“Oh. Hmm.” A bit wistful, Ishta-auntie said, “Well, it’s good to know you’re clear-eyed about it.”
“Have I ever been otherwise? Which is why I’m so baffled that you’re wasting your gossip on a single night’s joy.”
“But it’s too sad if you lose him so soon,” Geeta-auntie said. She had stopped watching the back-and-forth of Hamda-khala and Fathuna-khala’s dickering in order to reach for anotherkatayef. “We should fix that for you. We’re very good at matchmaking, you know.”
Ashar hadn’t reassembled his professional face yet; he stared at her as blankly as Ishta-auntie did.
“Geeta,” Ishta-auntie said, very slowly and deliberately. “If you matchmake this man with anyone but one of our daughters, then the building goes to the one-eyed girl’s future husband, and Hamda will wring your neck herself.”
“Oh! Right, yes. …But it’s still too sad.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Geeta-auntie. You’re very kind to think of my happiness,” Ashar said, because he could say it and sincerely mean it. Just as sincerely as he also meant the rest: “And Iabsolutely will notkiss and tell. So if anyone addsyet anotherset of entanglements by matchmaking me with any richorpoor fat men they can find in the entire city, trying to guess which of them I have known particularly well? I may donate this whole damned building to the priests of Upaja and beg a sleeping-room back from them, just to rid myself ofanypossiblequestions of bride-prices and inheritance!”
“Oh,” Geeta-auntie said, blinking. “Oh, dear. Don’t do that, please. I mean, all those Upaja-priestswouldmean more husbands for our daughters, I suppose, but none of them keep any coin at all, none of us would get a bride-price more than a bowl ofkheer. And you couldn’t run your business that way, and it’s seven whole blocks to Imari’s bath-house.”
“I’m glad we all understand that no one wants that. And, as long as we are not being subtle,” Ashar said, “I don’t see why none of you can believe Hira is the best person to guide the House of Jasmines. She already runs the finances. I’m useless with numbers.”
“She’s catfolk,” Ishta-auntie said. “Do you honestly think if you left catfolk entirely in charge, any of them would keep the House of Jasmines as awater-typebath-house? Sandboxes and sunbeams, yes. Water… she’d either replace the baths or get ahuman for them, and then we’re back to the one-eyed girl taking over the place.”
“Her name is?—”
Ishta-auntie put a hand over his mouth and said, “Ask me how many market-witches I’m willing to bet are spending the morning making scry-charms for the sound of her name within ten blocks of this building. Threedirhamsays it’s more than a dozen.”
“Oh,fivehells.”
His own wards were very sharply tuned for privacy, set to barmalice, but notmischief. Anyone who fully warded against mischief found their businesses snubbed by catfolk within a day… not to mention that most of the aunties and uncles of the Catsprowl couldn’t have crossed his doorstep either. (Which was notusuallyas desirable a situation as it currently felt like.)
Mischief left a lot of room at the corners of teasing, taunting, and vexation, for little spells like hexes and scrying, and countercharms to foil them, and other ways for minor mages to make a living by vicariously dueling with their rivals’ works.
Ashar ran through a mental list of the more skillful scry-fuddlers and silence-charmers he knew of, subtracted three whom he knew had unmarried grandsons, and added visits to several market-witches to his market list. Along with a visit to Padma-auntie if she was sober, and Chetan, and Venkat-uncle had a nephew about Kalyani’s age so he’d need to test the waters there, and… he needed more than five hells to swear by, really.
Hamda-khala made a noise Ashar had last heard from an angry cat in an alley, and grabbed one of the kulhad of piping-hot chai to throw.
Ashar hastily dropped his tray onto a quick twist of incense-smoke to free both hands. He spun the chai-wave away from Fathuna-khala, flinging it against the tiled wall to steam and drip instead.
“All right, that’s it,” Hira said. By instinct, she would have tried to grab a misbehaving kitten by the scruff; humans didn’t scruff the way cats did, but the collar of Hamda-khala’s kurta gave her a reasonable grip. “You abuse our hospitality, you lose our hospitality. Out.”
“Idemandyou unhand me, you mangy animal–”
“Better groomed than you are,” Hira said, marching Hamda-khala toward the door. “You want a catfight, go to the taverna. Attacking people withhot sticky spice-waterisuncivilized.”
“You work in a bath-house,beti,” Ishta-auntie pointed out, as Hamda-khala sputtered about disrespect and insults and Fathuna-khala shrieked at her in a dialect of high Imperial that Ashar couldn’t pretend to understand.
“I’m degenerate, not barbaric,” Hira said. “Out. All of you.”
“But I wanted a bath,” Geeta-auntie said wistfully.
“Come back later.”
“How much later?”
“When you’re housebroken,” Hira said, tail lashing. “Or at least trained well enough to pretend in civilized company.”
“Thenerve!” Hamda-khala gasped, as Hira pushed her through the door.
“Honestly, Hamda, youknowhow catfolk feel about sticky wet messes,” Ishta-auntie said, taking a couple morekatayeffrom the smoke-floating tray as she walked past, then grabbing Geeta by the elbow with her free hand. “Thank you for the treats,beta. Do let me know when you change your mind.”
“About when we can come back for a bath?” Geeta-auntie asked hopefully.
