Is he the focus? Strick could not be sure. He read three separate spells in this place. Two involved Ahdio's assistants, the extra-homely woman and the young fellow with the limp. The other was in back, and seemed to have to do with an
animal.
Someone called, "Takin' that poor innocent stranger another mug o' cat-pee, Ahdio?"
"Nah," the dive's proprietor called back, turning his head that way. "Sweetboy Special is what's in your cup, Tervy. Newcomers get the good stuff." Arrived at Strick's table, he went on in a lower voice: "Ouleh said you said you'd buy her one and would nod to prove it. Overhung Ouleh's an old friend and this place's favorite blowze, but for all I know she told you to nod hello to me when I looked this way. Brought you one, though."
Strick decided to stand. Patrons stared. They seldom saw a man as big as Ahdiovizun, even one an inch or so shorter.
"She told it right. And she's to stay over there. I have a message for you." When the other man instantly shifted the mug to his left hand, Strick backed a pace. "Easy. I just came here from Firaqa. Name's Strick. Along the way I met a young man and woman. Boy and a girl, maybe. He asked me to tell you that the big red cat with them followed them-even out across the desert-and to swear that he did not take it."
Ahdio stared for a moment, then smiled. "You get the next one," he said, and drank half the contents of the cup in his left hand. "Dark fellow, hawkish nose, medium height and wiry? Wearing anything unusual?"
"Knives."
Ahdio laughed. "That's Hansey! Thanks, uh, Strick. I've been wondering about Notable. Hanse is the first person that cat ever took to. Be damned. Where was this?"
"Hey Ahdio, how about onea them sausages over here?"
Ahdio glanced that way. "Suck your finger, Harmy! This is an old war crony. Throde? Sausage for Harmocohl. Oh, and fill a cup for Ouleh before she stares a hole in my back."
"Up in Maidenhead Wood, other side of the desert," Strick told him. "A day or two this side of Firaqa. They were headed there."
"They were? You know, I've never even met anyone from up there. You just arrive, Strick? Moving to Sanctuary? Got a place to stay?"
"Aye."
Ahdio grinned. "All three. All right. I won't ask any more. Thanks again. You're not staying here in the Maze?"
"No."
"Thought not. The cat look all right?"
"Large and well-fed. Stared at me the whole time we locked."
"That's Notable!" Ahdio nodded, beaming. "Uh-Strick. Because you bought Ouleh one, Avenestra will be over here next. She's a mighty unhappy little girl, and taking too much mouth from too many of the boys here. You did Hanse and me a favor. Wish you'd do her one. They'd leave her alone when she's with a man as big as you-who is also an old war crony of mine," he added, with a new grin. "Maybe just talk with her a while, or just let her talk. She's all right. Mixed up pretty bad. A round for you both is on me."
"All right. Give her what she wants and suggest that she bring it over here with a mug of something weak for me. Ahdio: any men in here looking for work? Anybody you trust?"
Ahdio smiled. "That narrows the choices! What kind of work? Beg pardon, but you look like a weapon-man to me."
"No. Need a guard, when I open a shop. And a-oh, a lackey who knows Sanctuary and can look and act decent."
"I'll give it some thought and tell you later, Strick. Oh- and thanks, for all of it. The girl too, I mean."
Strick nodded.
Ahdio returned to the counter. Strick didn't see what he did, but a few moments later a girl-this one really was, an angular girl in her mid-teens-was moving toward his table. Her black singlet fitted her like a coat of paint above a violet skirt slit up both sides to her big black belt. Looked as if she had a waist measurement to match her age and a chest maybe eight inches larger. She bore two mugs. Someone said something she didn't like and someone else slapped her bottom and that quickly she turned to dump the contents of one of the mugs down his front. Men laughed, but not that one, and two big men converged on the trouble spot.
The man in the soaked tunic, on his feet with his hand raised to slap her less intimately but more painfully, glanced up to his left. Massive chest and scintillant mail, chin at a level with his eyebrows. Then up to his right. Big broad chest and arms in an undyed tunic big enough to fit him twice, and a chin on a level with his eyelashes. The butt-slapper sat down.
