"Hang them," he growled, and tried his wolfish grin again, liking it. Dressing in his best, a forest green tunic with white piping and matching breeches, he felt better than he had in a long while.
Since he had come to Southwark, he realized, and swiped at the dirt on his high boots, managing to bring a shine to a small circle of leather. He looked at the rest of the muddy, stained bootleather, and shook his head.
Not good enough to shine my boots, but better than in a long while.
His hangover was gone, the lump on the back of his head much smaller than the day before. And he had something to do. Not since long before he came to Southwark had he had something worth doing, and the thing he had come to do—his book—had simply not happened. Now he was in the middle of something. He had little idea how to go about it, but it was good to wake with a purpose.
Filled with the wonder of this small discovery, he belted up his tunic and took money from his seachest to fill his purse. As he put the money away, he saw a small knife in a plain sheath and hesitated only a moment before picking it up. The last time he had tried to solve a mystery, a dagger had proven useful.
Liam closed the chest, locked it, and hung the knife on his belt. He put his hand on the hilt and tried the wolf's grin again, laughed at himself, and went downstairs.
This time he did not startle the drudge, who looked at him with relief, as though in his fine tunic he fit the mold of a respectable scholar much better than he had when halfnaked and whistling dirty sailors' songs. He did not smile at all when he asked her if she knew where the druggist Viyescu's shop could be found.
She did not, but timidly suggested he try Northfield or Aurie's Park, two sections of the artisans' quarter. He smiled very gently at the poor girl and thanked her politely before leaving. He switched over to the wolf's grin as soon as he was out the door, and chuckled to himself as he walked the few blocks to the stables.
The lad he had sent with his message the day before was not there, but a boy who might have been his brother was more than willing to carry a message for him.
"Tell the Lady Necquer I'll be glad to wait on her at the hour she suggested," he said, and then when the boy dashed off down the street, "Hey, boy! The message can wait until you've fetched my horse!"
When the shamefaced boy had retrieved his mount and repeated the message to his satisfaction, he sent him running again, and set off himself for the city gate.
The fat, slate-gray clouds put him in mind of winter, though the breeze from the sea was not very chilly. He remembered his previous winter, spent in a land where the sun shone hot and full all the time, and even the rains had seemed dazzlingly bright. He rode past pastures of cold, colorless grass and fields shorn clean, stripped. naked for the coming winter, and smiled. It would be his first winter in Taralon in a long time.
Fanuilh was waiting for him, still on the table in the workroom. The villa was warm, though no fires burned. Liam noticed for the first time that there were no fireplaces where they could bum. This was more of Tarquin's magic, he realized, still working even after the wizard's death. Liam had not known magic could work that way.
The spells are powerful, as was Master Tanaquil.
The dragon was looking at him, and again he found it difficult to connect the placid serpentine face with the stoneblock thought in his head.
"You're up early," he said cheerily, trying to dispel some of the silence that echoed loudly along the gleaming wood and clean white walls.
I need little sleep. Would you get me food?
"Raw meat it is, little master. By your leave," Liam said, bowing deeply before the dragon. It stared up at him with what Liam guessed passed for curiosity, and he hurried off to the kitchen, thinking hard of uncooked steak.
As he watched Fanuilh neatly snap up mouthfuls of meat, he paced eagerly around the room, stopping and starting as one thing and another struck his imagination.
"What are all these things in the jars?" He was looking at one in particular that might have been the preserved head of a dog. He shuddered and moved on, not waiting for an answer.
You are very light today.
"Well, my little master, if you could read my mind, you would know why."
Yes. You have accepted the bargain fully. You are eager to begin. I thought you would be.
"Did you?" This sobered Liam slightly, and he paused before the tiny model of Southwark.
You carry Luck with you, and are checking to make sure you have not lost it.
He laughed out loud.
"True enough! I'm like a man come from the market, patting his purse to see if it still holds his gold. Only I can't feel for my Luck—I have to prove it the hard way."
Fanuilh chewed placidly while Liam chuckled over its judgement. When the last of the meat was gone, it rolled slowly over on its back and exposed the dull gold of its belly.
Scratch? it thought. Liam could almost see the question mark, like black ink in his head. He hastened over and rubbed the dragon's stomach with his knuckles. The feeling like ridged cloth fascinated him.
You will see the druggist today?
"Viyescu? Yes, he seemed the proper place to begin." What will you say to him?
Liam frowned, concentrating on evening out the area of his scratching, switching
