He paused. The other man only stared at him from enigmatic light brown eyes that looked rather puffy because a lot of the lid showed. He showed nothing.
Hanse understood. He smiled just a little. “He was as cautious as you are being now, and so was I. We warmed a bit, slowly, and I asked who I might see here about selling the horses. He bade me see Anorislas.”
“Uh-huh. What else did he say? Do you know his name?”
“About the last thing he did after we had parted was call out — ‘Yo,’ he called. When I stopped and turned in the saddle, he said his name was Strick. I took that as a sign of friendship, and told him my name, then. He also said to call you Bunny.” At last Anorislas smiled — showing a broken front tooth, just left of centre — and nodded with some enthusiasm. He was a tall man and lanky, though starting to swell just south of his belt. His big hands seemed to hang from big wrists and prominent wristbones. He wore a lot of brown hair, very curly and showing a little grey. The curls sort of straggled down his forehead above one of those little noses with which the gods saddled some men so that they had a boyish, almost unfinished look.
“That’s Strick, all right. We c’n relax now, Hanse. Just do not call me Bunny! That’s that confounded Strick’s joke!” Hanse nodded, and waited.
“How many horses, Hanse? Oh, like a drop of wine?”
“No, thanks. We have four horses and an onager to sell. I left Sanctuary with a horse and the ass. Just north, a friend gave me another horse.”
“Now that’s a friend!”
“Well, he has plenty and felt he owed me something. Up on the desert, we were attacked by Tejana. Four of them. They took our animals and rode off. I took them back.”
“Whaat?!”
Hanse shrugged. “I took my horses back, and theirs. That onager saved my life!” he added, seeing an opportunity to heighten Enas’ value.
“The Tejana, ah, surely objected.”
“Aye.”
Anorislas bobbed his head just a little in time with slight laughing noises through his nose. “All right, I’ll stop asking. You left Sanctuary with a horse and an ass and reached Firaqa with six horses, and you want to sell. Pure profit for you, eh?”
“Hardly. We had some silver. That I didn’t get back from those dogsons.”
“Oh. Sorry. I had the impression that you left them all dead.” Anorislas was almost smiling, as if at a mild sort of teasing joke.
Looking very steadily into those lid-heavy tan eyes, Hanse said, “Not all of them.”
Anorislas gazed at him for a time, not quite pursing his lips and looking very thoughtful indeed. “I’ll make note not even to think of being less than fair with such a dangerous man, Hanse ti’Sanctuary.” He held up a staying hand. “No no, I wouldn’t anyhow. In the first place, I don’t do business that way. Can’t. I have a fault; a curse, actually. It’s honesty. Can’t help it. That damned Strick…! Well, anyhow. You have for sale three Tejana horses and another, your pack-animal I suppose, and an onager. I am in that business. Where are they, Hanse ti’Sanctuary?”
“Right now we’re staying at the Green Goose, because Strick recommended it. The horses are stabled there.”
“Easier to look at them there, then. What time ‘morrow?”
Hanse shrugged. “Early.”
“I can be there by the second hour, or just a little later.”
“All right, Anorislas. Until then.”
Anorislas stood looking after the lean, supple fellow until he was out of sight around a comer. It was mighty hard to believe that such a youngster had stolen horses from four Tejana and left some of them dead. On the other hand, he was definitely a cautious, wary young man, and did have the look of danger about him. Still, that starey, almost mean look…and that swagger…
The sun was waning, the eastern sides of buildings going dark, when Hanse reached the bazaar. It was much less crowded, now. He found Mignureal inside the stall, in animated conversation with Zrena and her mother. What was her — oh, Amethyst. No no, Turquoise. He found that he did not much mind that he had not been at all missed…
They were invited to dinner. Hanse had spent a lot of years being anything but a social animal, and was understandably nervous. On the other hand, he was ready to sample Turquoise’s cookery. As it turned out, it was her rail-thin husband, Tiquillanshal, who did the cooking. They lived in the rear of their stall, which extended enough to form three rooms.
“I never met a slender cook before,” Hanse said, and Quill liked that.
