"Enough!" barked L'Fertti, and Kaloo stopped as suddenly as she had begun. "Now be attentive and try to answer my questions carefully. First of all..." He paused to consider. "If I help you with this, what's in it for me?"
She should have known. "I don't know. If I told T'nar I wanted to hire a wizard, he would either not approve, or not let me be the one to do it. He's very suspicious of any kind of wizard, anyway. He and Daril have the same attitude: 'Work done today will show tomorrow, but magic's only as reliable as the wizard that makes it.' My friends' parents don't think like that. But T'nar and Daril both act like training your luck can only lead to abusing it."
"I see," L'Fertti replied. "Very provincial attitude. How unfortunate, Well, what can you lightfinger for me out of it?"
"I don't steal from my own people!"
"It's not stealing. What's a bowl of pot-boil for free on a cold day when I happen to drop by? Or a cold beer on a hot day like today? That's all I'm talking about."
Kaloo could see the problems inherent in such an arrangement, but her anxiety overrode her natural caution. "It might be arranged, just between you and me. But can you fix it?"
"One step at a time. How can I fix anything until I know what's amiss? Now. Who would have an interest in seeing the Mug and Anchor go out of business?"
"No one," she replied instantly.
L'Fertti rolled his eyes. "Fascinating. A business that prospers, yet has no rivals, is not in a location that anyone else would desire, and does not take customers away from any other business. Now try again."
Kaloo knit her brows. "Liana perhaps. Once Daril caught her trying to smuggle a tureen of our pot-boil out of the inn. Daril was sure she was going to have a wizard figure out our recipe. She dumped the bowl over Liana's head, and said that was the last taste she would ever get of our cooking. Kenuki is furious with T'nar and Daril since they stopped buying crab from him. Daril paid him for a basket of live crab, but after he left, we found half of them were dead and going rotten. He wouldn't make it good, and told everyone on the docks that he'd get even with T'nar for spoiling his reputation. Or Dori. She runs a slop shop off a houseboat near the canal. Whenever she drops in, she brags that with a location like ours, she could do twice the trade we do. As soon as she leaves, T'nar always comments that with food like she serves, we could do no trade at all. Or...L'Fertti, this is impossible. There are too many people who might wish us ill. But I can't believe that anyone would really do something like this."
"You are too young to imagine half the things that people will do. Go on. And while you are at it, call to mind sailors who have been ushered out of the inn for brawling, and those who owe you money, and those to whom you owe money. Think of those you owe favors, as well. But most of all, think of those who you believe should be grateful to you. In my experience, those are the ones who most often do their benefactors ill."
"You have a low opinion of people, don't you?"
"Just a realistic one. One you would do well to acquire. Now begin."
It made her feel sick and old inside to sit and methodically list all the people who might possibly wish her family ill. Never before had she stopped to realize how many there might be. Out of such a multitude, how would L'Fertti ever find out who had done it, and what they had done? A more immediate worry came to her abruptly. "Will you have to come to the inn to find out what the curse is?"
"Of course!"
"But you can't get in. Daril has locked all the doors and let it be known that we are remodeling. She barely lets T'nar and me in and out. No stranger will get into her kitchen."
"Leave that to me. And remember, when next you see me, that you do not know me," he added theatrically.
•
The last of the day was fading into dusk. Kaloo watched the sky tinge with pinks from her bedroom window. Usually she enjoyed the spectacle of the white towers and graceful arches of Liavek taking on the tints of the sunset. But tonight it was too much of a contrast with her bleak mood. She rolled from her bed and jerked the curtains closed. She was about to fling herself down again when the rising quaver of an old man's voice split the quiet of the street.
"Please, aid! Will no one come to an old man's aid?"
There was a heavy thud against the front doors of the inn. Kaloo was halfway down the stairs when a shirtless T'nar passed her. He drew the bolt and threw the door open, tearing loose Daril's sign in the process. An emaciated old man fell into the room at his feet. His blue robe was tattered and stained, and a rusty streak in his white hair bespoke an injury. T'nar moved swiftly but gently as he raised the old fellow and brought him to the comfort of the hearth cushions. "Kaloo! Get the door, and then fetch me some cool water. Quickly!"
