The Dead of Winter Part 4

Jodeera knew herself for a beauty. She admitted and understood and accepted the fact. She had learned that it was not a blessing, but a curse. She had lived long with it, and paid the price; several prices. One was that it was not wise for a woman so staggeringly well-favored to travel unaccompanied. Even with a protector and amid the whistling winds of winter, she might well have proven invitation to and source for trouble within the caravan. Jodeera knew this; she had long been beautiful and admitted and accepted it-as curse. Therefore she had chosen to conceal herself utterly. Better to be a source of speculation and gossip than of trouble! (She was neither pregnant nor obese, nor even "overweight," that delicate phrase for people of sedentary habits who were without restraint in the matter of food and drink.) Furthermore, Jodeera and the sun were not enemies. She was not syphilitic. She was not even pocked.

She stepped forth from the house of her new lackey unveiled and clasping a long amethystine cloak over the azure-and-emerald gown of a lady, and she was breathtaking. She was radiance to challenge the sun; she was Beauty to challenge the G.o.ddess Es.h.i.+ Herself.

And she was looking for a man. A particular man.

She and her lackey-his name was Wintsenay and he was best described as an overage street urchin-returned through town, saw a killing and pretended not to, two blocks farther along stepped carefully around another murder victim not yet cold, satisfactorily answered the questions of a Beysib who looked worse than nervous and ready to draw the sword on its or her back, and came at last to a fine inn. There they installed her.

Oh, but Jodeera turned heads in the White Swan! Nevertheless, she caused herself to be. conducted at once to an available chamber, one with a good bed and a good lock on the door. Though many waited and watched and some of them entertained dreams and pleasant fantasies, she did not return to the common room. She remained in her own rented chamber. Her hireling Wintsenay slept before the door, armed, but nothing untoward befell her at the White Swan.

Word of her arrival in Sanctuary was abroad before she rose next day. Beautiful women did not come at all often to Sanctuary. Not even Hakiem could remember when last one had arrived here alone. Yet this time a true beauty had arrived, and alone, and she was a mystery. Having taken on a low and baseborn servant who was about ten minutes out of the downwind area of Downwind, she had given her name at the White Swan as Ahdioma of Aurvesh, and she was nigh incredible.

As for the lady herself ... "See you this ring?" she asked of the White Swan's day-man, who was trying hard to gather up his lower lip so as to close his mouth while staring at her. He remembered to nod and she said, "When next you see it, it will be sent you, and you will honor it, and my wishes."

He a.s.sured her that he would, indeed.

Taking no breakfast and seeming uninterested in the chatter of last night's b.l.o.o.d.y PFLS activities, she went forth into ratty Thieves' World of the creaking commerce and cracking, peeled stucco and stones leaking their mortar onto the streets and "streets." Its powder freighted the wind that whistled along those streets, disarranging cloaks and scarves while bearing the scent of death.

She was noticed wherever she went in d.a.m.ned Sanctuary. Hair of a dark red, the s.h.i.+ning maroon of a rich old wine. Large eyes that were perhaps hazel and perhaps green-it depended upon the viewer, and where she was standing with relation to the sun. A face in which the bones were prominent and the mouth generous. (Some few marked the absence of what pa.s.sed for dimples and later for creases and were truly smile-lines, and pounced to the conclusion that, incredibly for one of her looks, she had had no happy life.) A figure to turn dry the mouths of men and never mind their ages. A lackey called Wints whose face was washed and who strove to look mean while keeping his hand on one of those dauntingly long Ilbarsi "knives" thrust through a red-and-yellow sash worn over his old brown cloak.

In the Bazaar she crossed a brown, clutching palm with a small silver coin, and was allowed to adjourn to a rearward chamber. She emerged with her hair caught in a plain snood of dull old green. A veil of medium green concealed her lower face. Displayed were ears pierced but not be jeweled, which she knew was unattractive.

She tarried there, in that booth of a seer blindingly dressed in multicolor, while the S'danzo's daughter and the lackey Wints bore the ring back to the White Swan. No, she did not care to be read by the S'danzo. Was the kind S'danzo discreet?-Yes. Then did she perhaps know of a certain man ... And the newcomer, veiled again, mentioned a name and then a description.

