Eventually I sighed and raised my glass for more wine. I couldn't think of any steps to make this safer; I was just going to have to do it. As she brought the wine, I said, "Do you know a light-haired, freckle-faced foreigner named Dahni?"
She nodded. "He's been in a few times."
"Do you trust him?"
She frowned. I had the feeling she was one of those people who trusted everyone, and didn't understand why one wouldn't. "I don't understand."
I smiled. "He's made a business proposition to me, and I'm wondering if he's the sort who can be depended on to be honest in his dealings."
The question seemed to make her unhappy, like she didn't want to consider that the answer might be no. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well," she said.
"What have you heard?"
"Heard?"
"Gossip? Rumors?"
She looked even more uncomfortable.
"I don't know as I should say anything."
"I'd take it as a kindness."
"It isn't a kindness to pass on ill-tongue."
"It would be this time."
She studied me, squinting through troubled dark brown eyes. "Well," she said at last, "some say he works for His Lordship, the Count."
I had the feeling that that, in itself, wasn't necessarily something she might be reluctant to say about someone, so I just nodded and waited.
"Well some say...you know the Count is an old man."
I nodded, having not only heard but seen it.
"Well, he…" She coughed, and I noticed she was turning red, and I was suddenly convinced that whatever I was about to hear would be of no interest to me at all. "Well, I'm not saying there's anything wrong, mind, but they say he has girls who, you know, who do things for him. And Dahni, they say he's the one who finds them for him."
She finished quickly, blushing furiously, and I was pleased to know my instincts were still intact. I put forth all of my effort, all of my power, all of my will that had been hardened in the fires of death and crime—and I didn't laugh.
"Thank you," I said. "That is of great importance to me, and you have done me great good. I assure you, no one will hear of this through me."
She nodded and returned to the bar. I said, "Pardon me, hostess."
"My lord?" she said, looking worried.
I held up my glass.
"Oh," she said, blushing even more, if that were possible, and quickly filled it. "This is on me," she said, with a sheepish grin.
"Thank you," I said, passing over a coin. "Then call this a gratuity." She accepted it gratefully and found something to do in the back room while she recovered from her embarrassment.
"Damn good thing I'm so skilled at investigation, Loiosh. Some' one else might never have uncovered that vital scrap of information."
"You're just saying that because if you don't you know I will, aren't you, Boss?"
"See there? You have the makings of a skilled investigator yourself.”
If you can imagine the mental equivalent of the sound a horse makes when it exhales loudly through its nose, that's what I received then.
I drank my wine and thought many thoughts, none of them having anything to do with the Count's love life. Eventually I made my way back to the Hat, spoke with the stable-boy, and said I wanted to make sure Marsi would be available tomorrow. He agreed Marsi would be ready, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. If I'd been sure, I'd have hit him. Not for mocking me, but for the implied insult to Marsi, that fine, fine beast.
"So, that's it, Boss? That's all we're going to do?"
"I'm open to suggestions."
He made muttering sounds.
I left the place and found another merchant, this one a bookseller, hoping to find something entertaining to kill the time until tomorrow afternoon. I'd left all my books with Cawti. I missed them. I missed sitting around with her, reading; listening to her giggle while indulging her weakness for light verse; reading favorite passages to each other.
They didn't have anything good in the place, so I left and walked around the town until I felt tired; then I went back to the Mouse and went to bed. I'd now been almost a week in the village of Burz, paper-making center of Fenario, if not the world. I'd come here looking for family, and I guess I'd found them, after a fashion.
My thoughts on waking were not excessively cheerful. But I still liked the part where hot water and coffee were brought to me at the pull of a bell; that was something I decided I could get used to. I wondered why Cawti and I had never hired a servant. We could have afforded one, and I'd obliquely brought up the subject now and then. I tried to remember her reaction on those occasions, and how the subject had been put aside, but I couldn't.
As I drank that harsh, bitter stuff, I removed the daggers and throwing knives I carried about my person, and took out my whetstone (practically new, I'd bought it on the way out of Adrilankha), and carefully sharpened and honed each one, then my rapier. It felt like it might turn into that sort of day. Dragons don't seem so concerned with getting a fine edge on a weapon; I guess because the way they fight they'll bludgeon you to death as much as cut you. My approach is more elegant and precise. And elegance and precision are important because, uh, because they're important.
Yeah.
Coffeed, cleaned, dressed, and armed, I went down the stairs, ready to face anything the world threw at me. That's more hyperbole, just in case you were wondering. Loiosh was on my left shoulder, Rocza on my right, and they both scanned the room, fully alert for assassins, hostile citizens, or pieces of sausage that had been left on the floor. It was a reasonably dramatic entrance; too bad the room was empty.
I went straight out onto the street, walking past a pair of dogs that looked like hornless lyorns, and turned left toward the Hat. There were lots of people around today, many of them looking like they worked at the mill, which was strange because it wasn't Endweek. Seems they had a different Endweek here. Well, why not? Everything else about the place was strange.
I stopped near the docks and looked across the river. Yeah, (here was no smoke coming from the thing, and the boats were all pulled up on this side. All of the shops were busy, even the bookseller's. The Guild, whatever it was, was prospering today. It was odd how I seemed to fit right in among all the passersby; I wasn't used to that.
"About how long do I have until I should leave for the Count's?"
"Boss, you have better time sense than I do. How should I know if you don't?"
Noish-pa had told me he used to be able to look at the position of the Furnace and judge the time to within five minutes. I glanced up at it, and looked at the shadows. Yeah, it was definitely daytime.
I thought about asking someone, but I had the feeling I'd sound like an idiot, and feeling like an idiot is bad enough. Muttering to myself, I went back to the Mouse, and found the hostess at her station. She greeted me with a warm smile; she apparently held no ill-will over my coercing her into revealing deep, dark, and vital secrets about one of her patrons. I said, "Pardon me, good hostess, but do you happen to know what time it is?"
She glanced quickly out the window. "Almost half past the twelfth hour," she said.
I thanked her, got more coffee, and sat down to drink it.
"It never used to matter, they tell me."
I looked up. Her hands were out of sight below the bar; I guessed she was cleaning something.