What
happened?” Sahra demanded as soon as she came in, before she
began shedding Minh Subredil’s rags.
I was still Dorabee Dey Banerjae myself. “We lost Murgen
somehow. Goblin thought they had him anchored, but he went away
while we were all out and I don’t know how to get him
back.”
“I meant what happened in the Thieves’ Garden.
Soulcatcher was out there. Whatever she tried to pull didn’t
work out but she came back a different person. I didn’t get
to hear everything she told the Radisha but I do know she found
something or figured out something that changed her whole attitude.
Like everything suddenly stopped being fun.”
I said, “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe Murgen can tell us.
If we can get him back here.”
Goblin joined us. He was pushing a sleeping One-Eye in Banh Do
Trang’s spare wheelchair. He announced, “They’re
resting peacefully. Drugged. Narayan was distraught. The girl took
it pretty calmly. We need to worry about her.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, indicating
One-Eye.
“He’s worn out. He’s an old man. I want to see
you have half the energy he does when you get to be half his
age.”
Sahra asked, “Why do we need to worry about the
girl?”
“Because she’s her mother’s daughter. She
doesn’t have much skill with it yet because she hasn’t
had anybody to teach her, but she’s got the natural ability
to become a substantial sorceress. Maybe even as powerful as her
mother but without Lady’s rudimentary sense of ethics. It
reeks off her—”
“ ’Tain’t the only thing she reeks of, neither,”
One-Eye chirped. “First thing you do with that little honey,
you throw her in a vat of hot water. Then throw in a couple, four
lumps of lye soap and let her soak for a week.”
Sahra and I exchanged glances. If she was bad enough to offend
One-Eye, she had to be ripe indeed.
Goblin grinned from ear to ear but eschewed temptation.
I said, “I hear you ran into the Protector.”
“She was on a roof or somewhere waiting for something to
happen. She didn’t get what she expected. A couple of
fireballs and she ducked and stayed ducked.”
“You made it home without being followed?” I knew
the answer because I knew they knew the stakes. They would not have
come anywhere near here had they had the slightest doubt that that
was safe.
I had to ask, even knowing that if they had failed, the
warehouse would be buried in Greys already.
“We were ready to deal with the crows.”
“All but one,” One-Eye grumbled.
“What?”
“I saw a white one up there. It didn’t try to follow
us, though.”
Once again Sahra and I exchanged glances. Sahra said,
“I’m going to change and relax and get something to
eat. Let’s meet in an hour. If you could find it in your
heart, Goblin, you might try to get Murgen back here.”
“You’re the necromancer.”
“You’re the one who claimed he anchored him. One
hour.”
Goblin began grumbling to himself. One-Eye chuckled and made no
offer to help. He asked me, “You ready to kill your librarian
yet?”
I did not tell him so but I was slightly more open to the
suggestion tonight. Surendranath Santaraksita seemed to suspect
that Dorabee Dey Banerjae was something more than he pretended. Or
maybe I was just paranoid enough to hear things Santaraksita never
intended to say. “You don’t worry about Master
Santaraksita. He’s being very good to me. Today he told me I
can look at any book I want. Unless it’s in the restricted
stacks.”
“Woo!” One-Eye breathed. “Somebody finally
found the way to her heart. Who’d’a thunk a book would
do it? Name the first one after me, Little Girl.”
I waved a fist under his nose. “I’d knock out your
last tooth and call you Mushy but I was brought up to respect my
elders—even if they’re rambling, demented and senile.”
For all its One True God focus, my religion contains a strong taint
of ancestor worship. Every Vehdna believes his forefathers can hear
his prayers and can intercede with God and his saints. If he feels
he has been properly treated. “I’m going to follow
Sahra’s example.”
“You holler if you want to get in practice for your new
boyfriend.” His cackle ended abruptly as Gota limped around
me. When I glanced back, One-Eye appeared to be sound asleep again.
Must have been some other old fool running his mouth.
During the siege of Jaicur, I announced that never again would I
be picky about what I ate. That I would respond to anything offered
me with a smile of gratitude and a spoken “Thank you.”
But time has a way of wearing away at such vows. I was nearly as
sick of rice and smoked fish as Goblin and One-Eye were. Breaking
the tedium with the occasional supper of rice and fish meal did not
seem to help. I am confident that it is their diet that makes the
Nyueng Bao such a humorless people.
