"I'll eat with you," Del offered, turning toward the back hallway.
Neesha grinned wickedly. "While I eat out front and attempt to charm Fouad's wine-girls."
Fouad grunted. "I suspect you'll have any number of offers be-fore the food's on the table. But come along; I'll introduce you as a friend of the new owners. That ought to be good enough for a discount." His tone went dry as dust. "That is, if they don't decide to offer themselves for free, as has been known to happen with certain regular customers I won't mention in present company."
Neesha, still grinning, threw a conspiratorial look over his shoulder at Del and me as if to make sure we understood what he was doing.
"Well, at least he's not entirely oblivious." I turned Del and propelled her toward the back bedroom. "I guess if he's got enough sense to know when we need some privacy, it won't be so bad having him ride with us."
Del, allowing herself to be propelled, merely laughed. "I don't think he's doing that so much for our privacy as he is for his own! Fouad's right: The girls will be fighting over him the moment he sits down. I rather think our new student will be most busy tonight."
I pulled back our door curtain. "I rather think we will be most busy tonight."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we load the horses and head out again for the chimney at Beit al'Shahar. There's a sword I need to have a discussion with."
Del sat down on the bed and began to unlace her sandals. "If you can find it. The whole formation collapsed, Tiger. Your jivatma may be completely buried."
"Worth a look anyhow." I stripped off the harness, unsheathed the sword, set it point down against one of the bedside tables. "If I can't get to it, no one can; but my mother seemed fairly certain it could be found. I mean, who would have thought I could find her bones out there in the Punja? On the basis of dreams? It may be possible I can find Samiel, too."
"And if—" She corrected herself, "when —you do?"
"Dunno." I sat down, yawned, rolled my head against my shoulders, stretching tendons.
"He's still a jivatma, Tiger. You used Northern magic to make him—and now you have your own magic as well."
"A magical sword, wielded by a mage who is also the long-lost grandson of one of the Eleven gods-descended Families of Skandi—and who also happens to be the jhihadi." I flopped down against the bed. "Something for people to write sagas and sing songs about, don't you think?"
Del, barefoot now, undid the buckles of her harness. " 'The Sword-Dancer's Tale.' Well, perhaps."
"Maybe 'The Tale of Tiger.' "
" 'And Del.' "
My eyes drifted closed. "As long as my name goes first."
"Not when it's sung or told in the North, it doesn't."
I smiled. "Depends on the audience, I guess. Hmm—what about 'The Tiger's Tale'?" "Or The Tiger's Tail'?" I stuck my tongue out at her. "If you're asleep when the food and drink arrives, do you want me to wake you up?"
"I'm not going to sleep. I'm resting my eyes."
"Do you want me to wake you up from resting your eyes?"
"Sure," I mumbled, "a man's got to keep up his strength to satisfy his woman." And slid into the abyss before she could respond.
Del did indeed wake me up when the food and drink arrived. She slapped a cupped hand across my abdomen, making odd, hollowed, clapping sounds against my skin. Not entirely the most subtle way to awaken a sleeper.
"Up," she said. "Food's here."
I scrunched up against the wall at the head of the bed, inspecting the skin of my abdomen. Then I helped myself to the platter bearing bread-bowls of mutton stew, cheese, grapes, and a small jug of what turned out to be ale.
"Tiger, we need a door on this room."
I slugged down about half the ale, then licked the foam from my upper lip. "We have a door."
"That's a doorway . I mean a door. I'd like some privacy, if we're to stay here now and again."
"There's a curtain."
"I would like a wooden door. With a latch."
I plucked grapes from their stems with my teeth and spoke around them. "Why so formal?"
"Because unless you don't mind everyone else knowing our business, with all manner of false conclusions drawn about the fair-haired Northern bascha—for example, how much does Fouad charge for me?—I think we need a door. A wooden door. With a latch."
"You have a point." I dropped the denuded grape stems back on the platter. "I'll have a word with Fouad. Anything else you'd like, while we're at it?"
"Well, I'd recommend he dismiss all the wine-girls who double as whores, but I'm quite sure he would not agree to that."
"I think that's a safe conclusion. We'd probably lose all kinds of business and thus all kinds of profit. We'd have to close down."
"The gods forfend," Del said dryly, reaching for the other jug; water, no doubt.
I paused before putting a chunk of cheese in my mouth. "You don't sound particularly enamored of being a partner in a thriving cantina. Just think of the benefits!"
"What benefits? Other than free drinks for you?"
"We'll be the first to hear all rumors and reports of whatever may be going on in the world. At least, our little corner of it."
"That's a benefit?"
"It is when you know anywhere from ten to twenty men are bent on executing you."
"And you'll run back here to hide any time one of them comes into the cantina?"
"Oh, no. We'll clear all the furniture out of the common room, cut a circle into the hardpack, then charge admission for the dance. Plus take a percentage of the side bets." I grinned wickedly. "Rather like we used to do, when we needed money."
Del used her knife to carve curling strips of cheese from the hunk Fouad had sent along. "Those were not actual dances."
"Which means we can charge even more money for a real one."
Her eyes were on the cheese, but her idle tone was nonetheless underscored by solemnity. "What will it take to make them stop?"
"Once I kill enough of them, the rest will find other things to do."
"I'm serious, Tiger."
"So am I. It's true. I killed Khashi quickly and brutally in front of many witnesses. Then I won a difficult sword-dance against a very, very good young man, in front of a whole slug of sword-dancers. Once I kill a few more, most of them will stop coming."
"And will it be like Fouad suggested, that they'll want to stop you from resurrecting Alimat?"
"Very likely." I took up horn spoon and bread-bowl of stew and began scooping the contents into my mouth. Seeing Del's concern, I paused between bites. "I have to see it settled, bascha. We can't go North, and I have no desire to return to Skandi, where I'd likely be hauled off to ioSkandi again and stuck back atop the spires in Meteiera. I also have no desire to go haring off to foreign lands. The South, despite all its problems, is my home. Coming back made me realize that. I won't run away again."
She nodded, clearly troubled. "I know."
I sighed, set down the bowl and spoon. "Del, something happened to me. I became aware of it when I was Umir's 'guest.' I don't know how it happened, and I can't even be sure it will happen again, but when I danced, when I took up my sword—I felt as if I had all four fingers on each hand."
Blue eyes widened.
"I know it sounds impossible. But it's true. I mean, I know the fingers are gone—hoolies, I saw Sahdri throw them off the spire!—but when I dance, it feels as if I still have them."
Del was staring at my hands. One thumb, three fingers on each.
"I don't know, maybe I'm just imagining them there. But when I danced against Musa, I could have sworn I had all my fingers again."