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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
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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?"
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"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?"
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