by Vox, when we’d adventured and sang and fought our way together across the Dawn Lands. And, now, Nath Tolfeyr looked decidedly warm for a languid wastrel of the Sacred Quarter. Most interesting!
“Oh, the usual, Nath. He is always spoken of as a bookish lad, always with a scroll under his arm and a book to his nose. In these dark days we need fighters.”
“I recall he was a studious young prince as a youth. But I understand — I am told, for I do not move in the royal and imperial circles here — that he has some skill with an axe.”
“Really?” I said, drinking tea with a fine elegant twirl. “How amusing.”
By Krun! But Tyfar had skill with an axe! I’d seen him take two nasty Chuliks apart with two supple sweeps, and then turn to me with an academic quote that fitted the situation marvelously. Oh, yes, I had a very great deal of time for Tyfar, who would, if the gods and this infernally stupid war between our two countries allowed, become my son-in-law. So I passed on in the conversation, asking about Casmas the Deldy and other scamps.
“Casmas?” Nath shoved back in his chair, crumbling a miscil cake between his fingers. “An odd case. He married his widow and became a Rango and lent his money to the empress. But he is — shrunken, in these latter days.”
“Casmas? Shrunken? As soon believe that as the Ice Floes of Sicce have gone up in steam!”
He smiled. “I agree. It is true, scatheless.”
“There are more unpleasant people to inquire after.”
“I notice you did not ask about Strom Rosil Yasi—”
I put my cup down. Strom Rosil, that bastard Kataki, and his equally evil twin brother were raising hell in Vallia. Mywits must be wandering. Of course I should have inquired of them, when talking of Rees, against whom they had worked their devil-designs at the instigation of Vad Garnath, one of the biggest evil-doers unhanged. I said, “I trust that crew is all dead?”
“Unfortunately, no. Garnath is with the Air Service. The Rosil twins are in Vallia. Katakis are one race of diffs I am not sorry the new laws bear down on, not sorry at all.”
We talked more and I learned how old Nath the Crafty who had always detested diffs had been slain by a Chulik in a brawl, and how much this incident had contributed to the growing distrust of non-apims among the apim ruling classes. Those diffs who were nobles in Hamal, and there were many of them, had become more and more isolated. These were developments I had to ponder, for I had the uneasy conviction — not so much uneasy as panicky, and not so much a conviction as a doubting belief — that in this the Star Lords were interfering. Either them or the Savanti nal Aphrasöe. Times were changing with dramatic speed on Kregen. I felt like the proverbial leaf in a dust storm.
Nath Tolfeyr said he had an afternoon appointment at the Dancing Rostrum, for that riotous if circumspect establishment did better business than ever. People wanted to dance a few burs away and forget their cares. We said the remberees politely, engaging to meet later at a new tavern Nath had discovered, The Blue Zhyan, in Ohmlad’s Alley, off the Street of Thalanns. The pace and bustle of the city engulfed us as we emerged from the Urn and Spoon and went our separate ways. I had learned a great deal, painlessly — well, almost painlessly. There was a very great deal more I must learn to earn my hire as a spy for Vallia and the friends of Vallia against Hamal. The bonus of being able to move about freely in this enemy city as Hamun ham Farthytu had proved itself, and I knew I would have to push that bonus to squeaking point.
The Sacred Quarter of Ruathytu is essentially a higgledy-piggledy collection of narrow streets and tiny alleys and claustrophobic courts ruthlessly slashed through by the wider avenues, after the fashion of Baron Haussmann, which in the strange way of Kregen’s architecture, do not always coincide with the new boulevards of the city beyond the old
“Oh, the usual, Nath. He is always spoken of as a bookish lad, always with a scroll under his arm and a book to his nose. In these dark days we need fighters.”
“I recall he was a studious young prince as a youth. But I understand — I am told, for I do not move in the royal and imperial circles here — that he has some skill with an axe.”
“Really?” I said, drinking tea with a fine elegant twirl. “How amusing.”
By Krun! But Tyfar had skill with an axe! I’d seen him take two nasty Chuliks apart with two supple sweeps, and then turn to me with an academic quote that fitted the situation marvelously. Oh, yes, I had a very great deal of time for Tyfar, who would, if the gods and this infernally stupid war between our two countries allowed, become my son-in-law. So I passed on in the conversation, asking about Casmas the Deldy and other scamps.
“Casmas?” Nath shoved back in his chair, crumbling a miscil cake between his fingers. “An odd case. He married his widow and became a Rango and lent his money to the empress. But he is — shrunken, in these latter days.”
“Casmas? Shrunken? As soon believe that as the Ice Floes of Sicce have gone up in steam!”
He smiled. “I agree. It is true, scatheless.”
“There are more unpleasant people to inquire after.”
“I notice you did not ask about Strom Rosil Yasi—”
I put my cup down. Strom Rosil, that bastard Kataki, and his equally evil twin brother were raising hell in Vallia. Mywits must be wandering. Of course I should have inquired of them, when talking of Rees, against whom they had worked their devil-designs at the instigation of Vad Garnath, one of the biggest evil-doers unhanged. I said, “I trust that crew is all dead?”
“Unfortunately, no. Garnath is with the Air Service. The Rosil twins are in Vallia. Katakis are one race of diffs I am not sorry the new laws bear down on, not sorry at all.”
We talked more and I learned how old Nath the Crafty who had always detested diffs had been slain by a Chulik in a brawl, and how much this incident had contributed to the growing distrust of non-apims among the apim ruling classes. Those diffs who were nobles in Hamal, and there were many of them, had become more and more isolated. These were developments I had to ponder, for I had the uneasy conviction — not so much uneasy as panicky, and not so much a conviction as a doubting belief — that in this the Star Lords were interfering. Either them or the Savanti nal Aphrasöe. Times were changing with dramatic speed on Kregen. I felt like the proverbial leaf in a dust storm.
Nath Tolfeyr said he had an afternoon appointment at the Dancing Rostrum, for that riotous if circumspect establishment did better business than ever. People wanted to dance a few burs away and forget their cares. We said the remberees politely, engaging to meet later at a new tavern Nath had discovered, The Blue Zhyan, in Ohmlad’s Alley, off the Street of Thalanns. The pace and bustle of the city engulfed us as we emerged from the Urn and Spoon and went our separate ways. I had learned a great deal, painlessly — well, almost painlessly. There was a very great deal more I must learn to earn my hire as a spy for Vallia and the friends of Vallia against Hamal. The bonus of being able to move about freely in this enemy city as Hamun ham Farthytu had proved itself, and I knew I would have to push that bonus to squeaking point.
The Sacred Quarter of Ruathytu is essentially a higgledy-piggledy collection of narrow streets and tiny alleys and claustrophobic courts ruthlessly slashed through by the wider avenues, after the fashion of Baron Haussmann, which in the strange way of Kregen’s architecture, do not always coincide with the new boulevards of the city beyond the old
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