"When a girl wants her tail slapped, Saz, that's one thing. When you know she doesn't, that's another. You want to stay?"
Saz nodded. Ahdio nodded. "Throde! Saz needs one, and so does my old war crony oh no! Now Avvie, damn it, why'd you go and do that? You have two mugs-why'd you have to throw the qualis on him 'stead of the beer?"
That brought more laughter, while both Saz and Avenestra kept their heads down. Ahdio said something, and Strick did, and the girl went to sit with Ahdio's old war crony.
Conversation began slowly. He knew at once that Avenestra was unhappy and defensive. She kept darting curious/ suspicious looks at him from black eyes under jet brows that indicated her hair had help in being gold-blond. She glugged her qualis, set the cup down rather sharply, and stared at him. He signed for more. It came. He told her little and said none of the things a male might be expected to say to a female in her apparent profession. He asked questions and shrugged when she didn't answer or was evasive. He even said "Sorry; not prying," a couple of times, and he did not ask her age. He studied her, but looked away when she acted uncomfortable. He did leam that Avenestra was infatuated with Ahdio, and that the homely woman was his wife. Never mind his age; he'd been kind to Avenestra. She told Strick what qualis was and assured him he would like it; she offered him a taste. He shook his head and she knocked back the expensive wine. He signed for another round.
Avenestra put her gaunt-faced head on one side. "You trying to get me drunk?"
"No. You had your limit?"
"You rich?"
He shook his head. "Are you an orphan, Avenestra?"
Her eyes clouded. "How'd you know? Oh, Ahdio told you!"
"No. If I'd known I wouldn't have asked, believe me."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because you know you can and because I don't want a damned thing from you."
"Huh! That's a first."
He said nothing and neither did she. She drank and let him see that her cup was empty. He looked at the empty mug, looked at her, and signed for another. Again she put her head on one side and gave him that dark, dark suspicious look.
"You're hardly drinkin' anyth' but you keep or'erin' f'me. You sure you not tryina get me drunk?"
"Do you need help?"
Avenestra put her head down and wept for the next ten minutes.
Strick sat silently. He did not touch her. Ahdio's wife came, but Strick raised a finger to his lips. He gave her money. "Tell Ahdio to tell Cusharlain." She did not understand, but gave him his difference and went away. Good woman, spell or no, Strick thought, while Avenestra kept weeping. After another five or eight minutes she raised her head, looking horrible and pitiful. She watched him thrust a big hand down into the outsize neck of his tunic and come out with a white cloth. He handed it to her.
"Wha'm I sposed to do wi' this?"
"Wipe your eyes and face, and blow."
She sat staring, blinking, oozing kohl from her eyes. Then she wiped her face and eyes, and blew. She looked at the kerchief and shook her head.
"Avenestra: let's go."
"Wan' 'nother cup first."
"If you have another qualis you won't be able to go."
"So?" She made a feisty face and used a matching voice: "You said you didn't want anything from me."
"So you'll be here, drunk and unable to wock, and then what?"
She didn't have to translate his "wock" to "walk." She wept for ten more minutes. After that, they left. Ahdio watched. His fingers were crossed.
The Golden Lizard was hardly golden and hardly comparable to the Golden Oasis, but it was not a h
ole and aye, a room was available. No eyebrow was raised when Strick laid down coins for two days and three candles, and took a candle and a silent Avenestra, her legs almost functioning, upstairs. He was careful to secure the door and inspect the window. He turned to the girl slouching unprettily on the edge of the bed.
"Avenestra, I want you to give me something."
"Uh-huh. How you wan' it?"
"No, I mean an object. Something of yours. A coin. Anything."
"Huh! Think you're that good? You give me someth'."
He handed her a silver coin. "That's yours. I want nothing fork."
She stared at it, held it up closer, stared, and slid off the bed. Sitting on the floor, she wept for the next ten or so minutes. When at last she looked up, he bade her use his kerchief. She did. He repeated his request. She stared, head on one side. At last, wriggling loosely, she gave him her broad black belt.
"Thank you." He squatted and put his hands on her narrow and meatless shoulders. "You think fondly of Ahdio as an uncle. Since you have no reason to drink, you just stopped."
