Стивен Браст - Tiassa

A few people came in and found tables; I guess it was still pretty early as Teckla saw things. And then, a number of them probably had to walk in from miles away once the work was done. I remembered from my travels that Teckla did a lot of walking. So far, all of them were Teckla; I had the feeling that if an aristocrat were to walk in here no one would know what to do.

I cleared my throat. “We were talking,” I said, “about Zhayin’s wife. What was her name?”

“Her Ladyship.”

“That was her name?”

“The only name I knew.”

I nodded. “So, what happened to her?”

“I don’t know. We were never told.”

“What was the gossip?”

She laughed. “That one of His Lordship’s experiments had gotten out of control. That she had killed herself in despair at his violating the laws of nature. That a god had appeared and taken her to be his bride. That he had killed her when she threatened to go to the Duke about his illegal magic. That he had sacrificed her to gain power. Would you like me to go on?”

“No, no. I get the idea. Who would know?”

“His Lordship.”

“Thanks so much.”

She shrugged.

“All right, who else would know?”

She considered. “Maybe Hevlika.”

I nodded. “Maybe there’s some way I could meet her.”

“She should be along soon.”

“What? Here? She drinks here?”

“She dances here, two or three times a week.”

“Oh. I thought she only danced for Zhayin.”

She frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“No reason.”

She gave me a look and grunted, and a few more people came in. I’d been at events—plays and concerts—where there was a lot of excitement as the opening drew close, and this didn’t feel like that. It was more relaxed, like, what was going to happen was a part of the evening, less a special event, more like an Endweek dinner: anticipated, but nothing to burn the chairs for.

I got us another round of drinks. I should add that the hostess collected from me when she brought the drinks; for everyone else, she just made marks on a board behind the bar. To be fair, I don’t know if that was because I was human or because I was a stranger.

I waited for the show to start.

A few more people came in and found seats; then a few more, who stood against the wall because they’d run out of chairs. The hostess was moving like a Dzur in battle getting everyone drinks.

And then she arrived: Hevlika, looking just as I remembered her. She smiled and nodded as she walked toward the stage. A man was with her, a Teckla, and he carried an instrument I recognized as a lant. He found a stool that had been set aside near the side of the stage, and began tuning while Hevlika went around the room saying hello to people and generally being gracious as only an Issola can. I touched Lady Teldra’s hilt and remembered things I don’t feel like talking about.

Eventually she made her way to the stage, had a whispered conversation with the lant player, and started.

I’ve described her dancing before, I won’t try to do it again. I will say it wasn’t until she was done that I realized she’d done all of that on a stage barely big enough for a full split (that’s what they call it when they spread their legs and smack their crotch on the stage; I know stuff). Just the fact that I never noticed how cramped she must have been is a testament. I wish I knew more about dance so I could describe it better. I’ll say the Teckla liked it: they all seemed to be holding their breath, and everyone’s eyes got as big and round as Ouffach’s. I think Hevlika must have danced for an hour or more without a break, although it didn’t seem like it at the time. When she was done, they all yelled and cried and stomped their feet, and I did, too, and I sat there wondering how many thousands of hours it takes to get every little muscle in your body to be able to do exactly what you want, down to the tiniest flutter, and then to coordinate it to music. You want to talk magic, that’s magic.

It calmed down, and they left the stage, but no one left—it seemed that after the show they went around and talked to everyone again, saying hello, laughing and smiling a lot. She was an Issola; I should get used to it.

As she finished speaking to people, the ones who had said hello to her would slowly say their good-byes and make their way out the door, like this was a regular part of the festivities. Eventually, Hevlika and the Teckla made their way to our table. They looked a little startled to see me, but smiled, and then greeted Ouffach by name. They received our compliments on the performance with modest grace, and made sure we understood how much they enjoyed it.

When they moved on to the next table, Ouffach stood up with a grunt and said, “Have I earned the coins?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

She nodded. “Then I’ll bid you a good evening, Easterner. I have kethna to feed in the morning.”

“‘Or there will be no bacon for Endweek.’” I completed. Her lips twitched. I stood up and bowed, which seemed to charm her. It’s what comes of hanging around with Issola. She left; I sat down and waited.

“How long, Boss?”

“A while yet. Sorry.”

“All right.”

I ordered another beer. Compared to the wine, it was spectacular. I waited until Hevlika and the musician had spoken to everyone, by which time the place was empty except for them, the tired-looking hostess, and one old guy snoring behind a wall of empty cups. As Hevlika went by me, I said, “May I trouble you for a moment’s conversation, my lady?”

This is not the kind of question an Issola finds it easy to say no to; she nodded with no hesitation and sat down. The musician picked up that I was interested in talking to her rather than them , so he smiled to both of us and headed out, instrument over his shoulder like a Dragonlord carries his pike.

“Can I buy you a beer? I’d offer you wine, but believe me, you don’t want it.”

She smiled and turned to the hostess, who nodded and returned with a wine bottle and two glasses. She poured it for us. It was a very, very dark red, but after raising a glass in thanks to Hevlika, I tasted it, and was pleasantly surprised. The hostess stood there and waited until I paid her, then grunted, left the bottle, and shuffled off.

“I guess they keep this around for you,” I said.

She smiled. “I’m Hevlika.”

“I’m … Szurke.”

She caught the hesitation and I shrugged. “I pick among several different names,” I said. “I decided you deserved the best.”

“You’re very kind. What did you wish to talk about?”

“The late wife of Lord Zhayin.”

There should have been at least a small sense of triumph in shocking an Issola, but in fact I felt sort of bad. I waited while she drank some wine and recovered.

“Her Ladyship,” she said at last. I guess that really was her name. Must have been interesting when she was a child.

I nodded. “I’ve heard that something happened to her. What was it?”

“May I ask why you wish to know?”

That’s the thing about Issola: because you know how hard it is for them to say no, you have just as much trouble saying no to them. “It’s complicated,” I said at last. “It involves a big house near Adrilankha, the Halls of Judgment, passages through ti—”

“The Halls of Judgment,” she repeated.

I nodded.

She drank some more wine. “That’s where it happened,” she said at last. Her eyes lost focus.

“What happened?” I said after a moment.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. No one knows, exactly.”