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"Oh?" I asked, trying to sound casual. I
hate it when she calls me "Daddy dearest."
"You've managed to teach my boyfriend not to push you around to not try to
push you around. But it looks to me like you gave up a cheap little dry run
that would have been good for the lot of you. Doesn't sound like a good trade
to me." She shrugged. "If my opinion counts for anything."
Since that had been bothering the hell out of me anyway, I found it as hard to
disagree with her as it would have been to admit that it was wrong, so I
didn't do either.
"It counts, kid," I said, hugging her for only a moment.
She smiled. Why is it that my daughters' smiles brighten the whole world?
"Be good," I said.
* * *
Kirah was sitting in the overstuffed armchair, a lamp at her left elbow, her
sewing set aside as she worked on some knitting or tatting or whatever; I
don't know the difference and I don't much care.
"You're going," she said, her voice flat, as though to say, I won't ask you
not to go.
"So it seems." I smiled. "Hey, not to worry. I know how to duck."
She forced a smile. Either that, or her real smile and her forced smile had
started to look the same to me.
I should have been able to tell, after all these years. I really should.
"That's good," she said.
It was getting chilly out, and it was already chilly in. I shrugged out of my
finery and padded over to the closet, dressing quickly in undershorts, black
leather trousers, blousy black cotton shirt, and lest I look like Johnny
Cash a long brown cloak, fastened loosely at the breastbone by a blackened
brass clasp. I
took a rose from the vase on our nightstand, sniffed at it once, and stuck it
in the clasp, examining myself in the dressing mirror.
I'm not entirely sure I liked the sharp-eyed fellow who looked back at me,
although he was good-looking enough.
Pretty darned handsome, in fact, the features regular, and there was kind of a
pleasant Eastern cast to his eyes. Nice firm jawline, and clever mouth under
the Fu Manchu-style mustache. He was well into his forties, but there were
only hints of lines at the edges of his eyes, although the touches of gray at
the temple were pretty nice too bad that the gray was as lopsided as the
smile.
It was clear from that far-too-easy smile that he spent too much time being
entirely too pleased with himself, but it wasn't clear to me that there was
enough character in his face for that to be at all reasonable.
It was entirely possible that he was thinking about how he was going out on
the road with a particularly attractive old friend of his, and how what with
her son having cleverly been talked out of joining him he might arrange to get
his ashes properly hauled.
It was also possible that he was thinking about how wrong it was to be
thinking about that in front of his wife. I doubt it, though. Like I say, I'm
not entirely sure I liked the guy.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, as though we were a normal husband and
wife, the kind who could ask each other that kind of question and expect an
honest answer.
Kirah,I thought, what happened to us?
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"Well," I said, putting on my reassuring smile, "I'm thinking I'm practically
naked." Close enough.
I went to the dresser and put on my weapons: throwing knives properly stowed,
pistols in their holsters, master belt holding both shortsword and my long,
pointed dagger. I know that a bowie is a better weapon, but I like the dagger
better. Tradition, and all that.
Besides, I'm used to it.
I rolled up my hunting vest and stuck it under an arm. The Therranji garrottes
were in two of the pockets.
She put down her knitting or tatting or whatever it was and walked to the
chifforobe in the corner.
"Here," she said, handing me a full leather rucksack. "Clothes, some dried
beef, a few candies, everything you need." She smiled up at me. "Almost."
I stuffed the vest inside, then slung it over a shoulder. "Thanks." I kissed
the tips of my fingers and touched the air in front of her.
She leaned toward my hand and swallowed once, twice, hard. "You'll be back
soon?"
Of course,I should have said.
Don't worry.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Oh, yes. I do."
"Then why not good."
She waited expectantly, her face upturned. No matter how many times it went
wrong, I always thought that if I moved slowly enough, gently enough, she
would be okay. This time it would be okay.
Asshole.
"It's okay, Kirah," I said, putting my arms around her. For a moment, just a
moment, I thought it would be okay, now that she could let me touch her again.
But she shook her head once, emphatically, and then again, violently, and then
she set her hands on my chest and pushed me away. "
No.
"
I walked out of the room, ignoring the whimper behind me.
Dammit, it's not my fault.
* * *
There was a farewell committee waiting for us down in the stables: Doria,
Aeia, Durine, Kethol, and
Pirojil. Bren Adahan had been left to keep the village wardens company.
The riding horses had already been saddled, and the two-horse team hitched to
the wagon.
I settled for just checking my cinch straps and finding a carrot for the
dappled mare that Tennetty had picked out for me before hitching the horse to
the back of the flatbed wagon. I was going to drive the flatbed, but I wanted
a riding horse, too. You never know when you're going to need to get away [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]