by Sharon Shinn
“So is every other excuse for murder,” she said. “Maybe they just wanted the jewelry. I noticed that you were wearing quite a few earrings, and all of them gold. Not exactly the best way to escape attention.”
He grinned again. “Well, I figured if I was going to be an oddity, I’d be an oddity with pride,” he said.
Unexpectedly, that made her smile. “Embrace the differences that make you unique,” she said. “Yes. We all need to do that, but sometimes it’s difficult.”
He glanced around the small room, but he was imagining the entire building. A princess running a salvation project in the slums. He’d call that unique. “You’ve seemed to manage it on rather a grand scale.”
“Maybe. But it hasn’t been easy.”
Before he could answer, the curtain twitched back, and a young man stepped through. He was maybe fifteen or so, big-boned and wide-faced. He looked enough like Callie that Rafe figured him to be her son, and his first words confirmed that.
“My mother says I should take the patient to the baths so he can wash off the blood,” he said. “And then she’ll come back and check his wounds and bandage him up again.”
Josetta nodded and stood up, though Rafe wanted to protest the very notion of her leaving. “Thanks, Bo. I’ve got work to do myself.” She glanced back at Rafe. “If you can walk under your own power, you can help yourself to anything that you need on the shelves in the main room. If you can’t, just call out and someone will come find you. I’ll check on you later.” And with a brisk nod, she was gone.
Rafe was left with the much less interesting Bo. “Bath? That sounds good,” he said. “I don’t know how far I can walk, though.”
Bo nodded. “Lean on me.”
• • •
Cleaned up, dressed in ill-fitting clothes of Bo’s providing, and back in his infirmary room, Rafe found himself feeling both better and worse. He hadn’t been able to wash up as thoroughly as he would have liked, since he wasn’t allowed to take off the two biggest bandages without Callie’s supervision, but soaping up in the wonderfully steamy baths was an almost divine experience. Rafe didn’t have any inhibitions about public nudity, so it didn’t bother him that there were about ten other people, men and women, using the facility at the same time. He was comforted by the thought that none of them looked much better than he did, though their assailants appeared to have been poverty and bad luck rather than would-be murderers. He would probably recover sooner.
The cleansing had improved his mood, but the expedition had drained his energy and reawakened the pain in every bruise and gash. He lay back on his narrow bed practically panting with discomfort. Callie reappeared a few minutes later, checked his many hurts, and pronounced herself pleased with his improvement.
“I think you’ll feel better tomorrow,” she said. “Why don’t you sleep for a few hours? Someone will call you for dinner.”
He hadn’t planned to obey her directive, but the need to heal was the most powerful soporific ever invented; he was asleep within ten minutes. He didn’t wake again until early evening, or so he judged it to be by the quality of light peeking in through the window and the scent of cooking drifting down the hall. His assorted injuries still ached enough to make him curse as he pushed himself upright, but his mind seemed clearer and he felt steadier on his feet. Progress. Always a good sign.
It was easy to find the main room, somewhat romantically lit with a mix of candles and lamps and the fading daylight. Gaslight was all the rage in the wealthier parts of Chialto, but such innovations were rare in the slums. Rafe braced himself against the beams of the doorway and looked around. There were about fifteen people clustered around the five tables. He recognized some from the baths, but some appeared to have wandered in just for the meal. Bo and Callie were setting up platters on a sideboard, helped by two young women who looked like they also might be permanent staff. He didn’t spot anyone who looked like he might be a royal guard; maybe his rescuers were off saving other unfortunate fools from death and dismemberment. Neither did he spot anyone who looked like Josetta. His interest in the meal dropped considerably.
There appeared to be no organizing protocol, so he served himself at the buffet, chose a seat at random, and nodded politely at the five people sharing his table. Two men, two women, one child; only the boy and one of the women looked connected to each other. None of them talked much, and Rafe followed their example. It wasn’t the worst or most uncomfortable dinner he’d ever had, but it was hardly the most enjoyable, either.
Things improved once the meal was over, though. Most people cleared out as soon as they were done eating, but a few still lingered at the tables. Two were men about Rafe’s age, one was a stringy older fellow who appeared to be on borrowed time, and one was a woman who might be forty and only recently weaned from some kind of drug addiction.
Rafe reached into the pocket of his borrowed trousers for the deck of cards that he had transferred from his own ripped and bloodied clothing. “Anyone interested in a game of penta?” he asked.
All of them, it turned out, were.
No one in this group had any extra money, not even a quint-copper; so, instead of coins, they used dried beans the stringy old man borrowed from the kitchen. It took the pressure off the need to win, so Rafe played carelessly, betting big when he didn’t have the cards for it and laughing when he lost. The woman was unexpectedly good at the game, raking in pot after pot. Rafe was watching her pretty closely and he was fairly certain she wasn’t cheating.
