door. Each, through the vent, requested healing service. Stulwig sent the men
down the street to Kurd; and they departed in their considerably separated
times, silently accepting.
Stulwig hesitated when he heard the woman’s voice. She was a long-time patient,
and would pay in gold. Nevertheless, he finally directed her to a healer named
Nemis. When the woman objected, he gave as his excuse that he had eaten bad
food, and was not well. She seemed to accept that; for she went off, also.
Shortly after midnight there was a fourth hesitant knock. It was Illyra. As he
heard her whisper, something inside Stulwig leaped with excitement. She had
come, she said, as they had agreed upon that morning. .
An exultant Stulwig unlocked the door. Admitted her. Motioned her towards his
bedroom. And, as she went with a heavy rustling of her numerous skirts, he
barricaded the door again.
Moments later, he was snuffing out the candles, and flinging off his clothes.
And then in pitch darkness he joined her in the bed. As he located her naked
body, he had no sense of guilt; no feeling of being wrong.
In Sanctuary everybody knew the game. There were no prissies. Every woman was
someone’s mistress whether she liked it or not. Every man was out for himself,
and took advantage where he could. There were, true, codes of honour and
religion. But they did not apply to love, liquor, or making a living. You drove
the hardest bargain right now.
The opportunity seen. Instantly, the mind wildly scanned the possibilities. Then
came the initial outrageous demand, thereupon negotiated downward by the equally