Two more days of storm and rain. The first day, Kekoja returned with twenty-five coppers off his orders; the second day, it was twenty-two. Duran immediately paid the boy his share: eight -coppers—a couple of good meals at an inn like the "Cat."
Now, sitting on his stool and watching the afternoon sunlight break through the clouds, Duran congratulated himself. The deep dark secret was out on the streets—no wizard, a bright-eyed, cheerful boy: folk relaxed, he had given the boy a chance to do more than . . . gods only knew what Kekoja had done before Duran had rescued him from the thugs.
And, gods, if his business continued to hold—if having Kekoja's healthy legs to run for him could bring orders in from streets up and down Old Town—he had always lived so frugally and saved every copper he could; he kept his small hoard hidden beneath one of the boards in the floor upstairs. If he continued to make the profits he had seen in the past two days, he might—
A scratching at his door brought Duran out of his daydreaming. He looked up at the skirted shadow in his doorway.
"Afternoon, Duran," Zeldezia said, stepping into the shop. Dog lifted his head, sniffed twice, and the beat of his tail stopped. "Never seen the like of this weather."
Duran put on a polite expression and nodded. He had not seen much of Zeldezia lately, a state of affairs he considered most fortunate. He had not talked to her since the boy had taken to the streets, he was sure she had that on her mind, and he vowed he would not let her make him lose his temper, that he would be polite to her no matter what she said.
"Sure been strange," she said. "All them storms comin' in. More like spring."
"Aye. It certainly has," Duran replied. "I hope you're doing well."
"Pfft." Zeldezia waved a hand. "It'd take more'n rain to keep business from my door. Folks got to have clothes to wear." She walked over to the counter and leaned up against it. "See that Sabirn lad up and down the street. He stayin' here?"
Duran drew a deep breath. "He isn't staying here anymore, Zeldezia. I promise you."
"Then where's he livin'? He stole anything?"
"No."
"He's taking medicines to people." Zeldezia's dark eyes narrowed. "Who knows what he's pilferin'. Duran, where's your good sense? How, by all the gods, can you trust 'im?"
"I trust him. He's a good runner, and an honest one."
"Ha! Honesty an' Sabirn ain't even in the same world with each other. I bet some o' your stuff ain't ever gettin' to your customers. You ever checked?"
"He hasn't done anything of the kind." Duran shifted on his stool, determined not to be angry. "I know how much I charge, and he's returned with every copper of it. I know my doses, I sell exactly what's required, and it gets there."
"But how you know he's been tellin' you the truth? How you know he ain't got more orders than he tells you? That he ain't takin' money for 'em and not givin' it to you?"
"I'd find out."
Zeldezia snorted something under her breath. "You're a damned trustin' man, Duran, if you think that kid ain't stealin' from you. An' what do you think he's doin' for your reputation? It's a little uppity of a Sab, runnin' medicines! Ain't never heard the like."
"Uptown shops use Sabirn all the time," Duran said. "As for my reputation—my good customers take care of that."
"Huh. Next you'll have 'im mixin' and boilin'.—You don't let him, do you?"
It hit too close. Morally he hated the lie. "Of course not." He arched an eyebrow in her direction. "And he saves people time . . . which most of us who work don't have in abundance." As usual, Zeldezia did not rise to his pointed remark. Duran doubted she understood him. "You know how it is. Old folk needing medicines and can't get out in the bad weather; and I can mix or I can be running up and down the streets getting soaked."
"Huhn." She straightened her skirts. "I still say you're out of your mind, Duran. An' I don't like havin' that kid runnin' in and out of your shop. Some of my uptown customers might see 'im."
"So? Your uptown customers wouldn't blink. They're used to Sabirn. And you certainly haven't been shy about telling everyone you know I'm responsible for the boy's presence. What's to keep you from telling your customers the same thing?"
An odd look passed across Zeldezia's face. "Do you honestly think I'm nothin' but a gossipy busybody? That I don't care what happens to you?"
"I don't know what to think," he said sternly. Gods, could Zeldezia be softening?
"Believe me. I am concerned."
"You certainly have a strange way of showing it. I'd far rather be left alone."
"—I'm concerned for your soul, Duran. . . ."
"Listen, what I do is between the Shining One and myself . . . not all the neighbors!"
"But Vadami. . . ."
"He's already talked with me," Duran said, keeping his voice even. "At your instigation, no doubt. Zeldezia, I wish you'd let it lie! Trust me to know whether my soul's mine or not!"
Zeldezia's face darkened. "I talked to him about you, aye, I did, an' I told you so. An' I told you what Vadami said to me." She drew a sharp breath. "I been outright and plain, everythin' I done. I care about you! But nothin' I've said, an' nothin' he's said, seems to've made any difference."
"Gods! Is that how you care? Who made you that way?"
"An' what do you mean by that?" she asked, drawing herself up and crossing her arms on her chest.
"Just what I said. Someone must have been damned nasty to you for you to be so bitter. And it wasn't Sabirn. I doubt you ever knew any Sabirn. Why can't you leave people alone, Zeldezia? Why can't you keep your nose out of other folk's business?" He lifted a hand. "Before you say the Sabirn lad I hired is your business, too, let me remind you he doesn't come into your shop. He doesn't even pause by your door. And as for you . . . you don't have to come over here and talk with me. You don't have to associate with someone who's obviously a damned soul!"
"That's not fair!" she cried. "Not fair at all. I done fair with you—"
"Even the Sabirn?"
Zeldezia's dark eyes glittered. "Them folk ain't got no souls! They sold 'em to demons and other crawlin' things of darkness in exchange for their nefarious powers!"
Hardly Zeldezia's own words. He saw Vadami in that. "And do you know that for a fact, Zeldezia?"
"Don't have to know it: Vadami told me so."
"If Vadami told you a country pig would be our next duke, would you believe him?"
"You be careful, Duran." Zeldezia's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You're comin' close to heresy. Vadami's a priest! You should have respect!"
"I won't dispute that. I talked with him that night . . . we quoted scripture. He quotes at me, I can cite him holy words that say the exact opposite of what he says."
"You a priest, too, you an' your uptown ways?' Zeldezia looked ready to be impressed. A lie tempted him; a dangerous lie, but:
"No." Duran allowed a small smile to touch his face; and he remembered Old Town had no sense of humor about the Temple. "But I had a fine education in my father's house. Surely you know that."
For some reason Zeldezia's face went red. "Oh, aye, Duran . . . lord it over the rest of us, you bein' Ancar and noble. Well, you're poor as us, now, ain't you? An' as for bein' Ancar . . . if I remember what the priest told me, it was Ancar destroyed the Sabirn empire and put them demons down! That's why there's the Duke, Hladyr bless 'im! Don't you snigger at prayin' an' tell me you know more'n Hladyr's own priest!"