the building against which the caravan master leaned while he surveyed the rest of the neighborhood.
"Looks pretty quiet," said Samior. The words were less an understatement than a conversational placeholder while the Cirdonian considered what might be a real problem.
The building didn't look quiet. It looked abandoned.
DAGGER
41
It was a blank-faced structure. Its second floor was corbelled out a foot or so but there was no real front overhang to match those of the houses to either side. The stone ashlars had been worn smooth by decades of sidewalk traffic brushing against them; the mortar binding them could have used tuck pointing, but that was more a matter of aesthetics than structural necessity. The only ground-floor window facing the street was a narrow slit beside the iron-bound door. There was a grate-protected niche for a lantern on the other side of the door alcove. The stones were blackened by carbon from the flame, but the lamp within was cold and dark. It had not been lighted this night and perhaps not for weeks past.
There was no sign of life through the slit intended to give a guard inside a look at whoever was calling.
"Perhaps I'm wrong," said Khamwas uncertainly. "This should be the house of Setios, but I
I can't be sure I'm right."
He made as if to bend over his staff again, then straightened and said decisively, "No, I'm sure it must be the house
but perhaps he doesn't live here
anymore." The Napatan stepped to the street-level door and raised his staff to rap on the panel.
"Ah
" said Samior.
The caravan master held the long dagger he had taken from the man he had killed in the Vulgar Unicorn. The weapon belonged in his hand when they prowled through the Maze, but it wasn't normal practice to knock on a stranger's door with steel bare in your fist.
On the other hand, this was Sanctuary; and anyway, the new knife didn't fit the sheath of the one Samior had left in the corpse.
"Go ahead," he said to Khamwas. The Napatan was poised, watching the caravan master and waiting for a suggestion to replace his own intent. Khamwas nodded, Star mirroring his motion as if hypnotized by tiredness. He rapped twice on the door panel. The sound of wood on wood was sharp and soulless.
"Won't be anybody there," said Samior. His own eyes were drawn to the watermarked blade of the knife, fits
42
David Drake
knife, now; the owner wasn't going to claim it with a foot of steel through his chest. The whorls of blended metals, iron black against polished steel, were only memories in the distant lamplight. There was no way Samlor could see them now, even if they began to spell words as he had watched them do
in defiance of
reason
twice before.
The caravan master shook himself out of the clouded reverie into which fatigue was easing him. He needed rest as badly as his niece did, and it looked as though there was no way he was going to clear up his business tonight anyway.
"Look," he said, irritated because Khamwas still faced the door as if there were a chance it would open. "There's nobody here, and
"
Metal clanked as the bar closing the door from inside was withdrawn from its staples. The door leaf opened inward, squealing on bronze pivots set into the lintel and transom instead of hanging from strap hinges.
"No one will see you," said the voice of the figure standing in the doorway. Whatever else the doorkeeper might be, it was not human.
The creature was far shorter than Star. Fur clothed its body and long tail in ashen luster, but the frame beneath was skeletally thin. Its features had the pointed sharpness of a fox's muzzle, and there was no intelligence whatever in its beady eyes.
"Wait," said Samlor hil Samt as the doorkeeper began to close the portal again. He set his boot against the iron-strapped lower edge of the door. "Your master holds a trust f-for my niece Star."
"No one will see you," the creature repeated. Behind it was another set of door leaves, reinforced like the first.
"Looks pretty quiet," said Samior. The words were less an understatement than a conversational placeholder while the Cirdonian considered what might be a real problem.
The building didn't look quiet. It looked abandoned.
DAGGER
41
It was a blank-faced structure. Its second floor was corbelled out a foot or so but there was no real front overhang to match those of the houses to either side. The stone ashlars had been worn smooth by decades of sidewalk traffic brushing against them; the mortar binding them could have used tuck pointing, but that was more a matter of aesthetics than structural necessity. The only ground-floor window facing the street was a narrow slit beside the iron-bound door. There was a grate-protected niche for a lantern on the other side of the door alcove. The stones were blackened by carbon from the flame, but the lamp within was cold and dark. It had not been lighted this night and perhaps not for weeks past.
There was no sign of life through the slit intended to give a guard inside a look at whoever was calling.
"Perhaps I'm wrong," said Khamwas uncertainly. "This should be the house of Setios, but I
I can't be sure I'm right."
He made as if to bend over his staff again, then straightened and said decisively, "No, I'm sure it must be the house
but perhaps he doesn't live here
anymore." The Napatan stepped to the street-level door and raised his staff to rap on the panel.
"Ah
" said Samior.
The caravan master held the long dagger he had taken from the man he had killed in the Vulgar Unicorn. The weapon belonged in his hand when they prowled through the Maze, but it wasn't normal practice to knock on a stranger's door with steel bare in your fist.
On the other hand, this was Sanctuary; and anyway, the new knife didn't fit the sheath of the one Samior had left in the corpse.
"Go ahead," he said to Khamwas. The Napatan was poised, watching the caravan master and waiting for a suggestion to replace his own intent. Khamwas nodded, Star mirroring his motion as if hypnotized by tiredness. He rapped twice on the door panel. The sound of wood on wood was sharp and soulless.
"Won't be anybody there," said Samior. His own eyes were drawn to the watermarked blade of the knife, fits
42
David Drake
knife, now; the owner wasn't going to claim it with a foot of steel through his chest. The whorls of blended metals, iron black against polished steel, were only memories in the distant lamplight. There was no way Samlor could see them now, even if they began to spell words as he had watched them do
in defiance of
reason
twice before.
The caravan master shook himself out of the clouded reverie into which fatigue was easing him. He needed rest as badly as his niece did, and it looked as though there was no way he was going to clear up his business tonight anyway.
"Look," he said, irritated because Khamwas still faced the door as if there were a chance it would open. "There's nobody here, and
"
Metal clanked as the bar closing the door from inside was withdrawn from its staples. The door leaf opened inward, squealing on bronze pivots set into the lintel and transom instead of hanging from strap hinges.
"No one will see you," said the voice of the figure standing in the doorway. Whatever else the doorkeeper might be, it was not human.
The creature was far shorter than Star. Fur clothed its body and long tail in ashen luster, but the frame beneath was skeletally thin. Its features had the pointed sharpness of a fox's muzzle, and there was no intelligence whatever in its beady eyes.
"Wait," said Samlor hil Samt as the doorkeeper began to close the portal again. He set his boot against the iron-strapped lower edge of the door. "Your master holds a trust f-for my niece Star."
"No one will see you," the creature repeated. Behind it was another set of door leaves, reinforced like the first.
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