by Neil McGarry
“Minette told me herself that when the Red and the Grey intersect, the meeting must be handled very carefully.” The notorious Color War being the most notable example of ignoring that wisdom.
“You’ve been careful enough on that score,” Lysander pointed out. “Hells, the Uncle’s paying for your rent on this place.” He toyed with his cup. “Still, surely the Grey kills sometimes.” He shrugged with false insouciance. “Life is cheap in the Shallows, doubly so in the Deeps.”
He would know, she reflected with a pang. Lysander had grown up in the Deeps, the most dangerous and notorious district of the city. He’d sold his own body to escape that place, and he had been one of the lucky ones. She decided to stick to the topic at hand. “I’m not the most experienced member of the Highway, it’s true, but I’ve worn the cloak long enough to know I’m supposed to succeed by being bold and clever. On the Grey, you’re only ever as good as your last job. If it’s getting around that I stabbed my way to victory over the Atropi—”
Lysander was not slow to catch on. “Your reputation will suffer.”
She nodded. “On the Grey Highway, reputation is everything, and that derives from both your sponsor and the jobs you do.” She grimaced. “Being cloaked by Hector was never a sign of distinction, and if I don’t have even the good name I won by striking back against the Atropi, I’ve got nothing—” She was interrupted by another knock on the outer door. She groaned and dropped her head on the table.
Lysander laughed. “Do you want me to send them away?”
“No. It’s fine.” She rose and stalked towards the door. “It can’t be worse than any other conversation I’ve had today.” She opened the door to reveal Castor, a sword at his belt and a small boy at his side. He glanced over his shoulder and down the stairs as if he feared pursuit, then turned back to her.
“I need you to hide him,” he said.
Chapter Two: Uninvited guests
Duchess waited nervously in the alley behind the shop, the boy close beside her.
She’d sent Lysander around to the front to alert Jana; taking the child through a shop crowded with customers was not a good idea, especially without knowing why he must be hidden. Castor hadn’t had time for that, or much else, for that matter. She supposed she was lucky to know the boy’s name.
“Far,” Castor had said, kneeling before the child, “I need you to go with Duchess and do exactly as she says. She’s going to take you someplace safe. I’ll come for you later.”
The boy had nodded stoically, though Duchess could see the shine of tears in his gray eyes, so very like Castor’s.
As Castor rose and prepared to leave, Duchess thought quickly. “I’ll take him down to the shop,” she told the former White. “There’s more space for him there, and—”
Castor shook his head sharply. “I won’t have him on the street.”
“You will,” Lysander replied flatly. “I don’t know who you’re hiding him from, but the shop’s more public than these apartments, and that means safety.”
“Besides, the shop is just as much under the protection of the Red as this place,” she reminded Castor. “Anyone who wants to cause trouble there will answer to the Uncle and no one in the lower city wants that.” Castor had given her a dubious look, but in the end he’d acquiesced and left without explanation, promising to find them there by nightfall.
The lock turned, the door creaked open, and Jana peeked out into the alley. “Duchess, why are you—” Her dark eyes turned first to Duchess then to Far. “You have brought a guest,” she noted stiffly, clearly wanting to ask more but too polite to actually do so. Behind her, Duchess could make out the sound of voices; the shop’s front room must be full of customers.
The shop’s success wasn’t all that surprising—it had been doing a brisk business ever since the Fall of Ventaris, when Gloria Tremaine had presented her replacement for the Atropi’s ruined dress. Duchess had made certain the weavers’ guildmaster had used Jana’s cloth in that dress, and had made doubly certain everyone knew where it had come from.
That had taken some doing, requiring nothing less than Duchess exchanging her true name for a prophecy from the facets, one specifically tailored to push Tremaine into granting Jana the license she needed to work within the city. There was little enough love lost between the Atropi and Tremaine, a fact Duchess had used to her advantage at the Fall.
