Winter 2007 2

Suitov got the message and waved a permissive hand.

"I s'pose," Weft said, which may have been incomprehensible given the dialect difference... but he did move a short distance away to avoid the smoke. This was a small enough structure; easy enough to position himself precisely equidistant from the two of them. Good for watching or glaring.

Someone with a keen eye could have spotted the outlines of one or two further hidden 'surprises' when Weft moved. Or they may have been more interested in the way he moved (not very like a harmless, peaceful religious man). Or, again, the keen ear might have paid more attention to the fact that he made no noise. Suitov, who had grown used to all these things, thought he seemed particularly off today.

His staff had their own opinions about Weft's species, about which Suitov would merely say he couldn't possibly comment.

Interesting, thought Helmine, who then proceeded to ignore what she saw. She just lit up and leaned back, watching the men. It really was interesting.

Nico and Daaren approached carrying a sack each, and each wearing a sheepskin jacket, in his case short and undyed, in her case knee-length and dark red, with the narrow fur trimmings remaining wool-white. They were talking, or arguing in an undertone.

Finally Nico said, "Hold this!" and handed her companion the sack she'd been carrying (the bigger one, she'd insisted), took a run up and with a jump hold of the roof edge, to climb up on the roof, ignoring anyone inside the, er, folly.

Daaren sighed, approached a side of the building not clouded in tobacco smoke, set the two sacks down on the ground outside (there was a ceramic scrape-chink from the bigger one, and crackling noise from the smaller), gave the present company a greeting nod and half sat on the partial wall.

Sarina wandered in, peaked around to see if she recognized anyone and then found a seat in the corner.

Daaren and Sarina didn't interest Helmine beyond polite nods. But she squinted one eye when she looked up, then chuckled around the cigar. "Well, well."

"Sarina! How charming!" Suitov said, in the manner of one greeting an old friend. He nodded to Daaren, whom he didn't know. He couldn't see Nico.

At the same time he was considering ventilation, calculating angles...

His companion, a limber, grey-haired, middle-aged man, looked upwards alarmedly. In Weft's experience, people who climbed about on roofs tended to be assassins (he should know; he was both). Fortunately he was too well trained to reach for one of his concealed knives purely for reassurance's sake.

That would be a rather incompetent assassin. She did not stomp around up there, but didn't try to conceal that she was there, and going straight for the glorified hole over the fireplace that passed as a chimney.

"Don't mind her. She just wants to check if the roof comes off," Daaren tried to reassure Weft, in the same common that had been in use on the last party in the area. He was referring only to the small tin roof over the chimney, but if that was clear was another matter entirely.

Helmine cocked an ear at Daaren's words but kept a curious eye on the roof. She still didn't know what to think about the place's... multiculturality.

"Ngh?" Weft elucidated.

If you asked the disgruntled killer whether he was more unnerved by incompetents or professionals, his answer might surprise you - though it probably wouldn't if you were a soldier.

Sparked by some impish caprice, Suitov said "Calm down, chum. I'll protect you." This prompted an incredulous look, but seemed to work - at least, Weft remembered whom he really wanted to kill.

There was some scrabbling upstairs, then a sound as of a very badly tuned gong, followed by a matter-of-fact "drat". Then the would-be chimneysweep went back to the edge of the roof, got hold of it again, and dropped to the ground after a roll.

She trotted over to Daaren and said, "Not without a flame cutter. The door it is."

He considered suggesting to wait until the heavily armed person stopped stinking up the place, but then, Nico would probably continue pretending that the walls were solid, and she couldn't see the people inside, so he followed when he picked up her sack again and went round to the official entrance.

While he stood back a bit, radiating an air of someone who was just going along since he'd been talked into it, Nico took a slow look around and said, "Well, hello. And have you all been..." She trailed off and tilted her head looking at the soldier. The face and the getup together were enough to stir a memory, and she asked distractedly, "Haven't we met before?"

