“is that I’ve agreed to advise her in the future. I felt it would be wise to be sure that her development followed patterns suitable to our goals.”
“Of course,” Saliman nodded. “It’s always best to plan for the long term.”
They had been together a long time, and Saliman knew better than to point out to
Jubal when he was using logic to try to hide his own sentimentality.
THE TIE THAT BINDS
Diane Duane
Pillars of fire and other such events notwithstanding, people in Sanctuary have routines, just as they do everywhere else in the world. Dawn comes up and thieves steal home from work, slipping into shambly buildings or into early opening taverns for a bite and sup or some early fencing. Brothel-less whores slouch out of the Promise of Heaven, or make their way up from the foggy streets by the river, to go yawning back to their garrets or cellars before the sun makes too much mockery of their paint. And people of other walks of life fullers, butchers, the stallkeepers of the Bazaar-drag themselves groaning or sighing out of their beds to face the annoyances of another day.
On this particular summer morning, one fragment of routine stepped out of a door in a much-rundown house near the Maze. People who lived in the street and were going about their own routines knew better than to stare at her, the tall handsome young woman with the oddly fashioned linen robes and the raven hair.
One or two early travelers, out of their normal neighborhoods, did stare at her.
She glared at them out of fierce gray eyes, but said nothing-merely slammed the door behind her.