“I’ve had about enough of you,” the woman said, waving the knife dangerously close to Biki. “Just because Rawk and Travis like you, doesn’t mean I have to put up with your crap.”
Biki didn’t say anything. She just held onto her big, over-full serving plate and stared at her shoes.
“You do what I tell you to do or I’ll kick you all the way back over the river.”
Rawk washed his face in the sink by the door and when he was done, Kalesie was still going. So he dried his face on his sleeve and wandered over to the table. “What’s the problem?”
“This is none of your business, Rawk.” Kalesie waved the knife in his face as well, for a moment, before seeming to come to the conclusion that that may be taking things a bit too far. “This Path cursed dwarf has been annoying me with questions all morning. And now she has the nerve to question the ingredients I was using in my stew.”
“What ingredients are you using?”
“That’s none of your business either.” She turned to the table and started to chop violently at a carrot. “Both of you get out of my kitchen.”
Biki looked at Rawk, then Kalesie, then back to Rawk. It was obvious she wanted to say something, but felt that she couldn’t. Rawk motioned with his head then led the way from the room. Just through the door into the taproom he stopped to wait. Biki came through a moment later.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Except she doesn’t seem to care about what the customers want at all. She was told yesterday that people were complaining about the stew and today she is making the same one, I’m sure.”
“Well, she’s pretty set in her ways.”
Biki narrowed her eyes.
Rawk cleared his throat.
“I need to give out these meals.”
Rawk sighed and went through the next door. From there, one set of stairs went up to his room and another went down to The Vault. He paused for a moment, unsure, and was caught by Natan before he could make up his mind.
“Ho, Rawk.”
“Natan. A late lunch today?”
“If it was my first lunch then it certainly would be late.” It looked as if part of his first lunch had dribbled down the front of his black, lacy doublet. “I was just upstairs reading and thought I would come down for a drink and a bite to eat.”
“Pork stew again today, I hear.” He was starving as well but too sore and tired to actually make much of an effort to fix the problem.
“Oh.”
“You don’t like the stew?”
Natan glanced towards the kitchen door and didn’t say anything.
“Right, then. Do you know where Travis is?”
“I know where he was last night and this morning.” Natan smiled. “Since then though...” He shrugged his round shoulders apologetically.
“Well, I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”
“Of course he will be around somewhere. I’m not sure he ever goes home any more, what with all the hours he works and the nearness of my bed.”
“It’s a long walk to his place. I’ve never understood why he didn’t move closer.”
“He might soon. He keeps telling me about all the dwarves moving into the west of the city.”
“They may be all over the city soon.”
“Like rats? Don’t say things like that.” He took out his handkerchief and mopped at is brow as if just the thought of dwarves was enough to make him sweat.
Rawk felt his fake smile slip slightly. “No, I didn’t mean like rats at all. Weaver has made getting a place to the south of the river so hard that they may not have a choice. Why would they choose to live up here when people, humans, treat them like second class citizens?”
Natan concentrated on his handkerchief for a moment. “I think I hear that pork stew calling to me after all.”
“Pork stews can be very insistent,” Rawk agreed.
Natan went through to the common room and Rawk made a decision as the sound washed over him again. He headed down the stairs.
Sylvia was sitting in her usual seat in the library.
“Did Travis give you a key or something?” Rawk asked.
She read from the big tattered book on her lap for a moment more before marking her place with a long, slim finger and looking up. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
She raised an eyebrow and Rawk sighed.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“If you insist.”
Rawk didn’t insist, but he didn’t know that he was ready to get into another of those conversations with Sylvia. He leaned his sword in the corner and checked the tea on the brazier.
“I put that back on not five minutes ago,” she said.
It would be a while until it was ready then. Rawk went to his desk and sat down, stretching out his legs. He was teetering on the edge of sleep. “I have some good news,” he said.
“More books? Travis brought another dozen or so from Lady Tapalar’s collection today,” Sylvia said. “I am not quite sure if you understand the meaning of ‘good news’.”
“No, this is better than more books. I spoke to Opok again today.”
“You did? It is a bit early for you to be back already.”
“I set out at about midnight.”
“That was your task last night?”
“Yes.”
“And what was so important that you had to go into the Old Forest at midnight?”
“Those exots that Weaver wanted to kill?”
“Yes?”
“He won’t be finding them now.”
“You took them to see Opok?”
“Yes. And he speaks their language.”
“Right.”
“They should be fine now.”
“Good.”
“Exactly.”
“So is that the good news? I was hoping it would have more immediate benefits.”
Rawk yawned and tried to gather his wandering thoughts. “Information. Opok says that magic is still being stored somewhere in Katamood.”
“I dare say it is. There must be hundreds of small talismans and the like.”
Rawk shook his head. “He says there’s enough magic stored here to open two score portals. And he says that it isn’t being stored in an object.”
“Then what?”