“You could make yourself a whole kettle of soup with your winnings,” the old man observed when she won the last hand. “Next time we should bet with carrots and turnips. You can make a whole meal.”
“Used to play a little professionally,” she said. “Before—” She shrugged and didn’t finish, but all of them could fill in that blank for themselves.
One of the younger men stretched his arms over his head and yawned hugely. “Bedtime for me,” he said, and the others murmured their agreement. Even Rafe, who had spent half the day sleeping, admitted he was tired again already.
The others headed outside to the stairways that, he had been told, led to upstairs dorms. Rafe turned toward the infirmary until the sound of voices at the main door shifted his attention that way. He pivoted to see who might be walking in at this late hour.
It was the princess and three guardsmen, and as much as he hated the idea of Josetta wandering around the slums at night, he had to admit that these three looked capable of defending her against all comers. None of them wore royal livery, but two of them were formally dressed in close-fitting jackets and trousers that would keep out of their way if they had to fight. Clearly, those were the regent’s men. The third—the big, silent fellow Rafe had already identified as Josetta’s personal guard—wore a looser tunic and a generally more casual air. But he looked like he’d be a handy man to have around during a brawl.
“You’re still awake,” Josetta said, coming his way. “How are you feeling?”
“Beat up but better than this morning,” he said. He nodded at the guards, who were all eyeing him with varying degrees of interest. “Are these the men who saved my life?”
“Caze and Sorbin are. Foley wasn’t with them, but he would have jumped right in if he had been.”
“I don’t think I can even express how grateful I am to both of you.”
“Part of the job,” Sorbin said.
“Glad we were there,” Caze added.
They exchanged a few more words before the three men headed toward the interior stairwell and Rafe turned back toward the infirmary. Josetta surprised him by following him to his room.
“How are you really?” she asked. “I notice you’re moving very carefully.”
He was too tired to stand, so he sank to the narrow bed and nodded. “My ribs hurt, my head hurts, and I’m so mad to be weak and helpless that I want to punch
somebody. Except I’m too weak to punch anybody,” he added. “But I’m trying to be thankful I’m alive.”
She smiled. “Better in the morning, I’m sure.”
“You’ll have to tell me what I owe you for the food and the care.”
She opened her hands in a gesture of benevolence. “Nothing. Caring for people in need is what this shelter does.”
“Well, you’re spending plenty of money on food and medicines, and you have to be getting it somewhere,” he said.
“We have donors who believe in our cause. And, of course, I have money of my own.”
“Maybe I’d like to be a donor. I recently came into a little cash.”
She smiled again and leaned against the doorframe. She looked almost as tired as he felt. He wondered what she’d been doing all day. “I think you must have much better uses for your windfall. Maybe you should invest it in something.”
“Maybe I should,” he agreed. “I’ve been trying to think what.”
“Something that appeals to you,” she suggested. “If you like gold, for instance, buy a share in a mine. If you like spices and rare foods, find a ship’s captain who sails to Cozique. And I know a couple of independent traders who buy and sell goods all over Welce. They’re very astute—I promise you’d get a return on your money if you invested with them.”
She had mentioned those traders on the very first night they met. He wondered how a princess came to be friends with people in that social class, but he decided not to ask. “You know what fascinates me?” he said. “Those smoker cars. I’d bet you any sum of money that transportation is the field where people are going to get rich in the next ten to twenty years.”
“So buy a share in an elaymotive factory,” she said.
He laughed. “Is it as easy as that? Just walk in the door and start throwing coins around?”
“I can introduce you to Kayle Dochenza, if you like. He’s the one who invented smoker cars,” she explained. “He’d be happy to take your money.”
He just looked at her for a moment. This time he couldn’t stop himself. “So. You’re a princess. But you live in the slums. And you’re friends with a couple of small-time traders. And you know factory owners and mad inventors. You’re full of endless surprises.”
Her face was alight with laughter. “Well, it’s not surprising that I know Kayle Dochenza. He’s the elay prime, and I’ve been around him since I was born.”
That made more sense. “I suppose you know all the primes. I hadn’t thought about that before. I suppose this Kayle Dochenza likes you because you’re elay, too.”
Looking thoughtful, she resettled her spine against the door. “Actually, it’s interesting. He’s an odd man—really odd. I wouldn’t say I ever really registered in his mind until the past couple of years. I think most people don’t make an impression on him until they do something drastic. But when I opened the shelter, that caught his attention. The elay traits are air and spirit, and the shelter appealed to his spiritual side. He’s been one of my staunchest supporters.” She grinned. “So he likes me now.”