No, the S'danzo did not know him; perhaps a reading might help?-No, no reading; there would be no Seeing into the affairs of the veiled lady.

The S'danzo wisely said no more. She a.s.sumed that this stranger either was so cautious as to want not even a close-mouthed seer to know aught of her-or wished not to know more of herself and her future's possibilities and probabilities than she already did.

Wintsenay and the nine-year-old returned anon with the veiled lady's three horses. She dispatched them to arrange lodgings for her at the inn suggested by her new S'danzo friend.

She did not see him she sought, that day. Twice she must stop and show her face to members of the occupying force, but apparently she did not resemble whomever they sought. Two of their number had been slain last night. The word was murder, but Sanctuarites did not use it in connection with the deaths of the Beysa's minions.

She kept Wintsenay with her, calling him Wints, that he might not talk o'ermuch to his acquaintances and, if he had any, his friends. Obviously he was enjoying his role as well as the pay. Wints was quite willing to remain with her and comply with any of her wishes.

On the day following she wore a still different guise, and changed her lodgings yet again. Again, the inn was a good one. Having gained some knowledge of bankers, she left money and jewels with a man she felt she could trust. He also stabled her horses. She left with a receipt and a more secure feeling. That day, again, she looked more for him she sought.

In mid-aftemoon on the fringe of the Bazaar, she saw him.

"Oh my," she said, from behind her lower-face veil of scarlet (and above her garish S'danzo garb, skirts and ap.r.o.n and blouse in seven colors and six hues), "whoever is that big man who just ordered crockery from your neighbor, there?"

"Ah, m'girl, that's Ahdio-Ahdiovizun, but it's Ahdio he's callt. Runs that hole, back in the Maze-Sly's Place, it's callt. You know. Big, ain't he!"

"Indeed," the veiled lady said softly, and went away.

"Well, I can't help that," the very big man said to the dealer. "You just tell Goatfoot what I said: When even my customers complain about his beer, it's bad!

Thin as ... well, if I find out he has a lot of cats over there, I'll be mighty suspicious about what he puts into his so-called prime ale!"

"That ain't nice, Ahdio. You want good stuff, whyn't you buy it then?"

"As you d.a.m.ned well know, Ak, I do. But not from Goatfoot! However, not all my patrons can afford the premium brew, and not all of them know the difference, anyhow. I serve maybe twenty to one of the stuff made by Goatfoot and Maeder.

And based on the quality, I ought to be charging more for Maeder's Red Gold!"

"Or maybe less for Goatfoot's True Brew," Akarlain said, tilting his head to one side and doing his best to look clever. It was a strain.

"I'm willing to do that," Ahdio told him, "just as soon as you and Goatfoot get the keg price down to what it should be." He sighed and raised a silencing hand as the much smaller man started to reply. "That's all right, that's all right.

I'll need thirteen more kegs tomorrow, and don't forget what I told you to tell Goatfoot. And that I'm looking for another brewer. My customers may be sc.u.m, but they've got rights!"

Ahdio, his face open and showing no menace, held eye contact with Akarlain for a long moment before he turned away. He moved on to another merchant's kiosk in the ever-noisy open market. Face working, Ak watched him. How was it that such a genuinely bigger than big man moved so easily in a gait that no one could ever describe as "lumbering"? He was almost graceful! And so lucky, Ak mused with a s.h.i.+ver; Ahdio seemed not to notice the cold although he was not wearing nearly as much clothing as most others. Like to have me a wife that generated that much heat, Akarlain thought, and with a sigh he turned to enter Ahdio's order on the slate headed G-Foot.

Ahdio stopped at a fold-down counter under a sheltering awning of bright green and faded yellow. After doubling his order for the sausages in brine he had tried out on consignment, he complimented their creator.

"They loved them, Ivalia. Helped sell more beer, too! My customers loved those special sausages of yours-and so did I!" Abruptly the big man laughed a big man's laugh. "Not my cat, though. Should've seen him wrinkle his nose and shake his head when he started to settle into a nice sausage meal and smelled that brine! Could've heard his ears rattle two buildings away!"

