Blood ties-- Thieves World 09 (35 page)

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?"

Avenestra looked at the floor and began leaking tears. "What-what else can I d do-o?"

"What would you like to do? Think, girl! For once, think!"

"B-b-be you-you-ourss!"

Strick slapped the desk cover, a huge piece of deep blue velvet trailing gold tassels on her side. "My dotter, you mean."

"Daughter? Uh-"

"Look at me and consider my age and forget the other, Avneh!" She did look at him, from unkohled eyes all soft and misted with tears that traced glistening tracks down her gaunt cheeks. She bit her lip. She nodded.

"What-what does your daught-your dotter do?"

"Strangely enough, she is called niece rather than dotter, calls me Uncle Strick, and lives in the room across the corridor. I am helping to relocate the present tenant. My niece learns decent behavior and decent things to do, wears decent clothing, and will I hope become aide and receptionist."

"I-I-I don't even know what that means..."

"In the meanwhile, she markets for me and cooks for me."

"Oh, oh M-Mother Shipri-yes, yes, I will cook for you!" Strick smiled. "My niece also stops watering this nice carpet with so many tears."

She smiled. "Oh my lor-Uncle Strick! How did you come by your ability?"

"The power of the Ring of Foogalooganooga, far west of Firaqa, Avenestra. Wints!"

The door opened and a thin man appeared. He was freshly barbered and shaven, wearing a nice new tunic of Croyite blue. "Sir?"

"Take my niece around to a few places and introduce her, Wints. You and she will be buying some food. At Kalen's, tell him she is to have a tunic from the same bolt as yours. White broidery at the neck and-umm. Length just above the knees. Avneh: it is not to be tight!"

"Y-ess, Uncle," she said, trying not to weep in her joy.

"All right then, be on your way-what's all that damned noise!" Then, "Easy, Wints. Don't be so fast to draw that dagger!" Strick strode to the door and stared at the stairwell. "Frax! What's all that n-oh. Noble Shafralain. Come in. My aide and my niece were just leaving. Wints: despite his stride and fiercely determined look, this man and I are friends."

He gestured. Wide of eye, Wintsenay and Avenestra departed while the silken tunicked nobleman strode into the room that Strick called his "shop." Shafralain paused to regard the other man, who was most unusually attired. Strick's calf length tunic of medium blue and oddly, unfashionably matching leggings made him seem less big and yet more imposing, in a different way. A matching skullcap, encompassing most of his head, had replaced the odd leathern cap of the same design.

"What are you, Strick? First I saw a big man with a sword and few words. Another caravan guard, I thought, probably looking for mercenary employment. Then I discovered you had character and consideration-and silver. In my home I was struck by your comportment-aye, and deportment: the manners of a man well born. Nonetheless I was nervous about my daughter's uh seeming fondness for you. Yet Cusharlain assured me that you were not encouraging her; strange way for a man to behave, with a highborn girl who shows him attention! Soon I learned from her that you had taken these rooms, in a good location, and purchased furniture. Next I discovered that you have real money; we share a banker, Strick. Ah, don't look that way! He is close-mouthed as he should be; it is just that I am one of his partners. Now my wife-gods of my fathers, Strick! What are you?"

"Sit down. Noble," Strick said, as he did so. "It's no secret, now: I am open for business. I recognize most spells, and I possess a smallish ability to redirect... problems. Call it an ability to cast minor spells. I also have rules. I help people, but by what most would call 'white magic' only. I will have nothing to do with the other kind, but would fight it."

"That is the most I have ever heard you say!" Shafralain had slid down into the comfortable chair across the handsomely draped desk from the quiet man.

"Whence... whence came this ability?"

"From Ferrillan, far north of Firaqa. From a woman now dead. I am unbound by gods and locale, or by spells or anti-spells. Partners with my moneyhandler, eh?"

"Never mind that. The unsightly mole on my wife's... chest has been there for over ten years. Now it has vanished without a trace, because she came to see you. She is ecstatic -and she says you did not even touch her."

"Not quite true," Strick told him. "I did see the mole, and later I did put my hands on her shoulders. It was sufficient."

Shafralain shook his head. "Such power-and can you heal? Are you a physician mage, is that it?"

"Not really. Can't raise the dead and wouldn't strike dead an enemy of yours, not for all your fortune. Couldn't heal a dagger wound in your belly either, Shafralain."

Shafralain made a face at the image that brought to mind. "My lady wife is the happiest of women, and yet you took from her a single piece of silver. Now-"

"No. I asked for something of value, in advance, and a silver coin was what she my third client here-chose to give me. Another gave me water and wine; another a worthless belt. But it was of value to her, you see."

