“Oh, come on,” Locke growled. “Not now. Surely you have better things to do than bother us now.”
“Which one are you?” said Sabetha, calmly and respectfully.
“Archedama Patience. You work for my rival.”
“Patience,” said Locke, “if this isn’t important, I swear to the Crooked Warden, I’ll—”
“It is important. In fact, it’s critical. It’s time we spoke. Since neither of you could be dissuaded from this foolishness, both of you have a right to know.”
“Both of us?” said Sabetha. “What do we have a right to know?”
“Where Locke really comes from.” Patience gestured for the two of them to move away from the food table. “And what Locke really is.”
INTERLUDE
HAPPENINGS IN BEDCHAMBERS
1
“HONORED … cousin,” Locke hissed, “I need …”
“Do regaleme with your needs,” said Boulidazi.
“Air!”
“Ah.” The iron pressure against Locke’s neck eased just enough to permit a breath.
“It’s not what you think,” he gasped.
“Perhaps I’ve been an idiot,” whispered Boulidazi, “but you’ll not find me eager to resume the role.”
“Gennaro!”
Sabetha stood in the balcony door, and her tone of voice was sufficient to check a rampant horse. Boulidazi actually lowered his blade.
“Verena, I … I’m sorry, but your behavior—”
“It’s yourbehavior that requires explanation, Cousin!”
“I’ve been listening to both of you—”
“You’ve been skulking like a thief!”
“You proclaimed love for one another! I heard your quarrel!”
Too late, Boulidazi seemed to remember that he hadn’t yet professed his interest in Verena to Verena herself. Dismay spilled across his face like paint splashed across a blank canvas, and Sabetha didn’t neglect the opening.
“It was an acting exercise, you lout! An improvisation! And why should it concern you, were it otherwise?”
“An … improvisation?”
“I asked Lucaza to follow my lead and improvise a scene!” She pushed Boulidazi’s arm firmly away from Locke’s throat. “A scene you interrupted! We might be the ones dressed as commoners, Baron Boulidazi, but you’ve bested us for coarse behavior!”
“But …”
Locke admired the ingenuity of Sabetha’s ploy, but perhaps she was pushing it too far. They needed Boulidazi controlled, not crushed. It was time to resume his role as advocate. He rubbed his aching throat.
“Cousin Verena,” he coughed, “what Gennaro means is that I told him about my own betrothal. So, when he overheard our exercise, why, he had good cause to suspect some deceit.”
“He had no cause to lay hands on your person!”
“Cousin, be sensible. We discussed this before we set out. We knew that living incognito would require us to surrender some of the dignities of our true station.”
“Yes, but—”
“Furthermore, there are no other witnesses, so I feel no need to require satisfaction.”
Locke tried to sound as natural and confident as possible, though he suspected Boulidazi would rate the prospect of a duel with him as a physical threat on par with a difficult bowel movement. The thought of alienating Verena, however …
“I seem to have made a mistake.” Boulidazi sheathed his knife. The cold anger of moments before was put away just as thoroughly. “Verena, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Tell me, please, how can I recover your good opinion?”
Locke blinked at the solitary direction of the apology and the rapid shift to a smooth, wheedling manner. He’d pegged Boulidazi as sincere and straightforward, even a bit of a yokel, but the Esparan had obviously relegated the “noble” Lucaza to the role of a tool in his designs on Sabetha. That and his ease with violence hinted at dangerous depths.
“For one thing,” said Sabetha, “you can cease this unseemly scuttling in shadows. You’re a lord of Espara and the patron of this company. I’d prefer to see you come and go openly in a manner befitting your blood.”
“Of … of course.”
“And if you want to make yourself genuinely useful, you could secure us a more appropriate rehearsal space. I’m growing tired of Mistress Gloriano’s inn-yard.”
“Where would you prefer—”
“I’m told we’re to use a theater called the Old Pearl.”
“Oh. Naturally. Well, that’s just a matter of a gratuity for the countess’ envoy of ceremonies—”
“See to that gratuity, Baron Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, subtly softening her posture and tone of voice. “Surely it’s a matter of little consequence for you. It will be a boon to the company to be practicing on our real stage as soon as possible. Do this, and I’ll be pleased to call you Gennaro again.”
“Then consider it done.” Boulidazi bowed to her with gallant overformality, gave Locke a perfunctory clap on the shoulder, and went away in haste. His footsteps receded down the passage, and the door to the inn’s second floor banged shut.
“That was close,” whispered Locke.
“Our patron is starting to assume possessive feelings toward his noble cousins,” said Sabetha. “He’s more shifty than I realized.”
“My neck agrees.” With the threat of Boulidazi temporarily quelled, Locke’s thoughts returned to the conversation the baron had interrupted. “And, uh, look, you and I have had—”
“Nothing,” hissed Sabetha. “Evidently I was wrong to say what I did, and wrong to feel those things in the first place.”
“That’s bullshit!” Barely feeling the ache across his throat for the new sting of her words, Locke shocked himself by grabbing her arm and pulling her back out onto the balcony. “I tripped over something. I don’t know what it is, but you oweme an explanation. After everything we just said to one another, I will notlet you push me aside just because you’re pitching a fit!”
“I am not pitching a fit!”
“You make the Sanzas look like bloody diplomats when you do this. I’ll run after Boulidazi and pick another fight with him before I’ll let this rest. What set you off?”
“You cannot be so wholly ignorant … Do you know what they pay for red-haired girls in Jerem? Do you know what they do to us if we’re pristine? The Thiefmaker did—and it’s so awful it was too much for his conscience. Understand? That ghoul would tongue-fuck a dead rat if there was silver in it for him, but selling redheadswas too vile. He’s the one that taught me to keep my hair dyed and wrapped.”
“I’ve heard about these things, but I never, I never thought of you—”
“First they cut,” said Sabetha. “Right out of a girl’s sex. What they call the sweetness, the little hill. You’ve been around Calo and Galdo long enough, you must have heard a dozen names for it. Then while the wound is gushing, they bring in the old bastard with the rotting cock or the festering sores or whatever he wants miraculously cured, and he does his business. ‘Blood of the blood-haired child,’ is what they call it.”
“Sabetha—”
“And then, even though mostof the miracle is already used up, they bring in the next hundred men that want a go at the bloody hole, because it still brings good luck. In fact, it’s especiallygood luck if you’re the one riding her when she finally dies!”
“Gods.”
“Yes. May they all spend ten thousand years drinking salted shit in the deepest hell there is.” Sabetha slumped against the rear wall of the balcony and stared at their discarded wine cups and scripts. “Damn. I ampitching a fit.”
“You have some cause!”
She gave a sharp, self-disgusted sort of laugh.
“How was Isupposed to know all this the first time I ever laid eyes on you?” said Locke. “I remember that first glimpse as though it happened yesterday. But that’s not the only thing I think about … if it really bothers you that much—”