The Cursed Page 4

  "Yes, Wosion! You can count on me." Polion peered around alertly.

  "I know I can, or I wouldn't have asked. And tonight... Look with me at sunset. You've got the best eyes in the family, I think."

  "Of course I will, Wosion."

  "We must search for Avail, but even more for Ogoal, low in the west. She is due. If Ogoal comes, then there is still hope for my father."

  7

  Unlike most cities, Daling had escaped looting and sack during the fall of the empire, but it was not the bustling major port it had been. The great imperial families were no more. Their mansions had fallen on hard times, becoming tenements, warehouses, or even inns.

  The Phoenix Street Hostel had once been some rich man's home, built in Late Imperial style around a large courtyard, with kitchens and stables tucked out of the way at the rear. It still contained some of the finest frescoes and mosaics in the city. The central plaza dominated the design completely, and on bad days Gwin thought of mortuaries when she looked over all the statuary and stone furniture and fountains that no longer flowed. In winter the design was absurdly impractical, but in warm weather it worked well; dining and social life could be handled outdoors. A covered balcony all the way around provided access to the upper rooms and shaded the downstairs. She made an effort to keep up the trees and flowers, although this year good gardeners were as hard to find as all other servants.

  Tibal settled down at one of the marble tables and ate the repast Gwin sent out to him. Then he wrote for a while in a book, and read from it for longer. He seemed to have no urgent business to attend to. She decided that her guess of wandering scholar was probably correct, and would have thought no more about him had he not remained so obviously interested in her. She finished arranging the cooks' work and emerged from the kitchens to supervise cleaning of the guest rooms. While she bustled from room to room, hurrying upstairs and downstairs, Tibal watched her. Every time she came out of a door, he would be looking that way, as if he had been waiting for her to appear.

  His interest began to annoy her. She doubled through a connecting suite to come out by a door she had not entered—and caught his smile from the far side of the court. He had even moved his stool to gain a better view past the monkeypuzzle tree. She had an excellent memory for faces, and she was certain she had never met him before. She wondered if he might be an Awailscath, a shapechanger. Anything was possible these days in Daling.

  She heard no more ghostly voices, and managed to convince herself that she had merely been daydreaming.

  A runner brought roses and a poem from Sint Hailith. It was a terrible poem, although Hailith himself was one of the least obnoxious of her tormentors. She dropped the poem in the kitchen stove and told Mai to put the flowers in a vase. The daily run of swains had begun, evidently.

  A little later Nogan Nibith oozed in, fat and greasy and fawning. Owning a tavern of very unsavory reputation near the docks, he considered himself the ideal man to take over Phoenix Street Hostel and its owner. He called her Gwin as if they were already fast friends; he rubbed his hands together all the time, smiling at her with fishy eyes and even fishier breath. Nogan was less easily disposed of than Hailith's poem, although he deserved the same fate.

  The hostel was a public place. She could not lock the pests out. On the other hand, a hostler was never off duty. She could plead pressure of work at any time of the day, and dinner invitations were easily refused.

  Nogan followed her around as she hurried from room to room. He ignored her protests that she was too busy to talk. He lectured her at length about the legal problems.

  Gwin knew all about the legal problems. He was not the first one to perceive the leverage they provided. She kept her temper and lied blatantly. "I'm advised that the matter is a trivial formality and will be easily settled, Nogan Saj. Pray do not worry about it."

  Two familiar merchants arrived, demanding their usual rooms. That provided a slight diversion. She summoned Golm to carry their bags upstairs. Then came a country landowner with two servants—the hostel would show a profit tonight. But Nogan was still at her heels like a lapdog.

  She was in the middle of the court, heading for the stairs, when she heard a crash and a scream from the kitchen. The screamer was Niad.

  Her heart stopped as if an icy hand had gripped it. She started to turn in that direction, and realized that the oily leech was still clinging. If Nogan ever learned about Niad, Gwin was ruined. For a moment panic froze her to the tiles.

