. Necquer was her husband, and obviously loved her dearly, despite what Lons had said, while he was only a recent acquaintance. And she had not simply abandoned him; she had asked him back the next day, as though nothing had changed.
Smiling a familiar, well-worn smile at himself, he wandered through the darkening streets. It was dusk, the clouds now beginning to shred into tatters beneath the onslaught of the sea breeze. Cold and stinging, the breeze scoured the sky and the rapidly emptying streets, molding
his cloak to his back and legs as he walked north. Stars glittered, impossibly distant and small between the rents in the clouds.
Lady Necquer was, after all, almost a child. In her midtwenties, he thought, and thus only five or six years younger than he, but different, in a way he sought to name.
Sheltered, he eventually thought. The only sorrows she knew were hers, while he had seen those of many others. In ports and lands Southwark had never heard. of, on seas her merchants had never sailed, Liam had seen many other people's sorrows, and with an unconscious selflessness, he judged them greater than his. Greater than his burning home and his slain father, greater than being alone in a strange city and alone, for that matter, in the whole world.
It was for that reason, perhaps, that he had not objected to being linked with Fanuilh, or to finding Tarquin's murderer. One was a tie, a bond of sorts, and the other a duty that one might offer to family. He did not delude himself into thinking of Tarquin as a replacement for, or symbol of, his father; no thought could be more ridiculous. But it was a duty he wanted to fulfill, a purpose that went beyond food or shelter or survival, an unnecessary duty, and thus one gladly undertaken.
Liam thought of the house on the beach, and the quiet, dreamless night he had spent there, and decided that though it was not his yet, he would try to make it his.
But he did not want to go there yet. He wanted a drink, and something to eat, and the sound of other people enjoying themselves. And perhaps a glimpse of Rora, to take his mind off the weighty subjects he was now embarrassed to have thought about. He set his feet to the Golden Orb, the wind from the sea pushing steadily against his back, urging him on.
The theater was not yet open, he found when he arrived, his ears and the tip of his nose scarlet with the cold. It was too early for the evening's performance. Exasperated at his own foolishness, he searched the streets around for a tavern. There was no one to ask; the shops were closed and it was so early that the street in front of the theater had not yet filled up with the evening's audience.