Dragaerans: the scarless people.
“What’s funny, Boss?”
“Nothing, Loiosh. I was just imagining walking up to Morrolan and saying, ‘Greetings, oh scarless one.’”
“And that was funny?”
“Imagining the look on his face was funny.”
The streets in this part of the city were very narrow indeed, and twisted even more than in most of South Adrilankha; I was once told that this was done by design, and had something to do with water runoff. While I won’t claim to understand it, I have vague memories of being here once or twice as a child during heavy rainstorms, and that I enjoyed playing in the water that rushed down toward the sea.
There was nothing here to indicate the names of any of the streets, but I recognized the one I wanted, took it, and started climbing again. Except when the street widened now and then to make room for a market, everything was the same: cheap, wooden houses, each one with a single door, a stairway around the side, two windows on each floor, and rooms for four families. One after another, just like that, as if some peasant had planted them in rows, watered them, and they’d grown up and were just waiting to be harvested.
I found the one I wanted and walked up the stairway on the side.
“Remember, Boss. Pound, don’t clap.”
“I remember.”
I pounded on the door with my fist.
After a moment, the door opened, and Ricard was standing there, wearing a raggedy white shirt and a pair of shorts. “Yes?”
“Hey there, Ricard.”
He tilted his head at me, then his eyes widened and I got a big grin.
“Vlad! Come in! Mornin’!”
For Ric it was always morning, no matter what time of day it was. I’d never asked him why because I was afraid of the answer. “Brandy?” he said.
“Always.”
It is very difficult to say no to Ricard.
His place, two rooms hung with pastoral watercolors, with a sort of kitchen attached to the main room, was comfortable enough, and I don’t know what sort of brandy he brought me, but it was much silkier than what I usually drink, maybe not as complex, but there was no question it had been made from peaches, and it was just fine. We drank some and smiled.
“You’re in disguise,” he said, as if it were a joke.
“Yes, I am,” I said, as if it weren’t. “I half thought you’d be playing somewhere tonight.”
“Tomorrow.”
I nodded. “How have things been?”
“With me? Glorious. Ever heard of Bastrai?”
“The violinist? Sure, even I’ve heard of him.”
“I went over to hear him at the Twisted Sheet, and when he was done, I ended up playing all night with his backup musicians.”
“That must have been fun.”
“It was wonderful.” He grinned.
“I need to introduce you to a fellow I know named Aibynn. He’s from the Island.”
“He play?”
“He’s a drummer.”
Ric nodded, but didn’t seem terribly excited; I guess he knew a lot of drummers.
We drank some brandy. Ricard sat back and looked half serious; which is about as serious as Ricard gets, barring catastrophe. “What’s going on, Vlad?”
“I need help.”
“Does this have something to do with your business?”
“No. Well, yeah, among other things. It’s pretty complicated.”
Ricard knew what I used to do, at least some of it, but we never talked about it.
He nodded. “Could it get me killed?”
I considered carefully. “I don’t think so. Not for what I want you to do, and if you stay out of the rest of it.”
“Okay. What do you need?”
“I take it you know a lot of people.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“What with playing and all that, you meet a lot of people, that’s all.”
“Well, yes.”
“Friends, acquaintances, just folks you run into, get their names, maybe hang out in an inn, or on the boat.”
“Uh huh.”
“I need to speak to some of them.”
“Uh ... what sort of people?”
“People who need money, and don’t mind taking some risks for it.”
“So, this could get them killed?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “How much money?”
“Enough for each them to buy a little piece of farmland.”
His eyes widened again, then he grinned. “Can I get in on this?”
“No. It can get them killed.”
He drink some more brandy. “How likely is it?”
“To get them killed? I don’t think very, but I might be wrong.”
“Well—”
“No, Ricard. If you need that much money, I’ll give it to you, but I don’t want you involved in this. I couldn’t stand it if, you know.”
He sighed and nodded. “Okay, then. Other than wanting money, and me not caring too much if anything happens to them, are there any other qualifications you need?”
“Well, it would help if they aren’t complete idiots.”
“Most people are, you know.”
I grinned. That was one of the things we liked to argue about when too drunk to be coherent. “Find some of the exceptions,” I said.
He smiled. “I can do that. Where is Loiosh?”
“Flying around. If he’s seen with me, there goes my disguise.”
“Well, give him my best.”
“I will. I have. He returns his reptilian regards, admitting that he is unworthy of your attention, yet eternally grateful for the honor you show him.”
Ric laughed. Loiosh said, “Boss, you are so going to get it.”
“All right, then,” I said. “Can I buy you some dinner?”
“Sounds good. Let me get dressed.”
“When we’re out, call me Sandor.”
“Sandor,” he repeated. “Okay. I’ll try to remember.”
We went out and down the street, to a place that catered mostly to dockworkers. We each had a roasted fowl covered in wine, and dark bread. It was simple, but good. Ricard didn’t say much during the meal. I finally said, “Something bothering you, Ric?”
“Hmmm? No, just thinking about that list you want.”
“Ah. Good. Think you can come up with names for me?”
“Oh, yes. Easy. Do you just want the list, or should I get them together for you?”
“Good question. I think I’d like to see them one at a time.”
He nodded, and flashed me a grin. “I could get to enjoy this sneaking-around stuff.”
“You remind me of that last guy I ate with.”
“Oh?”
“He was a Dzur, so it isn’t his fault. But he liked Valabar’s.”
“You ate at Valabar’s and didn’t tell me?”
“It was sort of last-minute.”
“How was it?”
“Just like you remember it, only better.”
He nodded. “Next time?”
“You bet. On me.”
“Other than that, how have things been?”
I don’t know why I said what I did, because I’ve always thought of Ric as the sort of friend you had good times with, not the sort you dumped your troubles on. But he asked, and I heard myself say, “I’ve discovered, or maybe realized, that my Goddess has been messing with my memories.”
“Huh?”
“My Goddess—”
“The Demon Goddess?”
“Yeah. Her.”
“What did ... I mean, what’s happened?”
“Memories have been going away and coming back. It’s been going on for years, I guess, but something happened, and I’ve managed to put some of it together. Mostly little things, but the Demon Goddess did it, and it makes me very badly want to kill her, and I’m not entirely sure that I couldn’t do it. In fact, I think I could. I want to. I—”