  Then she lost her temper. She jabbed a finger hard in his paunch. "Nogan Saj, I have no intention of marrying you. Ever! I would not marry you, were you the Renewer himself already crowned. That is final! In future will you kindly refrain from lowering the reputation of this hostel with your presence? Now get out!"

  His globular face reddened. He sputtered like a fry pan. "In that case, I shall lodge a complaint!"

  "Go ahead! Others have beaten you to it. Go and stay gone!"

  He went, still muttering threats. Heart pounding, she watched him as far as the door. Then she turned and raced for the passage, weaving between dry fountains, marble monsters, and potted trees. The merchants and Tibal Frainith and the two country servants had seen and heard everything. They were watching her now.

  She rushed along the corridor to the kitchen. After the courtyard, it seemed dark, full of heat and meaty smells and the buzz of flies. Although it was a huge room, there was hardly room to move between all the tables. Every wall was hidden behind shelves of dishes, pots, and jars.

  Niad was cowering back in the corner by the range, her face white and her childlike eyes wide as gooseberries. Old Shuma stood guard a pace in front of her, broom raised like a battle ax. The danger looming before them was Golm the porter. He was rubbing his head as if it hurt, so the old woman had probably landed one blow already. Broken crockery lay at their feet. Mai and Tob and Pauna hung in frozen tableau in the background, watching the drama.

  The cook was an aging, rawboned woman, so angular that she might have been nailed together from a collection of old planks. It took a lot to frighten Shuma, but she was frightened now.

  Golm was huge and surly, bald and bushy-whiskered, doubtless capable of seeming very threatening to a young girl, or even an elderly fire-breathing cook, for he had shown signs of an unstable temper in the past. Able-bodied men were in desperately short supply since the war. Golm had been the best available.

  "What happened?" Gwin roared, although it was obvious.

  Everyone tried to speak at once. She slid around Golm and Shuma to Niad. Niad fell into her arms, shivering and whimpering.

  Gwin glared over the girl's shoulder at Golm. As if seeing him with Niad's eyes, she suddenly realized just how big he was, and how repulsive. He was scowling, not understanding. She had hired him less than a month ago. He did not know about Niad's Curse.

  Mai and Pauna both knew and were white as salt. Young Tob did not. He was gaping slack-jawed. Obviously he had heard the noise and come in from the stable to see. Tob had even fewer wits than Golm.

  "Just a kiss," Golm growled.

  "He grabbed her from behind," Shuma snapped. "Spun her round. She dropped the plates."

  "All right?" Gwin muttered, hugging Niad harder.

  The child was panting with dry sobs of terror, but she nodded. "Think so," she mumbled.

  Hope so—Golm was still on his feet and breathing.

  "Go and wait in the stable," Gwin told him icily. "I will send Tob out with your wages. You are dismissed!"

  He growled, a coarse bear of a man, pockmarked and flabby. "Just a quick kiss! Nothing wrong with that!"

  Oaf, you do not know how much there is wrong with that! "You frightened her. You broke my dishes. You are fired!" Thank God for the broken crockery—"Go! Now!"

  Golm seemed to struggle for words, as if about to argue at this incomprehensible injustice. Gwin felt Niad stiffen in her arms, and her fear rushed back.

  "Go!" she screamed.

  He went,
shuffling off. Tob moved out of the way to let him past.

  This was turning out to be an interesting day. She had thrown Nogan out the front and Golm out the back within three minutes.

  "Come!" She urged Niad to the other door. She barked at Mai and Pauna to get back to work. Shuma shrugged and began clattering broken crockery with the broom.

  Gwin pushed Niad into the counting room and sat her down.

  "No harm done!" she said soothingly.

  "How can we know that?" Niad whimpered.

  "Oh, don't worry! We're well rid of him. I wanted an excuse to be rid of him. I'm sorry you were frightened." I'm sorry I was, too! She poured the girl a tot of spirits and told her to drink it. She considered pouring one for herself also. Instead she took some coppers from her money chest and headed back into the kitchen.

