She looked at him. “It isn’t going to do me any good to ask why, is it?”
“Not yet. Try.”
“Try! I’ll do it! Are you going to take me to that dreadful dive back in the
Maze?”
“A bunny in the lions’ lair! Never!”
“What about to bed? Are you ever going to take me to bed?”
He repeated his previous utterance.
No, Strick was told, Avenestra was not in the Golden Lizard. No, she had not drunk anything and she had not stayed the second night. But she had been in four times, asking after him. She had bidden the proprietor mention… Uncle Ahdio?
Strick smiled, paid for two more days/nights and made his thoughtful way back to the Golden 0. There he was confronted by a certain caravan guard. Solemnly
Fulcris turned up the sword-arm sleeve of his tunic.
“The wound is fine,” he said. “And by the very beard of Yaguixana, I’d wager there will be no scar, either!”
“Told you, Fulcris. I know a good wound when I see one. What are your plans for
“
“It’s not going to be that easy, my friend. What did you do? What have you done?”
“In addition to which,” a new voice asked, “what are you, Strick?”
Strick looked at him, eyes large. “Hello, Ahdio.”
“You might as well call me Uncle Ahdio. Avenestra does. And now I have a non drinker cluttering up my place!”
Strick didn’t laugh. “You know what I am, Ahdio. Just understand this: It is what Sanctuary needs most. It’s all white.”
“All, Strick? Always?”
Strick met his eyes and put force into his gaze. “All, Ahdio, always. It’s a vow-and don’t question me that way again.”
Ahdio returned the gaze, his head moving almost imperceptibly in the mere hint of a nod. “I believe you. I even apologize.”