Steven Brust - Agyar

“I thought you could tell me my future.”

She snorted. “My crystal ball isn’t here. What do you want?”

I shrugged. “I dislike standing by the door. Can we meet somewhere?”

“Do you think I’m so foolish?”

“Au contraire, as my friend the ghost likes to say. I believe you are wise enough to take precautions, and intelligent enough to know what precautions to take. As it happens, I have no desire to harm you in any way; but I am wise enough not to expect you to believe me and intelligent enough to invite any reasonable alternative.”

She stared at me for a moment more, looking me dead in the eye as if to tell me I could do nothing to her, which may even have been true. Then she nodded. “There is a cafe in the hotel downstairs; I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

She snorted a little. “Very well. I will see you in a moment.”

I returned to the street and found a dark place to await the redoubtable lady and keep an eye out for the police, just in case she thought to call them on me. I decided that I liked her; I hoped I wouldn’t have to kill her.

Twenty minutes later she came out of the door, helped by two walking sticks. She was heavily muffled against the weather, wearing a dark wool coat and a matching hat and scarf, thick woolen mittens with little metal clasps attaching them to her coat sleeves, such as children wear so they don’t lose their mittens. I suspect that she had made most of the items herself.

She looked around for me and I stepped up next to her. She didn’t jump; she just scowled and said, “Come along.” She didn’t have much trouble walking in spite of the icy sidewalk, I suppose because of years of practice and the shortness of her steps. A boy of about eighteen was spreading salt on the sidewalk as we walked by, but it hadn’t started working yet.

I followed her into the cafe, which consisted of about ten green plastic booths and some stools arranged in a long rectangle. The interior decoration was chrome, except for additional aesthetic statements provided by the coats hanging on racks which were attached to the end of each booth; patrons sitting at the counter were, I suppose, expected to leave their coats on.

It was just past the dinner hour, so, while there was no one in line ahead of us, we had to wait almost five minutes for them to clean off a table; five minutes which my companion spent complaining loudly about being made to wait standing. A harried-looking but not unattractive middle-aged waitress offered her a seat at the counter while she waited, an offer that was declined with a sniff.

At last we were shown to a booth. I helped her with her coat, removed my own; I saw from the thin gold chains around her neck that my companion, who wore a severe black dress, had not neglected anything; we sat down. The silver was ugly, and set on a paper place mat full of pictures of covered bridges; it had been printed by the Lakota tourist bureau and should have been called, “What to avoid in Ashtabula County.”

My dinner partner propped her canes against the booth, and set her purse next to her. She picked up the one-page plastic menu from behind the napkin holder, glanced at it, and said, “Well? The beef stew is good. Or perhaps some chili since the day is so cold?”

“Funny,” I said. “Thanks just the same, I think I’ll pass this time.”

She sniffed, replaced the menu, and folded her hands in front of her. She said, “No doubt. Well, then, let’s get on with it. What do you want?”

“Coffee?” said the waitress, coming up behind me.

“Please,” I said. “Half a cup.”

“Tea,” said my companion. “With lemon.”

The waitress went away, and came back presently with a little tin of hot water and a bag of Lipton’s. She poured me half a cup of coffee, learned that I didn’t need cream, and was informed that we would not be ordering food, which didn’t seem to bother her. She went away.

The old woman put the tea bag in the thick ceramic cup and poured the water over it, scowling as if it had offended her in some way. “What do you want from me?” she said.

“As I said, I want to know my future.”

“You know your future as well as I do; the only question is when, and you are aware, I think, that I would not tell you that even if I could. What do you want?”

So much for polite conversation. I said, “You know who Jill Quarrier is.”

“Of course.”

“Then you ought to know that she failed.”

The old woman frowned. “Failed?”

“She didn’t have what it took.”

“She couldn’t have-”

“If I had left her alone, it might have been different. Then again, it might not have.”

She glared at me. “What have you done to her?”

“She lives.”

“How do you mean that?”

“As you do. She breathes, her heart beats, she eats and drinks and tells jokes.”

The old woman sniffed. “Well?”

“Well, I want to know how she did it.”

She scowled at me. After a moment, she said, “What’s the difference? It failed.”

“It failed because, as I said, she didn’t have what it took after I interrupted the proceedings. I do, no matter who interrupts me.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t necessary that you understand. I am bound in a certain way by a certain person. I wish to free myself. I didn’t think it could be done, but you and Jill have shown me that I am wrong.”

“How? If-”

“She came very close.”

“I see.”

She sipped at her tea, glared at it, then glared at me. “Why should I help you?” she said.

“Jill Quarrier,” I said.

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“She is mine. I own her. I can do what I will to her. After her attempt to escape me, I put her in the hospital. I can do so again. And again. Eventually, I will have all of her.”

“You-”

“She is expected to get out tomorrow or the next day.”

Her mouth worked up and down, without ever closing completely. If looks could kill and so on. “I can put such protections on her that-”

“Against her will?”

“What do you mean, against her will?”

“I mean against my will. Think about it.”

She did so, grinding her teeth. I wondered if they were real. After a long time, she took another sip of tea, forgetting even to scowl at it. At length, she said, “What exactly are you offering?”

“Jill. Her life, her health, her freedom.”

“In exchange for telling you how to break free from whoever is binding you?”

“Exactly.”

“How do I know you will keep your end of the bargain?”

“You don’t. But you know what will happen to Jill if you refuse.”

“It will happen anyway,” she snapped. “And you know it-”

“Rubbish. If I release her, and leave her alone, she will live a full and normal life.”

“Yes, until she dies.”

“We’re all in for that eventually.”

“But when she dies-”

“She will be embalmed. Or maybe cremated.”

Her mouth worked again, this time from side to side, as if she were having trouble with her teeth. “What is it you want to be released from?”

“The same as Jill.”

She stared at me. “I have lived for many years, and I have seen my share of evil, but-”

“Spare me.”

“Spare you? How amusing. Perhaps someday you will beg me for exactly that.”

“Not likely,” I said. “And it might not be clever of you to make me think that I would rest easier with you dead.”

“I don’t fear you.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

She snorted. “And the Devil is quoting Shakespear.”

“Oh, hardly the Devil, I think.”