House War - The Hidden City Part 71

Rath was cold. "How much do you want this, Duster?" he asked, and Winter air seemed warm around his words.

She fell into her habitual sullen silence in Rath's presence. But she dressed, and even allowed him to help with the ties that bound the back of the dress in a crisscross pattern. "The skirts are wide enough," she said at last. "You could run in these."

He nodded. "They are meant to be as practical as base fashion will allow; indeed, they are not considered high fashion. But among the less poor, they would suit for visitors and possibly the Challenge season; they will do." He eyed Duster critically. "Try to smile," he said, "as if you weren't contemplating removing the limbs of a helpless cat."

He turned to Jewel. Frowned at her hair.

"I could cut it," she offered.

"No."

"But it's not-"

"No. We don't have time. Now if you will both be so kind, I, too, must make myself presentable." He nodded meaningfully toward the door but did not tell them to get out; they left awkwardly, aware of sleeves and skirts, of bodices that were too tight and too unnatural.

"You say one word," Duster said loudly as she exited the room, "and I'll break your arm."

She said it to no one in particular, or to everyone. Jester, Jewel was certain, had bitten off his tongue; he liked his arms.

Finch said, "You look beautiful!" before she could stop herself, and Duster turned a glare on her. But it wasn't much of a glare; there was almost a hesitance in it. She touched the skirts; they were soft and shiny. "I look like a-a fop."

"You look like a girl," Finch replied. "I never knew your hair was so long."

And it was long; long, fine, dark. It framed her face, made it seem less threatening and more regal. Well, as much as someone with Duster's mouth could ever look regal. She cursed a bit, but only a bit. She wanted to look at herself, to see what Finch saw, but the only mirror in the apartment was in Rath's room, and Jewel knew she'd die before asking to use it.

"You look nice, too," Lefty told Jewel. Jewel almost laughed. "I don't look like Duster," she said. He shook his head. Mumbled a few words she couldn't catch, but could understand anyway. She touched his right shoulder gently. "We're going out with Rath," she told him. "Make sure Teller's okay."

He nodded. "Can I teach him the letters?"

"If you want. You're better than Arann with letters."

"I have to be better at something."

"You talk a lot more, too," Arann said.

Jewel laughed. "Everyone talks more than you do," she told him. Everyone except Lander. She didn't say it.

"When are you coming back?" Finch asked.

"Don't know. It's Rath; it could be any time. Don't let anyone in," she added. But she always said this.

Rath joined them in the hall, and everyone fell silent; he looked like a lord. His face was the same face, his expression the same expression, but the clothing he wore-dark purples and blues-somehow made everything seem more severe. More distant.

Jewel wasn't sure she liked the difference.

"Are you ready?" he said, and then added, "Stop playing with the skirts."

"No pockets."

"No. Young ladies are not expected to carry things in their pockets; it ruins the fall of the fabric."

So, as young ladies-as uncomfortable young ladies-they followed Rath where he led. The apartment, the crowded and messy noises of home, made way for the noises of cold wind and half-empty streets. Snow had been carved into tunnels by footsteps, paths had been made; what had been new in the morning had become just another part of the City, an inconvenience, even a deadly one, but not more.

Duster had none of Lefty's wonder or glee, and no desire for it; weather, like anything else, was beneath her. She lifted her skirts when Rath told her to lift them, but it was impossible not to trail snow at the hems; impossible not to be touched by it.

"Where are we going?" Jewel asked.

"The Common."

She nodded. "By the-"

"We will walk the normal way, yes." Warning, in the cool words. Jewel subsided. She thought the tunnels beneath the streets would be both warmer and drier, but knew also that for Rath, they were a h.o.a.rded treasure. Not something she could share with Duster; not yet. Maybe never.

Duster didn't ask. Curiosity was a weakness, in Duster's eyes-because curiosity implied ignorance, and she wasn't about to look stupid for Rath.

There were a few wagons in the snow, but they moved slowly; everything seemed to except Rath. The snow didn't touch him, and it didn't hold him back.

He led them through the stalls, where voices were carried by clouds of breath, human mist that wreathed faces red with cold. There were fewer of them than usual, but Winter or no, the Common was still busy. People had to eat, even if the food itself was Winter food, and scarce. Prices would be higher, in most places. She wondered how her farmer was doing. Wondered if he still had the voice to berate his sons for their imaginary wrongs, or to praise his daughter.

