Duran nodded toward Dog, who lay asleep by the doorway. "Once all dogs were wolves. They preyed on man's livestock, and man himself when they were pushed to it. Now some of them live with us, guard us, and are our friends. Just because two of Hladyr's creatures were enemies once doesn't mean dogs were demons. Or that old enemies can't change. Hladyr can change them. Maybe Hladyr has. Would you hate his creation? Because he put the Sabirn here. Would you say demons are powerful as Hladyr? I don't. So what happens is his doing, isn't it?"
Zeldezia snorted. "Very pretty, Duran. You're even tryin' to sound like a priest." She turned toward the doorway. "Mark my words, you're huntin' for trouble keepin' that boy workin' for you. One of these days it's all goin' to come home to you, your jokin' an' your lookin' down your nose at folk an' you're sendin' this slinkin' Sab kid around so's poor sick folk got no choice but deal with 'im, that's the respect you got for your neighbors. I tell you, some woman alone, she's got cause t'be scared of that kid, sure she's gon' t' pay 'im, sure she ain't gon' t' tell if he ask't more money than you said—she's scared!"
"Tell me when this happened! Name me names!"
Zeldezia would not meet his eyes. She flounced toward the door. "Any decent woman! Any poor old woman or ailin' old man, for that matter! You deal with your neighbors with that Sab kid, you go right on, and when it comes home, you remember what you done, 'cause not a one of your neighbors'll come to help you!"
She walked out of the shop, nearly stepping on Dog as she did so.
Dog scrambled out of the way, looked reproachfully at Duran, then shook himself and ambled outside. Kekoja was due back any time now, and Duran felt relieved the boy had not returned to find Zeldezia in the shop.
Duran shook his head. With people like Zeldezia in the world, it was no wonder one of mankind's favorite pastimes was war.
Thunder over Targheiden as Duran locked his door and ran across the street to the inn. The rain had started falling heavily just as he left his shop and, by the time he ducked inside the "Cat's" opened doorway, his cloak was wet.
"Good evening, Sor Duran," Old Man said from his place on the floor. "Do you think this rain will ever stop?"
Duran shook his head and gave Old Man a copper. "For your story tonight, if you're in the mood to tell one."
Old Man smiled and slipped the coin into his belt pouch. "I may tell one you've never heard before," he said.
Duran paused, looking at him. But Old Man looked elsewhere.
Duran walked to his table. The mood of the customers in the "Cat" was subdued tonight, the gloom of yet another day of rain, Duran thought. Tut came, took his order, and vanished back toward the kitchen without more than a few polite words.
During which Duran found himself the object of several furtive stares. Hladyr bless!
Then he thought sourly: Zeldezia.
Damn her.
He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and glanced up as a red-nosed Lalada brought him his ale.
"You don't look like you're feeling well," he said.
"Not," she sniffed. "Got a bad humor in my head."
"Come over to the shop, and I'll give you something to make you feel better."
Lalada stared for a moment. "Only if you give it to me. Don't want no Sabirn handlin' it."
Duran matched the ale-girl's stare. "You'll get it from me," he promised, "and no one else."
"Then I'll stop by tomorrow. 'Fore I come to work. You be up that early?"
"I can be."
"I'll be there."
Duran watched her go back toward the bar and shook his head. Damn Zeldezia! Gain a bit and that woman's mouth undid it all again . . . He had gotten around her before. He dropped his chin on his hand and thought. . . .
Tut came up with the beef pie—beef pie more often these days, thank the boy for that: nothing wrong with fish . . . in fact, he liked fish . . . but gods, a body could get tired of second-choice. . . .
The door to the inn opened, a momentary rush of rain-sound, a rumble of thunder overhead.
Ladirno and Wellhyrn entered the common room.
Gods . . . not tonight.
What in hell brings them down on the harbor-route?
The two ducal favorites made quite a show of shaking the rain from their costly cloaks and slowly walking to take a table near Duran's. In a perverse way, it warmed Duran's heart that none of the "Cat's" customers paid any attention to the newcomers' fastidious settling-in.
"Duran." Ladirno nodded slightly as he took a chair close by. "I hope you're doing well."
"I am. And you?"
Ladirno smiled. "Excellently. We did an experiment for the Duke a few days back—in between the storms—and produced him gold from a stone."
"And received quite a handsome gift from His Grace for doing so, I might add," said Wellhyrn, inspecting his fingernails. He looked at Duran and lifted an eyebrow. "We've just come back from the harbor. My shipment's been delayed again by the weather.—How are you doing in this dreadful summer? How are the finances?"
Duran tried to keep his face expressionless. "I'm doing all right. Thanks for your concern."
Tut came out from the kitchen; Ladirno and Wellhyrn placed their orders in loud voices, the "Cat's" most expensive, -individually prepared selections. Duran busied himself with his pie, though neither alchemist seemed interested in talking with him again.
Pompous asses! He chewed a bit of pie, swallowed, and took a long drink of ale. He was doing far better than they thought. . . .
But he had no inclination to compare finances and he certainly had no desire for their attention. Ladirno he never minded much; the fellow was competent but all too willing to practice the tried and true without ever seeking the new. It was Wellhyrn who puzzled Duran: there was something hard and dark and twisted about the man . . . something Duran did not like or trust.
He kept his head down, eating his pie and drinking his ale, and trying not to pay attention to his colleagues' conversation. Most of it, he thought was aimed directly at him, since Wellhyrn was recounting events that Ladirno must already know . . . successes at court, admiration from fellow alchemists, and gifts of money from the Duke and other nobles.
Dammit, man! he chided himself. If you wanted a life like theirs, you could play the game, too.
And have them for permanent company . . .
" . . . hear about the necromancer they hanged over on the west side?" Wellhyrn was asking Ladirno, as the two of them started their dinners. "The Guard caught her practicing and took her before the priests. They say she never would admit to -anything—but one knows."
"They put her to the question, of course. . . ."
"Hot irons," Wellhyrn said. "She cursed the priests when they were hanging her. Quite a show. Big crowd."
"In all this rain? Gods."
Wellhyrn laughed, a cold laugh, unnerving to hear coming from one so young. "Folk know there's something odd in this weather. You should have seen it. All these hundreds of people standing in the storm and the lightning—"
"You saw it?"
"Oh, I did."
"Huh." Ladirno gave a shiver or a shrug. "Demon-worshippers. I want no part of it."
Enough to curdle a man's appetite, Duran thought, listening to it. He finished his pie—he had no inclination to be chased out of the warm tavern in the height of the rain, and he hoped they would leave soon—turned slightly away, and leaned back in his chair, trying to give the impression he was dozing after a rich meal. He heard Wellhyrn and Ladirno rise, finally scatter coins on the table in payment for their food, and leave.