I ran into Sahra, who had bathed and let her hair down and
relaxed, looking a decade younger, so that it was easy to see how,
a decade earlier still, she could have been every young man’s
fantasy. “I still have a little money I took off somebody who
picked the wrong side down south,” I told her, waving a tiny
piece of fish caught between two bamboo chopsticks. Nyueng Bao
refuse to adopt innovative utensils that have been in common use
amongst everyone else in this part of the world for centuries.
Those who did the cooking in Do Trang’s complex were all
Nyueng Bao.
“What?” Sahra was completely baffled.
“I’ll give it up. If we can buy a pig with
it.” Vehdna are not supposed to eat pork. But I made the
mistake of being born female, so I probably do not have a seat
reserved in Paradise anyway. “Or anything else that
doesn’t go through the water like this.” I made a
wiggly motion with one hand.
Sahra did not understand. Food was a matter of indifference to
her—so long as she got some. Fish and rice forever were perfectly
fine. And she was probably right. There are plenty of people out
there who have to eat chhatu because they cannot afford rice. And
others cannot afford any food at all. Though Soulcatcher seemed to
be thinning those out now.
Sahra started to tell me something about a rumor that another
Bhodi disciple was going to present himself at the entrance to the
Palace and demand an audience with the Radisha. But we were
approaching the lighted area where we worked our wickednesses of
evenings and she saw something there that made her stop.
I started to say, “Then we need to get somebody next to
him—”
Sahra growled, “What the hell is he doing here?”
I saw it now. Uncle Doj was back, probably determined to invite
himself into our lives again. His timing seemed interesting and
suspect.
I also found it interesting that Sahra spoke Taglian when she
was stressed. She had some definite points of contention with her
own people, though around the warehouse nobody used Nyueng Bao
except Mother Gota, who did so only to remain a pain.
Uncle Doj was a wide little man who, though on the brink of
seventy, was mostly muscle and gristle, and in recent years, bad
temper. He carried a long, slightly curved sword he called Ash
Wand. Ash Wand was his soul. He had told me so. He was some sort of
priest but would not bother to explain. His religion involved
martial arts and holy swords, though. He was nobody’s uncle
in reality. Uncle was a title of respect among Nyueng Bao, and they
all seemed to consider Doj a man worthy of the greatest
respect.
Uncle Doj has meandered in and out of our lives since the siege
of Jaicur, always more distraction than contribution. He could be
underfoot for years at a stretch, then would disappear for weeks or
months or years. This latest time he had been out of the way for
more than a year. When he did turn up, he never bothered reporting
what he had been doing or where he had been, but judging from
Murgen’s observations and my own, he was still searching for
his Key diligently.
Curious, him materializing so suddenly after my epiphany. I
asked Sahra, “Did your mother happen to leave the warehouse
today?”
“That question occurred to me, too. It might be worth
pursuit.”
Very little warmth existed between mother and daughter. Murgen
was not the cause but absolutely had become the symbol.
Uncle Doj was supposed to be a minor wizard. I never saw any
evidence to support that, other than his uncanny skill with Ash
Wand. He was old and his joints were getting stiff. His reflexes
were fading. But I could not think of anyone who would remotely
be his match. Nor have I ever heard of anyone else dedicating his
life to a piece of steel the way he has.
Maybe I did have evidence of his being a wizard, I reflected. He
never had any trouble getting through the mazes Goblin and One-Eye
had created to save us the embarrassment of unexpected walk-ins.
Those two ought to tie him down till he explained how he did
that.
I asked Sahra, “How do you want to handle this?”
Her voice was edged with flint. “Far as I’m
concerned, we can lump him right in there with Singh and the
Daughter of Night.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my enemy, huh?”
“I never liked Doj much. By Nyueng Bao standards
he’s a great and honorable man, a hero due great respect. And
he’s the embodiment of everything I find distasteful about my
people.”
“Secretive, huh?”
She betrayed a hint of a smile. In that she was as guilty as any
other Nyueng Bao. “That’s in the blood.”
Tobo noticed us watching and talking. He darted over. He was
excited enough to forget he was a surly young man. “Mom.
Uncle Doj is here.”
“So I see. He say what he wants this time?”
I touched her arm gently, cautioning her. No need to start
butting heads.
Doj, of course, was aware of our presence. I never saw a man so
intensely aware of his environment. He might have heard every word
we whispered, too. I put no store in the chance that time had
weathered his sense of hearing. He gobbled rice and paid us no
heed.
I told Sahra, “Go say hello. I need a second to put my
face on.”
“I ought to send for the Greys. Have them raid the place.
I’m too tired for this.” She did not bother to keep her
voice down.
“Mom?”
