She pulled up an edge of the blanket and wrapped it over Li Chien. "Let him sleep," she advised. "Magic can accomplish great things, but a body's natural reactions still need to be indulged. Wrap him up and let him sleep by the fire. He'll be warm. We'll see how he is when he wakes."
Tycho followed her example, tucking the blankets around Li Chien and wrapping him snuggly. A folded shirt went under his head as a pillow. When they were finished, he went to the narrow cot where he slept and stripped off his own blankets. "You use these," he told Veseene.
"And what will you use?" the old woman asked stubbornly.
"I can sleep under my coat."
She snorted. "I could sleep under your coat just as well. I slept under coats and cloaks a thousand times while I was traveling!"
"You're not traveling anymore-and aren't blankets warmer than a coat?" Tycho steered Veseene over to her couch. "Besides, I need to stay awake for at least a while to tend the fire. I'll be fine."
Veseene grumbled, but finally gave up her protests. She settled down onto the couch and drew the blankets over herself. Tycho gave the fire a careful stir, heaping the coals up around the oak log, then he pulled his cot over closer to it and picked up his coat. The garment was still wet from his walk home. He grimaced and wrapped it around himself anyway before stretching out on the cot.
In the shadows, Veseene sighed. "Don't think about it, Veseene," Tycho said.
"I wish I could have done more. Once-"
"Once you could have healed him and sent him out dancing afterward." He turned his head and glanced at her. His mentor's eyes reflected the firelight. Her jaw was set and firm, but he knew that under the blankets her hands would be clasped tight, one around the other, as if that could prevent their shaking.
There were some things-some very few things-that magic couldn't heal.
There was a time, Tycho thought, when the voice of Veseene the Lark was known from coast to coast around the Sea of Fallen Stars. A time when her magic-the subtle spells of a bard rather than the pure power of a wizard or holy prayers of a priest-had enthralled taverns and festhalls and brought comfort to the common folk of towns and cities. A time, even in the fading days of her glory, when she had seen promise in the squeaking of a Spandeliyon dock rat and taken him for her apprentice, to travel with her and learn her songs and stories.
But no one, it turned out, had much use for a lark that could no longer fly.
Veseene closed her eyes and Tycho looked back to the fire. And Li Chien. The Shou's chest was rising and falling with the regular rhythm of sleep. Tycho drew a slow breath and let it out quietly. Gods bless us, I hope you appreciate my help this time, he thought, because Lander isn't going to. And if you're lucky, Brin will never even know you came looking for him.
"… fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty." Silver flashed in the candlelight as Giras counted. He looked up and blinked eyes still rheumy from having been woken in the middle of the night. "You're sure you don't want to part with that saber? I know someone who would pay very well for it."
"I'm keeping it." Lander swept a healthy pile of coins off Giras's counter and into his pouch. He picked up the Shou curved saber-back inside its sheath once more-and saluted the fence with it. "I've taken a fancy to it."
Giras shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, though, bring it back. Just not so late next time."
"You sleep like you were an honest man, Giras."
Lander left the shop. The snow had stopped and the moon was peeking through the clouds, its light turning the fresh snow bright. Nico, Ovel, Bor, and Serg were waiting for him. They clustered around as soon as he appeared. "How much did you get?" Bor demanded.
"Fifty," lied Lander.
"Fifty?" Bor made a face. "That's only…" Lander saw his fingers move as he counted. "Ten each."
"Eight," Lander said. "Two of every ten to Brin." There were grumbles all around. Lander swept his men with a hard glare. "You'd rather get nothing? Or maybe you want to hold back on Brin and count your fingers when he's done with you?" He pulled coins out of his pouch and began distributing them.
"Hey!" complained Serg. "You kept the sword!"
"Is there a problem with that? "
Serg's anger faltered. "I could have used the coat," he whined.
"You can come back in the morning and buy it from Giras. I'm sure he'll give you a good price." Lander dropped the remaining coins back in his pouch and watched his men suspiciously count out their shares. "All there? Good. Go home. I'm going to see Brin. Anyone want to come with me?"
His men said their good-byes with unseemly haste and vanished into the night. Lander smiled grimly to himself and set off back down to dockside. Giras's shop was situated on the very edge of Spandeliyon's middle town. Not the quickest walk up from the dives of the dockside, but worth it whenever anything of value found its way into his hands. With access to a better class of customer, Giras was willing to pay a little more. Sometimes a lot more.
Lander considered the Shou's saber as he walked. Maybe he should have sold it. The hilt was nicely put together, with a fine grip of some coarse-grained leather he didn't recognize and bronze fittings carved with Shou characters. The scabbard matched it, fashioned from wood, brass, and the same coarse leather dyed red. The only problem was that it wasn't meant to be worn like a normal sword. He figured out how to clip it to his belt, but to draw it properly, he would have to carry it as the Shou had. He could figure out a way to fix that though. He buffed the hilt and nodded to himself. It was a nasty, heavy weapon. No, he'd keep it. For now, anyway.
Lander turned a corner onto a street very close to the waterfront and walked up to a long, low building. Painted along the wall and across the door was the sinuous body of an enormous eel. He went inside. In spite of the hour, there were still people around, though most of them were deep in drunken sleep. Those few who were awake glanced at Lander and then quickly turned back to their beer and whatever whispered conversations they were holding. Lander caught the eye of the bartender, a massive man who was as hairless as an egg, and raised his eyebrow. The bartender tilted his head ever so slightly toward the back of the festhall. Lander went that way. Off to one side, a room of gambling tables lay quiet for the night. Off to the other, a heavy curtain hid the way to a series of small rooms where more intimate pleasures could be had. Lander steered his way between the two, pushing aside another curtain to enter a narrow, dark passage.
The sound reached him first as he groped his way through the darkness. Someone was weeping in agony. Smell followed and Lander wrinkled his nose at the pungent barnyard stench. No matter how often that stink assaulted him, he could never get used to it. He gulped air, though, and forced the grimace from his face as his fingers touched rough wood. He stepped through a door to the wide alley behind the Eel and the pigsty Brin kept there.
Bitch Queen's mercy, most of the pigs were asleep. They made a great mass of quivering, snorting flesh in among the straw under the covered portion of the sty. The heat of their bodies kept the shelter comfortable even in the coldest weather; the snow on the roof was already melting in big, fat drops. The pigs hadn't had a chance yet to churn up what snow had fallen on the ground and the sty looked almost pretty. Lander knew better. He picked his way carefully, trying not to disturb the filth underneath.
To one side of the sty, there was a table with a lantern and a bench. Sitting astride the bench, his ankles bound together underneath it, was a man named Kiril. Lander knew him. He collected extortion coin for Brin from several shops on the east of dockside.