‘Tapster! Your best dinner for my guest, and all he can drink tonight!’
‘For such liberal guesting I’ll not haggle about the service,’ Cappen Varra
said, and set to the smoking dishes brought before him. As he ate, Lythande drew
from the folds of his robe a small pouch containing a quantity of sweet-smelling
herbs, rolled them into a blue-grey leaf, and touched his ring to spark the roll
alight. He drew on the smoke, which drifted up sweet and greyish.
‘As for the service, it is nothing so great; tell me all you know of this other
wizard who wears the blue star. I know of none other of my order south of
Azehur, and I would be certain you did not see me, nor my wraith.’
Cappen Varra sucked at a marrow-bone and wiped his fingers fastidiously on the
tray-cloth beneath the meats. He bit into a ginger-fruit before replying.
‘Not you, wizard, nor your fetch or doppelganger; this one had shoulders
brawnier by half, and he wore no sword, but two daggers cross-girt astride his
hips. His beard was black; and his left hand missing three fingers.’
‘Us of the Thousand Eyes! Rabben the Half-handed, here in Sanctuary! Where did
you see him, minstrel?’
‘I saw him crossing the bazaar; but he bought nothing that I saw. And I saw him
in the Street of Red Lanterns, talking to a woman. What service am I to do for
you, magician?’
‘You have done it.’ Lythande gave silver to the tavern keeper – so much that the
surly man bade Shalpa’s cloak cover him as he went – and laid another coin, gold
this time, beside the borrowed lute. –