Teckla Read Free Page A

no one should make except Valabar's, but these were all right), Herth said, "So what can I do for you?"
    I said, "I have a problem."
    He nodded, dropping his eyes again as if to say, "Oh, how could little me help someone like you?"
    I went on, "There was an Easterner finalized a few days ago, by a professional. It happened in your area, so I was wondering if, maybe, you could tell me a bit about what happened, and why." Now, there were several possible answers he could have given me. He could have explained as much as he knew about it, he could have smiled and claimed ignorance, he could have asked me what my interest was. Instead, he looked at me, stood up, and said, "Thanks for the dinner; I'll see you again, maybe." Then he left.
    I sat there for a while, finishing my klava. "What do you make of that, Loiosh?"
    "I don't know, boss. It's funny that he didn't ask why you wanted to find out. And if he knows, why did he agree to the meeting in the first place?"
    "Right," I said.
    I signed the bill and left, Sticks and Glowbug preceding me out of the place. When we reached the office I told them to take off. It was evening, and I was usually done by that time, but I didn't feel like going back home just then. I changed weapons, just to kill time. Changing weapons is something I do every two or three days so that no weapon is around my person enough to pick up my aura. Dragaeran sorcery can't identify auras, but Eastern witchcraft can, and should the Empire ever decide to employ a witch—
    "I'm an idiot, Loiosh."
    "Yeah, boss. Me, too."
    I finished changing weapons and made it home quickly.
    "Cawti!" I yelled.
    She was in the dining room, scratching Rocza's chin. Rocza leapt up and began flying around the room with Loiosh, probably telling him about her day. Cawti stood up, looking at me quizzically. She was wearing trousers of Jhereg gray that fit low on her hips, and a gray jerkin with black embroidery. She glanced at me with an expression of remote inquiry, her head tilted to the side, her brows raised in that perfect face, surrounded by sorcery-black hair. I felt my pulse quicken in a way that I had been afraid it wouldn't any more.
    "Yes?" she said.
    "I love you."
    She closed her eyes then opened them again, not saying anything. I said,
    "Do you have the weapon?"
    "Weapon?"
    "The Easterner who was killed. Was the weapon left there?"
    "Why, yes, I suppose someone has it."
    "Get it."
    "Why?"
    "I doubt whoever it was knows about witchcraft. I'll bet I can pick up an aura."
    Her eyes grew wide, then she nodded. "I'll get it," she said, and reached for her cloak.
    "Shall I go with you?"
    "No, I don't…" Then, "Sure, why not?" Loiosh landed on my shoulder and Rocza landed on Cawti's and we went down the stairs into the Adrilankha night. In some ways things were better, but she didn't take my arm.
    Is this starting to depress you? Heh. Good. It depressed me. It's much easier to deal with someone you only have to kill. As we left my area and began to cross over into some of the rougher neighborhoods, I hoped someone would jump me so I could work out some of what I was feeling. Our feet went clack clack to slightly differing rhythms, occasionally synchronizing, then falling apart. Sometimes I'd try to change my step to keep them together, but it didn't do much. Our paces were our usual compromise, worked out long ago, between the shorter steps she was most comfortable with and my longer ones. We didn't speak. You identify the Eastern section first by its smell. During the day the whole neighborhood is lousy with open-air cafes, and the cooking smells are different from anything the Dragaerans have. In the very early morning the bakeries begin to work; the aroma of fresh Eastern bread reaches out like tendrils to gradually take over the night smells. But the night smells, when the cafes are closed and the bakeries haven't started, are the smells of rotting food and human and animal waste. At night the wind blows across the area,