"Ohh, poor p.u.s.s.y cat," Ivalia said, interrupting her delighted marking down of his order to look up with a sympathetic expression. "What a mean shock for a cat ... well, here! You take this to that poor disappointed kitty of yours, Ahdio, with my compliments."

"Mighty nice of you, Ivalia," Ahdio said, accepting the brown-wrapped package she hurriedly prepared and proffered. It looked strangely smaller, once it was transferred from her hand to his huge one.

Someone pa.s.sing behind Ahdio b.u.mped him. Ahdio showed no hint of taking offense as his size would have allowed; he merely dropped a hand to the wallet at his belt. It was still there. The b.u.mp must have been a genuine one, then-not that it would have mattered much. He kept only three coppers, two sharply jagged bits of rusty steel, and a few pebbles in that leathern bag. His money was in a pocket-purse sewn inside the down-filled vest he wore in lieu of coat or winter cloak. Still, he was not anxious to lose what he thought of as the Fool's Purse at his belt; he'd just have to raise a great fuss and try to chase down the thief ... and of course replace the thing with another cheap bag of goatskin.

"Mighty nice order you just gave me, Ahdio," Ivalia was saying with a smile.

"Mighty nice doing business with you-and gracious, I had no idea you were a cat person, too! That makes it all the better."

The disposition of an angel, Ivalia had-a red-faced angel-and arms like a cooper's. Everything about her was round and healthy and on the large side, positively br.i.m.m.i.n.g and glowing ruddy with health. Everything except her nose and her chest, he thought, a little wistfully; both were as flat as a fallen pie. Still ... a man did get lonely and thought now and again of a real woman, a companion rather than merely some one-night wench. And in this G.o.ds-forsaken town to which he had exiled himself.... Ahdio smiled at her. That showed as a crinkling of his eyes and a writhing of his winter beard; he stopped shaving every year in autumn and removed the whole growth again a few months later when real heat started to set in. Just now the beard was not long, but already obscured most of his face.

"What's your kittycat's name, Ahdio?" she asked, practically burbling, beaming at him.

Ahdio looked a bit embarra.s.sed, pushed a finger up into his brown-pepper-and salt beard, and scratched. "I, ah, named him Sweetboy," he admitted.

The round-faced sausagemaker clapped her hands. "How sweet! My kittycats are named Cinnamon, and Topaz, and Micklety, and Kadakithis, wasn't that naughty of me?-and Chase (that's short for Chase-mouser) and Pan-pie, and Hakiem, and Babyface, and-oh, pardon me; yes, what would you like?"

That to the new customer who had come to the unwitting rescue of Ahdio, whose expression of shock had increased with each new cat Ivalia listed-and without showing signs of running out of either names or cats anytime soon.

"Try one of her pickled sausages," Ahdio said to the newcomer. "And remember it was Ahdio who told you. Stop in at my tavern-Sly's Place near Wrong Way Park.

First beer's on me."

He waved a hand in friendly farewell to Ivalia and departed. Thus he did not see the look her prospective customer gave her, or hear him mutter, "Sly's Place!

Theba's eyeb.a.l.l.s ... I'd as soon slit my throat as go near that dive!"

Ivalia leaned on her counter, face in hands, and gave him a nice smile. "Why don't you, then?"

Bulkily visible with his broad back emphasized by the vest of tired red, Ahdio wended his way out of the Bazaar, returning greetings, stopping to say a few words to this or that merchant and a couple of Stepsons with ever-wary eyes. His words to the beautifully-dressed n.o.ble Shaf-ralain went unanswered and Ahdio grinned. He just managed not to wink at an armed but not particularly mean looking Bey, and headed for home.

Home was upstairs over the dive called Sly's Place, well back in that most unsavory and unsafe district of Sanctuary called the Maze. Today he had gone to the street called Path of Money early, to put away some of last night's income.

