Del held her bedroll in the crook of an elbow. "What book?"
In my zeal to change the subject, I'd forgotten she knew nothing about Umir's book of magic. I sighed, turning back to continue tacking out the stud. "I'll tell you on the trail."
Fouad seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that Del and I were now equal partners in his cantina. He was not in the least surprised to see us, nor that we expected to have private quarters. In fact, he led us rather dolefully down the hallway giving access to the rooms rented—along with the wine-girls—to men with coin. I fully expected Del to make some icy comment about women accepting the necessity of selling their bodies, but she held her tongue. Fouad took us to the very back of the building, then waved us inside a curtained door.
Plaster dust still lay on the floor. Raw wood and nail holes were obvious against the weathered walls. "I had a wall knocked down between two rooms," Fouad said, "and a wider bed put in." He glowered. "It's reduced the cantina by two rooms, you realize. And the income. Plus the cost of the changes will come out of your shares."
Two tiny rooms made into one slightly larger one by the deletion of a thin lath-and-plaster wall didn't leave us with much added space, but it was something. And the bed was noticeably wider. There were also two rickety tables, one battered, brass-hinged trunk, and a small, square window cut into one exterior adobe wall. I wondered inanely if Del would want to put up curtains.
"You can rent it out when we're not here," I told him, "and charge more for it because it's the best room in the house. Which reminds me—we'll need to sit down and have a good talk about how the place is run, so Del and I have an idea what to expect as partners." I caught her narrowed glance and added, "When we get back."
Perhaps he hadn't expected me to hit upon what was undoubtedly his plan. "You know where the kitchen is," Fouad said gloomily. "If you want food and drink, just ask."
I started undoing harness buckles. "I'm asking."
He sighed and nodded. "I thought so. I'll send one of the girls back with a tray."
Del stared after him as Fouad departed. I set harness, sword, and knife down on the trunk, then assigned myself the task of testing the feel of the mattress by sprawling across it, slack-limbed. I couldn't help the blooming of a lopsided smile. I was a Man of Property. I now owned one-third of a modestly successful cantina in a thriving town. But even better, I had a bed and a room to call my own for the very first time in forty years.
Well. Our own.
I smacked the bed lightly. "Room for two."
Del's gaze transferred itself from the curtained doorway to the bed. While I was pleased, she seemed stunned by events. Or maybe just too tired to take it all in.
"It doesn't bite," I said. "And I only do when invited."
Slender fingers worked at harness buckles. But she stopped before slipping out of it. "We should go after Nayyib."
I held onto my patience with effort. "Tomorrow, remember? First light. For now, we have the chance to rest under a real roof, in a real bed, and eat decent food for the first time in weeks." Well, cantina food didn't always live up to 'decent,' but it would be better by far than dried cumfa and flat, tough-crusted journey-
bread. Especially when accompanied by something far more palatable than Vashni liquor.
Hmmm. Maybe the quality of food was something I should discuss with Fouad. After all, it was my reputation at stake now, too.
Del undid the buckles, set harness and weapons down atop mine, and sat on the edge of the bed. After a moment I wrapped a hand around the braid hanging down her back and tugged her down next to me. We lay cross'wise, feet planted on the packed-earth floor.
"Tomorrow," I said again.
Del's eyes drifted closed. She fell asleep almost at once, thereby proving my point about needing a good night's rest. I smiled, smoothing fallen strands of hair back from her face.
Then a thought occured. "I am not jealous," I muttered.
But I wasn't so certain I liked the idea of Del spending two weeks in a tent, mostly undressed—mostly undressed!—with a young, handsome, well-set-up buck like Nayyib while I was elsewhere. A young, handsome, well-set-up buck who, more to the point, was Del's age.
Now I scowled at the ceiling. What did she see in a man old enough to be her father?
Oh, hoolies. I got up, carefully shifted Del lengthwise on the bed, which occasioned a murmured but incoherent comment, and took myself and Umir's book into the common room. Such meanderings of the mind called for goodly amounts of aqivi.
TWENTY-FOUR
FOUAD EVINCED extreme startlement when I'd set up my study space at a table in the back corner of the common room, on a diagonal line from the doorway. I replaced the wobbly bench with the most comfortable one available, stuffed my spine into the confluence of walls, set out the book so the light from a window fell evenly upon its pages, and proceeded to sit there for hours, a cup and jug of aqivi at one elbow. I'd eaten earlier, but there was always room for aqivi.
After I'd insistently shooed away three curious wine-girls, intrigued by what I was doing, I'd been left alone. I was aware of whispered comments going on back behind the bar, discussing the new me in tones of disbelief, but dismissed them easily as I lost myself in the words.
Well, I suppose it was odd to see a man reading in a cantina, ignoring attractive women.
Fouad eventually arrived. His face was troubled.
I glanced up, marking my place with a finger. "What?"
"Is this a plan I should know about?"
"Is what a plan?"
He gestured. "You sitting here all afternoon."
"I've spent many an afternoon sitting here, Fouad. Not lately, maybe, but certainly often enough before."
He leaned closer. "People wish to kill you."
I figured it out. "You think I'm trying to lure sword-dancers to come in here after me."
"Aren't you?" Nervously he smoothed the front of his robes. "Damages can be expensive, Tiger. Broken stools and tables, shattered crockery …" He trailed off, figuring that was enough imagery to get his point across.
It was. "Fouad, I'm just reading. Nothing more. Del's sleeping, so I came out here."
His expression was a fascinating amalgam of disbelief and worry. "But you can't read."
"Who told you that?"
"You did. Some years ago."
Well, yes, I probably had. "I learned how." I didn't bother to explain how I learned how; some stories are better left untold.
"So, you're reading just to read?"
"Yes, Fouad. Reading just to read." That, and to learn what I could about magery, since it seemed to concern me in very personal ways now. "I'm not attempting to lure sword-dancers to come in here after me."
"And if they do come? You're sitting out here in front of the gods and everybody."
I dropped my right hand beneath the table, closed it around the sheathed sword, and raised it to a level where he could see the hilt. "Satisfied?"
Fouad's concern bled away, replaced by a relieved smile. "Yes."
"Good." I resettled the sword against the wall, hidden behind and beneath the table. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue my reading."
"Damages should concern you, Tiger," he pointed out. "It's not all profit, you know, operating a cantina."
"I'm sure you'll provide a thorough accounting of profits and expenses, Fouad. I trust you." I tapped the page with an impatient finger. "Do you mind?"
Shaking his head, Fouad wandered away muttering about losing his best corner to a man who wanted to read and who expected all his food and drink for free.
Well, sure. Why should I pay for what I own?