  Having sent Tob out with the coins, having soothed Shuma's feelings and made sure dinner had not been jeopardized by the emergency, she went back to see how Niad fared. The liquor had brought back some color to her face. Satisfied, Gwin closed the doors, settled at her desk, and pretended to thumb through some bills.

  How long could she shelter the girl? How long before Mai or Pauna or one of the others let slip a careless word?

  Part of the trouble was that Niad was exceptionally pretty—she lacked the confidence and self-awareness to be truly beautiful. She wore her flaxen hair in two short bunches over her ears, tied with ribbons, which was not a common style in Daling. She had wide blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. No cream had ever been smoother than those cheeks. Even the stark plainness of a domestic's dress could not hide the swell of her ample hips and breasts, the astonishingly tiny waist. At fifteen, Niad was perfection in miniature, a doll child. Nor was her appearance pretense; she truly was the sweet, innocent, rather simple maiden she seemed.

  The rest of the trouble, and by far the larger part, was that Niad had caught the star sickness in the spring. The rest of her family had died of it. Not everyone who survived was Cursed, but Niad had been left an Ivielscath. She still did not know the limits of her powers or how much control she had over them. She was not a monster to go around practicing murder, so how could she know? In her panic, they might have flared out unbidden.

  It had been Golm who had been in danger. He would not have dropped dead at her feet, but he might still be a doomed man, fated to waste away and perish. Ivielscaths were deadly.

  "I must go," Niad whispered.

  Gwin turned in her chair. "Go where?"

  "Anywhere! I can't stay here! I bring terrible trouble."

  "Nonsense! You have nowhere to go. We've been through this all before. Nothing terrible happened. I am not going to throw you out."

  "No need to throw me, Gwin Saj! I will leave of—"

  "No you won't!"

  The big blue eyes filled with tears. "But the law!"

  "Flub the law! Do you think the governor's guards are going to draw their swords on you? Threaten to fill their guts with worms and they'll run like mice!"

  That was true as far as it went, but several people accused of being Ivielscaths had been stoned to death by terrified mobs. The hostel would probably be burned to the ground at the same time. Gwin did not mention that gruesome possibility. "By the Twin God, child, do you think Golm's the worst man out there? You'd be accosted before you'd gone a league—and where would you be heading for, anyway? Now finish up that drink, and then go help Shuma with the vegetables!"

  She watched the unhappy Niad obey, and recalled that she also had work to do. She always had work to do.

  She took up a slate and walked purposefully out into the court. Pauna was sweeping the balcony. Everyone else except Tibal had disappeared.

  He had moved to a different table, one better shaded from the afternoon sun. It also happened to give him a better view of her as she emerged. He held his book open in his hands, but his attention was on Gwin. She had gone away through the kitchen passage. How could he possibly have known she would return through this one door out of a dozen? He smiled as she approached. His smile hinted that he was seeing more than he was showing, or knew more than he possibly could, or... Again she noted the strangeness of his eyes—it was, she decided, as if he were looking through her, instead of at her. She must be starting to imagine things again. Her nerves were fraying.

  She took a stool opposite him. "Bureaucracy, Tibal Saj. The law says I must report all strangers in the city—name, place of origin, the nature of your business."

  He shrugged and glanced thoughtfully at the outside door. "Tibal Frainith. From Raragash." He closed his book and dropped it in the pocket of his smock.

  Raragash? She looked up quickly.

  Smiling, he shook his head. "No, I am not a Cursed."

  She laughed to cover her embarrassment. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

  He was amused. "It's a natural assumption. Nowadays Raragash is just another decayed town, a few houses in amongst a lot of ruins, like so many places. Don't suppose we have any more Cursed there than anywhere else does."

  "Probably not as many as Daling just now. They were all supposed to leave, but I expect a few are still hiding somewhere." Like Niad. "I'm afraid I must ask the reason for your visit. Not my idea, you understand."

  "Of course. I came to meet someone." He glanced again at the outer door.

  "I'll just call it, 'personal business' then." She wrote. The slate pencil squeaked, setting her teeth on edge.

