I was watching the fire do what evening fires normally do. Mostly sit there and burn in a respectable, predictable way.
Vassara waited for me to respond. Her amber eyes were steady. They were always steady, really. The kind of steady that suggested she had already thought through at least two possible versions of whatever I might say next, and prepared answers for both of them.
Her tail swept once across the hearthrug.
"The relationship," I said, "between the inn and your house."
"Yes," she said.
"Right." I folded the cloth in my hand. It needed folding anyway. "I had a rope supplier."
"I beg your pardon," she said.
"Rope," I said. "Lamp wicking too. Standing order, third week of every other month. Very reliable. He asked me once whether what we had counted as a working arrangement or a partnership."
I looked down at the cloth for a moment.