What
happened?” Sahra demanded as soon as she came in, before she
began shedding Minh Subredil’s rags.
I was still Dorabee Dey Banerjae myself. “We lost Murgen
somehow. Goblin thought they had him anchored, but he went away
while we were all out and I don’t know how to get him
back.”
“I meant what happened in the Thieves’ Garden.
Soulcatcher was out there. Whatever she tried to pull didn’t
work out but she came back a different person. I didn’t get
to hear everything she told the Radisha but I do know she found
something or figured out something that changed her whole attitude.
Like everything suddenly stopped being fun.”
I said, “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe Murgen can tell us.
If we can get him back here.”
Goblin joined us. He was pushing a sleeping One-Eye in Banh Do
Trang’s spare wheelchair. He announced, “They’re
resting peacefully. Drugged. Narayan was distraught. The girl took
it pretty calmly. We need to worry about her.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, indicating
One-Eye.
“He’s worn out. He’s an old man. I want to see
you have half the energy he does when you get to be half his
age.”
Sahra asked, “Why do we need to worry about the
girl?”
“Because she’s her mother’s daughter. She
doesn’t have much skill with it yet because she hasn’t
had anybody to teach her, but she’s got the natural ability
to become a substantial sorceress. Maybe even as powerful as her
mother but without Lady’s rudimentary sense of ethics. It
reeks off her—”
“ ’Tain’t the only thing she reeks of, neither,”
One-Eye chirped. “First thing you do with that little honey,
you throw her in a vat of hot water. Then throw in a couple, four
lumps of lye soap and let her soak for a week.”
Sahra and I exchanged glances. If she was bad enough to offend
One-Eye, she had to be ripe indeed.
Goblin grinned from ear to ear but eschewed temptation.
I said, “I hear you ran into the Protector.”
“She was on a roof or somewhere waiting for something to
happen. She didn’t get what she expected. A couple of
fireballs and she ducked and stayed ducked.”
“You made it home without being followed?” I knew
the answer because I knew they knew the stakes. They would not have
come anywhere near here had they had the slightest doubt that that
was safe.
I had to ask, even knowing that if they had failed, the
warehouse would be buried in Greys already.
“We were ready to deal with the crows.”
“All but one,” One-Eye grumbled.
“What?”
“I saw a white one up there. It didn’t try to follow
us, though.”
Once again Sahra and I exchanged glances. Sahra said,
“I’m going to change and relax and get something to
eat. Let’s meet in an hour. If you could find it in your
heart, Goblin, you might try to get Murgen back here.”
“You’re the necromancer.”
“You’re the one who claimed he anchored him. One
hour.”
Goblin began grumbling to himself. One-Eye chuckled and made no
offer to help. He asked me, “You ready to kill your librarian
yet?”
I did not tell him so but I was slightly more open to the
suggestion tonight. Surendranath Santaraksita seemed to suspect
that Dorabee Dey Banerjae was something more than he pretended. Or
maybe I was just paranoid enough to hear things Santaraksita never
intended to say. “You don’t worry about Master
Santaraksita. He’s being very good to me. Today he told me I
can look at any book I want. Unless it’s in the restricted
stacks.”
“Woo!” One-Eye breathed. “Somebody finally
found the way to her heart. Who’d’a thunk a book would
do it? Name the first one after me, Little Girl.”
I waved a fist under his nose. “I’d knock out your
last tooth and call you Mushy but I was brought up to respect my
elders—even if they’re rambling, demented and senile.”
For all its One True God focus, my religion contains a strong taint
of ancestor worship. Every Vehdna believes his forefathers can hear
his prayers and can intercede with God and his saints. If he feels
he has been properly treated. “I’m going to follow
Sahra’s example.”
“You holler if you want to get in practice for your new
boyfriend.” His cackle ended abruptly as Gota limped around
me. When I glanced back, One-Eye appeared to be sound asleep again.
Must have been some other old fool running his mouth.
During the siege of Jaicur, I announced that never again would I
be picky about what I ate. That I would respond to anything offered
me with a smile of gratitude and a spoken “Thank you.”
But time has a way of wearing away at such vows. I was nearly as
sick of rice and smoked fish as Goblin and One-Eye were. Breaking
the tedium with the occasional supper of rice and fish meal did not
seem to help. I am confident that it is their diet that makes the
Nyueng Bao such a humorless people.
