“Big of ye,” Nikolas said with a snort. “Right, then. I can gi’ ye a bit now an’ a bit more once I make sure this ain’t gonna bring no trouble to m’shop. Here’s gold-weight value—” He shoved a few silver pennies under the bars. “Come back termorrow an’ ye’ll mebbe get that agin.” The man reached for the money, but Nikolas seized his wrist. “Not so fast. I gi’ ye twice as much, if’n ye kin find out where these furriners be bidin’.”
The man stilled. “Who wants t’know?”
Nikolas laughed. “Ye think I’m so daft as t’tell ye, so’s ye kin run to ’em an’ collect my fee?” He let go of the man’s wrist.
::He really does look like a weasel,:: Dallen marveled, watching through Mags’ eyes. Mags kept his shoulders hunched over and his head down. He was actually beginning to enjoy this.
Now, he himself wasn’t at all sure that the brooch was from their murderous “guests.” It wasn’t of a style like anything he had ever seen before, but as he had come to know, there was a great deal of Valdemar out there, and beyond the borders of Valdemar, there were a lot of strange places and people.
Still, if the Weasel was known for taking in things like this, some other trinket might lead them to their targets.
::Is there any way you could tell for certain where this is from?:: Nikolas asked, as the thief rubbed his wrist.
::Not really. Not like stones got liddle maps on ’em sayin’ where they come from. Might could be a Gift thet could tell ye where it’s been, but I ain’t got it. Mebbe I could look at them books the buggers left behind an’ see if’n the designs look alike, but—:: He wanted to shrug, but didn’t. No giving the game away by something out of character. ::I’d’a thunk an art-feller would be more like t’tell ye yea or nay on thet score.::
“I take all the risk, an’ you get all the profit!” the thief whined. “Now I ask you, is that fair?”
Nikolas laughed nastily. “Oh, aye, a lot of risk ye took, takin’ it off a dead man! Afraid he’s gonna haunt ye?”
The thief looked around uneasily. Nikolas laughed again. “Ye got to do next thing t’nothing to get twice what ye got fer this trinket. Keep it in mind.” He shoved the money all the way to the other side of the bars. “I buy lotsa stuff that ain’t trinkets. People pay me t’find out things. I pay people t’find ’em out for me. Understand?”
“Aye, Weasel. But it still ain’t fair—”
Nikolas snorted. “Ye want fair, go get yer friends t’gether an’ make yerself a guild so ye can make yerself rules ’bout what’s what! Fair!” He laughed through his nose. “A Thieves’ Guild! Ha! That there might be funniest notion I heard all year!”
The thief looked at him sourly but did not dispute any further with him. He scooped up his money and left, looking entirely disgruntled. Nikolas slipped the brooch into a secure pocket inside his tunic. Mags went back to braiding horsehair.
Eventually Nikolas went to a cupboard with a lot of little drawers and rummaged around in it, coming out with a handful of curious beads. He handed these to Mags, who studied them.
No two were alike; they looked like something out of a magpie’s hoard, if the magpie had excellent taste. There were carved stone, glass, enameled metal, and carved wood with a faint, exotic sweet scent to it. The one thing they all had in common was large holes, fully large enough for him to slip the round braided horsehair through. So he did just that with one of the enameled ones, secured it in the middle with a knot on either side, and finished the braid off with a loop and another intricate knot. He held it up to Nikolas, as if for approval.
::Very clever! Yes, that will give you an excuse to be here,:: said Nikolas. The Weasel, however, just grunted, snatched the bracelet, and hung it on a nail at eye level. Mags started a necklace.
By the time they left for the night, he’d made three pieces of jewelry and “sold” one—“sold” being relative, since another slattern, younger than the first and with only a smear of red lip paint, traded some of her offerings for a necklace with a porcelain bead covered in a garden of miniature flowers. It made him almost sad to see her put it around her neck; for a moment he could see what she might have been—and at the same time, what she was going to become.
He wondered how Nikolas could stand it, being in this shop night after night, seeing these people come in, some of whom were merely victims of appalling luck or very bad choices... .
::I stand it because there are some I can help,:: Nikolas said as if he had read Mags’ thought. Or perhaps he had read the expression on Mags’ face. ::That one—maybe. That bead is worth five times what I traded her for it, but I don’t think she’s going to let go of it easily, and it might be that little bit of beauty in her life will remind her that she can make other choices than she has.::
Mags was dubious... but... well, why not. Why not hope for her? So long as there was no expectation with that hope. Expectations, now, that was what bit you every time.
Hope for the best, expect nothing.
::Not that long ago, you hoped for nothing as well.:: Dallen chuckled.
::Aye, well, this big white mule seemsta hev corrupted me.::
He sensed Dallen’s snort of derision at the same time that Nikolas straightened his back and stretched, then turned and cuffed him in the ear.
Well, made it look as if he had been cuffed. The fist merely grazed his ear and whiffed through his hair, but Mags had the sense to act as if he had been hit. He cringed and made a little animal moan.
Nikolas grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. “Come along, ye gurt fool,” he growled. “Time t’be getting’ home.”
Nikolas blew out lanterns and locked up, making sure the foreign-looking brooch was in his pocket. Then he trudged up the street, Mags following with his back hunched. It was still as black as night, but Mags knew the “feel” of things, and dawn wasn’t far off by his reckoning.
He was beginning to feel the effects of the long night; he was glad that he was moving, because he knew the moment he closed his eyes, he would start to nod off. He and Nikolas could scrounge something out of the kitchen, he was sure, though it was far too early for even the kitchen staff to be awake. Then he could actually get a good seven, maybe eight candlemarks of sleep. Much better than he had reckoned he would get; he had expected he would not see his bed until after dawn.
The inn was without lights at the back where they slipped in, and as silent as if it were populated only by the dead. They changed back into their uniforms and went out to the stable, where a sleepy hostler, awakened by the Companions, had just finished saddling them.
“They kept ye might late, Herald,” the hostler said, though with no hint of complaint in his voice.
“Actors,” Nikolas said in a tone of weary amusement, while Mags yawned ostentatiously. “They think because they can sleep all day and carouse all night, the rest of the world does the same.”
“Aye, well, ye know what ye be getting into, Herald, any time they ask ye to stay,” the hostler said with a yawn of his own and a chuckle. “It ain’t as if ye haven’t been here afore.”
Then he leaned over and whispered. “New lad. Not sure he’s asleep.”
“Good man,” Nikolas whispered back and slipped him a couple of coins for his trouble. “Well, then. Till the next time my feelings of friendship overcome my good sense.”