She wanted to bring Teller to meet him. But she was afraid to take Duster. Maybe later. And maybe, always, never.

The beggars were out in force, and the Winter made them look genuinely afraid; it lent an edge to their pleas for money or food that the Summer robbed them of almost entirely. She had taken some small amount of coin in a pouch she had tied to her waist, but Rath's single forbidding glance made her walk around them.

It was hard. And harder not to resent this other Rath, this n.o.bleman.

Duster, however, was unmoved by their plight. In this, she could have been Rath's daughter, for if she lacked his grace of movement, she didn't lack his callous indifference. Jewel had neither, and wanted neither.

But she had given Duster her word, and she meant to keep it. Her eyes begged forgiveness, but she did not apologize or make excuses for her lack of generosity; she followed Rath.

The stalls pa.s.sed by as she struggled with her anger, and the streets suddenly cleared of snow; she could see its white between the stones that made the road where the actual shops hovered, crushed together like birds in a nest. He led them to a dressmaker's store. It had a wide window, one that bowed in the front in a half circle, displaying dresses that only a princess might dream of wearing. Light caught them; magelight, she thought with disdain; light made them seem unnaturally lovely.

And someone would buy these dresses instead of offering food to the starving and the freezing. Whoever that someone was, she hated them.

There was a bell attached to the door; it rang as the door opened, jostling its gleaming bra.s.s dome. A woman looked up as they entered; the store itself was almost empty. A man sat behind a counter, surrounded by beading and needles, by spools of thread, each a different color. He wore gla.s.ses and a ready frown, and did not bother to look up from his work.

He was a bald, slender man, and seemed bowed with age, but that was artifice; he bent over whatever it was he crafted as if it were the only thing of consequence in the world. And perhaps to him, it was.

Jewel had always liked to watch people work when they were consumed with their particular vision. Clothing itself had rarely interested her, but she found, in his focus, some hint of pa.s.sion or fire, and if she stood close enough, she might catch some of its heat.

But Rath cleared his throat as the woman curtsied before him, and as if that were the signal, the man at the counter looked up with a frown. His eyes narrowed in a squint, and he reached for his gla.s.ses.

"Hannerle," he said curtly. "My gla.s.ses?"

"They're on your head," was her soft reply. She shook her own; clearly, this happened often.

He reached up and pulled them down from one perch to settle them on another: the bird beak drift of his nose. His eyes were a pale blue, and they were clear. "Is that young Ararath?" he said, with affected surprise.

"It is, as you well know," Rath answered.

"It's been a while since you've come visiting. And in the Winter, too." The man hopped down from the stool upon which he'd perched. "Don't touch anything," he said to the woman on the other side of the counter.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Haval."

"What is that you're wearing?" Haval asked, looking Rath up and down-and failing entirely to notice his companions. "It's not this season, Ararath."

"No, Haval; I've never been one to follow fashion."

"No, nor common sense, from what I hear. But come, come, enough pleasantries. I've work to do; you can keep me company in the back while I tend to it. It's d.a.m.n cold in here and I want my tea."

Tea, as far as Jewel could tell, was mostly alcohol. She and Duster exchanged a single look, but Duster was carefully not casing the place. It made Jewel realize just how aware she was of Duster's constant probing. Duster was uncomfortable, but then again, so was Jewel; they stood side by side for a moment in genuine companionship.

"Well," Haval said, indicating not one chair but three-his first acknowledgment of either girl-"you might as well sit and have a drink, Rath. Business hasn't been bad," he added, "so we can afford it."

"Given the quality of what you drink, business had better be booming," Rath replied, with a smile. He nodded to Jewel and Duster and they sat, Duster fidgeting slightly with her skirts.

The older man noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of his cup. "I won't ask you your business," he told Duster, "or yours," he added to Jewel. "But I'll tell you both that you've taken up with a rather odd patron."

"Enough, Haval."

"Better they know."

"You think they don't?"

"I've known you for half of my life, and I'd lay odds that I don't."

Rath laughed. It was a clear sound, free for a moment of either edge or worry. "I wouldn't take any odds you were willing to bet on," he said at last. "These two are friends, my charges if you will."

"And you brought them to me because they have no fashion sense?"