Oh? Ohh. Yes. Helmine chuckled and put out her cigar. "Not much of a memory you have," she said and cleared her voice, raw and husky as it was. She lifted one corner of her mouth in a tooth smile. "We met in some ruins. You nearly knocked me out; I nearly shot you." The order of the two clauses was intentionally that way.

Nonetheless, Helmine didn't seem very hostile... not more so than usual, anyway, with her guardedly indifferent and slightly arrogant demeanor. Presently she unbuttoned the greatcoat some more, revealing more of the armour. The insides of the coat seemed to be lined with a whole lot of pockets. Some of the stuff sticking out of those pockets looked suspiciously dangerous and others just plain strange... like a cross made of bone and full of red engravings. It even had a red ribbon around it.

Nico hesitated a moment - the language was still coming back and not all there - then broke out into a genuinely amused grin. Her stance shifted completely out of a grave act. "Well, seeing how I know someone who in my place wouldn't have stopped before either being downed thoroughly or having ripped your throat out... Some people really don't like guns pointed at them. Anyway, do we have a language barrier in this party?"

Daaren got the impression this might take longer. He deposited the sack he'd been carrying near the fireplace, and claimed a seat.

Weft listened and watched. Suitov looked to Daaren, wondering what connection he had with the young wom-- Nico, that was it. The same name as one of his oldest friends. The same mouth, too. Only not the same.

"A relief to be among the linguistically gifted," he remarked to the man. "I think I've worked out 'thank you'," (in Wessian) "and that's all. What brings you out on a day like today?"

He paused unbuttoning his jacket, answered, "She," and pointed at Nico with an open hand, smiling thinly. After a beat he corrected himself, "Brings me in, rather. Out, the weather will do." After a glance at the chatting pair he added, "I understand no word."

He spoke slowly, consciously not slurring words to make up for his accent. While he didn't exactly sit on the edge of the bench, he didn't lean back, and kept booth feet on the ground. His eyes swept the small company occasionally. Calm, yes, but not very relaxed.

He'd noticed the way the light-haired man moved, and not moved. The dark-haired man seemed at ease and friendly. Seeing someone heavily armed here had been a bit of a surprise, but at least he could guess from Nico's behaviour she knew the warrior and didn't expect trouble. He glanced at the red-haired woman again, trying to guess at her mood.

"They're talking about trying to kill each other in somewhere whose name I didn't catch," came abruptly from Weft's direction.

"Past or future?" asked Suitov.

Weft gave him a you are a blithering idiot look. "Past."

"Ah. How very congenial." Suitov glanced at Daaren again, wondering if such things were usual for him.

He was not surprised. There was an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Hm. We might have tried to kill each other when we first met, if she had not knocked herself out first."

At that, Nico interjected over her shoulder, mostly to Daaren, and indicating Weft and Suitov, "And when I first met them, they were Death." After a short, curious look at he other runt, wondering if the trend would continue, she turned her attention back to Helmine.

After a moment, Daaren nodded slightly, making sense of the reference. She had told him of that party.

Suitov smiled, amused, and sat back a little.

Weft stared at Nico's back with a flummoxed expression that lasted several seconds. Realisation, when it gradually knotted, caused him to glance with widened eyes at Iceheart, then at Daaren, then his expression returned to its customary confusion as he went back to watching Nico and Helmine.

"Oh dear, does our reputation precede us? Don't believe any of the good parts. This is Weft and I'm Suitov."

Helmine had more or less shrugged at the idea that someone else might have taken the robbing attempt differently. She would just have shot them, then, the moment that became clear. Then she was content to just sit and smirk to herself, hands resting on her knees.

"I'm Daaren." He tried to puzzle out what Suitov had said, and asked, "Is that like rumour travelling ahead?"

Nico reacted to Helmine's non-answer with a shrug and, "Well, if there is, we can fix that."

"We can, can we?" Helmine said slowly, looking at Nico in her usual manner.