Part 27 (2/2)

Her beloved Torve, genuine but false, open but keeper of secrets. Victim of a hidden compulsion, if her guess was accurate. Well, more than a guess. Something kept his mouth closed when he desperately wanted to open it. Worse, the compulsion seemed now to extend to personal matters.

He made her feel so good, and so bad. Every time he opened his mouth she hoped it would be to talk to her, to tell her private, special things. Every time he looked at her she searched for the numbers that told her, far more eloquently than his words or glances could, that he loved her. But he had not said anything beyond the normal functional things one travelling companion would say to another. She often found herself looking at him, watching the way his calf muscles moved as he walked, wis.h.i.+ng she could run her hands over his broad shoulders or kiss those dark lips. And other things. The weight of him, the feel of him, his urgency, his catching breath. His beautiful numbers and their intriguing patterns. Oh, she was glad none of her companions could read her mind. How Rouza and Palain would have ridiculed her had they known! Of course, they were dead now, killed in the ambush in the Valley of the d.a.m.ned.

It seemed that the hole in the world wanted to kill everybody. Perhaps the Son could not re-enter the world until sufficient nodes had been removed. Surely someone, somewhere, knew how he might be stopped.

Their host returned and sniffed at the cauldron. 'Just a moment longer,' she said, smiling as though she was about to solve every one of the mysteries bothering Lenares. 'Then the blend will mend your problems, as we say in Ikhnos.'

'How does it work?' Lenares asked, curious. She ignored the stare from Dryman. You can't touch me, you bully.

The woman beamed at her as though she'd just been acclaimed queen of the realm. 'Every person is a combination of four humours, madam. Virility, sobriety, congeniality and activity. The ”Four Teas”, we call them.' She paused.

In the past Lenares would not have known what the pause was for, but she had learned. The woman wanted them to laugh. Lenares could not identify any humour in her words, but she found her own unintentional pun funny so she laughed. Their host was pleased.

'The traditional method of making tea gives us the time to a.s.sess each partic.i.p.ant,' she continued. 'Your companions are mysterious, with their dusky skin and strange eyes, but I think I have their measure. You, dear, are an open book to me, and I believe I have just the drink for you. It will relax your body while stimulating your mind, an organ you put much store in. Am I right?'

'You are,' Lenares replied, smiling faintly. Guesswork. The woman can tell I use my mind because I ask lots of questions.

'Ah, you doubt me,' the woman said. 'Everyone does at first. The Yacoppica Cliffs Tea House prides itself on the skill of its readers, as we are known. We offer you this test. Take a sip from the cup of each of your companions. Should you find their infusions more pleasurable than your own, we will refund your money.'

Dryman looked up. 'That is fair,' he said. 'Now, enough of the fairground fakery. Fetch us our drinks. We would be out of here within the hour.'

'Fakery? One wonders why you have availed yourself of our services if you do not believe in their efficacy.' Her voice rose as she spoke and the skin around her eyes tightened.

'Just get our tea, woman,' Dryman growled.

'Rude as well as a bully,' Lenares said as the woman walked away, their cauldron in hand, her back ramrod-stiff.

'Oh, come, cosmographer. You can see as well as I just how foolish all this is.'

'I thought I was the insensitive one,' she said. 'Rouza and Palain tell me all the time I can't tell a pig from s.h.i.+t. But you deliberately try to hurt people.'

As she said the words, two heretofore separate numbers came together. Oh, oh. Torve, oh.

'Then I am better than you,' he said, 'since you only hurt people by accident. At least I can put their pain to some use.'

Torve glanced up, the surprise on his face a confirmation. Dryman smiled, the expression reflecting thoughts he no doubt considered secret. Another person to underestimate her.

Now I know what you do, she thought as she observed the mercenary. All I have to do is find out who you are.

Their host returned, four cups on a tray, and placed one in front of each of their party without a word. She was still upset but was trying to be professional. On an impulse, Lenares put out her hand to the woman.

'Wait a moment,' she said. 'Would you please give us a fifth cup? Make this for someone strong and powerful who has been imprisoned most of his life. Someone who has hopes of freedom.'

'Oh, yes?' The woman's brows rose. 'And where is this person?'

'I have high hopes he will make an appearance before the ceremony is over,' Lenares said. Her impulse felt better and better the more she reflected upon it. Create a G.o.d-shaped hole...

'Which of the four humours does he favour?' the woman asked, again pleased Lenares showed an interest.

'Virility and activity,' the cosmographer replied promptly.

'Oh, my dear,' said the woman, her smile broadening. 'When your friend does arrive, would you advise him I would be happy to a.s.sess him more closely?'

Another double meaning. Was conversation never free of them? Lenares had no intention of exposing this kind woman to their potential fifth guest. Nevertheless, she nodded. Only a few months ago she would not have been able to lie, even by nodding 'yes' when she meant 'no'.

The woman went off, and returned a minute later with a small cup, hardly larger than a thimble, from which thick fumes wafted.

'You tell your friend to drink this slowly,' she said. 'There's enough here to slow down the most ardent of suitors. That's if you want him slowed down.' She winked at the girl, then nodded towards where Dryman and Torve sat, heads together, deep in conversation. 'His fault if he hasn't been listening.'

Oh. Had she misunderstood the woman? A deep fear speared through her: was her growing insight into conversation coming at the expense of her unique number-based vision?

Think about that later.

'Come and drink your tea,' she said quietly, aiming her voice along the pattern of numbers she had discerned, the link into the hole in the world. 'Come on, it's getting cold.' Like a mother entreating a child.

And he came.

There was no compulsion, Lenares knew that. All she was doing was offering the most tenuous of invitations. Not too strong, lest she aid him in tearing the hole wider. No more solid than the wisps of steam now forming a shape, a face, a taloned hand.

The three men couldn't see him. Why should they? Would she have seen the G.o.d's face in a steaming cup of tea had she not been looking for it?

His hands, no more than a sketch in mist, were fine-boned and lovely. His face...his face...

A brow twitched, the lips pursed. Are you surprised? she asked Lenares.

'Yes,' Lenares whispered, and she was. Her invitation had drawn the Daughter, not the Son. Something was wrong. She had made a mistake somewhere.

Both eyebrows rose, pulling the eyes open. Disappointed?

'No. You were so kind. You saved me in the House of-in your house. You let me sit on your seat.'

A beatific smile, eyes still wide open, inviting. I could let you have more than that.

'Lenares? Who are you talking to?' Torve asked. The breath in his words rippled through the steam, contorting the Daughter's beautiful face, making the eyes asymmetrical and the mouth sag open as though she were a madman.

'Torve, be quiet!' Lenares snapped. Torve pulled back as though slapped.

'Come back, come back,' she whispered. 'Have some of the tea. Our host says you'll like it.'

The face had not rea.s.sembled itself, but the clawed hand, outlined in steam, took the cup-and lifted it.

Were the others seeing this? Did they note how the steam arced downwards, creating a loop? That it raised the small cup? Did they see the liquid disappear?

Colour spread through the vapour. Pale pink, filling in cheeks and chin. Green eyes, the tips of blonde hair. Red lips, parting to speak.

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