Several relatives of Coeccias's brother-in-law soon arrived, bringing huge amounts of food and an army of small children to the feast. The tables groaned under the weight of the food, and afterwards, stuffed to bursting, the whole family gathered around to sing to Burus' s piping. They were merry, and Liam felt out of place. There were things he wanted to think about, and though he would have liked to stay, he knew he could not contribute to their celebration, and left soon after the music began.
He spent three days alone at Tarquin's, exploring the house and thinking about all that had happened. He slept on the couch in the library and spent the days idly leafing through the books or examining the items in the wizard's trophy room.
Many times the image of Rora floated in his mind, cursing him, saying all the things he had been afraid she would. She reviled him, called him a betrayer and a fool, a heartless monster. He knew he was not these things, that she had used him, and that he was not responsible for her death. He knew them, but he could not shake a feeling of responsibility.
At other times he thought of Viyescu, whose darkest, deepest kept secrets he had effectively exposed in the guise of a priest. He hoped that the druggist might have taken his hasty absolution in the attic to heart, but did not think that even that excused his deception.
And there were Freihett and Poppae Necquer to consider. He would not be able to see them, to deal with the husband or pass an idle afternoon with the wife. What he knew of them, and their awareness of some of his knowledge, would make such encounters extremely uncomfortable.
Still, what else could he have done? He could not have known things would turn out the way they had.
In the end, he simply acknowledged that he had not handled the whole thing well, and vowed to leave it at that. In time, he thought, he might well be able to.
On the second day, Boult appeared at his door, rousing Liam from a book of history he had found in Tarquin's library. The Guardsman had brought a copy of the wizard's will, as proof of ownership. The diffidence and hang-all attitude Liam had liked in the man was gone, replaced with a sort of uneasy respect.
Coeccias had been telling stories about the investigation, Liam knew, and portraying him as some sort of omniscient seerinto men's souls, whose only weakness was a certain queasiness at the sight of blood. He was surprised to find that he did not mind the picture as much as he might have. He felt a little guilty because the result was more Luck than omniscience, but at heart he was secretly pleased.
Boult also brought a note from the Aedile. It was very short, scrawled wildly across a piece of paper. In it, Coeccias invited him to dinner the next day, —and mentioned that Necquer had recovered completely from the santhract. Finally, he wrote that Scar, Ratface and their friend had been caught, and were currently residing in the Aedile's jail awaiting judgement.
Liam asked Boult to tell Coeccias that he would come to dinner.
Between all of this, he stood on the beach, or sat on the balustrade of the veranda, and scanned the sky for signs of Fanuilh. The little dragon did not return for three days.
His feelings were mixed about the creature. It had lied to him when it said it was still too weak to fly, and he knew that it had followed him to Rora. That bothered him, but he reflected that there was little he could have done about it. The dragon could see into his head at will.
That, really, was what bothered him most, and he thought angrily of their deal. And he had thought of something he had to attend to, with which the dragon might help.
Wake. Wake.
On the morning of the fourth day after Rora's death, he was wandering in a dream through the old temple, and the walls were inscribed again with the single word:
Wake. Wake.
He woke on the couch, and looked deep into the dragon's glittering cat's eyes.
"You're back," he muttered.
Yes, Master. I had to hunt, and I thought you would be angry with me.
Sitting on its haunches, neck bent, Fanuilh looked like a dog awaiting a well-earned whipping.
"I was," Liam agreed, putting his feet to the floor and running a hand through his tousled hair. He was much calmer than he had thought he would be. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her."
The thought was a long time forming: It seemed appropriate. She killed Master Tanaquil. Another idea formed, very quickly, and just as quickly disappeared. When we joined, it came to me that it was something you would do.
"Me? You mean you got the idea from me?"
Yes. You did such a thing once.
Liam laughed, but it was bitter, the kind of laughter he directed at himself. "Yes, I did. But I was much younger then. Much younger. And I've paid for it as well. He had an insight into the creature's nature, how little it understood of men, and how it must pick and choose its ideas from its master.
I am sorry, Master.
There was a long pause.
"Then you recognize me as your master?"
Yes.
"And you'll fulfill your part of the bargain?"
I will serve you as you wish. I have done what I ... There was a break in the solid thought, as though Fanuilh had never used the concept in connection with itself before .... what I wanted.
"You'll teach me how to keep you out of my head?"
Anything you wish, Master.
"Do you know what I want to do now? What I want to take care of?"
Yes. The dragon lowered its head, as if ashamed to admit that it could still read his mind.
"Can you help me with this thing I have in mind?"
Yes.
"You'd best tell me how. I want to do it today."
With
