Ann chuckled. "You think I'm expensive, wait until you tackle Sven."
"Great. Thanks. What does he want?"
"Out of the whole deal. I can hardly wait to see what you offer him that changes his mind."
Kit decided to kiss an entire quarter's worth of profits goodbye and went looking for Sven. Kit found him in the armory sharpening a gladius.
"Hi, Sven."
"Hi, yourself. The answer's no."
The scream of naked steel on the whetstone didn't encourage argument. Kit found a chair and plopped down. "Bull hockey"
Sven glanced up. "No way. She gets killed, you come hunting me; I have to break your neck .... Nope. No thanks."
"Would you rather have her go down time without lessons?"
"Huh. You'd rope her down, first.
"Yeah, but she'd have to go to the bathroom sometime and that's one determined kid. I mean it, Sven. I need you on this one. Ann can teach her anything she needs to know about projectile weapons, but she needs blades, too, and more martial arts than she's got. She needs lessons. Good lessons. Your lessons."
Sven put a finer edge on the gladius, then turned it and started working the other side. "You won't interfere?"
"Nope."
"Or get pissed off if she gets hurt?"
"Not a bit. The rougher it gets, the more likely she is to wake up and pick another career."
Sven snorted. "You're all heart, Grandpa. Well, the answer's still no. She's cute. She'll come to her senses."
Kit counted ten. Searched for some other argument "I've got a Musashi sword-guard."
Sven halted mid-stroke, then swore and reshaped the ruined edge. "Bastard. Is it signed?"
Gotcha. "Yep."
Sven glared at him. "Where the hell did you get an original Musashi sword-guard"
"Found it in the Neo Edo's safe. There's some amazing stuff in that safe."
Sven laughed darkly. "I'll just bet there is." He set the gladius aside and leaned back. "If it was just the Kid, I'd tell you to get the hell out of here." He held Kit's gaze. "You really want to teach the kid that bad?"
"Yes, I do," Kit said quietly. "If I thought there was a way out of it ...but I haven't found one yet. I want her to have a fighting chance."
Sven shook his head. "A woman scout. And a raw kid, at that. My friend, you're crazy." He gave Kit a lopsided smile. "But then, we always knew that. All right. I'll do it. And Kit -- keep the Musashi. God knows, I owe you a couple of favors here and there. Just let me look at it now and again and we'll call it even."
Kit, who couldn't have taken the priceless Musashi sword-guard back up time in any case, decided he'd just found Sven's next birthday present `hanks, buddy."
"Sure. Any time you want to go off the deep end, you just let me know. When do you want her to start?"
"Any time you're ready."
Sven sighed. "Well, hell, I guess that's now. Have you eaten dinner?"
Kit shook his head "No, and I suspect Margo's half starved. Why don't I call and see if the Delight has a table open?"
"Sounds good to me. I'll meet you upstairs as soon as I finish locking up down here."
The Epicurean Delight's decor reflected its location in Urbs Romae: mosaic floors, frescoed walls (some of them painted by a muralist who'd spent a year down time studying with ancient master artists), and tables interspersed with genuine Roman-style dinner couches for those with the desire to eat lying down. Live music was provided by an accomplished lyrist dressed in Greek slave's robes. The waiting staff, too, dressed as well liveried slaves. The evening's clientele boasted six instantly recognizable millionaires, one anonymous Japanese billionaire and his current mistress, a member of Great Britain's House of Lords and his current mistress, and three world-famous actresses who chatted animatedly about the down-time research they planned to do in London for their next film.
All in all, it was another typical night at the Delight. Kit noted Margo's eyes widen when the head waiter seated them next to the actresses.
"That's-"
"Yep," Kit said, cutting her off. "Get used to it, Margo," he grinned. "TT-86 is a magnet for the jet set, miserable lot of deadbeats that they are. Just don't plan on joining their ranks and you'll live a happier life. Now, while we wait for Sven to join us ..."
Margo's face took on a shuttered, wary look. "Yeah?"
"Relax, kid, I don't bite. Those three," he nodded toward the actresses, "are here doing role research. You said you wanted to be on stage, right?"
She nodded.
"Good." Kit leaned forward and interlaced his fingers comfortably. "I want you to think of scouting as role research for the most challenging stage play you've ever been cast as lead actress in."
Margo grinned. "That's dead easy."
"No, it isn't. If you flub your lines, there won't be any prompters backstage. You won't have a director to yell, `CUT! Take it from page six ....'You'll be on your own. Your performance won't be judged by a critic, it'll be judged by survival. Your audience will be the down-time people you encounter. Fool them and maybe you'll get back in once piece. Now...about your performance in the gym."
Her eyes flashed. "I'll get better!"
"I'm sure you will. I want you to answer one question for me, but I want you to think about it before you answer."
"I'm listening."
Kit nodded. "I want you to tell me what the goals of a time scout are. Ah, hello, Arley, how are you?"
Arley Eisenstein greeted Margo warmly, welcoming her to TT-86, then recommended the House Special. "Its a new recipe, Egyptian, wonderful. You're my guinea pigs."
Kit smiled. "I'm game. Margo?"
With a combative look in her eye, Margo said, "Anything he's having, I'll have."
"Anything?" Arley said with an up tilted eyebrow.
"Anything."
Arley rubbed his palms together in gleeful anticipation. "Oh, good. This ought to be fun. I'll tell Jacque to get started. Is anyone else joining you?"
"Just Sven, far as I know, but I don't mind company if somebody wants a chair."
"Good, good. The more the merrier," Arley laughed. "Wine? Appetizers?"
Kit glanced at Margo, who was clearly tired but still on edge. "Is this Special of yours poultry, fish, pork, or beef? Or something else altogether?"
Arley winked. "Seafood. Mostly."
"All right, why don't we start with a half-carafe of Piesporter Michelsburg and some fresh fruit and bread and I'll let you choose the wine for the main course?"
Arley flashed a delighted smile. "Mead. Egyptian mead. I'll send Julie out with the appetizers," Arley promised. He smiled warmly again at Margo, then threaded his way through the Delight, pausing now and again to speak with other clients. Sven Bailey arrived.
"So this is the one, huh?" he said without preamble. His long, shuttered stare brought an uncomfortable flood of color to Margo's cheeks-and a glitter of irritation to her eyes.
"I'm the one what?" she asked coldly.
Sven just grunted and ignored her. He plopped into a chair. "You're sure about this?"
Kit shrugged. "Yep."
Margo glanced from Sven to Kit, then back. She clearly wanted to ask a question and just as clearly wasn't sure she wanted to risk the answer yet. Kit took pity on her.
"Margo, this is Sven Bailey, acknowledged far and wide as the most dangerous man on TT-86."
Margo's eyes widened Sven just snorted. "Damned right I am. Last man who tried to prove otherwise ended up dead." He guffawed, leaving Margo to stare uneasily anywhere but at him. Kit didn't bother to explain that the gentleman in question had been a mad tourist who'd insisted on using the Biddle style of formal knife-fighting, despite Sven's solemn warnings that it would get him killed (which it had, in some filthy little Soho alley, where he'd found out that "knife fencing" and street fighting were not the same animal, after all).
Sven high-signed Julie, who beamed in their direction while balancing a wine carafe and glasses on a silver tray. "Hi, guys," she said brightly, setting down glasses and a perfectly chilled carafe of Piesporter, along with tumblers of ice water. "What'll your poison be, Sven?"