Tooth and Claw by Jo Walton Page B

rest, and this included most of the cards, were invitations to entertainments. Irieth was not crowded at the beginning of Leafturn, but those who lived there all year enjoyed a little burst of jollification at that time, which was the anniversary of the founding of the city, many thousand years before, by the ancient and possibly mythical Tomalin the Great. (Some said he had named Irieth after hisbride, others argued that it had first had a different name which had been changed during the Yarge Conquest, others said that Tomalin had named it for the rainbows, sometimes called riths, that could be seen in the city in the spring months.) Such exotic offerings as unison flamings, water parties, and circuit walking thus joined the usual delights of dinners, balls, dice-evenings, rout-parties, and picnics, and to many of these Avan was bidden.
    When he had dealt with this weight of correspondence, he had four piles and three notes left over. The first two piles consisted of notes of sympathy divided by sincerity. The second two were cards of invitation, divided into those to which he would return polite but negative thanks, owing to his bereavement, and the much smaller pile which he would certainly attend. He kept the remaining three notes in his hand for a moment. The first was from his attorney, Hathor, offering any help that might be needed with storing or investing Avan’s inheritance. “I’d bet a farm that he knows the amount to the last crown,” Avan said to himself, setting the note on top of the pile of invitations which he would accept. The second was from Liralen, his immediate superior in the Planning Office, offering condolences and wondering when Avan would be back at his desk.
    The third was from the Exalted Rimalin, and said nothing whatsoever of Bon Agornin but merely hinted, rather cryptically, that if Avan had any money to invest, he knew of an opportunity. Avan looked at this note for a long time, then sought the note of sympathy from Exalt Rimalin. There was no doubt that they were written in the same hand. When a dragon uses his wife as his clerk, it means one of two things. Either he is economizing, which, as Avan had explained to Penn, would not have been how he would have read his friend’s situation at all, or he is dealing in very confidential information. Avan would have listened to Rimalin’sproposition in any case, but now he would listen to it very much more carefully.
    He left the piles where they were. His lodging was a comfortable double-domed building, made of stone that at least gave the appearance of solidity. Underneath, there was only one sleeping cave, which, however, had an exit of its own to the street. Avan did not consider the place secure, but it did manage to combine respectability and inexpensiveness, so he kept his valuables with his attorney and continued to lodge there.
    He whistled as he went down towards the sleeping cave, not from any lightness of heart but to wake his clerk, Sebeth, and give her a little warning, if such might be necessary, that he was returning and would expect to find her alone. Avan called Sebeth his clerk, but it would have been hard to say what her status really was. Certainly she performed the functions of a clerk, she wrote Avan’s notes and carried his messages, she was educated enough to act as a respected maiden clerk. But she was of no Respected status and was for that matter no maiden, she was head to toe an even eggshell pink. She shared Avan’s quarters, and often enough his bed, though she was not his wife. She cared for his clothes and his food, but she was not his servant—her wings showed some sign of having been bound at some time, but they flexed now as freely as those of any Exalt in Tiamath. The truth of her history and condition only she and Avan knew.
    She was alone in the sleeping cave when Avan reached it, stretching and yawning. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” she said, smiling at him. Avan knew better than to