“Um, yes. But for definitions of ‘find’ that don’t include an actual location?”
“Well, yes. Unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you can do that thing you did before.”
“What thing?”
“When you used that Eastern magic to find someone—”
“Oh, that.”
He shrugged.
“Unfortunately, that’s impossible just now.”
“Oh. All right.”
I sighed.
“Okay, Daymar. Thank you for showing up.”
“Why?”
“Uh, why? Well, it helps me to know what—”
“No, why is it impossible?”
“Oh.”
I tapped the pendant on my chest. “As long as I wear this, I cannot perform witchcraft.”
“Oh. Is that why I can’t feel your psychic presence?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Uh, why don’t you take it off?”
“Valid question, Daymar.”
“And?” I think “and” and “yes” must be Daymar’s favorite words; he lingers over them the way I linger over Valabar’s trout.
“If I remove it, I die.”
“Oh.”
I waited patiently for the inevitable question after he’d chewed that over. I could have gone ahead and answered it before he asked, but I guess in a sick way I was enjoying myself.
“What will kill you?”
“The Jhereg is trying to find me and kill me.”
“Oh.
“Morganti.”
“Oh.”
I nodded.
“Why?” he said.
“I annoyed them.”
He nodded. “You must remind me,” he said, “not to annoy the Jhereg.”
“I’ll have Loiosh make a note. He handles things like that.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“I—”
“Of course,” said Daymar, “if you want to, I can shield you while you perform the spell.”
“You can?”
“Certainly.”
“You can do what this amulet does?”
“Well no, not exactly. But I can keep your location from being known.”
“I don’t understand. What, exactly, are you talking about?”
“I mean that I can keep them from finding you if you take that thing off.”
“Finding me in the, uh, building? Or in this room?”
“Both,” he said, with more confidence than I felt.
“It also blocks sorcery; can you keep them from finding me that way?”
“Oh,” said Daymar. “No, I’m afraid there my skills fail.”
I pondered. “I suppose I can separate the two parts of the amulet, and just leave—”
“Boss—”
“Hmmm?”
“This is Daymar.”
“What’s your point?”
“Boss, what is he good at?”
“What’s your point?”
“And what will happen when you take the amulet off?”
“Oh. Good thinking, chum.”
“Daymar, I have an idea.”
“Who had the idea?”
“What’s the idea, Vlad?”
“Tell me if this will work. When I remove the amulet ...”
I explained. He blinked. I couldn’t tell if it was the “I should have thought of that” blink, or the “I’ve never met anyone so stupid” blink.
“Well?”
“I can do that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I leaned back. “Well.”
“But what about sorcery?”
“We take our chances. Make it fast.”
He nodded. “Fast it is. Would you like to do it now?”
“Give me a moment.”
He nodded.
I leaned back and considered the various ways this could go wrong. Other than the possibility of a horrible death if Daymar had overestimated his skill, I couldn’t come up with any. And I did trust Daymar; often in spite of myself, but I did trust him.
I did trust him.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this thing.”
Daymar nodded. “Take the amulet off,” he said. 8. Steamed Goslingroot
When steaming, less is more, and this applies more to goslingroot than, perhaps, to anything else. Of course, it isn’t that easy, especially because you can never find two spears that are the same thickness, not to mention length, which means that steaming them to perfection requires, in its own way, as much feel as is required of a broiler-man.
The flavor of this root is subtle by nature, and, to be frank, not all that interesting. But it’s wonderful for absorbing butter, or for taking one of those cheese sauces that are so popular in certain kinds of Eastern cuisine. But too much of anything can turn it into mush.
Valabar’s didn’t put a cheese sauce on it; just lemon-butter and salt. And it goes without saying that they didn’t over-steam it. And its very simplicity made it a perfect accompaniment for the fish.
The whole business of finding the right vegetable, or side dish, to accompany each of the major elements of the meal is its own art, and deserves more discussion than I’m competent to give it; that is still another area where my abilities as an eater outshine my abilities as a cook.
Telnan took pleasure in this perfect contrast without being aware of it, which gave me the chance to feel superior to him. One must never pass up the opportunity to feel superior to a Dzur.
We didn’t speak for a while as, each in our own way, we relished the skills of Valabar and Sons.
I took the amulet off, and slipped it into its box. As I closed the box, I kept watching Daymar’s face, looking for—well, I’m not sure what I was looking for. What I saw was a slight furrow to his brow, and then he closed his eyes—not tightly, but the way you close your eyes when you don’t want to be distracted by what’s in front of you. It helped to be touching Lady Teldra’s hilt, though I don’t remember deciding to do so.
Daymar settled to the floor.
I was trying to decide if that should worry me, when I noticed perspiration on his forehead. Yes, I decided, this should probably worry me.
I heard his voice in my head saying, “Put it back on.”
I opened the box, removed the amulet, and slipped it over my head.
Daymar opened his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “My,” he said.
“Not as easy as you’d thought it would be?”
“It took some effort.” He frowned. “I have a headache.”
“You have the right to one. There’s a bed here; perhaps you’d like to lie down for a while.”
“I don’t believe I can move,” he said, and lay back onto the floor.
I sat on the bed, staring at the prostrate Hawklord and trying to think of what to say. He solved the problem by saying, “Her name is Crithnak.”
“You got the mind-probe off?”
“Barely.”
“Crithnak,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“She must be very strong.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes, opened them, and sat up, moaning. “And she really hates you.”
“It is personal.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Hmmm. Any idea why?”
He nodded. “You destroyed her sister’s soul.”
“I what?”
“You killed her sister. Morganti.”
I stared at him. “Loiosh, have I been sleepwalking?”
“Nope.”
“How about sleepkilling?”
“Not so far as I know.”
“Uh, Daymar, did you get any details on that?”
“She doesn’t know how it happened.”
“But she thinks I did it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, her sister was going after you right before she died.”
I tried to organize all the questions in my head, but there were too many. For no special reason, I started with, “Why was her sister going after me?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure. It seemed to be impersonal—”