“You do not understand. Once again, do not presume to judge.”
We passed down the wide steps, which were made each too small for ordinary walking. That would cause the building to look larger, and make supplicants who approached uneasy. More clever architecture. Recognizing that the thread of my thoughts sought to turn away from guilt, I refused to distract myself. “You killed a child to retrieve the Dancing Mistress,” I told him, letting my voice grow hot. “I, who have sworn a hundred silent oaths to stop the trafficking of children, allowed this to happen.”
He paused at the bottom of the steps. “Which way will you find this healer?”
So much for an answer to my pain. I led him west up the Street of Horizons, following the quickest path out of the Temple Quarter and in the general direction of the Tavernkeep’s quiet house.
The great room of the nameless tavern was empty, though I smelled Selistani cooking. I ignored Septio with the hardest set of my shoulders that I could muster. I would have preferred to ignore him with my knife.
Following the scent into the kitchen, I found Chowdry stirring something in a shallow sizzling pan, much in the Hanchu manner. He saw me and smiled shyly. “The master of the inn has found me decent seasonings in the market,” he said in Seliu. “The meats are wrong here, but close enough.” He took up a little bowl and flicked some food into it.
Possessed by a strong desire to purge even the memory of Septio’s spiced meat from my mind, I tasted of what Chowdry had made. Goat, or possibly mutton, thin sliced and fried with sesame oil, chickpeas, red rice, and a heavy dusting of coriander. I closed my eyes and pretended for a moment I was in the refectory of the Temple of the Silver Lily.
When I opened them, Septio was also eating. I nearly dashed the bowl from his hands. He didn’t deserve this shard of Selistan.
“Where is the inn master?” I demanded of Chowdry. My tone was far rougher than it should have been.
Chowdry dropped his eyes. “He is out, mistress. Meeting with the brewers, I think.”
Which likely meant the Tavernkeep was not far away. I had no way of knowing where amid these surrounding blocks of breweries and malting houses he might be. “I require a healer of his people. For our Dancing Mistress.”
The Selistani’s eyes widened. “Has she come to harm?”
I did not realize Chowdry held any love for my teacher, but then, she had been kinder to him than I. “Terribly so. If the master returns without having spoken to me, tell him a healer is urgently needed at the temple of Blackblood.”
Septio stirred at the mention of his god, for I had not made an effort to render the meaning of the name in Seliu. He set his bowl down.
“Our man is out,” I told the priest. “I do not know where to look for him.”
“Will you leave a note, so we can go about our business?”
“Two years this problem has been unfolding, and now you are in a hurry?” I turned back to Chowdry. “Is there paper and pen at the bar out front?”
He shrugged.
“Then tell him how urgent this is, and no mistake.” As I turned away, I stopped. “Chowdry. I did not know you cooked so well. This fry is nicely done.”
Another smile. “Who do you think fed Chittachai before you came aboard?” The memory of his lost ship chased the smile from Chowdry’s face. The ghosts were visible in his eyes.
Not trusting myself to speak in that moment, I gave him the first few degrees of a bow, then left the kitchen for the great room. There was still no one about, but Septio and I searched beneath the counter until we found a tally book. I tore an empty page out of the back and wrote out what I could, taking care to emphasize the seriousness.
The Tavernkeep would not mistake the urgency, and I could only trust in the good faith of Blackblood’s priests. Which would not last any great time, most likely, but at least so long as they thought they needed me.
You must summon the greatest healer of your people who can be found, I wrote in conclusion of the explanation I’d tried to make on the tally page. Her soulpath may be badly damaged. Her body certainly is. Also I advise you to go with many strong friends. They are very difficult in the temple.
Septio read past my shoulder. “We are sheltering you and her both from worse hurt,” he told me.
“Your concern is a balm upon my heart.”
Then, because I could not stand to sit and do nothing while she suffered, we went out on the fool’s errand of finding the Tavernkeep somewhere in this quarter of the city.
We called at every brewery and loading dock within six blocks. I touched back at the tavern between efforts, as we crossed and recrossed the neighborhood. Wherever the Tavernkeep was, we could not locate him.
An hour or so before noon, as I was becoming almost violently frantic, Septio plucked at my elbow. “Look there,” he said. “Is that your man?”
A pardine stalked along Gollymob Street. Not the Tavernkeep, but I knew their numbers were few enough. This one might have what I sought so desperately. I pushed after him, wishing I knew any words of their tongue.
He must have known I was behind, because he turned before I reached him. I stopped cold.
I had met only two of the Dancing Mistress’ people in person. They favored robes or togas in the style of Petraeans, which allowed their tails to be free. I’d seen them wear sandals. Pardines seen in public were groomed sleek and clean, and seemed to be able to slip through the human life of this city like eels through a reef.
Not so this one.
He was even taller than the Tavernkeep, and broad-chested in a way that made me immediately think of some rangy tomcat on the prowl. He wore no robe, carried no sword, only a small satchel woven of tight-plaited leaves. The fur of his chest was matted into little shapes-squares, hexes, more irregular patches-each drawn up into a clasp that I recognized as knucklebone. The net of skin this exposed showed both the shifts of supple muscle and a goodly number of scars.
His eyes were feral, too, a deep liquid gold where the Dancing Mistress’ were like water flowing on a summer day. His ears stood a bit larger and longer than hers, ragged-edged as if they’d been shredded by fighting.
Claws out, he flicked open one hand. A flower was crushed within. For a moment, I thought this another sending of the Lily Goddess, but it was an orchid. Likely one of the pale blossoms of the highest forests.
We studied one another. Where the Dancing Mistress flowed through the people of Copper Downs, the street avoided this one. Few stared, and no one tried to meet his eye, but everyone knew he was here.
“He is from the Blue Mountains,” Septio said quietly. “Somewhere high in the ranges, where they still keep the older ways. Such a one rarely comes to the cities of men.”
The pardine answered in the Dancing Mistress’ language. I recognized the sounds, but could say nothing in reply. Perforce I used Petraean, though I doubted he spoke it. I made my words slow and clear.
“I have urgent need of a healer of your people. The Dancing Mistress is at the edge of life. Can you render aid, or do you know one who can?”
He stared at me a moment longer, unblinking. This is like talking to a bullock, I thought.
“She is the one who sits on the Interim Council?”
I could not keep the startlement from my face. His accent was a bit off, but his command of the language was perfectly clear. “Yes.”
“I was told she had gone across the sea.”
“She came back. Now she is in great pain, at risk of dying.”
“Risk? We are all at certainty of dying.” His face split open in what I knew had to be a smile, though several people passing by broke into a run. “Where is she?”
“The Algeficic Temple,” said Septio.
“You will show me.”
I was torn. I wanted to follow him, to see her over his shoulder as the Pater Primus would not let me go myself. I was certain I must still find the Tavernkeep, and pass the word among those of her people for whom this city was home.