I offered to teach Sil all I could about the cerulean crystal so I would have further opportunities to spend time with him. We met in the market. The opossum it seemed was permanently attached to Sil's shoulder. I decided I must do my best to always appear friendly to it, despite the revulsion I actually felt for the creature. I assumed that like most animals, it would sense my discomfort, so I expressed to Sil the fact that I was very curious about the opossum but somewhat timid about animals in general. He said he would use Pocket to help me learn to be more comfortable around all beasts. He spoke as though that were some kind of exchange payment for the training I was imparting to him about the cerulean. Such gross naivete.
At any rate, I endured the "lessons," smiling even when he would deign to let me hold his pet. Unfortunately, I always felt tempted to run to a well and wash after handling the animal. Unlike the fur of cats and rabbits, which is soft and pleasant to touch, the opossum's fur was coarse and oily. Worse, I could sometimes see fleas where its wrinkled flesh showed between the hairs on its sparsely furred ears and tail. I also did not care for the way the animal stared at me with its eerie, bulging eyes.
After the fourth such exchange, Sil invited me to his home. He lived alone in his parents' estate, a large, auspicious dwelling of a dozen rooms at least, though I never saw them all. I knew the location of the house, of course, and had passed by it shortly after I arrived in Scardale, as part of my research. I realized almost too late that I needed to remember to let Sil lead me there.
He showed me his father's work area, now his. The library alone was bigger than my quarters at Renek's, and the adjacent storage area for spell components was equally large. Both opened to a huge, vaulted room filled with plants, which Sil said he used for practicing his magic. I had never seen a room like that. The glass that went into the ceiling must have taken the most skilled craftsmen years to complete.
I was still marveling at the sight when Sil handed me the opossum and said he would advise his cook to prepare lunch. I grinned, this time in earnest, as he exited the room and left me holding the animal. I patted the opossum and spoke to it much the way he did, and then, when I heard Sil returning, I pricked a needle into the callused pad of one of its small, ugly feet.
The slow-acting poison took effect much later, after we sat down to our meal. To my disgust, Sil had a perch for the opossum on the table. It was a carefully hewn, treelike structure; the animal climbed it, wound its tail around one of the branches, and hung upside down. The opossum itself was vile enough to look at, dangling there like a gaudy centerpiece, but immediately underneath it, cupped in the lowest branch of the perch, was a silver dish-filled with a mixture of bug larvae and spoiled fruit. My stomach heaved.
Fortunately, the opossum lost its grip and tumbled down headfirst from the perch. And then the spasms began.
Sil was horrified. He grabbed the animal and began screaming its name. He looked at me, accusingly for a moment, I thought, but then distraught.
"I know a healer," I said, "an animal healer." And I led him to Renek, who was waiting, according to our plan, in a dingy flat nearby.
On the way, the animal jerked so violently in the boy's arms, I was afraid it might die too soon, but when we reached Renek's office, the opossum's paws were still twitching.
I could see the slight hesitation in the boy's eyes as we entered, and I was glad I had suggested to Renek that he outfit the room with several animals in cages and at least a few of the trappings of animal medicine so Sil would not be suspicious. It worked. He rushed to Renek with the opossum, blurting the sudden onslaught of symptoms.
As sorry as I was that Sil was to be Renek's victim, I felt a certain pride in how smoothly everything was going. The boy had arrived as planned. Renek was to ask for his assistance in holding the animal while he performed the examination. A simple slip of the hand, and the poisoned lancet, attached to a tool for blood-letting, would pierce the boy's hand. In moments, it would be over.
But my master did not follow the plan. Sil had barely started talking when Renek lunged toward the boy. Sil jumped back and sheltered his pet from the apparent madman. But Renek charged Sil, flailing at him with the lance. Sil pressed back. Too late, he turned to run. Renek jammed the lancet into Sil's shoulder. The boy shuddered and dropped to his knees in front of me. His body shook in one huge convulsion. Another spasm and he squeezed the opossum so hard that its eyes bulged even more than normal. And then Sil looked at me, and I saw in his eyes the recognition of betrayal.
I had given Renek a perfect means of execution. The professional assassin had botched it. And I would live with the memory.
"That was a good one, wasn't it, Tine?" Renek asked. "The poison you whipped up was fast, for sure, but I really moved in on him in a hurry."
When Renek gloated over his role in Han's death, I was annoyed. When he gloated over his role in murdering Sil, I wanted to take the contents of Pocket's food dish and force them down his throat. I wanted to scream at him to shut the gaping hole in his face. But I rode along beside him, silent for almost the entire journey back to our home on the plains. In my mind, though, I raged at him; I called him names and epithets I had never said aloud in my life. The voices of several gods chimed in, yelling alternately at him and then at me for our actions.
It was then, amidst the ranting voices in my head, that my master began describing our next assignment. "Ashana," I heard him say. 'The woman's name is Ashana." I willed the voices to stop, and I listened.
"Her father is dying. The brother can't stand the idea of his sister receiving their full inheritance, and he says that's what will happen if she lives. I guess the father's made special arrangements of some kind."
No wonder that. But now I knew for certain he was talking about my Ashana.
"He's investigated local laws and says that if his sister is dead, he'll be rightful heir to his family's property."
Rightful heir. The words stung with their inappropriate-ness. How could he refer to Menge as the rightful heir to anything? The slug was lucky the family hadn't turned him out long ago. Every neighbor knew well enough that he dragged disease-ridden women in with him every night after he'd had his fill of ale and spirits. I'd heard that when his father had been well, he'd beseeched the clod to show more respect for their home. But apparently Ashana's father was too good a man to throw his own son out.
The irony was that Ashana undoubtedly would continue to support her brother regardless of the terms of an inheritance. How could Menge not recognize his own sister's radiant spirit?
How could Renek be talking seriously about killing Ashana-this splendid young woman who had shown an interest in me? She was no thug, no murderer. She wasn't even a self-righteous apprentice.
I didn't know what to think or do or say. As Renek continued his description of the assignment, I was suddenly aware that the only emotion in his voice was that sick bit of excitement he always displays before a hunt.
I felt I had to do something, but I was at a loss. Renek was, after all, my master. I was indentured to him for a lengthy term of service, and it was not my place to challenge his business doings.
But I remembered the way that Sil had looked at me, and I finally blurted the only business question I could think of: "The brother-" I didn't say his name "-has a terrible reputation. How can you be sure you'll be paid?"