Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [118]
“I was just trying to lead her to grass,” Bec insisted, once his two feet and Flower’s four were planted.
The mule was giving Cauvin the evil eye. Her left rear hoof flashed out when he unbuckled the harness. Another finger’s breadth and he could have hired out on Red Lantern Street. But that would have been an accident. In the ten years Cauvin had known her, Flower’s hooves had never struck his flesh, except by accident.
She stood patiently while Cauvin undid the other buckles.
“You’ve got to unharness her first,” he explained to Bec.
The boy was staring at him.
“You heard everything?” Cauvin asked.
“Not everything. Almost.”
“You’re doing a good job of keeping your froggin’ mouth shut. Don’t change.”
“I don’t like her, Cauvin. I try real hard, but I don’t. She’s mean, Cauvin. She treats you mean.”
“I’m mean, too. Comes from how I grew up.”
“You’re not mean, Cauvin, but you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“You stay here with Flower,” Cauvin replied, not answering the question.
Soldt and the Torch were talking deep until Soldt saw Cauvin coming closer.
“There is a way to settle this about Leorin,” the Torch began. “If you’re game.”
“Tell me how, first.”
“None of the paths of sorcery are available—not prayer or magic, and witchcraft would require Leorin’s presence in some form, if not her cooperation—”
Witchcraft, Cauvin thought. Wrigglies and Imperials could agree on at least one thing: no witches in Sanctuary. It was froggin’ odd that the Torch would even say the word aloud.
“And we’ve ruled out torture. That leaves the S’danzo.”
“Fortune-tellers!” Cauvin sputtered. If witchcraft was forbidden, then the S‘danzo and their froggin’ painted cards were fit only for sheep-shite fools. “You won’t believe me, but you’d believe some greasy-hair, fat, and addled woman sitting in the dark?”
“If you could find her,” Soldt said, as froggin’ surprised by the notion as Cauvin had been. “The fortune-tellers in this city’s bazaar may be calling themselves S’danzo, but I’m not taking their word for it. According to the S’danzo up and down the coast, Sanctuary’s still cursed as far as they’re concerned, and they’re not coming back until the children of their enemies, and their children’s children are dead and gone.”
That was a revelation about Soldt, and while he was trying to make sense of it, Cauvin nearly missed the Torch’s reply.
“—wil! they know that?—Unless they’ve got eyes and ears in place.”
Soldt hissed through his teeth, which meant Cauvin didn’t have to.
“The Sight’s real,” the Torch insisted. “There’s not many who’ve got it, and few of those can use it, but the Sight’s a gift the gods Themselves envy—The S’danzo won’t worship a god. Clever women. They take their money up front and won’t leave a debt owing past sundown, either. Beyond their cards, there’s nothing they need. No tokens. No powders or spirits. Just ask the question and wait for the answer. I knew a seeress—” he stopped talking suddenly and stared at the ruins. There was nothing there that Cauvin could see. Then, just as suddenly, the old pud started talking again. “She said a question and its answer were twins, born together and inseparable. She heard the question, then looked at her cards and saw the answer.”
“Where can we find this woman?” Soldt asked.
“She died, but there’s another. She won’t scry for gold or silver, but I’ve got a gift that will tempt her. I’ve kept it hidden, waiting for the right time.”
“Where will we find it?” Another question from Soldt.
“Buried in a box beneath the bazaar—”
“Frog all, not another sheep-shite box!”
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