from yesteryear, the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light.
She was surprised to see me, too. And a tad embarrassed, I think. She lowered her big, beautiful violet eyes.
I greeted the sorceress politely, inwardly pursuing a goofy calculation trying to connect a heavyweight off the Hill with a cult healer because of the word Light. I don’t have an adequately developed paranoid imagination.
Belinda Contague accompanied them but stayed in the hall, observing. I did some observing myself.
The Windwalker hadn’t aged a minute. She remained totally waiflike and utterly delicious but today she was all business. She moved to the window, looked out, paid almost no attention to Morley. I tried to remember if they had met. Those were confusing times. Antediluvian times. I was a different man in a different world, then, not a respectable member of the bourgeoisie.
I couldn’t help but snicker. That earned a scowl from all women present.
The healer asked, “What’s happening with him?”
“He sleeps and he drinks water. I think he’s getting better.”
“He drinks water.”
“He wakes up, makes a little croak that means he’s thirsty. I use the pipe. He sucks it down; then he goes back to sleep.” For the lady in the hallway, I added, “Miss Tea claimed he made a pass this morning. She was just trying to get my goat.”
“It will be a long time before this fellow sins again.” He examined Morley’s wounds while he talked. “He is the luckiest knife victim I’ve ever seen. Some of these wounds are six inches deep, yet not one cut an artery or hit a vital organ. There is no infection, either. Don’t press him with questions. He won’t be able to answer for a while. Ah! Here he is now.”
Morley’s eyes opened. He cataloged the crowd, made his “Water,” sound.
The healer produced a black glass bottle the size of my thumb. It had a clear glass stopper. “Three drops into each pitcher of water. Keep his water separate. This is for pain. There is a good deal of pain still, isn’t there?” he asked Morley.
Dotes grunted, closed his eyes.
The healer spoke to the doorway. “I’ve done what I can. He’ll recover. How well depends upon how firmly he clings to my instructions. No straying from the diet. All the water he wants. The drops are not addictive. They will cause considerable drowsiness. Keep him clean. Turn him once in a while. Time is what he requires. There was a timetable in the instructions I gave you, madam. Enforce it to the letter.”
Wow! I’d never heard anybody give Belinda Contague orders. This nut was doing it. And she was nodding! She understood the instructions, too. Morley was sure to try going before he was ready.
Furious Tide of Light said nothing. After the early glances she ignored Morley. She was fascinated by something in the street. “Your rat associate is quite clever.”
The fit was tight but I managed to join her. Singe was down below, talking to several senior red tops and a brace of wide loads from middle management in Belinda’s enterprise. I was pleased to see my little girl getting the respect she was due as the finest tracker in the city.
“How so?” I asked.
“She means to backtrack instead of trail forward.”
Backtrack goats? Easier than following some human who killed three people while making a getaway. Safer, too. And more useful. Both incursions had come from the same direction and had gone on toward the Hill. “The girl is scary smart. What are you doing here?”
“Personal appeal from Prince Rupert.”
Ah. A family friend, I recalled. “And how is your dad and your daughter Kevans?”
“We’re not getting along at the moment. Let’s concentrate on the task at hand. I’m not the woman you remember.” She turned her cool, emerald eyes my way. I was afraid I was going to drown there.
“I’m sorry. I’m probably not the man you think you remember, either.” I watched some of John Stretch’s ratman associates emerge from shadows as Singe
She was surprised to see me, too. And a tad embarrassed, I think. She lowered her big, beautiful violet eyes.
I greeted the sorceress politely, inwardly pursuing a goofy calculation trying to connect a heavyweight off the Hill with a cult healer because of the word Light. I don’t have an adequately developed paranoid imagination.
Belinda Contague accompanied them but stayed in the hall, observing. I did some observing myself.
The Windwalker hadn’t aged a minute. She remained totally waiflike and utterly delicious but today she was all business. She moved to the window, looked out, paid almost no attention to Morley. I tried to remember if they had met. Those were confusing times. Antediluvian times. I was a different man in a different world, then, not a respectable member of the bourgeoisie.
I couldn’t help but snicker. That earned a scowl from all women present.
The healer asked, “What’s happening with him?”
“He sleeps and he drinks water. I think he’s getting better.”
“He drinks water.”
“He wakes up, makes a little croak that means he’s thirsty. I use the pipe. He sucks it down; then he goes back to sleep.” For the lady in the hallway, I added, “Miss Tea claimed he made a pass this morning. She was just trying to get my goat.”
“It will be a long time before this fellow sins again.” He examined Morley’s wounds while he talked. “He is the luckiest knife victim I’ve ever seen. Some of these wounds are six inches deep, yet not one cut an artery or hit a vital organ. There is no infection, either. Don’t press him with questions. He won’t be able to answer for a while. Ah! Here he is now.”
Morley’s eyes opened. He cataloged the crowd, made his “Water,” sound.
The healer produced a black glass bottle the size of my thumb. It had a clear glass stopper. “Three drops into each pitcher of water. Keep his water separate. This is for pain. There is a good deal of pain still, isn’t there?” he asked Morley.
Dotes grunted, closed his eyes.
The healer spoke to the doorway. “I’ve done what I can. He’ll recover. How well depends upon how firmly he clings to my instructions. No straying from the diet. All the water he wants. The drops are not addictive. They will cause considerable drowsiness. Keep him clean. Turn him once in a while. Time is what he requires. There was a timetable in the instructions I gave you, madam. Enforce it to the letter.”
Wow! I’d never heard anybody give Belinda Contague orders. This nut was doing it. And she was nodding! She understood the instructions, too. Morley was sure to try going before he was ready.
Furious Tide of Light said nothing. After the early glances she ignored Morley. She was fascinated by something in the street. “Your rat associate is quite clever.”
The fit was tight but I managed to join her. Singe was down below, talking to several senior red tops and a brace of wide loads from middle management in Belinda’s enterprise. I was pleased to see my little girl getting the respect she was due as the finest tracker in the city.
“How so?” I asked.
“She means to backtrack instead of trail forward.”
Backtrack goats? Easier than following some human who killed three people while making a getaway. Safer, too. And more useful. Both incursions had come from the same direction and had gone on toward the Hill. “The girl is scary smart. What are you doing here?”
“Personal appeal from Prince Rupert.”
Ah. A family friend, I recalled. “And how is your dad and your daughter Kevans?”
“We’re not getting along at the moment. Let’s concentrate on the task at hand. I’m not the woman you remember.” She turned her cool, emerald eyes my way. I was afraid I was going to drown there.
“I’m sorry. I’m probably not the man you think you remember, either.” I watched some of John Stretch’s ratman associates emerge from shadows as Singe
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