Simms sat placid as a milk pudding with cinnamon trim. “Sorceror?”
“Not the one they think I am, but yes, a sorceror.”
“Not a prime.”
“Too true. Poo the Boob caught me hopping, it’s not something I’m proud of, but there it is.” He glanced down at the scabbed pinpricks on his wrist, grimaced. “I’m not asleep now. For what that’s worth. Make up your minds, the three of you. In or out?”
Simms’ eyes dropped completely shut. “In,” he said. “Long as you stay awake.”
“In.” It was a liquid murmur, promise of delight, all that in one tiny syllable. Trithil reached up, smoothed the hair back from her face, her rings glittering.
“In,” Felsrawg said, biting off the tail of the word as if she’d like to bite something else. She looked down at the knives, slipped them back into their sheaths. “What choice have we got?”
“You got a choice, Felsrawg. Enthusiasm or out.”
“In. In! IN!”
“Now that that’s done, I need to know what you all do best. I’m a whiz with wards, I can tease the densest knot open without a whisper and throw a knot of my own that only two people I know can undo. But there’s bound to be more involved than wards. Poo tells me the Wokolinka uses witches and the local god to run her security. Which is not good news, witches tap into earth forces I can’t touch; that means traps. And a god even a local one is always trouble. Which you know as well as me.” He tapped a forefinger on the wrist where Pawbool had sunk his ringfangs. “Any of you been to Hennkensikee?”
“Not me.” Felsrawg leaned forward, her interest caught at last. “I do locks. All kinds of locks. Walls. I’m good at walls. Blowpipes and sleep powders, nobody’s ever sneezed when I puff the powder in. That happens, you know, if you’re sloppy. It can embarrass the hell out of you because they wake up.” She was sparkling, almost laughing; apparently she’d decided to lay her resentment aside and treat the problem as a challenge. “I know metals, if that helps. And I’d be a lot more useful if I had my keys and files and picks and the rest of my kit. The ‘staffel took it away and haven’t give it back which seems rather stupid, considering.”
“Agreed. I’ll have a talk with Poo and see if we can fix that.”
Simms yawned, blinked slowly. “Get ‘m to gi’ me mine too;” he murmured. He ruffled his spiky hair, smiled sleepily at Danny. “Like li’l Felsa there, ‘m a born and bred Arsuider. N’er stuck my nose outside the place. No point in it. I know silks, yeh, like to know why y’ wan’ to know that, don’ seem connect t’ Kluk’shar’. Want me t’ brag a bit, ‘m the only thief ‘round better’n Felsa at ticklin’ locks.” Another sleepy smile, this time directed toward Felsrawg. “She w’d argue that, but tis true. Got ‘nother talent. Talk t’ rocks.”
“What?”
“Not so dumb as it sounds. I’m a Reader. Rocks chatter like ol’ Grannas if you know how to tickle ‘em. An’ I’m good with ghosts. Be s’prised what they tell you ‘bout their folks. Just ‘bout all ghosts hangin’ round thick ‘nough to talk got a grudge. 01’ grandfa once take me right to a abdit full of pretties. Bein’ lazy, I’m a patient man, I like to know all I can find out ‘bout a place ‘fore I go in. I’m good at piecin’ too. Bit here, bit there, you know. Drawin’ plans. That sorta thing.” He stopped talking, having said all he meant to say.
“I know Hennkensikee,” Trithil said quietly.
Danny Blue turned to her, startled. She’d shut off the hithery and lost her gloss. She was still beautiful, that was in the bone, but she’d added at least ten years and subtracted most of the life from face and eyes.
“I know grades and prices,” she said. “Pawbool said you wanted in as a trader, I can handle that for you. And I can get information for you.” There was an unreadable look in her eyes, animal eyes with nothing back of them, now that he paid more notice to them. “Man or woman, both find me pleasing. And if that fails, I have certain potions that loosen tongues or do other things you might find useful.” She didn’t so much stop speaking as let words drift away from her.
Danny Blue frowned, wondering about her. His half-sires stirred in him, equally uneasy.