He never visited his banker at the same time on two days within any week, so as not to be predictable. Sanctuary was that kind of town. It was a goodly walk, too. When he bore money out of Sly's, he got out of the Maze as fast as he could, and to h.e.l.l with shortcuts. He stepped directly out onto the Street of Odors-also called Stink Street and Perfume Boulevard, with the tanners and charnel houses right there-and walked north to Straight Street. Once it crossed the Processional, it jogged a little and became the Path of Money. There bankers and lenders and changers lurked, and some were even honest. It was Ahdio's belief and hope that his was.

Then it was back to the Bazaar and/or Farmer's Market, by some route or other; he was a known walker who attracted little attention from the diwiers and "guardians" of this or that section of town. Stepsons competent and in-, or 3rd Commando members, or the dangerous usually-youths of the PFLS-"Piffles," some were p.r.o.nouncing it-or sword-backed Beysibs, forced by the weather to cloak the bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s they apparently loved to flaunt, painted. He gave them little attention in return, speaking when they were obviously not supposed to be concealed, and pretending not to see them when they were.

Ahdio a.s.sumed that he was one of the very few in the Maze who had made a deal with the 3rd Commando Unit of Ranke. After all, it was in his back room that Kama of the 3rd C. and Zip of PFLS had met with Hanse, for the purpose of persuading that thief called Shadowsp.a.w.n to break into the Palace. Oh, Ahdio knew that, now; Kama had been back and they were friends-make that "on friendly terms."

Not infrequently he stopped at a better inn just to take note of it and its clientele and enjoy a measure or two served by someone else. Then it was back to his residence and place of business, which was sort of sphinctered in the improbable three-way intersection where the Serpentine sort of extruded Tanner Lane as it slithered by, at the place where Odd Birt's Cross became Odd Birt's Dodge.

The lowest dive in the lowest of towns, some called Sly's Place.

Ahdiovizun called it home. He also called it never dull and always fascinating, even inspiring. (Sly was a man dead these three years, but who wanted to change the name and take credit for the skungiest and most fight-p.r.o.ne watering-hole in all Thieves' World? In consequence, no one was sure just who did own it. True, Sly's widow seemed not to be hurting any for finances, but certainly she never came near the place, and no one ever reported having seen Ahdio or his helper Throde go to her home.) Since today he had settled a few bills with last night's receipts, he had not gone over to the Path of Money at all. Thus he extended his walk by taking the longer way around from the Bazaar. When he entered the Maze from the north, onto the Serpentine, nature had been calling for several minutes. With a little smile he decided to avail himself of the little cul-de-sac variously called Tick's Vomitorium, or Safehaven, or more descriptively: The Outhouse. Even in the ever present shadows, the lower walls of all three buildings ab.u.t.ting on Safehaven were stained dark. The area, a squared horseshoe, reeked of urine and worse. The Vulgar Unicorn was just around the corner and many a patron had come hurrying into just this odd little shelter to relieve his bladder or his stomach or both.

(This was the reason Ahdio had been known to refer jocularly to the place as the Vulgar Unicorn Annex.) He was just contentedly spraying the eastward wall when a slight sound behind him was followed quickly by a swift, jerky pressure at his side, a shade forward of the kidney. The pressure-point was tiny, and Ahdio recognized the touch of a knife's tip.

"Uh," he said, and splashed his thick-soled walking buskin. "d.a.m.n."

"All right," a voice snarled in an obvious attempt both to sound dangerous and to disguise itself, "let's have yer purse, bigun." The pressure remained at Ahdio's side.

"I'll give you this," Ahdio said without turning, "you're light on your feet and may amount to a real thief someday. But I think you have me confused with someone else-I'm Ahdio."

"Ah-Ahdi-"

"Probably couldn't recognize me in the dark, here. You know: Ahdiovizun, the great big mean and cantankerous proprietor of Sly's Place, who always wears ..."

"A mailcoat!" the snarler snarled loudly, and the pressure of his knifepoint instantly left Ahdiovizun's person. The would-be thief was not nearly as quiet departing in haste as he had been at stalking.