“He wasn’t sure earlier because the cabal thingy was muddling things, but he’s sure that it’s being stored in a person. Enough power to open forty more portals.”
“He is incorrect,” Sylvia said. “It is not possible.” But she didn’t look so sure. She looked a little bit frightened.
Rawk looked at her. “You know something?”
“There are legends about men who cannot draw magic but can hold it.”
“Pardon.”
“Think of magic as...” She looked around. “As the water in your teapot.”
Rawk’s eyes narrowed. “Right.” He didn’t know if he could think his way through another of her metaphors.
“I must first choose a flavor of tea and put it in, then I can pour a cup for myself, or I can pour one for you, or I can pour it on this book. You can’t touch the pot at all because it is too hot but, because I am a sorcerer, I can.”
Rawk stifled another yawn and gave it some thought. “Still with you. Different flavors are different spells.” He slipped off his boots and wriggled his toes. The feeling was pleasant, the smell was not.
“Correct.”
Rawk felt she looked a little bit relived that he was understanding. He was a bit impressed himself, seeing he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.
“The trouble is, all my tea cups have holes in them.”
“If you don’t use it straight away it goes away?”
“That is how it is for all sorcerers. But there are legends of people called spences. They cannot pour water from the pot either, they need a sorcerer’s help with that, but they have a cup and it d
oes not have a hole. And they can decide which flavor of tea after the water is in the cup.”
“So, sorcerers supply them with magic and then they use it?”
“Precisely.”
“So how do we find this spence then?”
“I do not know. They are legends, remember? I am not willing to admit that they even exist. If this is a spence and not another cabal... Rawk, the spence does not have a teacup, they have a bucket. To hold enough power to make forty portals is inconceivable.”
Rawk blinked several times. “Sylvia.”
“Yes.”
“We broke up that cabal weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“Dozens of portals have opened since then. But the spence can still open forty more according to Opok? That doesn’t sound like a bucket; it sounds like a whole dwarvish tank full of hot water.”
“Path, you are right.” She put her head in her hands for a moment. “There must be another cabal. There must.”
“Or, that man with the cabal who you said was not a sorcerer?”
“Inconceivable, Rawk.”
“So you keep saying. Perhaps we should keep an open mind.”
“Perhaps.” She looked up at the library. “I do not have enough time.”
It looked as if she would say more, but Rawk was finally drifting off to sleep and didn’t find out one way or the other.
-O-
“Rawk, where are you?”
Rawk came awake in an instant, sitting bolt upright in his chair and looking around. Sylvia and was still there. She looked very uncomfortable, looking at the door as if expecting something unpleasant.
“Are you down here?”
Rawk surged to his feet. He looked at Kaj in the corner but left it there and hurried out into the clutter of the storage room. He pulled the door closed behind him just as Weaver rounded the corner.
“Where did you go this morning?” Weaver said without even offering a greeting.
“Nowhere.”
“Nowhere?” He gave a bark of laughter that held no amusement. “You never left the Rest but all of a sudden Hular sees you coming up the hill.”
Rawk raised an eyebrow. “You have people watching me?”
Weaver paused. “No. Of course not.”
Rawk shook his head. “Why would you do that, Weaver? That hurts. After all this time you think... Well, I don’t know what you think I’m doing.”
Weaver sighed and picked up a silver goblet from a box of random items. “You are protecting exots, Rawk.”
“You know this for sure?”
“Well...”
“And, even if it was true, who says it’s against the law?”
“Well...”
“No, seriously, where has it ever been written that people can’t protect exots? I saw some birds come through a portal the other day. Tiny little yellow and green things, they were. I’m pretty sure they weren’t vampire birds. They weren’t going to hurt anybody.”
“So you didn’t kill them? You just let them fly away?”
It was Rawk’s turn to sigh. “They were the size of sparrows, Weaver. Even if I had wanted to kill them I don’t think they would’ve sat around while I tried to run them through with Kaj. There are probably dozens of other creatures we don’t know about, little things that came through and slunk away into the city, petrified.”
“They could be dangerous, Rawk.”
“They were tiny birds.”
“Not them. The warriors.”
“There was one warrior and he’s dead. I didn’t help anyone.”
Weaver put the goblet down and picked up a battered helm from the same box. “Is this Kalanar’s helm?” he asked.
Rawk was glad of the change in conversation. “Yes.”
“I remember that. That was a great summer. We spent almost every day in the palace gardens. Swimming and picnics. And dancing every night.” He looked wistfully at Rawk.
“You make it sound as if you and I were dancing together, Weaver. Do you remember Posy and... Who was the chambermaid you were with? Bethu?”
Weaver threw down the helm. If it hadn’t been dented before it would have been now. “They were both using us. They thought we could take them away from there.”
“We could have, but we were using them.”
“Those exots don’t belong here. I will find them and I will kill them.” Weaver spun about and left the room.