*Maybe she’s on something and it just let her down,* the Daniel phasma muttered. *How much can you trust what she’s telling you?*
*I don’t like her,* the Ahzurdan phasma said. *I don’t trust her. I don’t think she’s what she seems. Maybe she’s a demon of some kind. I don’t smell demon on her, but there’s something…*
*Can you watch her?*
Sense of shrugging. The Ahzurdan phasma brooded a moment. *If you watch her, we see her. Otherwise not.*
*Well, do what you can. I have to get on with this.* Aloud, he said, “Just a few things for now. We can talk more on the way there. Are there many Arsuiders in Hennkensikee?”
After waiting a moment for the others to answer, Trithil said, “No.”
“Why? There has to be trade moving along the river.”
“Not as much as you might think. The Lewinkob are suspicious of the South. They prefer to deal with the caravans that come in from the east.” She spoke in a marshmallow monotone that he had to strain to hear; she was passive, almost inert, giving out information like a robot. “Most of the Hennkensikee silk leaves that way, that’s why it’s called the Silk Road.” She glanced briefly at him, looked down again, eyes fixed on the toes of her silver slippers. “They are more than suspicious really, they hate the South; they call the disputed land between the two domains the Bloody Fields. There have been raids across the Bloody Fields since before the cities were. And wars. Seven bloody wars,
Dirgeland against the Tribes. No. Arsuiders are not welcome in Hennkensikee.”
“Would the local noses be able to sniff them out?” He waved a hand at Felsrawg and Simms. “If we stuffed them into normal clothes.”
“Probably not, as long as they use the kevrynyel tradespeech even in private and forget they know the Dirgefoth.” She looked distantly at the others. “Trade is blood in Hennkensikee. Blood can blind.”
Danny pulled his hand across his mouth. “I can’t hear an accent in your kevrynyel, I can in theirs.” He nodded at Felsrawg and Simms. “Heavy. What about that?”
“Traders come from everywhere to buy the silks, especially this time of year. They all speak the kevrynyel. They all have accents. One accent merges with the others.”
“How much of a background will we need? What I mean is, how many questions are we going to have to answer?”
“None or too many.”
“I see. The personas have to be fleshed before we come near the city.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Simms, ever heard of a place called Croaldhu?”
“Neh.”
“Island off the east coast, about twelve days sail from Silili. You know Silili?”
“Who don’?”
“Let’s do this. Your family left Croaldhu for reasons of their own and your grandfa or gre’grandfa, something like that, set up as merchant in Silili, hmm… how old are you?”
“Chwart.”
“I take it that means old enough.”
Simms grinned sleepily at him.
“All right. We’ll say you’re a third son, rambling about looking up new possibilities for the family business. You signed on with me because I said I’d get you into Hennkensikee. That’s the heart of it; we can set the details later. Any questions? objections? whatever?”
“Why Croaldhu?”
“You have the look. Or would in what the rest of the world calls clothes. I’m half-Phrasi by birth, shouldn’t be any problem with that. Trithil?”
‘No.”
“Felsrawg?”
“Tell me, o master, what’s you got for WI me?”
“Got any preferences?”
She shrugged, slipped a throwing knife from her boot and began flipping it and catching it.
He watched it loop lazily through the air, nodded. “Know anything about the Matamulli?”
She caught the knife, held it, looked at him from narrowed eyes. “That a joke?”
“Neh, assassin. They’re Southrons; they claim the Mulimawey Mountains beyond M’darj.” He rubbed at his nose, inspected her. “You could pass with some rearrangement here and there.” She didn’t want any part of that, he could feel her resisting. “The men are the homebodies; they farm, care for the herds. The women hunt and trap and do most of the trading. Very independent lot they are, too.” Felsrawg flipped the knife again, caught it, flipped it. There was time left and Danny was willing to spend it persuading her; if time ran out and she was still fighting him, he’d cut her loose; it didn’t matter how loud Poo yelled. “What’s useful for us is this, before they settle down with a husband or two, younger daughters generally go outland to make a dowry for themselves since they don’t have land.” He pointed at the knife. “They carry half a dozen of those and can split a mosquito at thirty paces.”