Ahdio let go a goodly sigh and restored his clothing. Having deliberately given the thief opportunity to escape unseen, he turned slowly and paced out of the Maze's public convenience. He felt around at his rearward side with a big hand that had gone a bit sweaty.

Good. The little idiot didn't p.r.i.c.k my vest. Hate to start leaking goose feathers. Glad he was too scared and stupid to run a test by leaning on that sticker ... what sort of glutton for punishment would I have to be to wear my mailcoat all day, just walkin' around town?

Still, he would not claim even to himself not to be unnerved. With the whole town gettin' to be as dangerous as the Maze, maybe I should!

He wiped wet hands on his leggings, and considered dropping in at the Vulg for a short one. No, he'd just stay away from that place; it was no trick to spot the two Beysibs, so very casually hanging about across the "street," keeping an eye on a dive to which Ahdio felt Sly's was eminently superior. Doubtless a PFLSer or two would be about, too, keeping an eye or four on the Stare-Eyes. He'd just head on home and drink his own, with Sweetboy for company.

He followed the Serpentine on down and around onto Tanner. With a casual wave at the enormous (and teetotal-ing) bodyguard of Alamanthis, the physician located conveniently across the street from Sly's and prospering accordingly, Ahdio went around back. He whacked the door a couple of times while he whistled a few notes, to avoid a misunderstanding with Sweetboy, and slipped the first of two keys into the smaller lock. Then the other one, and he entered. He dropped the big bar across the door behind him.

"Hey, you mangy furbag, daddy's home!"

"Mrarr," Sweetboy said in what was almost a travesty of a cat's customary sound, and meandered over. Ahdio stood still long enough to let the black, mange-free animal sinuously whack its left flank against his buskin and pace back and forth a few times, rubbing, getting rid of some excess fur while saying h.e.l.lo Good To See You My Bowl's Empty.

"Just had a bit of a scare, Sweetboy. Let's have a drink."

Sweetboy made a profoundly enthusiastic remark and lost all dignity in industriously rubbing both Ahdio's legs while the big man lighted an oil-lamp.

Moving to a table on which rested a small keg, he twisted out the bung: This was good Maeder's brew he had re-bunged last night after close of business. He had done a good job of it, too, he saw when he poured: Head foamed up high and rich.

Ahdio bent and gave himself a white mustache to keep it from flowing over, then set it aside while he drew another cup.

Watching, Sweetboy reared up to clap both paws to the table-leg and stretch, meanwhile purring loud enough to vibrate the table.

"Uh-huh. Soon's the head settles down. True beer-lovers know you need to raise the foam and wait for it to lapse, Sweetboy ole Tige. Remember that."

The cat, jet with an odd strawberry- or heart-shaped white patch on its face and one white paw, made an urgent remark.

Picking up the first cup, Ahdio squatted to the floor beside a cut-down mug of wide diameter, with a handle. "Wait," he said, in a particular voice, and poured Red Gold into the cat's bowl. Sweetboy waited, staring, saying nothing but expressing his impatience with a las.h.i.+ng of the stub of his tail.

That sight was disconcerting to everyone but Ahdio. Any cat expressed itself or at least acknowledged noises or its name with movements of its tail, often merely the tip. A tailless cat, if not a cripple, was at least the equivalent of a human with a severe lisp. Sweetboy, however, seemed unaware of his lack and expressively moved what he had. He even managed to make it obvious when he was not just moving the thumb-length stub, but las.h.i.+ng it. Now he peered at his bowl under a thigh the thickness of a trim man's waist. It moved, straightened.

"Drink up, Tige," Ahdio said, and turned to his own mug. By the time he lifted it to his lips, his beer-loving cat was sounding more canine than feline in its enthusiastic lapping. Hip against the table and one elbow on the keg, Ahdio quaffed his beer while watching Sweetboy put away his. The big man's face wore an indulgent smile. It faded, and he sighed.