"You," she advised, "are so full of shit your blue eyes are turning brown."
Grinning helplessly, he whipped back the tired old spread and inspected the bed. He found nothing alive. He picked up the slumping girl with preposterous ease, and stretched her on the bed. He took off his weapons belt, thinking about the new armband he'd been forced to buy. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall. The candle he set to one side.
When Avenestra awoke five or so hours later, headachy as always, he was not in the room. The silver coin was. She was certain that she had done nothing for it. And she remembered what he had told her. Crazy, she thought, and was thinking fondly of that nice fatherly Ahdio when she slipped back into sleep.
Cusharlain arrived in the common room of the Golden Oasis shortly after noon and Esaria shortly after that. She was bright and summery and pretty in a long sky blue dress cut dazzlingly low. She was also babbly, and her cousin put a hand over her mouth.
"I have two good prospects as places of business and lodgings, Strick, and Ahdio suggested four names. A fifth he is not totally certain about. Said he had seven, but you specified decent and honest. You can interview them where and when you wish. Unh! Stop licking my palm, brat!"
"Let's go look," Strick said. "Stop giggling, Esaria, and you may come along with the big boys."
They went. Along the way Esaria told them how miserable her mother was because of the new bosom-displaying style.
"Beard of Us!" Cusharlain said. "With those melons? She should be pleased and proud to display all that bounty of the gods, much less half!"
"You don't understand. Second Cousin. Never tell her I told you, but mother has a large hairy mole rather high up on her left, uh, bounty. Right on top. That's why she has stayed covered to the collarbones, always. Now-either she reveals it, or everyone whose opinion she cherishes will sneer at her for being so ridiculously out of style."
Cusharlain laughed. Strick did not, and Esaria noticed. She took his arm and snugged it to her. Her bodyguard ambled along behind, aware that he was smaller than Strick.
By midaftemoon that quiet man with the accent had leased three rooms, two upstairs over the ground-floor one, and had optioned another. His shop and dwelling were on the street called Straight, between Chokeway and the Processional and thus not at all far from the Golden Oasis. By the following afternoon, with the help of Cusharlain and an eager Esaria, he had acquired most of the furnishings he needed.
He paid Cusharlain and returned Esaria's hug.
"I will visit Sly's tonight and observe the men Ahdio recommends," he told her cousin. "But as to Harmocohl: no, in advance."
"Surely I can be trusted by now, Strick. You have a carpet, drapes, some chairs and a desk, and beds. What sort of shop is this to be? What do you plan to do here?"
"Help people," Strick told him, and after a while Cusharlain went his way, having learned no more. Strick turned to Esaria.
"Esaria: you must get your mother here as soon as you can. I don't care how many bodyguards she brings. You've just got to get her here."
She looked at him. "It isn't going to do me any good to ask why, is it?"
"Not yet. Try."
"Try! I'll do it! Are you going to take me to that dreadful dive back in the Maze?"
"A bunny in the lions' lair! Never!"
"What about to bed? Are you ever going to take me to bed?"
He repeated his previous utterance.
No, Strick was told, Avenestra was not in the Golden Lizard. No, she had not drunk anything and she had not stayed the second night. But she had been in four times, asking after him. She had bidden the proprietor mention... Uncle Ahdio?
Strick smiled, paid for two more days/nights and made his thoughtful way back to the Golden 0. There he was confronted by a certain caravan guard. Solemnly Fulcris turned up the sword-arm sleeve of his tunic.
"The wound is fine," he said. "And by the very beard of Yaguixana, I'd wager there will be no scar, either!"
"Told you, Fulcris. I know a good wound when I see one. What are your plans for "
"It's not going to be that easy, my friend. What did you do? What have you done?"
"In addition to which," a new voice asked, "what are you, Strick?"
Strick looked at him, eyes large. "Hello, Ahdio."
"You might as well call me Uncle Ahdio. Avenestra does. And now I have a non drinker cluttering up my place!"
Strick didn't laugh. "You know what I am, Ahdio. Just understand this: It is what Sanctuary needs most. It's all white."
"All, Strick? Always?"
