“My old friend,” I said in my warmest tones. To my surprise, the feeling was genuine. The Rectifier was the only person besides Ilona who had always dealt completely fairly with me. Even when I’d thought we might be fighting to the death in front of the Textile Bourse, the day we brought down Choybalsan, the Rectifier had been utterly straightforward.
He put me down, then turned with a growl to look for his chair. It was handed respectfully back by an abashed man in a linen kurta. The Rectifier gave a sharp nod, which was the height of courtesy for him, before sinking to a seat once more. I leaned on the table between him and Samma, giving her a bright smile.
She cringed.
Not so good, that. She had reason to flinch from me. Even so, I sensed that something was afoot. More to the point, something new and unpleasant was afoot.
“You part the waters of trouble as claws gut a deer,” the Rectifier rumbled.
He was the biggest pardine I had ever seen-tall, broad, and barrel-chested, unusual for a folk who ran to lithe and lean in their form. I was pretty sure he was the biggest pardine most pardines had ever seen. Sheer size gave him a voice that sounded as if it came from a well.
If the Rectifier wanted to drive straight to the point, I was happy to oblige. “Trouble parts me like a comb through hair, I am afraid.” I stole another quick glance at Samma.
She still looked guilty, not angry. Whatever counterbetrayal was in the offing would be close at hand. I’ve earned it, I thought with regret, but I had no time for such games.
“Some persons seem to believe that making more trouble lessens it.” That from a man who killed priests for a hobby. On saying those words he glared at the Revanchists with whom he shared the table. I recognized one of them from my previous visit.
“And how is the Dancing Mistress?” I asked that one sweetly.
The half-wild pardine gave me a cold stare. Or as close as he could manage-I’d been glared into submission more times in my life by harder-hearted women than he’d ever be. “She has not asked after you,” he finally replied.
If Samma were not here as, what, witness? messenger? accuser? I could have begun the negotiations right now to direct the Revanchists against the Selistani embassy. The lie of the Eyes of the Hills hung heavy in my pocket, but no less real for all that. “Give her my regards. Our mutual interests have not lessened, as I am sure she is fully aware.”
The Rectifier’s enormous hand pressed heavy upon my shoulder. “Green, do not bargain with those who hold history more dear than the present. I warn you-”
His warning was lost in Samma’s startled gasp. The Rectifier and I both looked up to see what she was staring at.
Mother Vajpai and Surali had entered the Tavernkeep’s place. Some watcher had done their job. Mother Vajpai had donned her full street leathers, something I had not seen her do in a very long time. The Bittern Court woman was dressed formally in a salwar kameez of watered dove-gray silk and white linen. The clothes she’d worn the day she’d asked the Temple Mother to grant her my death.
They approached through a widening wedge of silence.
Why had Samma been surprised?
This threat I would not meet seated. I pushed to my feet, all too conscious of my impaired balance, my slowed reactions, and the unfortunate fact that I’d spent much of the day in the chilly autumn rain. My muscles were tense and I was not sufficiently warmed to be prepared for a fight.
Mother Vajpai’s face was slightly flushed. Had she run here? To limber up? Though I could not envision Surali doing such a thing.
All around the room the Selistani stood and stepped back, crowding the walls to be away from the tables and us. The pardines did not react so. Few of them realized what they might be seeing next. A handful of the humans darted for the door, but most watched.
Not only would there be a fight, there would be a show.
“I doubt they mean to kill me here,” I whispered to the Rectifier, “but the one in leather is capable of it. The other has already called for my death, offering both funds and favors in return.”
“Are either of them priests?” he rumbled.
Technically Mother Vajpai was, but then technically so was I. “No,” I said shortly, with one last, sidelong glance at Samma. By herself she was not especially troublesome to me. As I’d recently proven, she’d never been half the fighter I was even on my off days, let alone when I was in the full flower of my practice. But as a foil for Mother Vajpai, Samma was still quite dangerous. And Mother Vajpai knew Samma and I were old lovers-first lovers, in fact. That fact could well cause me to hesitate at a critical moment.
Samma looked as if she would throw up right there at the table. Good, I thought viciously. Whatever plot was afoot had passed her by. I hoped she did lose her stomach. It would keep her out of the fight, which would be important should the press of conflicting loyalties grow too strong.
Back to Mother Vajpai. I slid my toppled chair farther away with my foot, keeping it close enough to hook again with my ankle. Surali was a different kind of danger to me, but I had to leave this room with limbs and liberty intact before I could work against her effectively. Seeing the Bittern Court woman here now, a smug smile of triumph on her face, confirmed my resolve to foment dispute between the Revanchists and the Selistani embassy. That smile also suggested to me that it was she who had engineered this setup. Though in truth there were candidates aplenty, including my erstwhile friends on the Interim Council.
They could all carry one another down to the Smagadine hells so far as I was concerned. As for the Rectifier, I would keep him in reserve against Blackblood, as intended.
“Hello,” I said to Mother Vajpai.
“Green.” Her voice was sad, gentle, almost sweet. “It is time for you to come home.”
“I am home.” I backed a little farther away from the table and kept its width between me and her. The Rectifier and the two Revanchists remained seated, all three very much alert with claws extended. I wondered briefly if the Revanchists had any idea that humans existed who could stand toe to toe with their kind in a fight.
Mother Vajpai walked briskly around the left side of the table toward me, passing behind the Revanchists as well as Samma. Because this was my old teacher, for the second time in a few minutes I fought the urge to palm my knives-let her be the first to bare steel, if we were to be at blades. I kicked my chair back up and balanced it before me. Hours and hours of exercises with the Dancing Mistress had taught me much about how to use furniture as weapons and armor both, though some of that skill was useless now that I was pregnant.
Did Mother Vajpai know? She must, I realized, after raising and training more than a generation of Blades. The question was whether she would fight to kill my baby, intentionally or otherwise.
“Enough, Green,” she said in that teaching voice again. Still in stride, Mother Vajpai reached for my chair to toss it aside.
We were committed to the bout now.
As her hand grasped the chair rail, I lofted it with my foot, so the chair came up off the floor more swiftly than she had expected. Her arm followed. I stepped in with the momentum of my kick to land a strike with the side of my hand along her left ribs.
First touch!
Mother Vajpai took the blow with an audible crack, let herself slip away from me on the motion transferred from my hand to her body, and spun a low kick toward my ankles.
A cheap move, but effective. I had to jump off my already compromised stance to avoid tripping. As a result, I could not back away fast enough before she landed hard blows on my shoulders, trying to batter me down. I ducked below that and did a quick backwards roll. My impaired balance took me off target, which surprised both Mother Vajpai and me. Her next foot strike passed through the space where I should have been, while I bowled into a knot of watching men.