For the first time, Lumm wondered if Heliz was really a sorcerer.
He didn't seem like one, in that he didn't turn into things or have curses or anything. He didn't do any chanting, or dancing, or summoning. And he didn't have the animals, the familiars, stalking about. He wouldn't rent to someone with pets.
Maybe Heliz was a sorcerer-a spellcasting wizard, in fact-but he wasn't a very good one, and that's why he came here. But why be a wizard if you don't want to cast spells?
For that matter, why would a scholar be in Sanctuary? It was not as if the town had a university, or a library, or even other people interested in languages.
Of course, the easy solution would be just to leave the smaller scholar alone, take his silver buttons, and then turn him out on the street when his funds were exhausted. That would be the easiest solution.
Lumm shook his head. Without proper coin, this town would kick the small man into the gutter in a week's time. Heliz was right that Lumm looked for sad cases. Heliz was one of them.
The common room of the Unicorn was as smoke-ridden and murky as usual. Old Thool, the Unicorn's resident sot, was lurching from table to table, cadging what change and dregs of drinks he could manage. The two waitresses, known to all as Big Minx and Little Minx, threaded through the tables, grabbing empties and avoiding hands with equal deftness. Half the people in the room were watching the other half, and malice hung in the air with the smoke. A typical night, then.
Lumm himself scanned the room, looking for the Berucat merchant. No sign of his heavy frame. But Lumm's eyes stopped for a moment at one of the back tables.
At first he could have sworn that Heliz was a wizard, and had gotten to the Unicorn before he did. On second thought, the table's occupant could have been the scholar's sister. She was dressed similarly to the linguist, though her red robes, running from neck to ankle, were cleaner, newer, and still had all of their silver buttons. Yet her hair was as dark as the scholar's, swept back instead of in the bowl cut that Heliz wore. They shared sharp features: dark, heavy eyebrows and a thin, raptorish nose. Yes, she could have been his sister.
And Lumm was staring long enough that the newcomer realized she was being watched. She gave Lumm a smile and beckoned him come over.
"Help you?" she said in a pleasant, soothing voice.
"Sorry to stare," Lumm stammered. "You just remind me of someone." There might be another reason, he realized, that the linguist was in Sanctuary. It would not be the first time someone came to the town to lose themselves of pursuers, family, creditors, or all three.
"No offense taken," said the young woman. She looked a few years younger than Heliz. A younger sister? Surely not a daughter. Heliz did not strike him as either being old enough or bold enough to spawn any young. "Sit and tell me about it," she continued.
"Sorry to disturb you," said Lumm.
"I said sit and tell me about it." And she said something else as well, something low and wispy that the staver did not catch, that brushed against his mind and was immediately forgotten.
Lumm suddenly found himself in the chair opposite, though he did not remember sitting down.
The young woman in the red robes leaned forward, and Lumm could not help but notice that, unlike Heliz, the newcomer did not use the top dozen buttons of her garment. Yet it was her eyes that most caught his attention-wide, deep, and green. Eyes you could wander around in.
"I remind you of someone?" she said.
"Another fellow," said Lumm. '"I mean, not that you're a fellow and all. Dressed like you. The fellow. And you."
"These are the robes of my order," said the young lady. "I am a Crimson Scholar. Have you heard of them?"
Lumm felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "No," he managed.
"Really?" she said, and added that breathy, low word again. Lumm felt the words surge up his throat like a bad egg sandwich.
"I've never heard of your order," he said, almost like it was a single word. It was the truth, of course, but he felt compelled to say it. "You just look like someone else I've seen."
The young woman raised a glass of mulled wine, the spices heavy even at Lumm's distance. "So you said. Friend of yours?"
Despite himself, Lumm laughed. "I don't think he has any friends. A very private person. Wants to be left alone. Spends most of his time in his room. Reclusive, that's the word."
"Indeed," said the young woman, "that's the word. You know where to find him?"
"I should," said Lumm, "I'm his landlord. Maybe I should go get him, if you're looking for him."
"Maybe you should tell me where he is," said the young woman, and for a third time added a breathy addendum.
Again, Lumm felt the need to tell her, felt the words vomiting upwards. But as he opened his mouth, Old Thool slammed into both him and the table, hard. The young woman dropped her glass on the table, sending shards and wine everywhere. She raised her arm to keep it from getting in her face.
"Padpol for an old veteran?" slurred the drunk.
"Go jump off the dock," snarled the young woman, her face suddenly a mask of rage. She added something as well, that struggling fish of a word that kept avoiding getting tangled in Lumm's mind.
Thool stood bolt upright and started lurching towards the door.
Lumm rose as well, suddenly realizing he was sweating. He didn't look directly at the young woman, but instead said, "Let me get a rag to clean all this up. Won't take a moment." Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the bar, and grabbed Little Minx by the arm.
He pressed slivers of pot-metal into her hand. "Get a clean rag for the young woman in red. And another drink. And keep an eye on her until I get back. And don't talk to her."
Little Minx responded with a coquettish nod and a wink, and Lumm was gone as well, out into the night.
The barmaid turned and regarded the young woman with the hard, practiced eye of a Sanctuary native. A few years older than she, but only a few. Wine-spattered robe, but otherwise in good apparent financial shape. Definitely first time in Sanctuary.
Little Minx headed over towards the back table, a slim smile on her lips. She wondered how much more she could get from this fat pigeon by telling her whatever Lumm didn't want her to know about.
Heliz sighed deeply. Of course the moment, the thrill of discovery, wasn't coming back again. Once the path of reasoning was upset, there was no recovery. He had managed the diminutive form, but the two documents were just that-pieces of paper with writing. They held their secrets.
Still, he did not pay enough attention to the heavy footfalls up the back stairs, and jumped in his seat when Lumm, without preamble or politeness, burst into his garret.
"Your sister is here!" the large man blurted out.
All Heliz could manage was a startled, "What?"
"Your sister," said the staver, gulping for air. He had run the last block, or at least tried to. "At the Unicorn. I think she's looking for you."
"I never had a sist…" started Heliz, then caught himself up short. "A woman in red robes?"
"She said she was a Crimson Scholar," said Lumm, "I suppose you are too. You never said."
Heliz waved a hand to silence the larger man. "Black hair, worn long? Green eyes? Almost as tall as I am?"
"Yes, yes, and yes," said Lumm, Heliz Yunz turning paler with each answer.
"I'll need my satchel," said Heliz, launching over to the desk to pull out a heavy bag.
"I left her at the tavern, and said I would go get you," said Lumm.
"Not enough room," said Heliz, looking into the depths of the bag. "Need to take the base primers, and the Ilsig grammars. And the Beysib phrase book. I'm never going to find those again. But what to leave behind?"