"That, too."

Jewel could not stop herself from grimacing. She didn't even bother to try; there was something about this man that set her at ease.

"Girl," Haval said, "don't sneer. Fashion is a statement that people listen to whether or not they know they're paying attention. They have that luxury, most of the time; if Rath brought you here, you don't."

He was now serious, although he still perched over his cup as if it were three sizes larger than it actually was. "I don't like it," he said at last, to Rath. "Did I mention business has been good?"

"At least once."

"I'm out, Rath. I've set up a decent shop here, and I don't have to blackmail more than a third of my customers to keep them coming back."

Rath laughed. Jewel, however, wasn't entirely certain Haval was joking. "You can relax," he said, when his mirth had diminished. "It is merely your knowledge we wish to tax, not your actual ability."

"I never betray a confidence."

"Not if it won't get you somewhere, no," Rath replied. "And we're not here for that type of information. I can't afford it," he added. "Tell me a bit about the two girls here."

Haval shrugged almost genially. "That one-what did you say her name was?"

"I didn't."

"Ah. Well, the one with the nest of hair."

Jewel grimaced.

"Torra, I'd guess, by descent. Probably speaks it. Lives in the hundred, probably between the twenty-fifth and the thirty-fifth. She can read some, which suggests she might be able to write. She pays attention. She never wears dresses. Enough?"

"Scratching the surface of enough, but it will do. The other?"

Haval's frown deepened. "Steals for a meager living when she can. She's trying too hard not to notice what she could take if she thought I wasn't paying attention. She's a beauty," he added, "but so are some of the running hounds that will rip your throat out for sheer pleasure. Her hands are scarred," he added, which caused Jewel to turn to Duster in some surprise, "and I wouldn't be surprised if she has other scars as well; knows how to survive a fight, if not unscathed. She doesn't know how to read," he added. "She also doesn't wear dresses."

"And her station?"

"Worse than the other's. Poorer, leaner. I'd say thirty-second if I had to pin it down, but I'd guess she's made a habit of moving around a bit."

"Tell them how you know this."

Haval set his cup down for the first time. "I owe Ararath a great deal," he told both girls, "or we wouldn't be having this conversation at all. Very well. Neither of you are comfortable in your clothing; you fidget, you play with your skirts, you chafe at your sleeves. You, curly, you've been reading the signage all over the store, not that there's much of it. You're curious about why you're here, and who I am, and it shows.

"But you, raven, you wouldn't be here at all if you didn't think it would gain you something. You want whatever it is Rath has promised you badly enough to try to be something you're not-you just haven't figured out what that something is yet. I'd say you're hunting," he added. "But again, you aren't reading anything here; you're paying attention to where the money is, to where the small textiles-the lace, the beads, the crystals-are, you've taken note of entrances and exits, and how many of us there are.

"You probably think we're unarmed."

Duster relaxed, crossing her legs and pulling them up off the ground so she could rest her elbows on her knees. "You're good," she said, not grudging the words. There was genuine respect in them.

"Either of you could clean up well; either of you could pa.s.s as the daughters of struggling merchants in the Middle City. But not as you are now." He turned to Rath. "Is that enough?"

"It's a fair a.s.sessment, but I expected no less."

"What do you want of me, Ararath?"

"I want you to teach them what you once taught me."

Haval's gray brows rose into his receding hairline, changing the shape of his narrow face until he looked almost clownlike. "Impossible."

"We don't have a lot of time," Rath added, without pausing to acknowledge the single refusal. "We have a meeting in less than ten days with a Patris of some import in the city. And no, Haval, I will not bore you with the details; if you need them, you'll figure them out on your own."

"What is the purpose of the meeting?" Haval asked. Everything about his voice had changed, and his posture had altered significantly as well; there was steel in his spine, and he'd found it.

Rath said a very loud nothing.

"You will, of course, give me the name."

"You don't want it."

"Probably not. But want and need are two different creatures, as you and I well know by now. Who, Rath? The answer you give me, and the answer I give you, are now linked."

Rath was silent for a long, long time. Jewel was wise enough to know that she didn't know him well, but had she been asked, she would have said he would have walked before answering. His answer, when it came, surrendered little. "I wish to involve you very little in this affair," he told Haval. "Were it not for necessity, I would not trouble you at all."