It had all been worth it, in the end. Duchess’ actions had brought in a considerable amount of coin in the last few weeks, and more—what had begun as a business had quickly become personal. In Jana, Duchess had found a friend and fellow outsider. In Duchess, Jana had found a guide to a culture that was still very foreign to her, protecting her from the harsh realities of life amongst the colors. Jana had always trusted that Duchess had her best interests at heart.
Duchess hoped that trust remained, because she was about to lean on it hard.
She ushered the boy inside and closed the door, feeling like nothing so much as Nurse Gelda bringing the young Marina Kell to Noam’s doorstep. “Is everything all right out front?”
The girl nodded, her long black hair swaying with the motion. “Lysander is handling things. He knows the prices and is quicker with money.” Domae who lived outside Rodaas did not use currency, and Jana was still getting used to pennies, half-pennies, and sou.
“This is Far,” Duchess said. “He’ll be staying with us today. May we use the third floor?”
“Of course. But you know that we have not yet cleared out—”
“It’s fine.” Fortunately the steps were accessible from the back room of the shop, all the better to slip Far upstairs unseen. The building was not large, but it easily accommodated the shop and workroom on the first floor and Jana’s room on the second, with a large third-floor room not yet put to use. As they ushered Far up the stairs, Duchess silently blessed Jana for being so understanding. She’d only known the Domae for six months, but already the weaver felt more like a sister than a business partner.
The third floor was clean, but half-filled with bales of cotton and flax and sealed vats of dye, along with some furniture left by previous tenants. There were a few splintered chairs, a small round table and a wide bench, which Duchess had planned to get rid of but was now grateful she hadn’t. Far looked around the space with wary eyes, and Duchess felt a pang. She knew well enough the feeling of being yanked from one’s normal life and thrust without explanation into the care of strangers. She resolved to treat the boy more gently.
This must be Castor’s son, the secret child that had gotten the man thrown out of the White and imprisoned by Takkis, the sheriff of Temple District. Last summer’s rumors had described a boy far younger, needing his father’s care after his mother’s death, yet Far seemed closer to ten summers than six. Although his hair was auburn where Castor’s was brown and his features finer—his nose sharper and his cheekbones higher—he had the same steel-gray eyes. Wherever he’d come from had not been poverty; his tunic and breeches were well made if a bit soiled, and his boots were of high quality. His cloak was finely woven, too, and she’d made him put up the hood for the trip down from the Shallows, to ensure he was not recognized.
“It’s a little disorganized,” Duchess said apologetically gesturing to the rough furniture, “but it’s safe enough.” Far said nothing, and she fumbled for words. She wasn’t very experienced with children and even less so with boys; Noam had had only girls. The boys with which Duchess was most familiar were the lightboys who guided nobles and other up-hill folks through the Shallows at night, with a lamp in one hand and a long stick in the other, to keep away pickpockets. No lightboy was as well groomed and reserved as Far.
“Perhaps you would like to sit by the window,” Jana said, taking over. She moved one of the chairs near a window that overlooked Dock Street. “There are always things to watch, many people going back and forth.” Far nodded and moved to the chair. “Will you take off your cloak? It looks very warm, and it is still early in the
autumn.” The boy climbed into the chair without reply and without removing the garment. In his stoicism he was the mirror image of Castor.
She could imagine what his father had told him on the way to her apartments. Speak no more than necessary, keep yourself quiet, follow instructions. She shook her head—what could possibly worry Castor so much that he’d leave the boy with her abruptly and without warning?
She decided to try another tack. “It’s late in the day. Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”
That did the trick. Far nodded shyly, then turned his gaze to the window and the street below. Duchess smiled. “I’ll go and get something for all of us. I’ll be back soon, and if you need anything, Jana is right downstairs.” She motioned to the weaver and they turned to leave. Duchess took one look back and saw the boy silently staring out the window, his face a mask. She knew nothing of his previous life, and she was fairly certain she’d get no answers from him or his father. Yet any life that would make a child grow up so fast...
