Kimia looked back.

“What?”

“Zhinking.”

“I do zhat.”

“Not tonight.”

“I'm allowed.”

“Incorrect.”

Kimia ate another piece of pickled gourd.

The vinegar cut through everything.

She considered asking about the debt.

Fifteen thousand dalasi. Perhaps more.

The thought arrived complete.

She could ask.

Vehm, did you ever pay zhose people?

Simple.

Then he would laugh, then become evasive. Or resent her, or tell the truth.

All unpleasant possibilities.

Kimia looked at him. Vehm mistook the look for something else.

“What?”

“Nozhing.”

“Zhat was a debt face.”

Kimia froze. Vehm smiled.

“You have one.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“What does a debt face look like?”

“Like you are calculating whezher you can solve somebody else's life wizh a cheque.”

Kimia stared. Vehm drank.

“See?”

“How much do you owe?”

There.

The question escaped anyway. Vehm stopped with the glass halfway down.

Kimia immediately regretted it.

His expression did not become angry.

Worse.

Tired.

“Oh.”

“You told me once.”

“I tell you many zhings.”

“Fifteen zhousand.”

“Maybe.”

“Is it still fifteen?”

Vehm set the glass down.

The joking atmosphere around him receded by perhaps one inch.

“Zhat depends who is counting.”

“Vehm.”

“Kimia.”

“If you're in trouble-”

“No.”

“You don't know what I was going to say.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You were going to offer money.”

Kimia did not answer. Vehm leaned back.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Zhat isn't a reason.”

“It is zhe oldest reason.”

“You could clear it.”

“I could also stop drinking.”

“Yes.”

Vehm looked at the pitcher.

“Let's not say impossible zhings in a respectable restaurant.”

Kimia exhaled.

“Are any of zhem dangerous?”

“Creditors?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone is dangerous under sufficiently stupid circumstances.”

“Vehm.”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“No one is going to break my legs.”

“Zhat was not comforting.”

“I don't owe anyone who specializes in legs.”

Kimia stared at him.

Vehm smiled again.

There. The mask. His own.

She recognized it because she wore one too.

Kimia lowered her voice.

“If it becomes a problem, tell me.”

Vehm looked at her.

The humor withdrew once more. It did so more gently. 

“I know.”

“You promise?”

“No.”

“Vehm.”

“I promise to consider telling you.”

“Zhat is useless.”

“It is more zhan I promise most creditors.”

Kimia let it go for tonight.

The soup arrived. Two bowls. Steam.

The smell reached her immediately.

Poultry. Salt. Herbs. Mushroom. The deep mineral smell of long-cooked broth.

Each bowl had a short broad-handled spoon complementing it it, wrapped in a cloth napkin, shaped to sit comfortably in a yinglet's grip without forcing the wrist inward, and the head was shaped to accommodate a yinglet's mouth better.