By the time she brought the water he had arranged the frail old man on the hearth cushions and given him a light covering. T'nar eased him to a sitting position and put the cup to his lips. The old man sipped, choked, and then managed a long drink of the water.
"Thank you," the oldster sighed, and Kaloo flinched at L'Fertti's voice. As he drew himself up and managed to sit without T'nar's aid, she stared into his face, wondering how she had not recognized him. His features were not so changed, but his carriage and facial expressions were ones she had never seen before. He ignored her stare, smoothing the covering over his legs as if glad of its warmth.
"Can you tell us what happened to you?" T'nar asked gently.
"In a moment. I feel so weak, and I must try to pull my poor old mind together. It has been...I don't know how long it has been since I last ate or drank, or knew the comfort of being without torment."
T'nar, sensing a story that would bear many repeatings, leaned close to the old man. "Kaloo. Fetch a little of the good brandy, and see if you can stir up something for him to eat. A little broth, perhaps."
"Or something more solid, if you would not begrudge it to an old man. A slice of yesterday's roast, a bit of bread, some sausage or a wedge of cheese or a morsel of smoked fish. Whatever bits there are left in your kitchen that you can spare. I feel so hollow and faint." L'Fertti let his voice trail off as his eyes sagged nearly closed.
"Don't stand there, child," T'nar snapped at her. "Fix him a plate, and not yesterday's scraps. I'll never have it said that the Mug and Anchor was stingy with a man in need."
In the kitchen, Kaloo clattered cutlery and dishes savagely as she slapped together a meal for the old miscreant. Lying to T'nar! Of all the low tricks! She picked up the pepper sauce and was going to tip a spoonful of it into the noggin of brandy when her common sense triumphed. So she didn't approve of his methods. Well, at least he had gotten himself into the inn, and found a way to get T'nar's ear.
She backed through the swinging door to the common room in time to catch part of L'Fertti's tale. "...and when I refused they threw me into the hold and left me there, without a scrap of food or a drop of water. And all because I would not curse that poor man's boat for them. No doubt they would have beaten me more severely, but I was able to use my luck to shield myself from the worst of their blows."
"Why didn't you blast them with your magic and be free of them?" T'nar demanded in a voice choked with emotion. The mere notion of a curse on any kind of sea-going vessel was enough to rouse blind fury in any sailor in Liavek.
"Have you not listened to me, young man? Do you think all who invest their luck only abuse its power? No, I preferred to withstand their ill treatment until I could make my escape."
"Then at least tell me who did this, and I will see that they receive their dues," T'nar growled.
"I told you. They came at me from behind, stole me from my own doorstep, and always kept their faces masked. I have no idea who they were, and as for the boat, well, when I managed to batter my way out of the hold, I found it was just a hulk, beached and left to rot. Yet even if I did know their names, I could not tell you, for I would not permit the kind of vengeance you are considering."
T'nar grumbled and chewed his lip. Kaloo set the plate on a low bench beside L'
Fertti, and approved of his inventiveness. One story had established him as a wizard, a gentle soul, one who knew that there was nobody lower than one who would curse a boat.
L'Fertti sniffed the brandy appreciatively and tossed it off. He attacked the plate with an interest that reminded Kaloo that she had not done the shopping for him that day. But if T'nar saw anything unusual in his appetite, he made no mention of it. The embers seemed to fascinate him and he stared into them, seemingly lost in some puzzling of his own.
Kaloo felt a sudden and savage itch on the top of her head. She shot L'Fertti an angry glance as she scratched it, but he was rolling his eyes upwards and making tiny jerks with his head toward the ceiling. At first she could not fathom what he wanted, but at last she deciphered his hint.
"Why didn't Daril come down?" she asked T'nar.