She stepped on that thought. By the time she was Far’s age, she’d been living with Noam for years. If he’d grown up in the Deeps, like Lysander, he’d be a lightboy, a ganymede, or dead. Children grow up, she told herself, moving down the stairs after Jana. It’s what they do.
Jana waited until they were out of earshot. “Who—?”
“He’s Castor’s boy.”
Jana blinked. “Castor has returned? Why did he not bring the boy himself?”
Duchess shrugged. “I don’t know. He told me to hide Far and that’s what I’m doing.” From the sound of it there weren’t many customers left in the shop. Bless Lysander for taking care of things. “I’m sorry to barge in here with him like that, but I didn’t know what else to do. Castor looked scared when he left him with us, if you can believe it.” Truth be told, the man looked even more frightened than when he and Duchess had faced the walking dead under the city.
Jana’s jaw firmed. “Castor was there for us when those men tried to break my looms,” she said, referring to the Brutes that Julius and the Atropi had set upon them, “and we must now be here for him.”
It seemed there was reason for blessings all around. “Thank you,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “You would not believe the day I’ve had, but from the sound of it, you’ve had quite a day of your own.” Since the Fall, it seemed as though half the nobles in the city were sending servants and dressmakers down to the Wharves with coin in hand.
Jana shrugged. “There have been many people today, buying cloth and asking questions.”
Duchess straightened up. “More questions from your brothers and sisters in the guild?”
Jana nodded. “The one called Ferroc sent another of her nieces. I...have tried to put off their questions, but it is becoming harder.”
Duchess could only imagine: show me your looms or how do you mix your dyes and tell me how you weave beads into the cloth. Jana was still learning the ways of money, but she didn’t have to be Rodaasi to understand the meaning of a trade secret. The weaver was ordinarily warm and generous but when provoked she could be a wall.
Still, Duchess did not want her unduly stressed. “How are you holding up?”
Jana smiled, but the strain was clear on her face. “It is wonderful for the shop to be doing so well, but...”
“But?”
“I am able to keep up with this demand for now, but if things go on this way I will fall behind. I can only weave so much cloth in a day.”
Duchess winced, wishing she herself could help out, but Jana’s craft was specialized and Duchess lacked both the time to learn and the skill to succeed. “Maybe it’s time to talk about getting you some help. An apprentice—”
Jana was shaking her head. “The way I learned my craft was—it was not a job, as they say, but family. My aunt taught me everything I know.”
“Adelpha,” Duchess said. Adelpha had died two years ago, or so Jana had said. Of course, Jana had also said that Adelpha had spoken to her just before she came to Rodaas. Duchess had not pressed her on the matter—the gods knew Duchess had plenty of her own secrets.
“She taught me everything I know, and to teach that to another is something special. I cannot train a stranger.”
Duchess sighed. “I can’t fault you for that. Besides, given what your sisters among the weavers have been asking as of late, it’s likely anyone you found would be a spy for the guild...” She trailed off, listening.
“What is it?” Jana asked.
Duchess pointed towards the doorway that led to shop’s front room. “I could swear I’ve heard that voice before.”
* * *
“If Jana cannot be bothered to meet with me, then I don’t—”
“—need to return, I’m sure,” Lysander spoke right over the young woman. “Mistress Jana is exceedingly busy, as I already explained to you.” Duchess and Jana peeked carefully around the door and saw Lysander facing down a chinless, red-haired young woman who was definitely familiar: Rebecca, one of Gloria Tremaine’s many assistants. And a spy for the Atropi, Duchess remembered from the night she’d eavesdropped on the old women from her perch in their rafters.
Rebecca sniffed. She was doing a fantastic job of aping Tremaine’s sneering contempt. “Perhaps Mistress Jana hasn’t told you, but I happen to work for Guildmaster Tremaine and I—“
Lysander cut her off with a wave of his hand. “—have better things to do, I’m sure, than give me a detailed analysis of your relative positions in the guild, I’m sure.” It was as if both of them had attended private sneering classes with the guildmaster. “There were three different pieces you were interested in, I believe?”
