I haven't been looking for him, because they said if I did the right things, he'd find me. And he did.
I kept wanting to believe it wasn't him. I'd pictured something... different. Exciting. Dangerous. I thought he'd slip out of a shadow and tell me I'd been Chosen. But instead I went to the tree I'd taken to eating lunch under in Queensdale and he was just sitting there, there smoking a pipe, looking a little bit like a hayseed, to be honest, in his second-hand clothes.
It had been so long without any sign of my target that I honestly didn't think anything of it until I tried to sit under the tree with him at a polite stranger-distance. As though my movement were one end of a lever and he the other, he got up and leaned against a different tree. Like oil on water, if I were soap. He doesn't let anyone get close enough to touch him. But it was so casual and effortless that I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been told to look for it.
We made the kind of conversation two single, moderately attractive strangers do when they end up sharing the same space for a few minutes. I asked if he wanted one of my apples, and he said no, he'd already eaten. He never takes food anyone else has touched. He didn't ask me my name, probably so I wouldn't ask his. With taciturn, feather-light subtlety he steered the conversation so that we ended up talking mostly about me: about my climbing, my weapons, the things I was good at. I laid the self-absorption on thick so that I wouldn't have to ask him much about himself and force him to find ways not to answer. He drew out of me that I was in the area habitually, helping out the same people a lot, and I think that was all he needed to know, because he got quiet after that.
He was still smoking his pipe, though, and sitting there, and putting me at ease despite all common sense to the contrary. So I told him some pretty entertaining stories about my recent adventures. He had a strange laugh: a sort of pause in front of it every time like he was making a decision about it. He finished his pipe before I finished my lunch and took his leave without much more than a grunt and a lifted hand.
I guess what threw me at first is that I was expecting him to be smooth. This is a guy who's gotten the better of Whispers three times, and who's rumored to be the leader of... something. They won't even tell me what, I guess so I don't have to feign my reaction when he eventually tells me. I had a kind of image in my head, I guess, having grown up around con men. But he didn't seem like a con man. He seemed earnest and intelligent and a little awkward. Shy, even.
And then it hit me. It hit me why I was so comfortable with him, and when I realized it, a frost crept over my skin.
The tilt of his chin as he exhaled smoke, the subtle, restless movements of his hands. The way one corner of his mouth outran the other when he smiled. The very rhythm of his silence, that soft uncertain laugh. Shai.
He didn't look like him, not in the slightest. There were just these subtle cues, behavioral things, posture, energy. Just enough to make me relax, to think kindly of him.
I know just enough about this guy to know that it could not possibly have been a coincidence.
The reason it has taken him so long to contact me is not that I haven't been making myself interesting enough to him. Oh no, quite the contrary. The reason it has taken so long is that he has been doing his homework.
Fuck, is it possible that I am already in over my head here?