Displaying a gold tooth in his grin, he said, “That may bode ill for your palate and your belly, Hanse! Mayhap my cookery is so bad that even I can’t eat it.” He tossed a crisping doughcake high, caught the flattish patty neatly on the wooden spatula, and slapped it back into the fry-pan.
Hanse chuckled. “I’ll take my chances, Quill. Your wife and daughter look well enough fed!”
Again, he had said just the right thing. “Ah, yes. I do hope I can put some more meat on Zrena’s bones, though. She’s barely plump. And I wish you luck as well, my friend; that Mignureal of yours could surely use some feeding.”
Caught without comment, Hanse thought of Mignureal’s corpulent mother and lean, lean father, and realized that he had learned something new. Some men loved fat women best, just as others loved bosomless ones. He belonged to neither company. He only nodded, smiling weakly, accepted the beer Quill proffered, and a few moments later burned his fingers on one of the marvellous patties.
The food was greasy and good enough, the company warm and signally friendly. The conversation was all right, though Hanse was very aware of being the only non-S’danzo present. He learned that Turquoise’s talent at Seeing was slim and fleeting, and apparently she engaged in considerable charlatanry. It was a surprise to him that many S’danzo did. So far Zrena had shown no Seeing ability at all. All three of their hosts were much impressed that Mignureal had the true talent. Hanse was proof. He had to tell his stories of how she had Seen for him, on several occasions. That was a little difficult. He felt it necessary to leave out this and that, and embellish and twist a bit in telling those stories, in order not to reveal his occupation and hitherto violent life.
Mignureal was invited not only to visit as often and long as she wished, but to join them here in their booth in the bazaar; that Hanse definitely caught. She assured them that she would be back, but he also noted that she did not commit herself to the other. The invitation to spend the night, Ils be thanked, was obviously only form.
On their way back to the Green Goose he tried to talk about their offers and her promise. That was when he learned something else he hadn’t known about Mignureal: when she did not want to discuss something, he might as well drop it or resort to violence. Hanse dropped it. He told her what a warmer was, and about the Hearthkeepers. Having thus warmed her up, he described his adventure.
She was predictably horrified by the death of Lallias, and squeezed his hand tightly as they walked through the long shadows of Firaqa. And she was pleased that he had met and discussed preliminary business with Anorislas.
They saw no one bent on robbing them or worse, but did see three several Reds, which indicated cause and effect. Hanse hailed them all in manner friendly.
*
The Green Goose was alive and lively with diners and drinkers. Their hosts were surprised that Hanse and Mignureal would not be taking dinner. Hanse assumed that their sadness was affected; Khulna and Chondey had saved the cost of two meals! He did collect a pint of beer and some food suitable for cats. Chondey noticed his new tunic and was complimentary. Lallias was not mentioned.
Notable and Rainbow were tail-snapping sulky at having been left alone in the room all day, but forgot that in their delight at seeing the food. Chondey had not scrimped or sent scraps. Both the outsized red and the diminutive calico purred helplessly as they hoisted tails and fell to. Above, their pet humans happily indulged in the long embrace they had foregone on entering, in order to see to feline needs.<
br />
Hanse and Mignureal looked at each other. The expressions of both showed apprehension and worse.
At last Hanse said, “We have to look, Mignue.”
“I…don’t want to. Can’t we just go to bed? I’m really tired, and after that hug I’m all…”
She broke off, for Hanse was staring. The great sigh she heaved made an interestedly watching Hanse think about bed, too. Unlike Tiquillanshal, Hanse preferred women who were fat in only one place. Two, maybe. Yet he was adamant, and shook his head doggedly.
“We have to look.”
With a resigned nod, she picked up the accursed saddlebag, then looked up and was surprised to see that Hanse had taken up and opened the beeswax tablet. He extended it to her. Mignureal swallowed, and looked.
She sat down very suddenly. She stared at Hanse. With coins gleaming on the little oval rug and his new outer purse in one hand, he stared back.