While Lysander and Rebecca picked out cloth, Duchess and Jana withdrew to the back room to release pent-up laughter. “Mistress Jana,” Duchess whispered, nudging the girl.
“Shh! They’ll hear you,” Jana scolded, but her reprimand came around the giggles she was muffling in her hands. When they’d gotten themselves under control they crept back to the door where Rebecca had decided on three bolts of cloth.
“That will do for now,” she said sullenly, slipping her fingers into a pocket and extracting a small money pouch. “How much?”
When Lysander named his price, it was all Duchess could do not to laugh. Jana was less disciplined, and her gasp was clearly audible in the shop, at least to Lysander. Duchess saw his mouth twitch into the slightest indication of a smile, but the face he turned back to Rebecca was as expressionless as Castor’s.
Rebecca paused in reaching for her money. “I beg your pardon?”
“Each,” Lysander replied casually.
This time it was Rebecca who gasped. “You can’t be—”
Lysander smiled brilliantly at Rebecca, enjoying this entirely too much. “Is there a problem? I quite understand if you haven’t the coin, but I’m afraid we don’t extend credit. And you must understand the demand involved. I have other things to do, and I am sure the guildmaster has other errands for you to run, so...” He treated her to his most withering stare, and Duchess had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Tight-lipped, Rebecca emptied her purse on the counter and counted out a pile of coin to Lysander, who watched to ensure she got the amount correct. Rebecca then picked up the cloth and stormed out.
“Do call on us again,” Lysander called after her.
Duchess stepped out into the shop, with Jana at her heels. “What was all that?”
Lysander was scooping the small fortune Rebecca had left behind into a pile. “Doing business. What do you call it?”
Jana looked at the money on the counter as if it might suddenly vanish. “That amount—that was two or three times what I have charged to others. It is not fair.”
Lysander put his hand to his heart. “Are you accusing me of cheating?” He gestured grandly to the coin. “I simply charged Miss Rebecca the current rate.” He rounded on Duchess. “I expected better of you. Have you learned nothing from me?”
Duchess was laughing
again. “What—?”
Lysander held up a hand and turned back to Jana. “Most of the folk who are coming in here work for the nobility. Nobles don’t want to pay a fair price for anything; they want to pay more than anyone else, so they can brag to their friends.” He shook his head. “You don’t know what you have here. Half the city is talking about this wondrous cloth of yours, and you two are its one and only source. It might not last forever, but while it does...well, speaking as someone who knows: when you’re the prettiest boy on the lane, my dears, you raise your prices.”
Jana looked uncertainly at Duchess, who threw up her hands. “All right,” she laughed, “but if Gloria Tremaine herself comes down here to complain, you can deal with her.” She turned to the door. “Now I need to find something to feed an annoying little boy.” She gave Lysander a look. “And we should get something for Far as well.”
* * *
Castor returned after tenth bell and Duchess was waiting for him, a lamp burning at her elbow. She opened the door to admit him, and he quickly closed it behind him.
“Where is he?” he asked, his usually impassive face tight with tension.
“Upstairs,” she said, gesturing towards the ceiling. “I sent Lysander up to make him up a bed and get him to sleep, but I’ve heard them talking since. Jana’s asleep and I’m just hoping they don’t wake her.” She looked him up and down, taking in his dirty leather jerkin and heavy woolen breeches, stained with what might have been blood, though he seemed unhurt. He also wore a heavy longsword in a wood-and-leather sheath. “You’ll probably want to see him.”
“Yes.” His gray eyes fixed on hers. “I appreciate you taking him for the day.” He glanced away. “You didn’t have to do that.” He looked back. “I’ll take him off your hands now.”
“He’s been no trouble,” she assured Castor, feeling strangely reluctant to see him leave. “He’s barely said two words since he got here. He makes you look positively talkative.” She’d never seen Castor like this, and she burned to know what had him so spooked. “Where will you go? Or should I even ask?”
