a term. And as for their den, I couldn’t find that if I wanted to.”
“Then where have you been leading us?”
“Not so much where as when.” Abruptly, Erlin’s gaze snapped to the nearest rooftop. Vaelin saw nothing but his ears detected the faint tick of a disturbed tile. In the space of a few heartbeats, he heard several more from the surrounding houses.
“When what?” he demanded.
“Whenever they chose to take notice of a bunch of armed foreigners wandering their streets without permission. Don’t!” he snapped as Ellese reached for an arrow. “All of you, make no move that could be taken as a threat.”
Vaelin’s gaze roamed roofs, shuttered windows and walls as a thick silence descended on the junction. His eyes slid over an empty street, then froze as a woman appeared from a shadowed corner. She stood a dozen feet from them, features faintly inquisitive and lacking alarm or suspicion. She wore a plain jerkin and trews of loose-fitting dark brown cotton and possessed no weapon that he could see. However, the surety and lack of concern she exhibited made him conclude she was far from defenceless.
It was Erlin who broke the silence, voicing a polite good morning in Chu-Shin and bowing low. As he straightened he formed his hands into a curious gesture, the left positioned above the right in a fist with small and fore fingers extended.
In response the woman tilted her head a fraction, her gaze sliding from Erlin to Vaelin and then the others. Her face possessed a youthful smoothness that jarred with the experience he saw in her narrowed gaze, no doubt gauging the threat each of them posed. Her survey complete, she blinked and focused again on Erlin, speaking in a soft, almost melodious voice, “It will be the scorpion’s kiss for all of you if you have spoken falsely.”
With that she turned and started along the street. Erlin hurried to follow, gesturing for Vaelin and the others to do the same.
“I take it the scorpion’s kiss is not to be relished?” Nortah asked in a grim murmur.
“I shall do you a service by not even describing it,” Erlin replied. “Except to say that I once saw a man chew off and swallow his own tongue to avoid it.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
The subsequent journey was even longer and more confusing than the course traced by Erlin. The woman moved at a rapid pace, turning corners with a regularity Vaelin knew to be intentional as his gaze picked out landmarks they had passed at least once before. Apparently, she wished to ensure they weren’t being followed before leading them to her destination. From the continued tick of disturbed tiles from above, they remained under continual if unseen observation.
The woman finally came to a halt outside the doorway to a nondescript shop. A continual pall of steam emerged from the doorway and windows, Vaelin recognising the Far Western symbol for tea inscribed on the sign hanging over the lintel. The woman bowed and gestured for them to enter, continuing to hold her pose as they hesitated.
“Never precede a stranger through an unfamiliar door,” Nortah said. His eyes roamed the surrounding streets and Vaelin recognised the anticipatory clench to his hand that told of an urgent desire to reach for the sword on his back. At least he’s fearful rather than thirsty, Vaelin decided.
“If you want to find what you came for,” Erlin said, a strained smile on his lips as he returned the woman’s bow, “then there is no choice. The only onward path is through this door.”
Vaelin mirrored Erlin’s bow before moving to the door. The interior was clouded with a sweetly scented steam that concealed much of the detail, and presumably rendered any visitor vulnerable to attack. He glimpsed a few shapes in the swirling mist, all seated at tables where long spouted porcelain teapots added yet more steam to the atmosphere. None of the seated figures turned to regard the tall foreigner as he passed by, Vaelin gaining a sense of studied indifference.
A dozen steps brought him to a counter even more shrouded in steam than the rest of the shop. It billowed from a dozen or more copper kettles, much of it escaping through a wide aperture in the ceiling. A lone figure moved amongst the kettles, arms bare and torso clad in an apron as he went from one shiny receptacle to another, lifting and pouring the boiling water into a row of teapots on the counter.