"Sound asleep," he replied, not even glancing at her. "Cried herself out, and fell asleep exhausted. It would take a tidal wave to stir her."
"Ah," L'Fertti sighed gently. "I feared as much. Yet I hoped I was wrong."
"What do you mean?" T'nar asked in a soft growl. "What did you fear?"
"I thought I had the strength to take myself back to my own home, but as I passed the Mug and Anchor, I was overcome by a weakness and a sense of dread, of magic used to selfish and evil ends. I feared then that there was a curse upon your inn. Yet you let me in and treated me so kindly that I could not imagine you had any troubles of your own. For is it not said, 'Many a man is charitable until his own pocket is less than half full'?"
"Meaning?" Kaloo asked.
"Why, that only a fool asks help of someone who already has his own troubles. What folk enduring an unjust curse would have the time or charity to help a battered wretch like myself?"
"Ones who remember Liavekan hospitality." T'nar accepted the compliment with only a hint of pride in his voice. Kaloo knew T'nar well enough to sense the uneasiness that made him pause. "You...are a wizard, you have said."
L'Fertti met his question with a grave smile. "Yes. And one of great perception. I would like to use my skills to repay your kindness, yet I can feel that you are uneasy about all who use their luck, even those who would use it to your benefit. So let it be put to you this way: By the old laws of Liavekan hospitality, I ask you not to make this guest uncomfortable. Do not send me away with a debt upon my shoulders, but let me lighten your burden as you have lightened mine."
Kaloo let out a sigh of amazement. Perfect. T'nar would never have been comfortable accepting aid, but L'Fertti was asking a favor.
"I doubt there is much that can be done for us...even by one with skills as sharp as yours. But if you really wish to try...."
"I do. And my perceptions...wait...the pot-boil. Something about the kitchen and the food...it comes to me through the mists...the food is both good and bad by turns...the pot-boil seems most affected...I must follow my luck..."
L'Fertti rose with a creaking of knees, his eyes near closed in his seeming trance. His long graceful hands lifted from his sides, seemed to float before him and lead the way as he was drawn to the kitchen. Kaloo and T'nar looked after him, she in disgust at his theatrics, he in confusion. But after the doors swung to behind the wizard, Kaloo heard T'Nar mumble, "I would swear I know him from somewhere. I am sure of it."
"Perhaps you have just seen him here and there, about Liavek," Kaloo suggested hastily. "Let's see what he's doing in there."
L'Fertti stood in the center of the kitchen, eyes tightly closed, hands fisted at his sides. Strange symbols had been chalked on the clean wood floor in a circle around him. Herbs Kaloo did not know were smoldering before him in one of the best saucers. They stank. He was working, finally working, Kaloo told herself. And about time, too. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, and the concentration that shut him off from the rest of the world when he was actually calling on his luck. Kaloo knew that this would take some time. His was a slow and thoughtful sort of magic, and she didn't expect this to be as easy as lighting a candle or boiling a kettle of water.
Nor was it. The stars filled the clear skies over Liavek and still he stood. It wasn't until T'nar left the room to relieve himself that L'Fertti seemed to snap out of his trance. Kaloo was sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting patiently, when he suddenly expelled a breath as if coming up from a deep dive. "Not here," he told her succinctly. "The food is fine, the utensils are fine...have you any idea how many spoons there are in this place? The water is fine, the pots are fine.... Oh, let it go, and let me tell you that every object in this kitchen, right down to each brick in the oven, is as it should be. No curse, no magic, nothing with even a sniff of wizardliness about it. Are you sure your foster mother isn't having an off day? Change of life, perhaps? Does strange things to women. I once knew a lady—"
He stopped at the look of fury and insult on Kaloo's face.
"Why don't you ask T'nar about it?" she suggested in a small, cold voice. "I'm sure he'd be happy to discuss all the intimate details of Daril's physical condition."
"Sshh!" he hushed her as they heard T'nar's boots in the common room. "Don't fly into a snit again. I was only trying to be thorough."
"Has he found anything?" T'nar asked as soon as he saw that L'Fertti's eyes were open.