I ran into Sahra, who had bathed and let her hair down and
relaxed, looking a decade younger, so that it was easy to see how,
a decade earlier still, she could have been every young man’s
fantasy. “I still have a little money I took off somebody who
picked the wrong side down south,” I told her, waving a tiny
piece of fish caught between two bamboo chopsticks. Nyueng Bao
refuse to adopt innovative utensils that have been in common use
amongst everyone else in this part of the world for centuries.
Those who did the cooking in Do Trang’s complex were all
Nyueng Bao.
“What?” Sahra was completely baffled.
“I’ll give it up. If we can buy a pig with
it.” Vehdna are not supposed to eat pork. But I made the
mistake of being born female, so I probably do not have a seat
reserved in Paradise anyway. “Or anything else that
doesn’t go through the water like this.” I made a
wiggly motion with one hand.
Sahra did not understand. Food was a matter of indifference to
her—so long as she got some. Fish and rice forever were perfectly
fine. And she was probably right. There are plenty of people out
there who have to eat chhatu because they cannot afford rice. And
others cannot afford any food at all. Though Soulcatcher seemed to
be thinning those out now.
Sahra started to tell me something about a rumor that another
Bhodi disciple was going to present himself at the entrance to the
Palace and demand an audience with the Radisha. But we were
approaching the lighted area where we worked our wickednesses of
evenings and she saw something there that made her stop.
I started to say, “Then we need to get somebody next to
him—”
Sahra growled, “What the hell is he doing here?”
I saw it now. Uncle Doj was back, probably determined to invite
himself into our lives again. His timing seemed interesting and
suspect.
I also found it interesting that Sahra spoke Taglian when she
was stressed. She had some definite points of contention with her
own people, though around the warehouse nobody used Nyueng Bao
except Mother Gota, who did so only to remain a pain.
Uncle Doj was a wide little man who, though on the brink of
seventy, was mostly muscle and gristle, and in recent years, bad
temper. He carried a long, slightly curved sword he called Ash
Wand. Ash Wand was his soul. He had told me so. He was some sort of
priest but would not bother to explain. His religion involved
martial arts and holy swords, though. He was nobody’s uncle
in reality. Uncle was a title of respect among Nyueng Bao, and they
all seemed to consider Doj a man worthy of the greatest
respect.
Uncle Doj has meandered in and out of our lives since the siege
of Jaicur, always more distraction than contribution. He could be
underfoot for years at a stretch, then would disappear for weeks or
months or years. This latest time he had been out of the way for
more than a year. When he did turn up, he never bothered reporting
what he had been doing or where he had been, but judging from
Murgen’s observations and my own, he was still searching for
his Key diligently.
Curious, him materializing so suddenly after my epiphany. I
asked Sahra, “Did your mother happen to leave the warehouse
today?”
“That question occurred to me, too. It might be worth
pursuit.”
Very little warmth existed between mother and daughter. Murgen
was not the cause but absolutely had become the symbol.
Uncle Doj was supposed to be a minor wizard. I never saw any
evidence to support that, other than his uncanny skill with Ash
Wand. He was old and his joints were getting stiff. His reflexes
were fading. But I could not think of anyone who would remotely
be his match. Nor have I ever heard of anyone else dedicating his
life to a piece of steel the way he has.
Maybe I did have evidence of his being a wizard, I reflected. He
never had any trouble getting through the mazes Goblin and One-Eye
had created to save us the embarrassment of unexpected walk-ins.
Those two ought to tie him down till he explained how he did
that.
I asked Sahra, “How do you want to handle this?”
Her voice was edged with flint. “Far as I’m
concerned, we can lump him right in there with Singh and the
Daughter of Night.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my enemy, huh?”
“I never liked Doj much. By Nyueng Bao standards
he’s a great and honorable man, a hero due great respect. And
he’s the embodiment of everything I find distasteful about my
people.”
“Secretive, huh?”
She betrayed a hint of a smile. In that she was as guilty as any
other Nyueng Bao. “That’s in the blood.”
Tobo noticed us watching and talking. He darted over. He was
excited enough to forget he was a surly young man. “Mom.
Uncle Doj is here.”
“So I see. He say what he wants this time?”
I touched her arm gently, cautioning her. No need to start
butting heads.
Doj, of course, was aware of our presence. I never saw a man so
intensely aware of his environment. He might have heard every word
we whispered, too. I put no store in the chance that time had
weathered his sense of hearing. He gobbled rice and paid us no
heed.
I told Sahra, “Go say hello. I need a second to put my
face on.”
“I ought to send for the Greys. Have them raid the place.
I’m too tired for this.” She did not bother to keep her
voice down.
“Mom?”