“Vlad!”
“Hmmm?”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?”
I sighed. “Yeah, well. With luck, she isn’t listening. Actually, the way I’m feeling right now, I half hope she is.”
“Not before I have a chance to get clear of the neighborhood, please.”
I shrugged.
He said, “About this memory stuff. How do you know the Goddess is behind it?”
“I just know.”
“You just know.”
“Yeah.”
“What sort of things—?”
“It’s little stuff, but it’s stuff that ... well, did I ever tell you that I had been to the Paths of the Dead?”
He stared at me, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “No, you somehow didn’t mention that.”
I nodded. “It was several years ago, and—”
“Why? Not to mention, how?”
“It was business-related.”
“Some business you’re in.”
“Yeah, I’ve had that same thought from time to time. Anyway, I visited the Paths of the Dead, and there are pieces of that journey that keep going away and coming back. Pieces I shouldn’t be able to forget.”
“Heh. Go figure.”
“Another time, I got into a jam, and called on her.”
“I’ve done that. Did she answer?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me again. “Vlad, that isn’t a joke, is it?”
“No.”
He sat back in his chair. “You have some sort of life, my friend.”
“I guess. Anyway, there are pieces of that visit—”
“Visit?”
“Yeah, odd word choice, I guess. She brought me to her halls. Or else she made me think she had, which comes out to the same thing, I suppose. And there are pieces of that visit that I’ve only just started remembering.”
“Like what?”
“She cut my palm.”
“Huh?”
“While I was talking to her, she took a knife, had me hold out my left hand, and made a cut on my palm. Then she collected some of the blood in a sort of vial or something. I don’t know what she did with it.”
“So, she has some of your blood.”
“Yes.”
“She is supposed to be a goddess of witches.”
“No, that’s one of her sisters.”
“You sure?”
“Sure? Dealing with the Demon Goddess? I’m not sure about anything.”
“The beginning of wisdom. What else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
He flashed a smile and waited for me to continue.
“Near Deathgate Falls is a statue of Kieron the Conqueror, a general from the early days of—”
“I know who he is.”
“Okay. Well, the fellow I was with—a Dragon—prostrated himself before the statue. Then, a little later, he started talking, mumbling, like he was having a conversation with it. Then he got up, and said he knew how to get through the Paths, which he hadn’t before.”
“Hmmm. Okay.”
“Well, you see, I didn’t remember any of that until a couple of years later.”
He nodded. “I can see where that would be upsetting.”
“Yeah, well, so that’s what’s been going on.”
“Is there more?”
I shrugged. “Now and then, a few little things come back. It’s—”
“Upsetting,” he said.
I nodded. “You tend to think of what’s inside your head as your own, no matter what anything else is. Even Kiera can’t steal that.”
“Who ?”
“Never mind. The point is, it keeps messing with me. Every time I think about it, I get distracted, and mad, and I want to find the Goddess and, well, you know.”
“Any practical effects?”
“Hmmm?”
“Other than how you feel about it, have you forgotten anything that mattered?”
“Well, that’s just it. I don’t know. I need to ....” I tried to find the words. He waited. “With what I do, I need to have confidence in my decisions. I need to find out everything I can, and then come up with a plan of action that’s as good as I can contrive. That’s how I operate.”
“I understand that.”
“Well, but the thing is, now I can’t be sure if there are important things I don’t know. And worse, what if it isn’t just memories? What if the, I don’t know, the mechanism of my thinking has been messed with? How can I commit to any sort of action, when I can’t be sure if the Goddess hasn’t been screwing around with how I make decisions?”
“Why would she do that?”
“Why would she do anything? How should I know? Maybe she has plans for me.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “That’s a comforting thought.”
“Uh huh. But, you see the problem.”
He nodded. “Did you know my people were peasants?”
“Hmmm?”
“When I was boy, we worked the land not twenty miles from here, for Lady Drenta.”
“Okay ....”
“One day Pa sent me out to plow a furrow. He put me at the right spot, then pointed to our old nag, Chalkie. He said, ‘Start here and aim at for where Chalkie is. But Rico—’ I said, ‘Yeah, Pa?’
“‘If Chalkie moves, you’re going to have to change your mark.’” He laughed, and I gave him a courtesy chuckle.
A little later, he heaved a contented sigh, and pushed back from the table. I nodded, and we headed back to his place, where he made up a list with names, addresses, and best time to find each one.
“Thanks, Ric.”
“Will you let me know how it all turns out?”
“If you hear I’m dead, it didn’t work so well.”
He shook his head. “I guess, all in all, I’m glad I do what I do, not what you do.”
“Proving,” I said, “that you aren’t a Dzur.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but guess it’s good.”
“It’s good,” I said. “And good to see you again, Ric.”
“You too. And Vlad—”
“Yeah?”
“It’s easy to consider everyone a sucker who cares about things you don’t care about. So who does that make the sucker?”
“Uh, I don’t see what that connects to.”
“No, but you probably will before I do.”
I wished him a good evening.
I ducked into the first public house I came to in order to read the list. The first thing that surprised me was that I knew South Adrilankha better than 1 thought I did. I mean, he had notations like, “Third house south of Wrecked Bridge, on the east,” and I knew at once where that was.
There were a couple I could see right now, and I had no reason to delay.
“Still staying with me, chum?”
“What else is there to do? I don’t like this business of you wandering around without me.”
“I don’t like it much, either. Once this is over—”
“Yeah.”
Someone named Ernest was usually home in the evening, and didn’t live too far away. In the City, there were globes at various points to provide light; I’d gotten so used to them that I never thought about them. Here, though, the only light was what spilled out from houses, public and private. It was enough to keep me from tripping over ruts and dips in the road and from stumbling into people, but not much more. Still, from Ric’s description, I was able to find it: one of those place built to hold ten families of Easterners in the same space that would hold maybe three Dragaeran families. And families of Easterners are usually bigger.
I went to what should be the right door and hit it with my fist. After a moment, the door opened a crack, a pair of eyes peered out, and someone said, “Yes?”
“Ernest? My name is Sandor, and I’m a friend of Ric.”
“A friend of who?”
“Ricard. The cimbalon player.”
“Oh!”
The door opened more and he grinned. “Come on in. If you’re a friend of Ricard, you must have brought something to drink.”