"The way my luck's running? Nothing dangerous today, I promise you."
"You 'bout ready to close up?"
"Aye. Pretty soon."
"Then I'll see you in the morning.—Duran? You do be -careful—"
Duran waved him out: Kekoja left; and with a sigh, Duran sat down on his doorstep, content to simply sit, doing nothing.
Could it be someone had hired a wizard to ill-wish him?
One could guess who.
And if so, there was little he could do about it: he could afford no protection.
Damn them. He could not understand why he should threaten them—but they must see him as such: that was the only reason he could think of for them accusing him before the Duke.
And the prospect of some wizard's ill-wishing made him shudder. All sorts of things could go wrong in his business: a mistaken dosage and possibly kill a patient. He could drop acid on himself. A firing could explode. The house could burn down: in a neighborhood so closely, ramshackle-built—the whole of Old Town could go—
Or a nosy neighbor—might look out a window at the wrong time of night—
It needed so little—
All because he had saved a boy from a bad beating and possible death.
He sighed and closed his eyes. It was pleasant to sit here like this after such a muggy, tense day—unmoving. Breaking nothing. Making no disasters. Pedestrians passed him. He paid no attention.
"Duran."
Zeldezia.
Gods, some wizard was after him.
He opened his eyes: she stood there with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows in the heat, fists on hips.
"I heard you was called in to see the Duke."
He nodded.
She sniffed virtuously. "If you listened to folk—"
"So." Duran leaned his head against the doorjamb, and looked up at her. "Then I suppose you know everything about it. I wouldn't bore you with the details."
Not what she hoped for. She set her jaw. "The Duke let you go."
"Of course." Duran gave her nothing satisfying, willing her to lose interest and walk away. Obviously he had no wizardry: she did not move.
"Ain't you going to reply to that?" Zeldezia asked.
"Why should I?" Duran kept his voice calm. "You know all about it."
"Duran. Listen to me if you won't listen to Vadami: he says if you repent an' give up seein' them Sabirn, Hladyr will still forgive you—"
"Oh? And does Vadami now have a special conduit to the Shining One? I didn't realize he had become so exalted in the past few days."
"You're mockin' at me," she said, her voice going cold. "An' at a priest o' god. That's what they done to you. One of these days, Duran, you're going to be so sorry, an' there ain't no one goin' to help you."
He looked her straight in the eye. "Are you threatening me, Zeldezia?"
"I ain't doin' no such thing. I'm just warnin' you, that's all. Hopin' you'll change your stubborn mind an' see the right way to live."
"It's the right way because you think it's so," Duran said, struggling to keep the anger from his voice. "Anyone who dares believe differently than you is a heretic."
"That ain't so! Vadami thinks the same way, too. Ever' right-thinkin' person thinks so!"
Duran felt a wave of weariness wash over him. "Then go talk with the good priest, Zeldezia, and have the courtesy to leave me alone."
"Ain't you concerned for your soul?"
"As much as anyone else. Now are you going to leave, or do I have to get up and slam the door in your face?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't insult me, Duran, who's tryin' t' help you—"
"Get! Leave me alone!"
She drew herself up, puffed as if she would say something else, then spun on her heel and went, hips swaying, down the street and into her shop.
Duran shrugged. There was no hope for it. He did not see how he could continue to live his life the way he pleased and keep Zeldezia and the priest off his back. He had received some protection in the Duke's decision, but he dared not fool himself, trusting his luck would hold: luck in his case was in serious question.
Dog came back, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and walked into the shop. Duran heard him settle down in his accustomed spot by the counter. He reminded himself to pick up a bone or two from Tutadar for Dog's dinner, stirred on the doorstep, stood, and fished for his key.
Ah well. A good meal and a fresh mug of ale should lighten his mood. He drew the door closed, locked it, and crossed the street.
"The Swimming Cat" was only moderately fulclass="underline" it was early yet. Duran nodded to Tut and walked back to his table. The other customers watched him pass, a few nodding a greeting in his direction, but for the most part they were silent—as if he had walked in on some discussion his neighbors did not want him to hear.
Him, he thought. A man from Old Town did not make a forced visit to the Duke of Targheiden and return without comment.
Once Duran had seated himself, his neighbors began to talk again, but their conversation was muted, without its usual animation. Tut walked over, wiping his hands on his apron. "Fish tonight, Duran?"
"Aye. Breaded, if I can have it. And a mug of ale."
Tut nodded, went to the kitchen door, and shouted Duran's order to the cook. He brought a mug of ale back to Duran himself.
"Have a good day?" Tut asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down, as he would, in slack moments.
"Good enough," Duran said. Perhaps he was too apprehensive that he read more into this approach.
On the other hand, judging by the expression on Tutadar's face—
"Duke lost himself another ship today," Tut said quietly. "Word come."
"Dandro's hells."
The innkeeper shrugged. "Duke, he's lost a damned lot of goods. Folk got a lot of hard luck—lot of hard luck. People get desperate."
Duran took a swallow of ale, then leaned forward on the table. "Is this news aimed at me, Tut?"
Tutadar dropped his eyes. "S'pose it is. I ain't believing it, Duran, but—there's a lot of folks beginning to ask—where all this luck is comin' from. An' you can say it ain't Sabirn, but they ain't in the mood to listen. The Duke loses trade, Old Town loses business—hard times coming. Taxes'll increase to make up for the Duke's losses. We seen it before."
"They can't honestly believe any damn Sabirn has anything to do with the storms," Duran protested. Tutadar stared back. "Can they?"
"Startin' to seem that way. It ain't nature. It sure ain't any run of plain luck. Somethin's doin' it."
"Foreign enemies—"
"Sabirn are foreigners. Right among us. Here ever' day."
"Fools." Duran gripped his mug tightly. "Ignorant fools!"
"Then you're callin' me a fool, too, Duran," Tutadar said, lifting his eyes so he met Duran's gaze. "I know you ain't a demon worshipper, an' I know you wouldn't want to do anythin' that would bring bad luck down on you, but, dammit, man, you got a blind eye to them folk—an' I ain't sayin' it's you, I ain't sayin' it's that boy, but it ain't real discreet, you puttin' that kid up in ever'body's faces—you havin' him real conspicuous—you givin' him access to all sorts of shops an' places—he works for you, but who knows who else he knows, who knows who he talks to? Them folk all get together. They all talk—"
"How in all hells can you think that way, Tut? You know me. You know I'm no fool. The boy's honest; he doesn't bother people, and he's helping me make the best living I've ever seen."
"Money won't buy your life, Duran."
"Gods, what are you talking about?"
Tut murmured, tapping his head, "I know, up here, you ain't made no pacts with demons. But here—" He tapped his chest. "—here, I'm scared. You can't force folk, Duran. You can't force 'em overnight to change the way they been thinkin' for hundreds of years. Some say—you can't fire that kid. Some say he got a spell on you."