“I have to go now.” He swallowed. “Got an appointment, you know.”
“Young man.”
Hanse swallowed again. “Name’s Hanse, ma’am.”
“Hanse, then. And I am called the Termagant. You know that I am the senior amoushem; first among the S’danzo with the Ability. Moonflower liked you. I know, and Mignureal . . . well. I admit that I never had much-I never had any use for you. That has changed. You may consider me friend. Hanse.
Still again Hanse swallowed. It was his way not to act honored, but he could not escape the feeling that this was like being acknowledged friend by the Prince-Governor, as he had been. Suddenly his stance changed, and his grin was the old cocky one.
“My occupation hasn’t changed. Termagant.”
She blinked. “I do not hear you. A friend entrusted a bag of money to you for her father, and you brought it this long way.”
Damn! “Uh . . . well, that’s different. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“What?”
Hanse shrugged. “I’ve got my reputation to think of.”
“But young ma- Hanse, it is a bad reputation!”
Hanse nodded. “It’s mine, Termagant.”
Between the old woman and her father, with her arm around him, Jileel giggled.
The Termagant shook her head. “I, however, have spoken. You are to consider me friend, Hanse.”
“I’ll remember. I have to go now.”
As he left, he heard the Termagant’s voice: “Very well now, Jileel, let’s test you again to see if that really was the Sight . . .”
Hanse hurried on, clucking to Notable, thinking of the considerable amount of money he had secretly left with that banker in Firaqa for Mignue, dear Mignue …