The Door into Sunset Read Free Page B

in no language he knew. The smell of burning stone was strong around them as he knocked on the door and shouted, “Are you decent?”
    The singing stopped, and the contralto voice laughed. “Eh’ae-he,” it said, “ ssih esdhhoui’rae ohaiiw!”
    Freelorn sighed and pushed the door open. The bathrooms in Blackcastle were justly famous for their spring-fed plumbing, a masterwork of engineering, sorcery, and blue Fire. The water came up from the ground naturally hot, and not even sulfurous; pipes guided it where it was wanted and spilled it out into tubs huge enough for any king, or any eight of his friends. The walls were decorated with bas-reliefs depicting the Goddess creating the sea-creatures, the windows were cunningly baffled to prevent drafts even in winter, and the floors were impossible to slip on. It was a dream of a place. The tub closest to the northern windows had a carved screen pulled in front of it... not that this was really necessary, for there the shadows were thick as night, and among them lay the very end of a massive tail scaled in what looked like black star-sapphires above and rough gray diamond below. The tail twitched like a thoughtful cat’s, and fierce rainbow flickers slid up and down in the spear-length, double-curved diamond spine at its end.
    “You’re talking Dracon again,” said Lorn, as Herewiss came in behind him and shut the door. “Say it in Darthene. And how can you wash in the dark like this?”
    “I said, Yes, I’m decent, but come in anyway. And it’s not dark here,” said the contralto voice. “Not to me, anyway.”
    “Well, it is to us,” Herewiss said. “Lighten it up, or we won’t be able to see the dirt! Good morning, lhhw’ Hasai. Lorn, which tub?”
    “ Yl’thienh, rhhw’Hhirhwaehs; u rhhw’Fvhr’ielhrnn.”
    “Oh, right, ‘morning, Hasai. —That one, Dusty. Here’s the bathflannels.”
    Laughter filled the room, not all of it human. “Dirt? On you? The six-bath-a-day man?”
    “Ssha, ‘Berend, or I’ll turn you into something vile.”
    “I’ll do it myself and save you time. Can’t be late for the Hammering.”
    “What are you wearing?” Freelorn said.
    Water splashed. “A bath flannel.”
    “No, to the Hammering, you dolt!”
    “All you ever think about is clothes,” said Segnbora, with infinite, affectionate scorn. The shadows thinned and she came out from behind the screen, wrapped in a flannel big enough for a blanket, and dripping. There was almost more of the flannel than there was of her, Lorn thought. She was a slender thing, wiry, narrow as a swordblade and with about as much curve; delicately featured, with deep-set eyes in a face with a sharp look about it. Her hair was slicked down from the bath, and even the wet couldn’t hide how it was coming in silver at the roots.
    Lorn had to turn his head and smile as she sat down on a nearby bench, holding the flannel most carefully around her. On the trail Segnbora had been all business, never caring whether anyone saw her undressed, or whether she saw anyone else that way; there were more important things to worry about. But evidently old habits reasserted themselves when she came back to civilization. She reached under the bench for another flannel and began to dry her hair. “The full kit,” she said. “Formal surcoat, and Skádhwë. My presence there may confuse some people... and this morning, it may be wise to cause all the confusion we can.”
    “And Hasai?” Herewiss reached for the soap-ball and knocked it into the bath. He began to fish for it.
    “We shall be there if we’re needed,” said the chief of the many voices that had been speaking out of the shadows. Eyes as wide as a man is tall looked at them from the remaining darkness, burning with cool silver fire. “Now that we are becoming human, it would be pity to miss our first bout of your kind of nn’s’raihle .”
    “Give me that soap. He keeps using that word,” Freelorn said to Segnbora, “and you