“Well, it bolted, as if it were afraid of something.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Animals are often very sensitive to magic. Especially the dumber beasts.” There was something odd in the way he said that, as if he were sharing a joke with himself.
Savn thought all of this over, and said, “But who—T
“Loraan, of course. I mean, Baron Smallcliff. He is a necromancer. Moreover, he is undead himself, which proves that he is a skilled necromancer, if I hadn’t known it before.”
“Undead? You want me to believe His Lordship is a vampire?”
“A vampire? Hmmm. Maybe. Do you know of any cases of mysterious death, blood drained, all that?”
“No. If something like that happened around here, I’d have heard of it.”
“So perhaps he is not a vampire. Although that proves nothing. Sethra is a vampire, but she still eats and drinks, and requires very little blood.”
“Who?”
“An old friend.”
“I think I’ve heard of her,” said Savn. “Although I can’t remember from where.”
“Doubtless just someone with the same name.”
“I suppose. But do you really know a vampire?”
“An odd one. Never mind. Still, I wonder what he is—”
“What other sorts of undead are there?”
“I’m not an expert on the subject. Perhaps dear Lord Smallcliff will let me use his library to look it up.”
“But then you could just ask him.”
“I wasn’t serious,” said Vlad.
“Oh. I can’t believe His Lordship is undead.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because, uh, I just can’t.”
“I understand,” said Vlad. “All your life there are people you just assume you can trust, yet you don’t really know them. Then, out of nowhere, someone walks up to you and asks you to believe that one of them is some kind of monster. I wouldn’t believe it either. At least, not without a lot more proof than you’ve seen.”
Savn stared at him, not certain what to say. He seemed to be talking to himself, and, once more, Savn felt the undercurrent of hatred in the Easterner’s voice.
“That’s how they do it, that’s how they get away with everything, because it’s so much easier just to go along with what you’re told than to look at—” He caught himself, as if aware that he had left his listener far behind.
For a moment he seemed to be thinking about trying to explain; then he shrugged. “Believe it or not, as you will. What I want to know is what the son of—uh, what the fellow has planned. The coincidence, as I said, is too great. He can’t just kill me the way he killed Reins, so—”
“Huh? He wants to kill you?”
“He does indeed. But I’m protected rather better than Reins was.”
“Oh. But why would he want to kill you at all?”
“He has reasons.”
Savn thought about this. “So, what is he going to do?’ he asked.
“I wish,” said Vlad, “that I had some means of figuring that out. There’s probably no point in running once things have gone this far. Besides, I owe him, for Reins.”
“You owe him? You said something about that before. What do you mean?”
Vlad shrugged. “I was mostly talking to myself. But 1 just wish I knew what he was planning.”
“Can’t witchcraft tell you?”
“It’s not very useful for seeing the future.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Maybe.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Try to find out,” said Vlad. “Ihave other ways. Sometimes they even work.”
He stared off into the distance, as if he were communing with things unseen.
I will not marry a poor musician,
I will not marry a poor musician.
He’d be playing and I’d be wishin’
Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!
Step on out ...
Vlad toyed with his salad but ate little, either because he didn’t like the taste or because he was thinking of other things. Savn ate his own salad with, if no great delight, at least considerable appetite.
Savn felt Vlad watching him, which made him slightly nervous as he squeezed an expensive piece of lemon over the cheese and vegetables, put another handful of salad into his mouth, and wiped his hand on his shirt. The Easterner sighed. “I know a place,” he said, “where one could eat every day for half a year and never taste the same dish twice. Where the servers are discreet and efficient; you never noticed them, but there is always a full plate in front of you and wine in your glass. Where the room is quiet and serene and tasteful, calling the diner’s attention to the delight of the tongue. Where the appetizer is fresh, enticing and excites the senses like the first touches of love. Where the fruit is sweet and plump, or tart and crisp, and complements the cheese as the salad complements the bread—with reverence and solemn joy. Where there is a choice of wine to suit the most diverse taste, yet each has been selected with care, and tenderness. Where each meat is treated with the honor it deserves, and is allowed to unfold its own flavor in the natural juices the gods gave it, with touches of savory, ginger, or tarragon added to direct the attention of the palate to the hidden joys which are unique to that particular cut. Do you know what I am saying? A place where the mushroom and the onion dance with the wine and the peppers in sauces that fire the palate, and the sweet at the end of the meal is the encore to a symphony of the heart. Where—”
“You don’t much like the food here, do you?” said Savn.
“—there is quiet and ease, with only that conversation that flows like the wine from the bottle, easy and natural, and all else, save the sounds of dining, is the silence that food requires for—”
“There isn’t any music? I thought the best taverns had music.”
Vlad sighed and returned from his reverie. “No, there is no music. I don’t like music when I eat. Although,” he added, “I must admit that, here, music would be a welcome distraction.”
“Well, you are likely to get your wish. There will probably be someone arriving today or tomorrow. There hasn’t been a minstrel in several days, and there are usually one or two a week. Besides, harvest is almost over, and they always show up around the end of harvest.”
“Indeed?” said Vlad, sounding suddenly interested. “A minstrel? Good.”
“Why?”
“I like minstrels,” said Vlad.
“You mean you like to listen to them, or they are the sort of people you like?”
“Both, actually.”
“You’ve known minstrels, then?”
“Several.”
“I didn’t know they had them in the big cities.”
“Just about anything you can find outside the city you can find in it as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Vlad looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, “Although there are exceptions.”
Savn returned to his salad, while waiting for Vlad to continue. When the Easterner did not do so, Savn swallowed and said, “What are the exceptions?”
“What? Oh. Peace and quiet, for example,” said Vlad. “You don’t know how pleasant these things are unless you’ve gone most of your life without them. Do you know, when I left the city I had trouble sleeping for quite a while, just because I wasn’t used to the silence.”
“That seems odd.”
“Yes, it seems odd to me, too.”
“When did you leave?”
“Shortly after the Uprising.”
“What uprising?”
Vlad granted him another indecipherable look, this one a quick frown. He said, “There was some trouble in the city with the Easterners and the Teckla.”
“Oh,” said Savn. “Yes. I heard something about that. Didn’t some traitors kill Her Majesty’s personal guards and try to kidnap her?”
“Not exactly,” said Vlad.
“Wait a minute,” said Savn. “Were you involved in that? Is that why you had to—”