At least Basilard met his eyes. A crinkle furrowed his brow, as if he weren’t sure why everyone was turning on Maldynado either. Good, but that might only mean that he wasn’t from the empire and didn’t care what Maldynado’s relatives were up to. Still, Maldynado found himself asking, “Bas, you know I’m honorable and trustworthy, right?”
I believe you would not intentionally harm the team, Basilard signed.
Intentionally? So, Basilard just thought Maldynado was inept and had been fooled by some woman?
One of Akstyr’s surly whatevers wanted to find its way to Maldynado’s lips, but, no, he wasn’t going to let them know how much this upset and rattled him. And he certainly wasn’t going to give anyone another reason to believe him untrustworthy.
“Fine.” Maldynado plucked his coin out of Books’s fingers and handed it to Yara with a flourish. “The new person fetches Books’s newspaper.” Pretending he had no worries, he gave her his best smile. A sane woman would find it gorgeous and irresistible.
She scowled at him.
Chapter 3
Maldynado considered the hat-filled nook in Madame Mimi’s Evenglory Boutique, lamenting the limited selection and the fact that most of the clothing in the shop featured the previous year’s styles. He plucked at an orange-feathered scarf. It was unforgivable, really. Sunders City wasn’t that small or that far from the capital. He was on the verge of walking out when a black hat, half-hidden on a stand bristling with garishly colored yarn beanies, caught his eye.
“Huh.” Maldynado plucked it from its unseemly perch. “This might do.”
This was the hat of a killer, a serious no-nonsense hat for serious no-nonsense people. Black, low, and sleek, it possessed the finest brushed velvet and represented quality craftsmanship. Maybe with this hat, Sespian and everyone else would take him more seriously. It oozed menace and whispered of blood-soaked deeds carried out by dark men of sinister purpose. Yes, this was the hat. He was vaguely surprised Sicarius didn’t already own one. It could use an accent though. Maldynado tapped his lip thoughtfully, then added a large, bright pink plume so that it stuck jauntily out of the side. There. Perfect. He placed the hat upon his head.
“Can I help you, mister?” the shopkeeper asked.
Mister? Women usually took one look at Maldynado and assumed the title was “my lord.” He supposed, in his swamp-bathed clothing, he did have the appearance of street riffraff. He’d have to disavow the woman of that notion.
Turning, Maldynado swept the hat from his head and offered a deep warrior-caste bow. The aging female shopkeeper wore so much lip paint and rouge that he was surprised her face hadn’t fallen off under the weight. That didn’t keep him from offering his brightest smile.
“Actually, my lady,” Maldynado said, granting her the title, though he knew from the shop’s name that she wasn’t warrior-caste, “I may be able to help you. I see that, despite your prominent location on the River Walk, I’m your only customer.”
“It’s normally busier than this, but the hour grows late.”
Now that Maldynado faced her, she gave him a more appraising look, perhaps noting the quality of the tailor-made garments beneath the grime of the road-and far too many crashes for one week.
Maldynado assumed a pose that showed off the breadth of chest. “As busy as you’d like? My siblings and I were robbed by riverboat pirates, and I’m in dire need of clothing that will hold us until we return to our estate in the capital.”
She’d been taking note of his physique while he spoke, though she frowned when he mentioned needing free clothing.
“This, of course, would be a hardship for you, but in exchange for your generosity, I’d be willing to talk up your shop in my circles. Many of my comrades travel downriver to Markworth in the spring, and I could suggest they stop here, the wonderful boutique where I received exquisite service.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“I… ”
It wasn’t much of an offer, but she seemed flustered beneath his gaze. Good. The middle-aged ones tended to be more wise to the ways of men and could represent more of a challenge than the younger ladies, but all that war paint had to be hiding a few features that made men scarce. Judging by the flush of her cheeks and the number of appraising glances she stole when he wasn’t looking, she appreciated his attention. A hint of calculation entered her eyes, though, and he started to grow concerned.
“You’re offering free advertising, you say?” she asked.
“Essentially.”
“I must see how you’d look in my store’s clothing. Naturally you’d need to be a good representative if your recommendation were to leave an impression on people.”
Maldynado wanted to snort and proclaim that he looked good in any store’s clothing, but she was already bustling about, assembling an outfit. She laid a stack of garments in his arms and smiled. Maldynado waited for her to direct him to a fitting room. She didn’t.
“Do you have a changing area?” Maldynado asked.
“Alas, it’s closed for repairs.” Her smiled deepened.
Ah, so she wanted a show. Maldynado shrugged, set the clothes down, and unbuttoned his shirt. He’d undressed for far less noble purposes. Besides, when a man had a flawless physique, he really owed it to the world to share it in all its glory. While he changed, he glanced at the front door a few times, hoping Sergeant Yara would wander in. She’d chosen to wait on the street-keep watch, she’d said-but maybe she’d grow bored and check on him.
The shopkeeper assisted Maldynado in putting on her clothing, doing more touching than the act required. She also made him try on five different ensembles before finding one that he’d “represent well.” Maybe, for enduring this, he’d barter for two outfits for everyone on the team.
A half hour later, the dressing and shopping were done. Unfortunately, Yara never came in. Maldynado was on his way to the door when the shopkeeper glided to a stop in front of him with a large stack of business cards in her hand.
“Here you are, my lord.” She stuck them in his pocket. Pockets, actually, as the sizable stack required dividing. “You promise you’ll hand them out to those in your circle, right?” She tilted her head back, gazing into his eyes with her own imploring ones.
A twinge of guilt ran through him, and, he knew as soon as he nodded his head that he’d actually have to do it. A fib now and then was one thing, but a promise? He couldn’t break that, even if the “circle” he ran in now wasn’t terribly likely to shop on the River Walk at Sunders City.
When Maldynado stepped outside, his arms laden with bags, the setting sun gleamed orange on the water. Despite the reluctant promise he’d given, he felt good. The sexy new hat perched atop his wavy curls, and his dirty garments had been replaced by practical travel wear: a leather duster, suede shirt a touch snug across the chest so that it emphasized his musculature, and fitted trousers that emphasized… other things. If Yara still had that quarter-ranmya coin, he might arrange to accidently bump it from her fingers, so he could take a while picking it up in front of her.
But where was Yara? He searched for her amongst the handful of pedestrians strolling down the shop-lined cobblestone street. The area wasn’t as busy as he remembered from his youth, though the chill in the air might explain that. A nippy breeze gusted down the river, hinting of rain, or maybe snow. Smoke billowed from a stack on a steamboat chugging upstream, making Maldynado think of warming his hands by a fire. A fire in a suite in a fine inn preferably, but he supposed he needed to return soon with the clothing if he didn’t want Sespian to grow weary of waiting and go off on his own.
Maldynado finally spotted Yara in an alcove of a brick building, her back to the wall as she alternately watched the street and read a newspaper. Ah, too bad. She must have spent the coin.