Two days later, he was at Iliam's, admiring the view and a certain aquamarine necklace, when a man stepped to his side and lightly touched his sleeve.
"Gem ser Edreth?"
He turned slowly, for the voice was not familiar, nor, once faced, was the man: Tallish, stocky, middleaged and genteel; exactly the sort of person one expected to find at Iliam's Curiosity Shop of an afternoon.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," he murmured, smiling courteously and slipping his sleeve away from the other's fingers.
The man bowed slightly. "I have come from Saxony Belaconto," he said softly. "She greatly desires a favor from your honor."
"I am, of course, overwhelmed by the lady's condescension, but I am not in the habit of doing favors."
"Ms. Belaconto," said the genteel individual smoothly, "repays her favors—generously."
"I would not have thought otherwise," Gem answered; "and I am desolate to disappoint her. If it were anything but a life-rule, sir, laid down to me by Edreth himself . . . Convey my very heartfelt regret to your lady, and my certainty that she will easily find another able to oblige her."
The man's face showed that which might not be considered quite genteel; then he was bowing, as others came to admire the aquamarine necklace.
"Good-day, sir," he said tightly.
"Good-day," said Gem, and moved off to look at the other displays.
He did steal the aquamarine set. Later, he wondered if it had been an omen.
The second contact was less auspicious: two burly individuals, conspicuously armed, waiting in the dimness of Third Noon, blocking the narrow courtway to his house.
"Gem ser Edreth," snapped the burlier of the two. He bowed, trying not to measure his slightness against their bulk; or to weigh his skill with the sorl-knife against their probable accuracy with the jutting rapid-fires.
"Gentles."
"Ms. Belaconto sent us. You know why." The slimmer of the pair held a truncheon, which she slapped rhythmically against her palm. Gem stared at her with what coldness he could muster and the bully hesitated; glared.
"I was told," he said to the spokesman, "that Ms. Belaconto desired a favor. I have already explained that I could not oblige her. Henron houses several members of my profession—and Zelta is not that far to send, if no one on-world meets the lady's requirements."
"Ms. Belaconto wants you," the one with the truncheon said, and grinned. "She said to hurt you, if you weren't—obliging."
"Oh, nonsense," he snapped. "What possible good would it do to beat me? If I agreed to accommodate your mistress at the end of it, I'd hardly be in shape to fulfill my guarantee. And if I still refused—even if you killed me!—she would be faced with the same problem. I cannot believe the Vornet is as inefficient as that!"
The truncheon-holder blinked and turned to her partner, who sighed. "That's right. But we could hurt you without hurting you, if you take my meaning."
Gem shook his head, mentally working the moves; measuring how far they stood from the door to his house; measuring how far he might be able to run.
"If you're going to beat me," he said irritably, "then get on with it; but I assure you my answer will be no different at the end than it is now: My sincere apologies to your mistress, but I simply cannot oblige her."
She was very fast: he sensed, rather than saw the truncheon snapping toward his head and spun in the move Edreth had drilled him in until he danced it in his sleep.
The stick whizzed by and the sorl-blade was out in the same instant, slicing back along the line of attack; drawing blood on his assailant's upper arm—the merest pinprick, but she grunted surprise.
The stick sang again and he twisted, danced under it and sideways, his arm snaking up and over her shoulder, until the blade rested, gently, against her throat.
"Drop it!"
She did, noisily; and her partner raised empty hands. Gem considered his position, blade absolutely steady, just nicking the skin.
It did not do to wantonly kill the servants of the Vornet; and this pair were doing nothing more than their duty to their leader. He looked at the man; saw the rapid-fire still in its holster; saw the empty hands and nonthreatening stance.
"You'll carry my word to Ms. Belaconto?"
The other nodded. "The message is that Gem ser Edreth declines to perform a service for Saxony Belaconto. Forcefully."
"That is," Gem agreed, "the message." He stepped back and slid the sorl-knife away. The man turned to go; the woman bent to retrieve her truncheon.
"Leave it!" he snapped; and she looked at him in surprise before glancing at her mate.
"Leave it," the man said and she did, the two of them fading down the narrow courtway and out into the main street.
When he was sure they were gone, Gem picked the truncheon up and hurled it with all his strength to the roof across the court.