Chapter 27 #2
The neighborhoods with gnoles seemed to be somewhat cleaner than ones without. The Dervish wondered if the gnoles were responsible for that or if they just avoided squalor.
Which reminded him … “What was that earlier, with Brindle and Dog Violet?” the Dervish asked. “You seemed surprised.”
“Oh, uh … I told you there was a caste system, didn’t I?
Rag-and-bone gnoles are sort of general scavengers and manual laborers.
Specialized work is done by job-gnoles, the next caste up.
To move up between castes requires that a rag-and-bone gnole learn a specialized profession, but that can be difficult.
Job-gnoles take apprentices, but mostly they take on the children of the job-gnole caste.
A rag-and-bone gnole like Dog Violet would have to demonstrate a significant aptitude in something for a job-gnole like Brindle to take her on as an apprentice. ”
“You think that might happen?”
“Well … Brindle works with draft animals, and any fool can see that Dog Violet’s attached to Greathoof.
The rags don’t mean anything by themselves—that’s the gnole equivalent of giving someone a spare coat that doesn’t have holes in it.
But he also said she did good work, and that does carry some weight.
That’s a very high compliment from a job-gnole to a rag-and-bone gnole. ”
“Huh.” The Dervish considered this. “It would be nice if that worked out. I just thought maybe they were having a fling.”
“They might have done that, too, but you wouldn’t apprentice somebody over a fling.”
Discussion of flings was veering into dangerous territory. The Dervish deliberately changed the topic. “So what do you think we can expect from this scholar?”
“Hopefully an ordinary scholar, not anyone affiliated with these Sainted Smith people. But scholars come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them are lovely and some of them think that humans are an unnecessary distraction from research.”
The Dervish snorted. “I’m grateful you’ve made time away from your research for me.”
“My schedule has been very busy, but of course I’m willing to fit you in around the edges.” Edmund grinned and ducked the Dervish’s mock-swat in his direction. “Seriously though, I’m not really researching anything at the moment, unless you count Large Francis’s people.”
The Dervish wondered idly if not having a current research project had made it easier to leave the Many-Armed God’s service, then decided he didn’t want to pursue that line of thought any further. He was tense enough about this scholar already.
Chime Street was in an area that wasn’t exactly poor but was close enough to a poor neighborhood that there were a great many ostensibly decorative iron fences, and sturdy wrought-iron grilles over the windows.
Street urchins mingled with gnoles and harried-looking youths clearly running errands, and while there weren’t any slum-weaver nests dangling from the eaves of the buildings, they passed a stray dog trotting down the street with the air of an animal who had somewhere to be.
The scholar’s house was identical to a dozen other buildings on the street, made of pale brick with streaks of soot bleeding from the chimney. The Dervish took a deep breath—don’t hope, don’t hope—and knocked.
He needn’t have worried. The door opened six inches and stopped. “Scholar Andraste’s not at home,” said the servant behind it. He looked as if someone had crossed a toad with an accountant and thrown away the good bits. “Come back later.”
“Later meaning when?” asked the Dervish, shifting his weight so that he could jam his foot in the door in case the toad decided to slam it on them.
Most people with bulging eyes looked permanently surprised. The toad managed to look scornful. “What is your specific business with the scholar?”
Edmund put on his earnest, helpful expression. “I’m a courier for the Temple of the Many-Armed God. It’s about an artifact that the scholar requested from the temple in Ghaston.”
The door opened another inch. “Leave it with me.”
Like hell we will.
“I’m so sorry,” Edmund said, contriving to sound genuinely regretful that he couldn’t help, “but the temple requires me to give it to Scholar Andraste personally. And to get a receipt. You know what they’re like.”
The toad harrumphed. “Tomorrow. Scholar Andraste will be in then.” He shut the door with a thud that was just barely on the polite side of a slam.
“Well,” said Edmund, “I suppose we have a day to wait, then.” He looked up and down Chime Street. “Is there anywhere in the city that you’d like to see? Other than this?”
The Dervish also looked up and down Chime Street, not because it was inherently scenic but because he was drawing a complete blank.
He hadn’t done something as simple as sightseeing since …
well, since he’d been alive, actually. It had literally stopped occurring to him that you could go somewhere simply for the pleasure of looking at it.
Edmund took his silence as lack of interest and said, “Not that we have to. We can just go back to the temple, if you want, or you don’t even have to go anywhere, obviously—I mean, not with me, not if you don’t want to—”
“Is there a shrine to the ancestors?”
“Dozens, I imagine. Anyone’s ancestors in particular?”
It was the Dervish’s turn to be baffled. “Oh. Hmm.” Obviously his ancestors were quite far away … probably … and it was unlikely that anyone had built a shrine to them in this strange city founded by people who’d been spat out by a geological formation. “Is there one for ancestors in general?”
Edmund screwed up his face in thought. “I don’t know, but I know where to ask.”