Iorich by Steven Brust Page A

around with embalming oil for him.”
    She nodded. “As long as it’s safe. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
    “Kind of you to say.” I stood up and nodded.
    “I’ll do the teleport,” she said.
    How do you ask the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain if she’s too drunk to manage a teleport safely? Answer: You don’t.
    “Thanks,” I told her.

I NTERLUDE: M EMORY

     
     
    It came back sharp and clear, all the edges distinct, the colors vivid, even the sounds echoing in my ears. I had stood there, looking at where she lived then, and unable to speak. I had just finished proving I wasn’t a hero. Kragar came along that time, to provide moral support or something, but had waited a bit down the street so I could meet the boy by myself first.
    She invited me in.
    “Where is—?”
    “It’s his nap time.”
    “Oh.”
    “He’ll be up again in a bit.”
    We sat and talked about nothing for a while. Then there was a sound in the next room like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, and my heart did a thing.
    “I’ll be right back,” said Cawti.
    Across from me was psiprint of Noish-pa, looking haughty and forbidding, which shows you how false psiprints can be. It was a long two or three minutes before she returned.
    A toddler toddled behind her. He wore short pants and agray frock, and his dark hair was neatly brushed. His eyes were huge and reminded me of Cawti’s. She said, “Vlad, this is your father.”
    The boy stared at me for a moment, then turned and pressed himself against Cawti’s legs. She gave me an apologetic smile. “He’s bashful around strangers,” she said. I nodded. “Just ignore him,” she said. “He’ll come around.”
    Ignore him. Yeah. “All right,” I said.
    “Come on, Vlad. Shall we find your turtle?”
    He nodded into her knees. She took his hand and led him over to a long, reddish wooden box under the window. I knew that box; it had once held weapons. Now, it seems, it held a cloth turtle stuffed with I know not what.
    I expected him to hug it, but he didn’t; he walked into a corner, sat down, and began studying it. Cawti sat on the edge of a short couch I didn’t recognize and picked up her glass. We watched him.
    “What’s he doing?” I asked in a low tone.
    “Figuring out how it’s put together,” she said.
    “Oh. Is it that difficult?”
    “It’s a sort of puzzle. The cloth folds over in certain ways to make a turtle, and if you unfold it right you get something else. The first one was a lyorn, the second a dayocat. I don’t know what this one is. I guess we’ll find out.”
    I smiled. “He solved the first two?”
    “Quick.”
    I smiled more. “Where did you find the toy?”
    “A little girl makes them, and brings them around. I don’t know why, but she seems harmless.”
    “A little girl? Does she have a name?”
    “Devera.”
    I nodded.
    “Do you know her?” she asked.
    “Um. Yes and no. But you’re right; she wouldn’t hurt him.”
    That seemed to satisfy Cawti. We watched my son a little more. If he was aware that we were watching him, he chose to ignore it. It was hard to talk about him as if he weren’t there. Probably a bad idea, too.
    Vlad Norathar walked over to his mother and presented her with an object. “That’s very good,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”
    “It’s a horse,” he explained.
    She nodded. “Show your father.”
    He turned and gave me an evaluating look; I wished I could have decided what expression to have on my face. I settled on trying to look interested but not demanding, and it must have worked because he marched over and showed me the horse.
    “That’s very good,” I said. “But the turtle must be pretty crunched inside it.”
    He frowned and considered that. “You’re silly,” he explained.
    I’d never been called silly before; I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Good, I think.
    He tucked the horse’s ears back in and out a few times, satisfying himself that he had the secret,