The bed shifted slightly and Gem woke, watching through half-closed eyes as the roomgirl pulled on her robe and finger-combed her hair. She was pleasant enough to look at, and knew her trade, though he had made rough use of her skill, with unease over the Vornet foremost in his mind.
She finished setting her hair into order and made sure of the robe's fastening, full mouth puckered in concentration. He had a sudden, unlikely urge to ask her name, to apologize for his inattention last evening; but she had turned by then, and slipped out the door, so the impulse died and the worries resumed.
Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the pastel ceiling and tried to impose order on his thoughts. Only after a problem was logically arranged, Edreth had taught him, could it be fully seen and solved.
Of first concern was the Vornet. That Saxony Belaconto, chief of the Vornet's section leaders, should herself seek out a mere freelance thief was unprecedented. More in keeping with her office to simply dispatch a half-dozen gun-sworn and have him brought to her. Instead, she had come to him, acquiesced to the fiction of equality, and sought to persuade him to serve her. And the fee she offered! So very generous—and so quickly doubled.
"Stars and ships, what can she want?"
No answer to his whisper from the ceiling. Gem closed his eyes. Whatever she wanted, it was no concern of his, for he would not be the one to steal it for her.
Yet—that not-so-veiled threat, promising another meeting.
Anxiously, he considered his condition—no kin, that might be used as hostages; no close associates of any kind, now that Edreth was gone. It was true that the Vornet might freeze his accounts, but only a small percentage of his money was banked on Henron, and cash was easily replaced. There was nothing, really, that Saxony Belaconto could use as a lever to move Gem ser Edreth.
Except himself.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Drugs existed; pain existed; and disease. The Vornet no doubt employed experts in the application of each. Saxony Belaconto had asked; had condescended to his skill and come herself to reason with him. The next step must be force, for what she wanted she would have; he had seen that in her eyes.
Breathing a trifle ragged because of the sudden constriction of his chest, he slid out of bed and went into the shower, clearing his mind; trying to count the moves and figure the timing of the thing. For he still had need of Shilban and his wonderful Library, which was the reason he had chosen Henron as a base in the first wise.
The Vornet would allow him a day to reconsider what he had heard last night, he thought, rinsing soap absently from pale gold hair; and that day he would spend with Shilban, gaining the knowledge necessary to defeat the demon in El Theman's vase. Tonight, he would slip the vase free, and be waiting for Captain Skot and Dart tomorrow dawn. The ship would serve as a sanctuary even the Vornet could not breach. Mayhap he could even show Skot sufficient cause to lift early, though he didn't count on that.
The shower cycled to cold and he gasped, suddenly and surprisingly longing for a sight of Linzer Skot's sharp-featured, daredevil face.
"Everything by the numbers," he told himself sternly, as the shower turned itself off and the dryer began to glow. "Retreat may be wise, but you will retreat in good order, one move at a time."