The hard part was the disappearance of Sweetboy's former companion and fellow watch-cat. Notable. Both Ahdio and Sweetboy missed the big red cat. First Hanse had popped in late one afternoon and just had to borrow him; then, even while Ahdio was trying to explain that Notable was a one-man cat, the d.a.m.ned traitor had come in all high-tailed and started in rubbing Shadowsp.a.w.n as if the c.o.c.ky thief were his favoritest person in the whole world. So off went large watch-cat with smallish thief, and into the governor's palace and out. And Hanse had brought Notable back, too, bragging on his loyalty and valor-and loud voice.

That was right before Hanse had left town, in a hurry. Apparently he had taken with him the eldest daughter of the murdered S'danzo, Moon-flower.

Next morning, Notable was gone, too. Just short of frantic, Ahdio searched and asked; put out the word. Notable was gone without a trace. At least it was hard to imagine such a fighter's having been s.n.a.t.c.hed and used to fill someone's hungry belly. Ahdio swallowed hard, then turned up his mug.

"I hope he's with Hanse," he muttered, lowering the emptied cup, and Sweetboy gave his abbreviated tail a twitch in acknowledgment. "But if he is and they ever come back to Sanctuary, I'm going to pin back all four of their ears!"

With another sigh, Ahdio decided to have another before he fixed himself something to eat and joined Throde in preparing to open up for tonight's business in the lowest dive in Sanctuary. He had no idea that it would be one of the very most eventful nights ever.

He was just finis.h.i.+ng his early dinner-he'd snack while he worked and enjoy a late supper while counting tonight's take-when he heard Throde at the door. He hurried to lift the bar and let in his lean and wiry a.s.sistant. The youth entered, thump-clump thump-clump. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was known to some as Throde the Gimp, and now and again a customer tried calling "Hey Gimp!"

or "Gimpy-over here" when he wanted service. Throde, with more encouragement from Ahdio than mere approval, did not respond in any way. (He did respond to calls of "Boy" or "Waiter" or "Hey you!") If a newcomer chose to take offense and become surly despite being advised by a fellow patron of Throde's name and humanity, Ahdio was always ready to prevent any violence on his a.s.sistant.

Sometimes they even came back, those he graphically warned and cooled by throwing out.

Enveloped in big brown cloak from crown to instep, the youth leaned his staff against the wall; a shade under an inch and a half in diameter, the inflexible rod was six feet long, five inches longer than its owner.

"'Lo, Ahdio. Hey, Sweetboy."

He unclasped and twisted out of the hairy cloak that looked nigh big enough for Ahdio, except in length. As usual, Throde's brown hair came out of the cloak's hood mussed in six or nine directions. He carried the garment over to hook it on one of the pegs just inside the door, on (he wall opposite the eight or so untapped tuns of beer. He turned back to Ahdio, left hand pus.h.i.+ng his hair up off his forehead above the left eye in a gesture Ahdio had seen a thousand times or more. His smooth face was long and bony, and his lean body gave that appearance. Ahdio knew that was a bit deceptive; wiry and rangy, Throde had good musculature. Even his bad leg looked strong, though Ahdio had seen his helper only once without leggings, even back in high summer. He introduced Throde as his cousin's son, from Twand. Ahdiovizun was not from Twand. Neither was Throde.

"Ah. New tunic?"

Throde blinked and little twitches in his face hinted at a smile. He looked down at the garment, which was medium green with a wave-imitating border at neck and hem, in dark brown. Ahdio recognized that gesture, too; Throde wasn't studying the tunic, he was ducking his head. The lad was shy, and just a shade more gregarious than his walking stick.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good for you. Good-looking tunic, too. Going to have to think about a new belt for that one, to do it justice. Buy it in the Bazaar?"

Throde shook his head. "Country Market. Bought it off a woman who made it for her son."

"Oh," Ahdio said, and as usual tried to force his helper into something approaching conversation. "Didn't he like it? Sure doesn't look worn."

"Was a present for him. Never been worn." Throde was looking at the cat, which had a.s.sumed a ridiculous sitting position with one hind leg straight up while it licked its genitals. "You'll go blind, Sweetboy."

"Lucky you," Ahdio said, and kept trying: "Bet you got a good price on it. Her boy didn't like it?"

"Never saw it. Took a fever on the first cold night. He died."