"That which troubles you is not within the kitchen, yet in the kitchen is where it does its mischief. Stand still a moment, both of you."
L'Fertti sank back into his trance. Kaloo and T'nar exchanged shrugs, but complied. After an eternity of silence and waiting, L'Fertti said, "No, it's not on either of you."
T'nar narrowed his eyes. "Why would either of us bring bad luck into our own inn? You don't make sense. Perhaps that knock on the head has damaged your faculties. I knew I should have looked at that wound. Let me see it now."
Kaloo coughed to cover her breath catching. There was a subtle change in T'nar's attitude toward L'Fertti. Was it only his normal distrust of wizards or was there more to it?
"My head is fine now, thank you. I have seen to my own healing, since your generous meal gave me the strength to do so. No, I did not mean to imply that one of you had cursed the kitchen, only that you might unwittingly..."
The kitchen door swung open and Kaloo saw the reason for T'nar's change of heart. It's all going to be my idea now, she reflected sourly. Daril stood in the door.
"Allow me to present the proprietor of the Mug and Anchor," T'nar said. "Daril, this is the fellow I told you about when I discovered you had awakened. This is...beg pardon, I don't believe you gave me your name."
"Laf," the wizard said. "Only poor simple Laf, waylaid by evil men, starved and beaten, and trying now to repay the generosity of one who had helped me to recover from such treatment. "
His words made no impression on Daril. "What is going on in my kitchen?" she demanded, glaring alike at chalk marks, scorched saucer, and wizard.
Kaloo matched her. "He's a wizard, Daril. He's trying to find out why the food is sometimes bad and sometimes good. We...he thinks perhaps there is a curse on the inn."
Daril's mouth sagged open slightly. Then her face was contorted with an anger such as Kaloo had never seen. "Fools! The one thing I don't want done, and you do it! Tell someone of our shame! Why not proclaim it to all of Liavek? Can't you accept what has happened? Isn't it bad enough without dragging some old fool in here to make it worse? I don't know what you mean by 'the food is sometimes bad and sometimes good.' It's all bad! Rotten, stinking, gone rancid, spoiled! Do you think I'd have it changed by magic? And liable to be bad again as soon as the spell wore off! The Mug and Anchor is my inn, and the pot-boil served here is my pot-boil. Not some wizard's version of what it used to taste like, or ought to taste like! What is the matter with you two? Have you no respect for my feelings at all?" Suddenly the anger went from her eyes, her shoulders slumped, and she dropped heavily to the bench beside the hearth.
Always, always in Kaloo's life, Daril had been strong and unshakable, knowing all things, from how to cure a stomach ache to h
ow to save jam that wasn't jelling. She had never been one for weeping or ranting. She had faced troubles and made the best of them. But this business with the pot-boil was drowning her. She sat on the bench, looking wounded, and tired, and aged, like the old women Kaloo saw on the street. Like she wished someone else would fix it, for a change.
T'nar was the one who had hugged and tossed and tickled Kaloo when she was small, the one who teased and joked and comforted. Daril was the one who advised, ordered, made rules, and taught lessons. Kaloo could not remember when last Daril had hugged her, or kissed her. She did not remember Daril ever saying she loved her. It was a very long walk across the kitchen, to sit down on the bench beside Daril and put her arm across the older woman's shoulders. She noticed that T'nar could not look at either of them. Even L'Fertti was embarrassed. He was staring fixedly at the ceiling, his eyes closed to slits, his hands clenched at his sides.
Kaloo's voice came out husky. "Daril. We didn't mean to upset you. We only wanted to help set things right. And the food has been bad and good today. When T'nar and I ate some of the pot-boil, it was fine. Then when you came in and stirred it, it smelled awful. And now. The kitchen smelled fine for a while, and now..." Kaloo put a hand to her nose. The odor of something rotten was close to overpowering. Daril rose and stalked over to the counter. She lifted the lid from the cooled pot-boil and the rank stench filled the air.
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