“She can help with entad identification,” said Alfric.
“Ay, but you’ll find a cleric of Qymmos in any larger town too,” said Hannah. “Certainly in Tarchwood or Liberfell.”
“You don’t like her?” asked Alfric.
“We had a discussion a few months back,” said Hannah. “Lasted most of the night, and neither of us left happy. Religious matters, mostly my opinion on her god and hers on mine.”
“So you’re saying that if I introduce myself, I should just not have you with me?” asked Alfric.
“Och, no, I don’t want to make a big thing of it, I suppose,” said Hannah. “Let’s go.”
The statue of Qymmos, God of Sets, was a many-armed man, with each hand holding a different implement. Traditionally, Qymmos was supposed to be represented by an octopus, and it was the only one of the six statues in the large central room that wasn’t an animal, which irked Hannah to no end. They should have been either all people, or all animals, but not this awkward mix. Of course, she’d talked to the head of the temple, which was Filera, and she’d laid out the costs involved in commissioning a new one, and that had been the end of that conversation, because there was nowhere for the money to come from, and Hannah seemed to be the only one bothered.
“Filera Bosc,” said Hannah as she entered the room. Filera was sitting with her plants, as usual, and reading a book, also as usual. “This is Alfric Overguard. He’s a member of my dungeoneering party, here to make some introductions, because there’s a good chance we’ll want your services.”
Filera got up from her chair, rising slowly and setting her book to the side. She was a shorter woman, with blond hair that she wore tied back. Her dress went down to her ankles and covered her arms to her wrists, and there was something incredibly and deliberately severe about her.
“I charge for entad identifications,” said Filera as she took Alfric’s hand. That’s what she said, by way of greeting, and immediately Hannah felt herself irked.
Alfric nodded. “Most do. It’s expected.”
“I’m letting you know now so that there’s no confusion later,” she said. “Overguard, she said?”
Alfric stiffened slightly. “Yes.”
Filera was looking at him as though she was reading his life story, which given her profession wasn’t too far off the truth. “Qymmos is sometimes called the God of Information,” she said. “But I’ve always thought, if she needed to be called the god of something other than Sets, she should have been called the God of Categories.”
“Yes,” said Alfric, standing there.
“Which god do you follow most closely?” asked Filera.
“Xuphin’s philosophy has always appealed to me,” said Alfric. “Though… I can see the appeal of Qymmos as well, so long as I look at it from a certain angle.”
“She’ll try to draw you into theological talk, if you let her,” said Hannah.
Filera gave Hannah a grin, then turned back to Alfric. “And what is that angle?”
“I don’t particularly like to organize things into sets or categories,” said Alfric. “But it is useful. Where I think I’m on the same page as Qymmos is in seeking new things. The philosophies of the others don’t have as much of the same appeal toward seeking. But I can’t say that I would have made a good acolyte of Qymmos, because once everything is pinned in place, I start to lose interest.”
Filera nodded. “Seekers are often of Qymmos, but a seeker, once they’ve found what they sought, can become something different altogether.” She tapped her lips. “Alfric Overguard,” she said, tasting the name. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do your entad identifications for no fee, so long as you come speak to me about the dungeons you’ve been in.”
“Of course,” said Alfric, relaxing.
“To a fruitful relationship,” said Filera. She smiled at him, and he gave a nervous smile back.
When they left, Hannah was frowning, but she saved her words until they were out of the temple.
“She’s an odd one,” said Hannah. “And I take it from the way that conversation went, she saw somethin’ in you?”
“Maybe,” said Alfric. “Though… I can’t be sure what, obviously.”
“Does she have blackmail against you?” asked Hannah. It was hard to see how a cleric of Qymmos would get that, since there were limits to how deep they could go in such a short time, especially without touch, and it wasn’t like they could just extract your deepest darkest secrets.
“No,” said Alfric. “If it’s the thing I think she knows, then no, it’s something I expect to tell you and the others once we’re better friends. I doubt you’d think less of me.”
“But it’s not somethin’ you want to say now, is the impression I get,” said Hannah. “And you know somethin’ about Verity that you’re keepin’ back too.”
“Like you said, we all have our—I don’t even want to call them secrets, because it’s not as important as all that,” he said. “But you don’t need to know my life story, and I don’t need to know yours, not for us to be going into dungeons together. I swear on my life it’s nothing that puts anyone in danger. And I swear that if it becomes relevant, I’ll tell everything. But I want to wait a bit, and I think that’s my right.”
“Ay,” said Hannah, slowly. “And here I thought I was the one with a rich inner life.”
Chapter 21 — Sitting in a Song
It was Mizuki who thought to invite Isra to the Fig and Gristle, for which she was grateful. There was a part of Isra that felt she should be living in the same house with them, especially because it was so much better of a house than the one in the woods she’d inherited from her father, but there was also a comfortability to that old house, and the memories it contained.
Isra had never been to the Fig and Gristle before. It was a handsome place, if slightly sagging, with a warmth that came from the lights on inside. She could hear Verity’s music even before she stepped inside, but once she’d crossed the threshold, a lightness washed over her, as though someone had removed a burden from her shoulders. She looked around and found Alfric, Mizuki, and Hannah easily enough. They had a place for her, and by the looks of things, had yet to order. As soon as Mizuki saw her, a slender arm shot up and frantically waved her over.
“You made it,” said Mizuki as Isra sat down. “You didn’t say whether you would.”
“I wasn’t sure,” said Isra.
“I can pay for your meal,” said Mizuki. “If that’s it.”
“It’s not,” said Isra.
“She’s actually very good,” said Hannah, leaning over toward Isra. Hannah’s eyes were on Verity, who was strumming away with her lute, playing a song the lyrics of which were barely audible. Something about a goose and a gander. “She’s weaving quite a few effects.”
“It might be part of why she gets so tired,” said Alfric. “Every time she plays, it feels like she’s pushing herself to her limit.”
“Nah,” said Mizuki. “I think if you actually pushed her to her limit, people wouldn’t be able to move. They’d just sit there, enraptured. I get why you crossed the continent for her.”
“It’s beautiful music,” said Isra. Her eyes were on Verity and the way she cradled her lute, intently playing it, eyes partly closed. Sometimes Verity would smile as she sang the lyrics, usually at a softer, sweeter part, and there was something intensely beautiful about her then, as though being a conduit for the song had cast a spell on her.