In a day or two she would fire up the kiln.
It was late and this was no time to be thinking the heavy, turgid thoughts that now threatened to reach up and take hold of her weary mind. Regret has a flavour and it is stale, and all the cups of tea in the world could do nothing to wash it away.
The scratching at the door brought her round-some drunk at the wrong house, no doubt. She was in no mood to answer.
Now knuckles, tapping with muted urgency.
Tiserra tossed the towel down, rubbed absently at her aching wrist, then collected one of the heavier stirring sticks from the glaze table and approached the door. ‘Wrong house,’ she said loudly. ‘Go on, now!’
A fist thumped.
Raising the stick, Tiserra unlatched the door and swung it back.
The man stepping into the threshold was wearing a stupid grin.
One she knew well, had known for years, although it had been some time since she had last seen it. Lowering the stick, she sighed. ‘Torvald Nom. You’re late.’
‘Sorry, love,’ he replied. ‘I got waylaid. Slavers. Ocean voyages, Toblakal, dhenrabi, torture and crucifixion, a sinking ship ‘
‘I had no idea going out for a loaf of bread could be so dangerous.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘the whole mess started with me hearing about a debt. One I didn’t know I had. That bastard Gareb set me up, said I owed him when I didn’t, but that’s not something one can argue, not without an advocate-which we couldn’t afford-’
‘I know all about Gareb,’ Tiserra replied. ‘His thugs visited here often enough once you disappeared, and yes, I did need an advocate-to get Gareb to back off.’
‘He was threatening you?’
‘He claimed that your debt was my debt, dear husband. Of course that’s nonsense. Even after I won that challenge, he had me followed around. For months. Suspected you were in hiding somewhere and I was delivering food and the like, I suppose. I can’t tell you how much fun that was. Why can’t I, Torvald? Because it wasn’t. Fun, that is. Not fun at all.’
‘I’m home now,’ Torvald said, trying the smile again. ‘Wealthy, too. No more debt-I’m clearing that in the morning, straight away. And no more low-grade temper for your clay either. And a complete replenishment of your herbs, tinctures and such-speaking of which, just to be safe we should probably put together a ritual or two-’
‘Oh, really? You’ve been stealing again, haven’t you? Tripped a few wards, did you? Got a bag of coins all glowing with magic, have you?’
‘And gems and diamonds. It was only proper, love, honest. A wrongful debt dealt with wrongfully, the two happily cancelling each other out, leaving everything rightful!’
She snorted, then stepped back and let him inside. ‘I don’t believe I’m buying all this.’
‘You know I never lie to you, Tis. Never.’
‘So who did you rob tonight?’
‘Why, Gareb, of course. Cleaned him out, in fact.’
Tiserra stared at him. ‘Oh, husband.’
‘I know, I’m a genius. Now, about those wards-as soon as he can, he’ll bring in some mages to sniff out the whereabouts of his loot.’
‘Yes, Torvald, I grasp the situation well enough. You know where the secret hole is-drop the bag in there, if you please, while I get started on the rest.’
But he had not moved. ‘Still love me?’ he asked.
Tiserra turned and met his eyes. ‘Always, y’damned fool. Now hurry.’
Glories unending this night in Darujhistan! And now the dawn stirs awake, a light to sweep aside the blue glow of the unsleeping city. See the revellers stumbling towards their beds or the beds of newfound friends or even a stranger’s bed, what matter the provenance of love? What matter the tangled threads of friendship so stretched and knotted?
What matter the burdens of life, when the sun blazes into the sky and the gulls stir from their posts in the bay, when crabs scuttle for deep and dark waters? Not every path is well trod, dearest friends, not every path is set out witli even pave-stones and unambiguous signs.
Rest eyes in the manner of a thief who is a thief no longer, as he looks with deepest compassion down upon the sleeping face of an old friend, there in a small room on the upper floor of the Phoenix Inn; and sees too a noble councilman snoring slouched in yon chair. While in the very next room sits an assassin who is, perhaps, an assassin no longer, dull-eyed with pain as he ponders all manner of things, in fashions sure to be mysterious and startling, were any able to peek into his dark mind.
