“There are plenty of Kaunians in Forthweg with dark hair now, or I hope there are,” Vanai said. “I wonder what went wrong and tipped off the Algarvians that we’d found a magic to let us look like everybody else.”
“Somebody must have stayed out too long, and had the magic wear off when a redhead was looking,” Ealstan said. “Something like that, anyhow.”
“Aye, you’re likely right,” Vanai agreed after a little thought. “But can you blame whoever did it? Trapped in that little district, never knowing if Mezentio’s men were going to haul him away and send him west? Wouldn’t you want to grab as much freedom as you could?”
“Likely so,” Ealstan said. “But I wouldn’t want to do anything that could put anybody else in danger.”
The answer was very much in character for him. He thought of others ahead of himself; Vanai had seen that for as long as she’d known him. It was unusual in someone so young. It was, from what she’d seen, unusual in people of any age. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. It drew her to him now: she got up, went over to him, sat down beside him on the worn sofa, and gave him a kiss.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Because I felt like it,” Vanai answered.
“Oh, really?” This time, Ealstan kissed her. “What else do you feel like?”
“We ought to wait till my hair is dry,” Vanai said. She lifted a lock from her shoulder and nodded. “See? It’s just what I thought-the dye’s stained my tunic. I don’t want to have to try to get it out of the bedclothes, too.”
He thought that over, then nodded. “I suppose I can wait,” he said, sounding as if he deserved a special order of merit for being able to. Vanai laughed a little. When it came to matters that touched the bedchamber, he had more trouble thinking of anyone but himself. But he could do it, which put him a long way ahead of Major Spinello.
Maybe Spinello’s dead by now, Vanai thought hopefully. Maybe they sent him down to that Sulingen place where the fighting goes on and on and on. If they did send him there, may he never come out again.
She had to make a deliberate effort to drive the Algarvian officer out of her mind. Sometimes even that didn’t work; sometimes memories of him got between her and Ealstan when they made love, killing her pleasure as if blazing it with a heavy stick.
Not tonight, though. Afterwards, she and Ealstan lay side by side, naked and sweaty. As he had when they’d made love after she first made her sorcery succeed, he reached out and plucked a hair from her bush. As she had then, she yelped now. “What was that for?” she demanded, more than a little irate.
He held the hair between thumb and forefinger. “It’s still blond,” he said.
“Well, of course it is!” Vanai exclaimed. “What do you want me to do, dye myself down there, too?”
To her astonishment, Ealstan nodded. “I think you’d better,” he said seriously. “Sooner or later, Mezentio’s men are going to figure out that Kaunians are dyeing their hair-the hair on their heads, I mean. What’ll they do then? Start yanking up tunics and yanking down drawers, that’s what.”
“They wouldn’t!” But then Vanai grimaced. “They might. They’re Algarvians, curse them, and Algarvians have no shame, not about such things.” Memories of Spinello surged upward again, and of the utterly blase way he’d acted when Brivibas walked in on him while he was taking his pleasure with her. “No,” she said in a low voice, “they have no shame at all.”
Ealstan, fortunately, didn’t know just what an intimate knowledge of Algarvian shamelessness she had. But he knew her well enough to see she was troubled. He took her in his arms. And when he did, he only held her. He didn’t try to make love with her again, though she had no trouble telling he would have been interested in doing so.
She thought about lying there and letting him have her-she would have taken no pleasure from a second round then. But she’d done that too many times with Spinello, because she’d had no choice. Now she did have one, and Ealstan seemed no more than slightly miffed when she got out of bed.
Even that little bit of annoyance vanished when he discovered she was going to take him up on his suggestion. Applying the dye down there was an awkward business. The stuff stung her tender flesh, too. When she was through, she giggled. She looked different in a way she’d never expected to be.
“Exotic,” Ealstan said again. Vanai let out another giggle. She knew what he meant by that: he meant he really did want another round. Being able to laugh made it easier for her to let him have one. She ended up enjoying it more than she’d thought she would, too.
The next morning, she worked the spell that let her look like a Forthwegian for a while. Ealstan hadn’t yet left to cast accounts. He nodded, confirming she’d worked the spell correctly. “It doesn’t change your looks as much now,” he said, “but it does change them.”
“All right,” she said, and left the flat without the shiver of terror she would have felt undisguised. When she got down to the street, what was she? As far as the eye could tell, just one Forthwegian among many. She wished she could go out as a Kaunian among Forthwegians, but that hadn’t always been easy even before the Algarvians overran Forthweg.
When she walked into the Forthwegian apothecary’s shop, he nodded to her from behind his high counter. “A good day to you, Mistress Thelberge,” he said; Vanai had taken to using the name Ealstan gave her. “And what can I do for you so early?”
“Since you seem to have a way of doing such things, sir,” she said, “you might want to pass word to … people who may be using dye to use it on … all their hair.”
She waited to see if he would understand. If he didn’t, she intended to be as blunt as she had to. A couple of years before, when she was still living with her grandfather, embarrassment would have paralyzed her. No more. She was a great deal harder to embarrass than she had been.
After a moment, the apothecary nodded. “I know what you’re saying, mistress, never you fear.” He paused, ground a powder with mortar and pestle- and with quite unnecessary vehemence-and added one more word: “Algarvians.”
“Aye.” Vanai nodded. “Algarvians.”
“Well, I will pass it along,” he said. “I think it may save a life or two. And as long as you’re here, can I try and sell you anything?”
Vanai smiled. “No, thanks, unless you’ve got some particularly fine mushrooms. I’m just out enjoying the morning air.” Being able to come out and enjoy the morning air felt very fine indeed.
After the words had left her mouth, she realized she’d all but told the apothecary she was a disguised Kaunian. She worried about it less than she would have with any other Forthwegian save Ealstan, but she couldn’t help worrying some. Then the apothecary said, “As a matter of fact, I’ve got some Kaunian Imperials here-a customer who was short of cash gave them to me to pay for a bottle of eyewash.”
He reached under the counter and brought out the splendid orange mushrooms. Vanai’s mouth watered. “What do you want for them?” she asked, bracing herself for a hard haggle.
“Take a couple,” the apothecary said. “It’s not always easy to get out of the city.” Aye, he knew she was a Kaunian, all right.
She bowed her head. “My thanks,” she said softly, and put two of the splendid mushrooms in her belt pouch. “That’s not the first good turn you’ve done me.” She took the mushrooms and left the shop.
A couple of Forthwegians who looked as if they were getting paid in spirits were pasting broadsheets on the walls. When Vanai stepped up and read one, she winced. The Algarvians hadn’t chosen to go yanking down everyone’s drawers, at least not yet. Instead, “in the interest of internal security,” they were making the manufacture and possession of black or dark brown hair dye illegal.
After a moment, though, Vanai started to laugh. She thought the redheads were likely to blaze off their own toes with this edict. Kaunians weren’t the only ones it would hurt. Plenty of vain and aging Forthwegians would want to keep the frost from showing in their hair and beards. She doubted whether Mezentio’s men would be able to make the prohibition stick.