Zach was grinning from ear to ear when they sat. “That was brilliant! It was just like the first time we met. Do you remember?”
“Indeed I do, though I hardly think it something to be proud of.” Lenoir was never sure whether Zach fully appreciated how close he had come to his demise. Had Lenoir not happened upon the Firkin at the exact moment Zach was being hauled outside for a beating, the boy would almost certainly have met his end. To this day, Lenoir was not entirely certain why he had intervened, or at least why he had not dragged the boy off to face the magistrate. He told himself that it was simply too much effort to arrest and process a child who would only wind up at the end of a rope one day.
And in truth, Lenoir did not begrudge Zach his thieving ways—not then, and not now. Zach had been dealt a poor hand, poorer than most in this city of ill fortune, yet he never let that grind him down. He could have done as the others did, rattling aimlessly about the orphanage all day, taking whatever life and the overworked nuns saw fit to dish out. Instead he took his fate into his own hands, day after day, at not inconsiderable risk to life and limb. If he was crafty enough to make his own way, why should Lenoir interfere? On the contrary, he was impressed with the boy’s grit and adaptability. As long as Zach confined himself to petty crimes, Lenoir was content enough to let him alone, especially since he had proven himself a valuable resource.
That did not, however, mean that he would allow himself to be duped by the boy. He eyed Zach shrewdly. “Where is it?”
At first Zach’s expression was all innocence, but when it became clear that Lenoir was not going to fall for it, he grinned again. “Under my hat.”
Lenoir sighed. “You should be more careful, Zach. There are many in this neighborhood who would dash your skull to pieces without a second thought.”
“Lucky I have you to protect me.”
“What makes you think I will protect you next time?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll have to find someone else who can get you the information I do, and that won’t be easy.”
Lenoir laughed in spite of himself. The boy knew his own worth. That was good. “Earn your keep, then. I have a job for you.” He waved the barmaid over and they ordered dinner. While they waited for it to arrive, Lenoir got down to business. “Tell me, Zach, have you ever heard of Lady Zera?”
“I think so. Doesn’t she own a brothel?”
Lenoir grunted thoughtfully. Zera’s fears about her reputation seemed to be well founded. “She does not. In fact, she runs quite a reputable salon on the high street.”
“What’s a salon?”
“It’s a gathering of people, hosted by someone of renowned taste.”
“Like a party?”
“Of sorts, a party for the wealthy and the elegant, where they can show off their knowledge of literature and philosophy.”
“Sounds boring.”
Lenoir smiled. “Sometimes. But a talented host will ensure that there is enough fine liquor and other indulgences to make up for the rarified conversation. It is also a place for the fashionable to be seen.”
“Are you fashionable?” the boy asked guilelessly.
Lenoir almost choked on his wine. “Certainly not,” he said, dabbing at his shirt, “but Lady Zera is, exceedingly so. She is one of the most admired hostesses in the city. That is no small thing, because she also happens to be Adali.”
Zach’s eyes widened. “Really? Does she know magic?”
“Come, now, Zach, not this again. You know better than to believe such superstitious nonsense. Your neighborhood is full of Adali. How many of them are witches?”
The boy considered. “They’re thieves, mostly.”
Lenoir winced at the generalization, widely held though it was. “On the contrary, most Adali are ordinary, law-abiding folk. But it is true that many fall to crime. Life is hard for them here. An Adal living in the city is cut off from his clan. He is poor and despised, so he makes his way as best he can.”
“Then why do they come here?”
Lenoir paused. For one so young, the boy asked insightful questions. Perhaps he would make a good inspector after all. Aloud, he said, “I suppose they come to make their fortune. Perhaps some of them do not want to raise cattle for the rest of their lives.” Just as many were prostitutes and other forms of trafficked slaves, but Lenoir saw no point in troubling Zach with the darker realities of Adali life. The boy knew all too well what it meant to be poor, desperate, and preyed upon. “In any case, Lady Zera has gone to great pains to dissociate herself from her people.”
“Why?”
“Because she does not want to be stained by association. Kennians do not like the Adali, Zach.”
“Because they steal?”
“Among other complaints. Few people take time to consider what it must be like to live in the city’s slums, what it takes to survive. If they did, they would find much to admire. Instead they see only what is alien and frightening, and they judge the whole race by its worst examples. Lady Zera does not want to be judged alongside the rest. She wants to fit in here in the city, and so far she has succeeded admirably. She is elegant and refined, and it helps that she is very beautiful. People are prepared to overlook the fact that she is Adali. Otherwise, she would have no place in fashionable society. And that brings me to the point, Zach. Where did you hear that Lady Zera runs a brothel?”
Zach shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
“I need you to put your ear to the ground. Someone is spreading rumors about Zera, and I want to know who is behind it.”
Zach scowled. “Boring. Who cares about gossip?”
“Zera does. In her business, reputation is everything. She has made a good name for herself, but she is still Adali. It would not take much of a scandal to ruin her.”
“How am I supposed to find out who started a rumor?”
“Start with the other salon hostesses,” Lenoir suggested. “Such rumors are usually invented by those who are envious or competitive. Seek these ladies out, or their servants. Failing that, see if you can find out who is actually doing the talking. Whoever is behind it may have paid someone to provide grist for the mill.”
Their food arrived. It was half cold, and the venison loin on Lenoir’s plate looked like a giant rusted nail. His nostrils flared in disapproval, but his belly could not wait for a better option. He glanced at the table for a fork and knife; seeing none, he stopped the barmaid.
“What for?” she asked, visibly bewildered.
“For eating like a civilized human being, madam.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bloody Arrènais snob,” she muttered as she flounced away.
“Bloody Braelish barbarian,” he retorted under his breath.
“So when do I get to meet Lady Zera?” Zach did not wait for cutlery, but plunged his fingers straight into his pie.
Lenoir snorted. “Why would Lady Zera want to meet you?”
“Because I’m irresistible,” the boy deadpanned.
Lenoir burst out laughing. “Zach, one day you will be a man, and a man must learn his place in the world. Take no offense, but believe me when I tell you that Lady Zera will never in her life come within ten miles of the likes of you.”
The noise of the alehouse was beginning to bother him. He was accustomed to the silence of the cemetery, the airy nothingness that settled like fine ash over a place of death. This place was too alive. The light seared his eyes, the laughter jangled his nerves. He felt too warm sitting here in the glow of the hearth. All around him, folk were talking and drinking and milling about. He wished they would go away, all of them. His drunkenness only heightened his irritability, and he knew that if he did not leave soon, he would find himself in a brawl.