Strick met his eyes and put force into his gaze. "All, Ahdio, always. It's a vow-and don't question me that way again."
Ahdio returned the gaze, his head moving almost imperceptibly in the mere hint of a nod. "I believe you. I even apologize."
Strick smiled and squeezed his arm, while their exchanged look lengthened.
"Do... do I dare ask?" Fulcris asked nervously.
"Fulcris my friend, I will tell you. Not just now. I repeat, though: what are you going to do? Stay? Go? Find work here, or on the next caravan out?"
"I will tell you," Fulcris said with dignity, "but not just now." And he turned and walked away.
"That's interesting," Ahdio said. When Strick said nothing but only gave him a questioning look, he said, "He's the fifth man. The one I told Cusharlain I couldn't be sure about because he isn't a Sanctuarite and I don't know enough about him."
Strick smiled and looked at the door that had closed on Fulcris. "I do," he said, so quietly. "Proud fellow, isn't he!"
"Um. That's three of us. Strick-you said 'you know' when I asked what you are..."
Strick looked at him again, into the other big man's eyes. "Aye. Three spells in your place, none dark-though I can't be sure about the cat I've never seen. I doubted coincidence."
"You can ... see spells?!"
Strick nodded. "Usually. Often, anyhow. Not always. It's an ability."
"God-it's a talent! A marvelous talent!"
"No, Ahdio. An ability. I paid. I paid for all of it."
Ahdio met the gaze of those large blue eyes for quite some time before he said, "I won't ask, Strick."
"Good. I won't either. Tell Avenestra she has a room at the Lizard tonight and tomorrow night."
"I'll tell her. And I won't ask, Strick."
The man named Frax arrived clean and military-looking for his interview. He had been a palace guard. Then the Bey sins came. Now Beysibs guarded the palace. Frax had yet to find employment. Strick sat thinking about that for a while, chewing the inside of his lip. Suddenly he stared past Frax, his eyes going wide. He had not finished his "Look out!" when Frax had spun to face the door, crouching, poised. Each fist had grown a dagger. He saw nothing; no one and no menace.
"You're hired," Strick said, and Frax turned to find him still seated comfortably. "A partition will divide the room downstairs: an entry
hall and your room. Your bed will be in it, and your belongings. You'll consider yourself on duty at all times, starting on the morrow. What payment did you receive, as palace guardsman?"
Still in partial shock, Frax told him.
"Hmp! The Prince is no less important than I am-yet. Same wage, Frax."
"You-that was a trick! You tested-"
Frax blinked down at the swordpoint at his chest. His new employer had stood and drawn and set it there as fast and smoothly as any man Frax had ever seen.
"You had to be almost as good as I am, Frax," he said in that equable way, eyes large and serene. "I won't be wearing a sword." And Strick swung the sword up and back, touched his shoulder with it, and sheathed without glancing down. "Do you know anything about a sort of over-age street urchin named Wintsenay?"
"Not much, Swordmaster. He's a-"
"You definitely are not to call me that, Frax! We'll-" He paused, listening, and smiled. "I have a guest, Frax. If I'm lucky, two guests. In the morning, Frax?"
Frax was nodding, working at finding a respectful title for his astonishing employer, when Esaria bubbled into the room.
"I eluded my 'escort' for once! Hurry, Strick," she said, and, triumphantly: "Mothahhh awaits your pleasure in the Golden O!"
Strick smiled. "Good. My guardian Frax will accompany you." He unbuckled his weapons belt and passed it to the other man. "Hand me one of your daggers, Frax; there's a good one in that sheath. Frax will escort you. Noble Shafra-laina, and will escort your mother back. This is my place of business."
"I will do anything for you. Lord Strick!"
"Do not call me lord and do not be silly, Avenestra. Your infatuation with Ahdio is ended and so is your nightly drunk-enness, that's all. You are right back where you were. An orphan of fifteen who hangs about a low tavern every night and survives by selling her body-for what little poor men can afford to pay! It's a rotten life and will only rot you. Besides, there is the trade, or reverse effect. The Price. What effect is your new craving for sweets going to have on the body you peddle?"
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