  "Very quiet day for you?" Tibal asked.

  "What? Oh. I suppose so."

  It was an invitation to stay and chat. She had much to do before evening, but a few minutes' tattle would not hurt. Steady her nerves. Besides, the man intrigued her.

  "About average," she said. "We may get a few more later. The war hurt us badly, the whole town. Then the star sickness. I fear the fates may have worse in store yet."

  They could not have very much worse in store for Gwin Solith, could they? Her husband and then her babies? There was only the hostel left to lose—and her life, of course.

  Fight to the death!

  "Fates?" Tibal said. "You're not Zardan!"

  She realized that she had spoken in Zardan, and so had he, although his accent was strange. She switched back to Qolian. "Sorry! If you mean language, everyone in Daling is bilingual. I didn't think. If you mean religion, I confess I'm not much of anything. The empire recognized the fates too, it just put the Twin God in charge of them. Officially Daling still worships the Two."

  He smiled. "The fates won in the end."

  "They did. I suppose they always will. We have a lot of people of Zardan descent in and around Daling. One picks up their ways of talking."

  Tibal nodded. His mood of quiet amusement seemed invariable, although again she caught his attention straying to the door. Whomever he had come to meet must be due.

  "You'll be much busier tomorrow," he remarked confidently.

  "Huh?"

  "I mean you must have good days and bad days like everyone else?" The gray eyes twinkled, yet they remained strangely unfocused, as if he were looking through her, or beyond her...

  She grinned to acknowledge the hit. "Sure you're not a Shoolscath?"

  He shook his head. "Just teasing."

  "I don't think I'd want to see the future." She had enjoyed five wonderful years with Carp, but she would not have enjoyed them had she known what was in store for him.

  "No. Well, some of it."

  "It would have its good side and its bad side, like all the Curses."

  "Yes. Did you see many Cursed?"

  "A few. Most were chased out of town very—"

  The outer door opened. Liam Gurshith strolled in, followed by two other men, both even larger than he.

  God save us! Gurshith was not Nogan Nibith, to be thrown out with mud in his ear. Liam Gurshith was very bad trouble indeed, and this time he had brought his goons with him.

  "Smile at me," Tibal said sharply. "Before he sees you. The best way to deal with his type is to ignore him
completely. Let's talk."

  She turned to him in sudden anger and dismay. Was he in league with Liam?

  He was grinning widely, showing white teeth. "You can trust me, Gwin. I'm a friend, truly. Pretend we're having a friendly conversation. The more friendly you can look, the less that snake will like it."

  She forced a sickly leer in response. "What have you to do with him?"

  Tibal thumped his hand on the table as if she had just made a rib-cracking joke. "Not a thing! Believe me! I know him, though. I don't like him. You talk. Talk about the law."

  "Law?" she said, tossing her hair merrily. "My husband died in the war."

  "I know. Go on."

  Was Liam watching? She did not look to see. Whatever Tibal was up to, it was wonderful to have a comrade at her side in this endless battle of suitors. "Carp was a hundred-leader in the militia. Daling has always been an ally of Tolamin. When the Wesnarians attacked, we sent help. Before he marched away, he made a will, leaving me the Hostel. There's no question that the will's valid, and genuine, but there's an old imperial law prohibiting women from owning land, and the building can't be separated from the ground it stands on."

  Tibal laughed, heartily and very convincingly. "How can such a law be valid? A century after Qol burned?"

  She smiled. "It's never been revoked in Daling."

  Tibal beamed. "And if it's invoked in this case?"

  "I lose everything," she said gleefully. A sideways glance told her Liam was striding in her direction with his two performing bears at his heels. She hoped Tibal had some more good ideas to try. This one was not going to work. She flailed for something else to say. "If you came all the way from Raragash to meet someone, he must be very important?" She could pry into his affairs as well as he could in hers.

  "Extremely important!" Tibal laughed. "What you need is a trustworthy male citizen who will take title to the land and leave you alone to earn your living."