"Now my wife tells me I should give you a hundred more!"

"I have what I want of her and of you, Shafralain," Strick said, omitting the other man's title for the second time. "How many of high station has she told?" He smiled. "I hope she exaggerates the amount paid but not my ability! Because of her, others will come. I will have my hundred pieces of silver! But-is she totally happy? There is always another Price; a Trade. I paid mine. A person who was infatuated with one much older and driven to drunkenness now has a craving for sweets that will become trouble. Fulcris's wound healed swiftly without a scar. I had only a little to do with that, but he will have some small complaint by now. The reverse effect; the Price."

Shafralain stared. "Expimilia's tooth! You are telling me that the suddenly painful tooth my wife had to have drawn is an additional price she paid for your help?"

"Probably. It was not in front, I hope. Ah, good. Doesn't show? Good. Has she any other recent complaint?" When the other man shook his head, Strick shrugged.

"The painful ab-cess was probably the Price, then. Not a terrible one. That is beyond my control. It might have been gentler, and it could have been worse. Still, some people prefer the original problem to the Price." Shafralain sat studying him. "I am not sure I believe all you say, Strick. Easy to admit that I'd like to! White magic only, eh?"

Quietly and in an equable tone, staring, Strick said, "Snarl and sneer at street urchins. Noble Shafralain, but do not question me."

Shafralain stiffened and his knuckles paled as he gripped the arms of the comfortable chair Strick provided for his visitors. Strick's eyes never wavered from the nobleman's stare. At last Shafralain's hands and body loosened.

"Strick, my family existed in ancient Ilsig since before Ranke was. My family has been here since Us the All-seeing led my people out of the Queen's Mountains and here to Sanctuary. The city of the children of Us has been beset by blood lusting Rankans and weavers of the darkest spells. For a time it seemed that the All-father had turned our city over to His son, the Nameless One who is patron of shadows and thieves. For a time some of us thought we saw promise in the young prince whom the emperor-the murdered emperor, now-sent out from Ranke. He is no Ilsig, but damn it we thought he was a man. Now we have the sea people. New conquerors. And that same young prince, who has a Rankan wife, consorts openly with one of those... creatures."

He came to painful pause rather than a halt, but Strick said, "All this I know, Aral Shafralain t'llsig."

Shafralain nodded. "1 said that I want to believe you, Strick. White Magic is the Old way. We need it. Sanctuary needs hope." Abruptly he rose. "I was not questioning you, my touchy friend. I love Sanctuary and hope you do." Strick rose. "My vow is long since made, Shafralain, and bound about. I am what I say. A minor weaver of spells; spells for good and that only."

"You said that you paid a price," Shafralain said, after gazing at him for a time. "I would dare ask what price you paid for your... abilities. A tooth?" Strick shook his head. He reached up and brushed his hand over his skullcap, wiping it backward from his head. Shafralain stared at the other man's head, and at last he nodded. He extended his hand. Strick took it, and again their gazes met. Then Shafralain departed amid a rustle of silk. The big man carefully replaced his skullcap.

Noble Shafralain could guess at the rest of the Price Strick had paid for the ability, but probably would not. Strick didn't care.

His name was Gonfred and he was a goldsmith with a reputation for honesty. No shavings, no scrapings or drippings remained in his possession when he worked with the gold of others. He hiccoughed as he entered Strick's shop and again by the time he was seated and laying a silver coin on the desk's blue cloth.

"Is this of value to you, Gonfred?"

The goldsmith gazed at him, smiled shyly, and added another silver coin. And he hiccoughed.

"How long have you had the hiccups, Gonfred?"

"Six days. I work with my ha-uh!-hands. Can't work."

"I want you to sit back and take about three deep breaths. Hold the third as long as you possibly can. If you hiccup during that process, do it again. Avenestra!"

Sucking up great breaths, Gonfred saw the blue-tunicked young girl who appeared.

"Sir!"

"Please fetch an ounce of Saracsaboona for this honest goldsmith, with two ounces of water."

She departed. Gonfred hiccoughed and started the deep breathing again. He succeeded in holding the third. Avenestra returned from the adjoining room. In both hands she bore a goblet of translucent green glass. It contained an ounce of ordinary wine, an ounce of water, and an ounce of saffron water for color. She set it before Strick. Taking it in both hands, he rose and came around to the seated goldsmith. Gonfred accepted it and looked questioning; he was still holding, barely.