Rawk went back into the office and slumped down onto his chair. “What time is it?” he asked.
Sylvia was staring at the door. “Mid-afternoon. You have slept for more than two hours.”
“Well, I needed it.” It felt like he hadn’t slept at all. “You keep reading. I’ll see if I can find you some help.”
“Who?”
“Waydin, maybe.”
Sylvia gave him a look.
“Trust me.”
Rawk went upstairs first and had a shower, standing under water as hot as he could stand, letting it wash away the night before. When he put on some clean clothes he felt like a new man; it probably wouldn’t last long. A few minutes later, carrying a purse full of money, he was on his way down the hill.
He spent a few ithel to avoid having to tell a story. Then spent some more on a pastry and stood on the porch to watch a dwarf work gang. Their wagon, half loaded with the huge pavers to lay back over the sewer, had a broken wheel and wasn’t going anywhere. But that didn’t stop the work. The four bullocks had been unhitched from the front and were resting in the shade while the dwarves unloaded pavers and moved them by hand, shuffling up the street.
A man, hardly taller than the dwarves but as skinny as spring sapling, stopped by the wagon. “Are you going to get out of the way? I need to buy a hat.”
Rawk realized the wagon was stuck in front of a millinery shop.
“Sorry to inconvenience you, sir,” the gang boss said, taking off his own broad brimmed leather hat as if the object might offend in the current circumstances. “Unfortunately the wagon won’t be going anywhere in a hurry.”
Rawk had heard the conversation a hundred times before. He kept chewing on his pastry, wondering what he could say. Possibly if he defended some dwarves Weaver would forget all about the exots.
“That’s not good enough,” the little man said, putting his hands on his hips and sneering. There was a crowd starting to gather and he was feeding off the attention.
“We’re doing our best, sir. The wheelwright is on his way as we speak.”
“I suppose he’s a dwarf; the wheel will just break again. Aren’t there any human wheelwrights?” The crowd was urging him on.
“I dare say there are dozens in Katamood, sir, but seeing they don’t have to be members of the Wheelwrights’ Guild, I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Well, go and get one. I don’t have all day.”
“Sir, if you just go next door, you can use the stairs there and then use the walkway to reach the hat-maker.”
“I shouldn’t have to waste my time because of your incompetence. Why don’t you go back across the river?”
The dwarf grunted. “Where do you live, sir?”
“What? That’s none of your business.”
“Well, I just wanted to know so I can make sure we don’t disturb you in the future.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“We won’t put the sewers along your street so you’ll have to keep using your chamber pots.”
Rawk smiled. That was different. In all his days Rawk could not remember a dwarf in public being anything other than polite and respectful.
The little man’s mouth was flapping as he tried to think of something to say. But the gang boss didn’t give him the chance. “Except we won’t send the privy wagon along your street, because you don’t like dwarves. And we won’t sweep your street and we won’t light the lamps. And you can go down to the docks to unload your own food. And you can explain to your neighbors why the price of pumpkins has doubled. And why the trash is pilin
g up outside their doors. And you can take their chamber pots away.”
With every sentence the little man was wilting, collapsing in on himself. And the catcalls of the crowd had turned to an angry, confused muttering. The man suddenly turned and started to walk away.
“You forgot to get your hat,” the gang boss called after him. “Perhaps you should get one with a veil so nobody will recognize you.”
There was a rumbling from the crowd and Rawk swore. Licking the last of the pastry filling from his fingers he wondered what to do. The angry noise started to grow as what had just happened started to sink in, and Rawk knew he was out of time.
“All right then,” he called. A couple of people looked in his direction but not many. He found his battlefield-voice, long dormant, and put it to use. “Listen up.” People started to turn in his direction so he held up a hand as he waited for some quiet. “I can sort this out for you.”
“It’s not right, Rawk. Dwarves shouldn’t speak to us like that.”
“Obviously. But we can fix everything.”
“Come on then. Show these damn dwarves what it means to cross a human.”
“What’s your name?” Rawk asked the closest human.
“Het.”
“Right. Het. So, tomorrow you can be in charge of sweeping the streets. Get some volunteers. And who will drive the privy wagon? I’d like to make sure we’ve got that covered before I go about showing theses dwarves who’s boss.”
“I’m not going to sweep any streets. I’m a shoemaker.”
Rawk picked someone at random. “Will you drive the privy wagon? I imagine there’s more than one of them so we’ll need a few more volunteers.”
“What?”
“Somebody has to do the jobs. Will it be you?”
Nobody said anything. They didn’t even mutter. They looked at the dwarves, then back at Rawk.
“Right. Well, while you get all that organized, go on your way and let these dwarves get on with their work.”
Nobody moved.
“Go, before I call the City Guard.”
The people stood for a moment longer, then started to drift away. It probably wouldn’t be the end of it, but Rawk couldn’t do anything about that.
An Army of Heroes Page 9