“The silver coin’s gone from my new purse,” he said in a dull voice. “Evidently they won’t even stay in there as bait for thieves! Assuming that yours returned to the bag, too, we’re not cursed with ten anymore; we’re short another Imperial. The bag contained nine coins.”
Noticeably pale, Mignureal turned and flopped face down on the bed. She said nothing, but held that posture. It should have been exciting-enticing to Hanse, but under the circumstances it wasn’t. All sexuality had been chased from his mind by the revelation of purse and the triple-damned saddlebag. She just looked pitiful. He went to her and sat on the bed to rub his woman’s back. It was quaking. He realized that she was weeping.
Alter awhile she showed him the tablet and its revised listing:
ELTURAS
ESTANE
PERIAS
THUVARANDIS
Lallias’ name, she pointed out with a shaky hand, had vanished from the list. But its space neatly remained.
Damp and prickly all over, Hanse tore open her purse. It contained two coppers.
He sighed and stared at the wall, absently patting her back.
This time there was no question. Each of diem had put one of those coins into the purses they had bought just today, to wear openly. One of those coins — probably both — had returned to the saddlebag, where for some reason they silently “insisted” on being; obviously had to be. Meanwhile Lallias’ name had been one of those on the fold-over tablet, and he was dead. Now his name had inexplicably disappeared, and so had one of the coins.
One of the coins was for Lallias, Hanse thought. Or represented Lallias. It’s gone, and so is his name from Sinajhal’s list. One must have been for Sinajhal, too, then. He died, and one vanished. And she must be right: so did his name.
That was an explanation, and explanations, like names for things, always felt good. This explanation however, left much unexplained, and did nothing to allay apprehension, nervousness, and genuine fear.
*
It proved not a good night for lovers. They had too many worries and so said too much and did not do enough. Worse, Mignureal drifted into sleep while Hanse was still worrying and wondering aloud. The tension he had been trying to talk away returned, worse. Now it was tightened by hurt and anger.
He was in no good mood when he awoke, just after sunrise. He rose at once and was sitting on the side of the bed pulling on his buskins when Mignureal made sleep-sweet noises and moved. Her hand touched his back. Hanse went on dressing.
“Oh!” she said, moving swiftly into a sitting position; a sight that, since she was naked, Hanse did not want to see right now. “The man about the horses — Anorislas!” And she hurried bouncily out of bed.
Hanse stood, too. “Take care of the cats, will you?” he said casually. “I’ll be back with good news and a pot full of silver, as soon as I can.”
“Oh,” she said in a small, disappointed voice. “I — but I…you mean you’re just going to …
She broke off, since Hanse was already letting himself out. And he hadn’t even looked at her. It was not the first time he had made her weep, but it was the first time through deliberate cruelty.
*
Hanse found Chondey and Khulna up, of course, and at least acting unsurprised that he was. He was alternating bites of sausage and peach when Anorislas came in. Hanse pretended to be in a normal mood and a few moments later they went out to Khulna’s stable. Dumb-ass greeted them with his usual comment, at top volume. Oddly, it was the big grey that whickered and stretched his muzzle to Hanse.
He said nothing about which horses he wished to keep while Anorislas examined them, and so of course the man who knew horses at once singled out Inja. That did not help Hanse’s mental state any, or his sour feelings toward Mignureal.
“That one we’re keeping,” he said, and his tone made Anorislas give him a swift look.
“Too bad for me,” he said. “He’s the best of the lot, that fellow. Before I go further in my thinking, why don’t you tell me which other one you have decided to keep?”
Hanse shrugged. “You’re the horse expert. Which one should I keep for myself?”
Anorislas showed him that broken-toothed smile. “The one you’re keeping.”
Hanse didn’t smile. “And after that?”
“You trust me to tell you? I could choose the least of the lot.”
“Not likely,” Hanse said, in that same flat, unfriendly tone and wearing the same unfriendly face. “Strick’s big, and I’m mean when I’m cheated.”
Anorislas gazed at him for a time, then nodded and made a couple of clapping motions as if dusting his hands.
