Duran stared, his heart chilling. "You're saying I have to fire this kid, is that it? I have to run my business the way Zeldezia's damn hate-mongering wants?"
"It ain't all Zeldezia. I'm sayin' you got yourself in big trouble, Duran, because I can't change the way folk think, and you can't change 'em either. Me and Ithar have kept tellin' everyone you ain't changed none . . . that you're the same man they've always knowed. But you ain't the same, deep down. You been actin' real odd. like this kid was real important." He took a deep breath. "It ain't natural, folks to mix. I dunno what this lad prays to. I don't want to know. I got me second thoughts about Old Man—"
"Listen to me, Tut." Duran struggled to put words to his thoughts. "I can't let the boy go now. I have a debt of honor, since I've taken him on. I made a vow to him; we sealed our agreement and swore by the gods. I can't back off an agreement because I'm scared, Tut. For better or worse, I'm Ancar. You know what an oath is worth to me."
"You swore an oath like that to a Sabirn kid?"
"I swore. Zeldezia says my soul's at risk. My soul's at risk if I break my word, Tut! I swore to that kid and I'm not backing off because of any threats! I can't! Maybe this neighborhood better damn well understand why I'm not going to fire that kid!"
"You never lied to me before," Tutadar admitted, "an', far as I know, you never lied to no one. Look, why don't you tell the boy to go off for a few days? Go somewhere no one can see 'im? That ain't firin' 'im—send 'im off to the hills, have him dig you some roots or somethin'—"
Duran ran a hand through his hair. "I'll think about it . . . I really will. I understand your worry. You think that would calm it down?"
"Chance it might. An' right now, if I was you, I'd take it. If the storms keep up—"
"I know where they're coming from!"
"Zeldezia. Aye."
"The Duke heard the whole question—someone accused me of association with warlocks! He threw the accusations out of court—and threw out the accusations against the Sabirn!"
Tut shook his head. "Some'd say the Duke was makin' a big mistake about that last. Duran, Zeldezia ain't agin you. She's scared you're close to bein' damned."
"As if she was the authority!"
"Some of your neighbors been listenin' to her, Duran. Listenin' to her real serious."
"All right." Duran leaned back as Lalada brought his fish to him and set it down on the table. His appetite had vanished. "I'll send the boy off, Tut. Maybe I can do without him for a handful of days." He met the innkeeper's eyes. "Now you tell me, what's going to happen if the weather suddenly turns good? Will that convince everyone they're right about the boy being a demon worshipper?"
"It ain't going to make 'em happy, that's for sure. Now, if he come back an' the weather stays good, that's another thing."
"Or if the weather stays bad and he's nowhere to be seen." Duran spread his hands. "Damn! It's crazed, Tut, it's no damn sense!"
"Don't seem it is, does it?"
"Tut—do you believe this crap?"
"Me? I trust you, Duran, an' I speak for you, do ever'thin' I can to keep the neighbors calm. But I'm only one person, an' Ithar's only one person. We can't do more'n what we can do."
"That's all I can ask for."
Tutadar shoved his chair back from the table. "You enjoy your meal, Duran, an' think 'bout what I said. At least it'd give the neighbors time to calm down."
Duran sighed, and began cutting up his fish. "I'll talk to the boy, Tut. I promise you."
Duran left the inn—heard the low rumble of conversation start up the moment he exited the door. He had stayed no longer than necessary. No. No. Not in that atmosphere.
Wind swept debris down the cobbles, rattled shutters. He turned his head from the blast, and blinked a wisp of hair blown in his eyes, blinked again, seeing a grey-wrapped lump sitting against the wall of his shop, beside the steps.
Old Man—like sin come home to roost.
Had the neighbors driven him from the "Cat"? Duran -wondered.
He fished out his key, opened the door as Old Man rose and stood beside him. "Come on in," Duran said—anxious to get him out of sight, quickly; and guilty and angry for that small, prudent cowardice. "I'll light the lamp."
He did that, turned, saw Dog had gone to stand by the doorway, his tail wagging uncertainly—held between duty and his usual foraging.
"Go, Dog," Duran said, waving a hand, "before it truly gets bad."
Dog obviously was of the same mind, for he trotted quickly off into the wind.
Duran shut the door. The air in the shop was close and still, smelling of shelves and shelves of herbs.
"Why weren't you at the 'Cat' tonight?" Duran asked.
Old Man said, "I may not be there much longer, Duran. I barely make enough to survive anymore."
Duran frowned. "No one pays you for your stories now?"
"No one but you. No one else asks to hear them."
"Ah." Duran was at a loss for words. "I—should have guessed."
Old Man smiled slightly, a mere movement of the lips. "Perhaps its just as well. You've too much else to account for with your neighbors—to be the only one giving money to a Sabirn."
Duran leaned back against his counter. "The neighbors aren't pleased with me on many counts, so I hear."
"You've heard right. They aren't. That's why I'm here."
Duran's shoulders stiffened.
"Your neighbors," Old Man said. "Your neighbors are talking about violence."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"I've heard them discussing it."
"Was Zeldezia the ringleader?"
"She and the priest Vadami."
Duran clenched his hands. "Before or after I was called to the ducal palace?"
"Before and after."
"Hladyr bless!" Duran slammed his hand on the counter.
"It was serious, Sor Duran. This weather—they seem to think—"
"I know. I heard all about it. Tut advised me to send Kekoja off somewhere for a few days. He seems to think that might calm everyone down."
"Tutadar is a good man," the Sabirn said, "and more open-minded than the rest. But even he has his blind spots. I think things have gone beyond sending Keko off and bringing him back a few days later. If you value my advice, Sor Duran, you should start thinking about leaving town, before your neighbors do you some harm."
Duran was trembling now, his stomach was a hard knot, and his hands shook. Leave Targheiden? Leave everything he had known for thirty-five years? An Ancar run in cowardice from the town his ancestors had built? A wave of anger swept through him. By Hladyr's light! He was Ancar . . . he was of a noble house! He could not evade a fight like this. . . . It was dishonorable . . . as dishonorable as negating the bargain he and Kekoja had struck.
O gods! Go off into the countryside—go back into exile. I had enough of that with my parents. Everything I know is here!
Everything I've built . . . all my work . . .
"Didn't you realize that this might happen?" Old Man asked.
"Maybe in my heart of hearts I thought it could," Duran said, "but I didn't . . ." He looked up at the ceiling, at the lamplight playing with the shadows across it. "It happened to my father. I never thought it would happen to me."
"You make them nervous, Sor Duran. You traffic with demon worshippers."