Part 8 (1/2)
”Yes. As always. Not that you're doing the work for free.”
”The wife wouldn't like it.”
”She wouldn't like being used as an excuse much either, unless you've got a new wife I haven't met.”
Taybor's laugh was a short burst of sound, just shy of a snort. But there was genuine affection in it. ”Same old wife,” he said, with the hint of a smile. ”Same old shop.
”But I'll tell you, Rath, if she were here helping out, she'd tan your hide.”
”I am not involved with a child.”
”No. But she's here, isn't she?” And he nodded to the window beneath the bars he was erecting.
”She's here.”
”Why?”
”Do I ask you about your business?”
”Frequently.”
”That would be considered making polite small talk in other parts of town,” Rath replied. ”It's not as if I actually care.”
Taybor laughed again. He was a short man, almost as wide around the chest as he was tall, with a shock of hair that would be called red in anyone's estimate. None of the girth could be called fat, although his wife, Marjorie, often did. She was, on the other hand, the only person who could without suffering for it.
”Marjorie would probably approve,” Rath added.
”Oh?”
”The girl's ill. No, I don't know with what. It's not the usual Summer diseases-at least not the ones I've seen.”
”You've not caught anything?”
”Not yet.” He would have coughed, but he didn't trust Taybor's humor to extend that far. In the Summer, the crippling disease was not a joking matter, and many healthy men were suspicious of anything that could lead to it.
”So . . . you're being a nursemaid, now?”
”Business is slow,” Rath said, with a shrug. ”Good work,” he added, as he made show of examining Taybor's bars.
Taybor snorted. The sound was not unlike Jewel's snort, except for the nose that emitted it. The older nose had been broken at least once that Rath personally knew of. ”That slow?”
Rath shrugged. ”I found her by the river. She was living under a bridge.” He paused. ”She'd stolen some money.”
”Yours?”
”Would I care if it were anyone else's?”
”Not usually, no. Then again, you wouldn't usually bring a thief home and put her to bed either.”
”I should have blackened both her eyes.”
”Marjorie wouldn't have complained much, if you explained why.”
”Hah. You've forgotten your wife's temper.”
”She does have a bit of a soft spot for starving children. Comes from all that work in the Mother's temple, I imagine. You want me to take the kid?”
Yes. Yes, Rath wanted that. But the word that came out was No.
”You're going soft, Rath,” Taybor said, as he stretched his shoulders and stepped back to examine his work. He stood on the bars; they took his weight. ”Door, too?”
”Same as usual.”
It was too much to hope that the conversation had ended, although Rath did try to steer it in a dozen other directions. Taybor was a good locksmith, and a pa.s.sably good blacksmith as well-but he was ferociously focused; once he'd glommed onto something, he let go when he was good and ready. Rath had seen bulldogs with less of a grip.
”If you're going soft,” Taybor said, as he examined the single lock on the door, ”you should be about ready for another line of work.”
”That is getting dangerously close to the thin line,” Rath replied.
The lock being examined was beneath Taybor's contempt. He spared it a cursory, d.a.m.ning glance, and then set about disa.s.sembling it; Rath held the magelight. There wasn't enough to work by otherwise.
”Thin or no, Rath, I mean it. If you've taken this girl in, you're changing. If you're about to tell me you're not, I'll believe you-but in that case, it's no life for a girl.”
”And life under a bridge, starving slowly, is?”
Taybor's friendly face folded a moment in what pa.s.sed for a thoughtful expression. ”No,” he said at last. ”I a.s.sume she's got no kin?”
”None that are living.”
”She told you?”
”More or less.”
”No siblings?”
”None that she mentioned.” He paused and then added, ”She is feverish, Taybor.”
”Meaning you haven't asked.”
”As a rule, I don't ask more than I need to. Information is-”
”I know, I know. The Mother's temple-”
Rath shook his head.
”Look, I know you don't hold much with the G.o.ds. I'm fine with that. But the people there do good work. Marjorie-”
”Let it go.” Rath leaned up against a wall. ”It's not as if I intend to keep her.”
”You don't?”