It came down to waiting now—only waiting—wondering over and over again where Old Man was, why they waited at all—
Duran sat on his stool and listened to the work going on next door. Since morning, people had been over at Zeldezia's shop, removing the burned and scorched manure and flour, and washing down the wall with—the gods knew—no shortage of water.
He stayed to his shop, kept the door cracked—indecisive between the pretense of being open for business and the fear of his neighbors.
Mother Garan was the only visitor, desperate, on the edge of one of her headaches.
He gave her the whole pot of willow-tea, he held her gnarled hands and impressed on her as gravely as he could the danger of too much use.
He scared her, perhaps. She looked as if he had.
He wanted not to charge her, wanted to give her some money to go to an uptown doctor—but he knew her pride; and he feared she might spread that story.
Zeldezia had spent little time in her shop. Duran had seen her wandering up and down the street, whispering to various people, and throwing hateful looks in the direction of his door. Gods alone knew what she was telling everyone, what charges she was making.
He could not believe that Zeldezia had any enemies who would take the time and the risk to set a fire.
Could it have been someone after him, confusing his shop with Zeldezia's? He shuddered at the thought. Whoever had been the target—
If it had a bit more time to burn, it might have caught the second story on fire, and then gods help everyone up and down the block.
Now, seated on his stool, waiting as the day drifted on to afternoon—waiting, and not knowing—he simply hoped.
Tonight—he and Dog would take a walk. Lock the door to delay anyone finding him gone—
And just walk away.
"Have you seen the priest today?" Wellhyrn asked, swirling the wine around in his glass, his legs stretched comfortably before him. It was Ladirno's apartment. It was mid-afternoon.
"No. And neither have you, I suppose."
Wellhyrn shook his head. There was a curious expression on the younger man's face this afternoon, a look of smug, predatory satisfaction. Ladirno had heard the news from Old Town already, and it took no great wit to add things up.
"I know what you did last night," Ladirno said.
A look of surprise widened Wellhyrn's eyes.
"What—do you mean?"
"There was a fire at the seamstress's shop. A very suspicious fire."
"Bad luck, I suppose."
"Luck had nothing to do with it. You're very smart, Hyrn—but not smart enough, not smart enough to cover your tracks—not smart enough to know me. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."
"I never thought you stupid," Wellhyrn protested.
"You made mistakes. You said yesterday you were going to make Duran suffer. As happens—you've pushed a situation already about to move. But let me tell you, friend, there's someone knows how that fire started. Your reputation is in those hands. That's a fool, Wellhyrn. And I'm not a fool. I won't stand for it."
For a long moment, Wellhyrn stared at Ladirno. He blinked twice and then smiled. "You did that with remarkably few clues, Ladir. I'm amazed."
"You aren't upset. You aren't even upset."
Wellhyrn lifted a velvet shoulder. Gold chain glinted in the light.
"Fool," Ladirno said. "You're brilliant, Hyrn, in your work, but leave politics alone. In that you are most definitely a fool."
"Ladir, Ladir." Wellhyrn's voice warmed to a companionable tone. There was just the slightest hint of patronization in it. "I turn your statement around . . . do you think me that stupid? The fellow I hired is a lackwit—"
"Wonderful."
"I made sure he left town," Wellhyrn said, lifting an eyebrow. "I had someone follow him this morning. It'll be taken care of—"
"And where does it stop, Wellhyrn?"
"It stops. It will stop." The assurance was gone from Wellhyrn's face. His lips made a thin line.
"You listen to me. We may fool people out of money now and again, the Duke being no exception, but by the gods! We haven't robbed them of it. And we don't murder."
"Getting soft, aren't you?" Wellhyrn sneered.
Ladirno got up, walked up to Wellhyrn, reached out, and grasped Wellhyrn by the front of his tunic. "You listen to me," he hissed. "I made you at court. I took you on as my apprentice. And I can just as easily dump you right back where you came from. Of the two of us, you tell me who the Duke respects most!"
Wellhyrn reached up and removed Ladirno's hand from his tunic. His face was white.
"You keep that in mind, boy," Ladirno said, standing over him. "And don't try to get back at me in any way. By now, I know your tricks. And, if you try to take revenge, I'll go to the Duke with what I know. You might be surprised just how much that is."
A hint of genuine fear crossed Wellhyrn's face.
"You listen to me, and listen well. The Duke won't stand for your kind of goings-on. You may think you can deny it, but I caution you again. Do you want to face up to the Duke's wizards? They can get the truth out of you."
Wellhyrn shook his head slightly.
"We can go far, you and I," Ladirno said, letting warmth re-enter his voice. "But you need to learn to control your ambition. You're a damned fine alchemist. You could be one of the best. Don't ruin your chances by overstepping yourself. Or by underestimating others. Do you understand me?'
For a moment, Wellhyrn held Ladirno's gaze. Then he seemed to shake himself from his fear: his smile came back. "Ah, well. There won't be need—once Duran's gone. Will there?"
Vadami looked at the crowd which had gathered before him. A sidelong glance at Zeldezia sent a cold chill down his spine: the woman seemed utterly changed since they had met last. Her face was stony, her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, there was a terrible violence in her voice.
He supposed it was to be expected, having lived through the attempted burning of her shop last night.
That was what things had gotten to—the Sabirn knew there was movement against them—and they struck.
And they all had cause for fear.
He had tried to calm Zeldezia, he had attempted to keep her on the path of Hladyr's will—keep her from the sin of hate in what she did—
"Do you understand what we're to do?" he asked of the gathered men and women. No one answered, but he saw several nods. "And you understand that we do the will of Hladyr. What we do we do for his sake—for the sake of souls' salvation—drive away the sin of hate, drive out the demons—"
"Who else but the Sabirn would do something like that to me?" Zeldezia cried above his voice. "Who else but Duran, who shelters 'em?"
"Tut ain't going to like this," one man warned. "He's a friend o' Duran's."
"Aye," added another. "Him an' Duran sit together all the time at the 'Cat.' He won't go for this."
"What Tutadar thinks isn't important now," Vadami said quickly, before other members of the crowd could agree with the speaker. "What's important is saving this neighborhood! Fire and flood! And Hladyr only knows what next?"
"The Duke," a woman shouted, "he let Duran off when 'e 'ad 'im—"
"Duran witched 'im!" someone shouted.
"Demon worshippers!"
"Maybe if we asked 'im to leave," another man said, "he'd—"
"No. We don't want him coming back. And he would, once the furor dies down." Vadami drew himself up. "Forget all the good things Duran did for you in the past. He's not the same man anymore. He hired a Sabirn to work for him. He even had that same Sabirn live with him! What does that tell you?"