He did care, but he didn't tell her that. He felt death in him and near him all the time, and she was alive, was life. Her lean naked body was strangely beautiful. Her mouth was hot and wet and smelled of cloves. She pressed it against his as she frantically tore the buttons from his shirt and they at last met, skin to conscious skin.
He worked for two straight days making copper and gold. He invested a third day in helping his old apprentice to teach his new apprentice the making of copper and gold. He thought of his new apprentice as the apprentice of his old apprentice, Hlupnafenglu, but no one else seemed to. His new apprentice was the clumsy thief who had tried to pick his pocket in the Shadow Market, a young citizen who was named Lakkasulakku.
Now that he had two apprentices, he never taught the same thing to both. His idea was that they could pool the skills he taught them after his death. They both looked disturbed when he told them this, but he could not understand why: he could feel the dead area preceding dissolution creeping up his neck and through his chest. His shoulder was beginning to fade. They could cherish illusions if it suited them; he didn't have the time.
In the evening and the night, there was Liudhleeo. He learned more about her in a few days than he had in the previous six months. She was intent on sharing everything with him: the details of her day, healing the semiwolves and never-wolves of the city; her brutal childhood in a fosterden on Iuiunioklendon; how she had escaped to live in the necropolis of Wuruyaaria, the long eastern slope of the mountain that bristled with the tombs of the city's eminent dead; how she had met Wuinlendhono there and how they had come together to the outlier pack; how Wuinlendhono had risen and risen while Liudhleeo fell further and further until …well…
She poured her words into him as if they were coins and he was a strongbox to protect them. Sometimes he wanted to tell her to stop, to save her secrets for someone who would be alive to share them with. But, of course, it was the imminence of his death that made him safe to talk to. He was like one of the eminent dead she knew so well from the necropolis, a grave and mostly silent counsellor.
Her physical hunger for him was as intense: a dark longing in which pleasure had very little place. He understood the horror and repulsion that drew her to him, and he pitied her for them. But he never said this to her, because he felt it would drive her away. And he wanted her at least as much as she wanted him.
She was alive. She was life. And he was dying.
He had not forgotten his debt to avenge Hrutnefdhu, her mate whom he could follow but never replace. He went several times into Dogtown to place long-shot bets for the outliers, and the bookies grew to know and trust him well. He became quite adept at reading the notes on betting slips, a mishmash of Sunspeech and Moonspeech. And he believed that some of the bookies, at least, would pass the word to him if they saw Yaniunulu again. No one seemed to esteem him much: an odd-smelling mutt with a habit of sneering at people; more bark than he had bite.
One day he was in the cave, teaching Lakkasulakku how to fold molten glass, when Hlupnafenglu came in, a small strip of wood in his big red hands.
"A runner from the city brought this, Khretvarrgliu," he said. "It's from that bookie in Dogtown, Orlioiulu."
Morlock looked at it. It was scraped on the same sort of wax-covered wood that they used for betting tickets. The ideograms told him that Yaniunulu ("the dog-faced betrayer") had been seen, and that Morlock ("Khretvarrgliu") should come see Orlioiulu ("friendly purveyor of chance and mystery") soonest.
Morlock's reading had progressed fairly well, but it was as a maker that the note interested him.
"Elegantly carved ideograms, wouldn't you say?" he asked, showing the note to the werewolves.
"Yes, Khretvarrgliu."
"Sure," said Lakkasulakku. "What's it say?"
"A lie," Morlock said. "Have you ever seen Orlioiulu?"
Hlupnafenglu nodded, and then gave a slow smile. "He has paws for hands. He could not have drawn these figures."
"Not with these angles of incision," Morlock said, who had examined the note very closely indeed.
A shadow fell across Hlupnafenglu's face. Looking up, they saw that Liudhleeo had entered the cave.
It turned out she, too, had received a note. Written by the same hand, but not signed Orlioiulu, it said that if she wanted news of her mate's murder, she should consult her new mate.
"This looks very much like a trap," said the red werewolf with great satisfaction. "Let me go, Khretvarrgliu. I missed him once; let me bring him home this time."
"No," Morlock said. "I'll go. From you they would merely hide. Also, you may be recognized-not as yourself, but as who you were."
"Morlock," Liudhleeo said evenly, "I am frightened."
"I'll be careful."
"For myself, you selfish pig. They meant this note to divide me from you. I'm worried they may be coming for me."
"Hm. Not impossibly. Another reason for you to stay, Hlupnafenglu. You can defend her with the resources of the cave. I'll leave Tyrfing, also. Kill with it only if you must, but in that case kill without mercy."
Hlupnafenglu, who had been the Red Shadow, bowed his golden head. "Khretvarrgliu, I will. I will spend my life for hers, if need be."
"You can't do this," whispered Liudhleeo. "You cannot do this. You stupid ape-faced-you've only got one hand!"
"I'll have three," Morlock said. "Lakkasulakku will come with me."
"Right, Chiefl"
Now Liudhleeo was weeping silently as Morlock armed himself and his apprentice from the gear in the cave. He turned to her at last. "I'll see you tonight," he said.
"Tonight you'll be dead. I'll never see you again."
"If not tonight, then soon. Good-bye, Liudhleeo," he said, and kissed her shocked weeping face. He turned away and walked down the hill in the bitterly bright sunshine. Lakkasulakku followed him, whistling noisily as he rattled down the wooden steps.
Orlioiulu's betting booth was closed, much to the annoyance of some semiwolvish patrons who wanted to lay bets on the weather. A prominent citizen was claiming the sunlight would soon be hot enough to boil water at noon, and the locals wanted to get some action going on it. Orlioiulu would give odds on anything, but he wasn't here to give odds on anything and his loyal customers were upset.
"Poor old Orlioiulu," Morlock remarked to young Lakkasulakku.
"Think he's dead?"
"Yes. Our correspondent will have killed him."
"Bastard."
"Yes. They will show us some bait, soon. I'll follow it. You wait a hundred breaths or so and follow me from a distance. Get me?"
"I get you, Chief."
Before long, they saw their bait: fuzz-faced Yaniunulu lurking at the mouth of an alleyway, craning his neck to peer toward Orlioiulu's betting booth. He was even wearing the gold tooth he had earned as a member of Wuinlendhono's guard, just so that no one could miss who he was.
"Pretty raw," whispered Lakkasulakku. "He must be desperate."
Morlock was also. He nodded, turned away, and sauntered openly toward the alleyway.
Yaniunulu affected not to see him until he had crossed half the distance to the alley. Then the fuzz-faced semiwolf started, and turned back to run up the alley.
Morlock loped after him, not too swiftly. He was fairly sure Yaniunulu wasn't really trying to escape him, and he wanted to have a look at whatever trap he was headed into before it closed on him.
By the time Morlock reached the alley, Yaniunulu was at an open doorway, looking over his shoulder. When his eyes met Morlock's, he fled through the doorway.
"Too obvious," said Morlock aloud, and drew one of the stabbing spears sheathed over his shoulder. He followed Yaniunulu through the open door out of the cruel sunlight.
He waited for his eyes to accustom themselves to the shadows before he moved.