“So people can live in the desert.”
“People do live in the desert. I live in the desert.”
Del sighed a little. “Tiger, I am only telling you what I heard. Have I said I believed any of it? Have I said I believed in Oracles or jhihadis?”
Not exactly. But she sounded halfway convinced.
I shrugged, started to say something, was interrupted by an arrival. A man stood by our table. Southroner, by the look of him; dark-haired, dark-eyed, tanned skin. About forty or so, and showing all his teeth. Some of them were missing.
“Sandtiger?” he asked.
I nodded wearily; I wasn’t in the mood.
The smile widened. “Ah, so I thought! He described you very well.” He bowed briefly, flicked a glance at Del, looked immediately back to me. “May I have more aqivi sent over? It would be an honor to buy you a jug.”
“Wait,” I suggested. “Who described me so well?”
“Your son, of course. And he was quite complimentary—” He frowned minutely. “Although he said nothing of a beard.”
I wasn’t concerned about the beard. Only about my “son.” Evenly, I asked. “What was his name? Did my ‘son’ give you a name?”
The man frowned briefly, considered it, then shook his head. “No. No, he didn’t. He said merely he was the Sandtiger’s cub, and told us stories about your adventures.”
“Adventures,” I echoed. “I’m beginning to wonder about them myself.” I pushed back my stool and rose. “Thanks for the offer, but I have an appointment. Perhaps tomorrow night.”
The man was clearly disappointed, but made no protest. He bowed himself out of my way and went back to his friends at another table.
Del, still seated, smiled. “Does the girl win her wager, then?”
“What girl—oh. No.” I scowled. “I’m going to the inn. Do you want to come?”
“Tired already? But you’ve only had one jug of aqivi.” Del rose smoothly. “It was like this in Ysaa-den, too … perhaps age has slowed you down.” She shoved her stool back under the table. “Or is it knowing you have a son?”
“No,” I said testily, “it’s carrying this sword.”
Del went out of the cantina ahead of me and stepped into the dark street. “Why should carrying that sword make you feel tired?”
“Because Chosa Dei wants out.”
Del gestured. “This way.” Then, as we walked, “It’s getting worse, then.”
I shrugged. “Let’s just say, Chosa has finally realized what sort of prison he’s in.”
“You have to be stronger, Tiger. You have to be vigilant.”
“What I have to be, bascha, is rid of Chosa Dei.” I sidestepped a puddle of urine. “Where is this inn with the chatty innkeeper?”
“Right here,” Del answered, turning away from the street. “I told him you would pay.”
“I’d pay! Why? Don’t you have any coin?”
Del shook her head. “I paid swordgild to Staal-Ysta. I have nothing at all.”
It silenced me. I’d forgotten about swordgild, the blood-money owed Staal-Ysta if a life were ended unfairly. The voca had taken everything from Del: money, daughter, lifestyle. I’d nearly taken her life.
We went inside the inn and called for the innkeeper, who came out from behind a curtained divider. He took my coin, nodded his thanks, then welcomed me warmly. “It is an honor having the Sandtiger as a guest.”
I muttered appropriate things, then added an extra coin. “I want a bath in the morning. And I want the water hot.”
“I will see to it myself.” Then, as I turned toward the curtain, “I have given you the same room I gave your son. I thought it might please you. And he liked hot water, too.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
“Never mind,” Del said.
“I don’t have—”
“Never mind, Tiger.” And pushed me through the curtain.
Four
With knees doubled up nearly to chin, I sat gingerly in hot water. It wasn’t particularly comfortable—the innkeeper’s cask was too small—but at least I could get wet. Part of me, anyway; the rest would have to be hand-washed instead of soaking clean.
Del came in without knocking, carrying a bundle. “A pretty sight,” she observed. And then, half-hiding a smile—but only half-heartedly—she suggested a larger cask. “You don’t really fit in this one.”
I scowled at her blackly. “I’d like a bigger cask. I’d love a bigger cask. This is all there is.”
She perched herself on the edge of my fragile bed, observing my cramped position. “If you had to get out of that quickly, I don’t think you could.”