“Something’s happened since you saw me yesterday, and you’re hostile. That makes it hard. You’re a proud man, Hanse. You know that some others are, too.”
Hanse blinked. “Like you, for instance.”
Anorislas nodded, and kept right on looking at him.
On the point of saying that which would end the inspection and their business because his inner needs were busily jerking his knee and trying for his tongue, Hanse grew up another mite.
“You’re right,” he said, staring with the same face. “Something happened between then and now and I’m sour this morning. But it doesn’t have anything to do with you. That good enough, between proud men?”
Anorislas could not help but smile. He knew what had been said, beyond the words. This cocky youngster had admitted that the older man was right, and also let him know that he had just heard the nearest thing to an apology he was going to get. Pushing it further, Anorislas knew, would be closing the door on business dealings between them. Anorislas of Firaqa was a dealer and a horse-trader. He knew that stupid men — and helplessly bellicose ones; perhaps the same thing — demanded specific apologies even when one had been tacitly given. Business was a little more important than pride. A little; provided that a man didn’t have to swallow any.
He swallowed none in saying, “It’s enough, between proud men. I had to force myself to come over here this morning. Had a little woman trouble last night, damn it.”
He saw from the southerner’s eyes that he had just forged a bond between them, and Anorislas kept his smile inside. He made a show of checking the horses again, although he had already seen that they were clean, good animals. For one thing, those Tejana devils didn’t have any other kind.
“We already know which one’s the best animal. Next after him I’d pick this grey. The Tejanit.”
“What about that black one?”
“A good enough animal. Clean enough lines. Good legs, I’d say. You asked for the two best, though.”
“The grey belonged to the Tejana leader. I’ll keep him.” Anorislas nodded. “Your business. You elect to keep the two best money-bringers in the lot.”
Hanse said nothing.
“I’ll need to try each animal,” Anorislas said. “Meanwhile though, unless one of these fellows acts bad under the saddle, I’d say I could part with forty hearthers. Oh, sorry; that’s Firaqi silver coinage.”
“I know what hearthers are, Anorislas.
I even know that’s not too bad an offer, for four horses and an onager. I’d say they’re worth about…fifty-six.”
Anorislas gave him an open look and leaned against a stall. Enas nuzzled his arm in hopes of a handout. The dealer ignored him.
“Hanse, that may well be about right, if they’re all as good as they look and behave under the saddle. You might well be able to sell ‘em for that. Not to a dealer, of course. A dealer has to make a profit. I’m a dealer, Hanse. You might sell all four in a day or a month or three months, and so might I.” Anorislas shrugged, paused for a few beats to let this truculent southerner consider that, and added, “If they all work well, I might come up to forty-five.”
Hanse looked as if he was on the point of smiling. He didn’t. “Try my horses, dealer. Then we’ll talk. Later this morning, or this afternoon?”
The other man smiled and made as if to move to the stable door. “Like to have that grey for myself. I’ve got other business this morning. We can go back inside and sign something, with your innkeeper as witness. I’m not unknown. Then I could meet you back here at…sunset?”
“I’ll meet you here when you say, and we’ll go do that.”
“Good for you. You know, I’m almost astonished that you and Strick exchanged names. He’s a cautious man, and I’d say you never trusted anyone in your life.”
Hanse only stared. That was good enough cover for his thoughts: You put it in deep that time, Stride’s friend. Twist it and I’ll have to tell you to walk away.
Anorislas was a dealer and a horse-trader. He knew eyes, and postures, and he knew when he had stabbed, inadvertently or no. He also knew enough not to twist it. “I could be back here at noon or a little past, Hanse.”
Hanse nodded, and they left the stable.
*
Hanse walked back into the inn thinking how he’d point out to Mignureal that she had, after all, gone to sleep while he was talking, let her apologize, and say a nice thing or two. Then it would be all right and they would go look around for a more permanent place to live.
Khulna greeted him by delivering a message from her: she had gone to the bazaar to visit with her new friends. Khulna saw emotions flickering like lightning on Hanse’s face. The taverner seemed to want to say or ask something, but refrained.
Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4) Page 18