m not joking, Xantha,was Yalis reply. s a dhasku
Im Baoya,interrupted Xantha. s take the short cut. Were going to be late.
Tris smiled at the remark about her nose. She was above all a realist, and her nose was long. She also had no intention of going home, but it was sweet of Yali to worry.
What if she listened to her breezes for the Ghost? He took his victims from Khapik she might hear something. Eagerly, Tris summoned them all to her, adding a double handful from the streets of Khapik, then sent them out to listen. She couldn t see things on them, but she might hear something worthwhile.
Her meal over, sh e set off once again, looking at the sights as she listened to dollops of conversation that came to her on currents of air. With the ease of practice she listened only for something unusual in the bath of chatter about money, music, politics, affection, e xcitement and boredom. She also considered the situation she and Keth had been plunged into.
If the Ghost was grabbing yaskedasi, he did not do it among the processions, clusters of performers, idlers by the streams, or gate traffic. Someone would have seen him. He took his choices in deserted places. Accordingly Tris followed the maze of streets, looking for Khapiks hazards. They were endless. There were too many shadowy nooks, unlit passages, alleys and blind curves for the arurim to patrol. The courtyard s shrank; the houses rose to three and four storeys. Many outdoor stairways led to flat rooftops. A fugitive could go up there and run the length of the district to escape pursuit, if he knew his way.
Tris wandered down an alley, eyeing the houses on eithe r side. Business was done back here. Her breezes told her what sort of business it was. Intent on her surroundings, toying with the end of one thin braid, Tris walked on, ignoring those who offered to sell her various items.
A hand darted from the shadows to grip her wrist; a man pulled her close. s a nice little armful. What is it, wench? Whats your price?The man was big, his tunic rumpled and stained with wine. you re sweet to me, Ill be sweet to you.
Tris looked up until she met his eyes. Rage fizzed under her skin, but she gripped it tight. me go,she told the man, her grey eyes glittering as they locked on his. Her free hand itched to undo a spark-braid. m not what you think I am.
The man laughed. what are you doing here by your lonesome?he wanted to know. know what youre looking for. Give me a kiss to seal the bargain.
Tris slammed her hard-heeled northern shoe straight down on to his sandalled foot. The drunk yelled and let her go, then reached for her again. little mirizask he said, his voice a growl. ll learn respect for me!
Tris grabbed the little finger of his hand and pulled it back in its socket until he howled with pain. She had learned the stomp from Briar and the finger-hold from Daja, both of w hom had given her long instruction in all the ways they knew to end an unpleasant conversation. s a dreadful thing,she said grimly as he tried to free himself without breaking the finger, a respectable tourist can t enjoy the sights without some idiot getting in her way. And I do so hate stupid people.
She stepped back as she released his hand, yanking the tie off a spark-braid. Then she waited, holding it as she watched the man. It would be shameful to turn lightning on someone who was clearly drunk, but she didn t want any more nonsense, either.
The man cradled his aching hand as he glared at Tris. Something in her gaze made him think at last. to the main streets, then, shenos, he snapped. bring a guard, next time you feel like a stroll.
I dont think I need a guard,Tris replied. you?She walked off, sending two breezes in her wake to warn her if he attacked. It seemed hed had enough. He stumbled off in the opposite direction.
It was just after midnight when Tris decided she would not be lucky enough to hear the Ghost snarl m going to kill you!, then have him wait for her to trace that particular bit of wind back to the killer. Instead she spread her awareness through the ground until she found the web of streams, and followed her sense of them back to the islands, the boats and the main gate.
Ghost or no, she thought that she had not wasted her time. This walk had been instructive. While shed dealt with the drunkard, not a single nearby window or door had opened; no one had peered over the edges of the roofs. No wonder there were no witnesses when the Ghost seized his victims. There were too many hidden places, and too few people who cared enough to stop a disturbance.
All that Tharian love of order applies only outside the Khapik fence, she thought grimly as she left the district. All that white marble, good manners and agreement of equals is only meant for the higher classes, not anyone else. They ought to be ashamed.
The most maddening aspect of her walk, of course, was her failure with her breezes. Shed hoped for something, though she knew how unlikely it was that she might hear the Ghost at work. What he did was no doubt accomplished in silence. She needed to see what the winds saw, not just hear it. Surely if anyone could do it, it would be her. She could scry the present, though she couldnt control what she saw. And she worked in winds and puffs of air all the time, using them to eavesdrop.
Tris hated to feel useless. Keth had the lightning globes as a goal, though she still believed it would take much more work before he could get anything useful from them. Quite possibly the Ghost would be caught by other means before Keth mastered his globes. She wondered if there might be something about Keth that made h im attuned to crimes in general, not just crimes against people he knew. Once the Ghost was accounted for, would Keth make other such globes? She probably ought to suggest it to him, so he could prepare himself. He d made it clear he wanted to make beautiful glass, not deal in ugly crime.