“Well, now you make me want to meet him, even if I don’t give him money,” Rafe said. “I’ve encountered my share of odd people. I’d like to see what makes him so strange.”
She was laughing again. “Good! When you’re well enough, we’ll drive down to the port. That’s where all the factories are.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have an elaymotive? Can you actually drive it?”
“I don’t own one, no, but we could hire one. Or borrow one of Darien’s. And I have driven one, but not lately. Foley can drive, though.”
He lifted his hands in submission. “I have to ask. When did you learn to drive a smoker car?”
She tried to keep her face prim, but the smile kept breaking through. “When I spent a winter with the independent traders, of course. Corene and I both did. It was back when everything was happening at once—the king was dying, the city had flooded, Corene was in danger—and Zoe decided it was best to get us out of Chialto. So she sent us off with Jaker and Barlow, and we spent half a quintile driving around the countryside. We both loved it. Corene and I had never been very close until that Quinnelay, but after that, everything changed.”
“You know, just from the bits and pieces you’ve let fall, I think you must have led the strangest life.”
“Sometimes I think so, too,” she agreed. “And that’s why I’ve ended up here.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t follow.”
She pushed herself away from the wall, clearly planning to depart. “I didn’t have much say in all the things that happened to me before. Once I decided I wasn’t going to let anyone else control my life, I had to decide what I thought would make my life valuable. And that’s why I started the shelter. So, while my life still might be peculiar, it’s peculiar in ways that I have chosen. I assure you, it makes all the difference.”
“Makes sense,” he said. He was trying to decide what might make his own life valuable. Offhand, he couldn’t think of anything.
“Good night, Rafe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Princess Josetta.”
• • •
It was actually closer to mid-afternoon before he encountered Josetta again, since some other priority kept her away from the shelter for the early part of the day. So Rafe submitted to more ministrations from Callie, shared a couple of meals with an assortment of down-on-their-luck companions, and played a few of hands of penta just to pass the time. The pain was almost as bad as it had been the day before, but his strength was returning. If someone would help him back to Samson’s, he thought, he’d be able to take care of himself within a day or two. Though the stairs would be an ugly bitch.
And he didn’t really want to leave the shelter.
Though that wasn’t a thought he wanted to examine too closely.
He was sitting in the main room, shuffling his cards and practicing illegal dealing moves, when Josetta and Foley stepped in from outside. Sunshine trailed in behind her, or maybe it was just that she always seemed wrapped in fresh air and light colors. Foley headed straight to the kitchen, but Josetta paused to talk to him.
“Poor Rafe! Couldn’t find anyone willing to lose his fortune to you?”
He grinned up at her, his hands still ruffling the deck. “A fortune of two quint-silvers, maybe. Hardly worth the effort. A few of us played for beans and nuts earlier, and we might get up a game tonight if you want to join us.”
“Maybe I will,” she said. “Those are my kind of stakes. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I did, worse than I’d like.”
She nodded. “It would probably do you some good to get up and move around. Can you walk more than ten feet?”
For an answer, he pushed his chair back and stood up, more or less solidly. “You want to go strolling through the neighborhood? You might need someone else to be your bodyguard.”
She gestured toward a part of the complex he hadn’t visited yet. “Not far. Just to the east edge of the building. There’s a temple there. I thought I could try to pull blessings for you.”
That made him lift his brows. “There’s an idea. Though if ghost coins come up again—”
“I don’t think we have any of those in our temple. So it should be interesting to see what we get.”
“Then let’s go.”
They moved at his maddeningly slow pace out the front door and away from the corner of the building that housed the baths. Rafe hobbled along carefully, the fingertips of his left hand trailing along the pitted stone of the building to help him keep his balance. A narrow strip of gravel separated the building from the street, but in many places, the layer of rock was so thin he was practically walking on dirt. Rafe was pleased to see a few hardy weeds poking their heads up from the packed earth, unfurling their leav
es, offering the occasional garish red blossom. Even here, in the most unlovely part of the city, defiant stray scraps of beauty flashed their irrepressible colors. It almost made him feel hopeful.
“In here,” Josetta said, directing him to an unpainted wooden door so low that he had to duck to enter. The space inside was maybe eight feet square and serenely austere. There were two small windows admitting a minimum of light, a well-scrubbed stone floor, and unadorned walls of the same gray stone. Instead of the traditional five benches, this temple sported just one, a continuous circular shape broken only by the door through which they entered. Sections of it had been painted in the prescribed colors—black, blue, green, white, and red—for visitors who wanted to move from element to element and meditate themselves into tranquility.
In the middle of the stone floor was a squat barrel that might once have been a wine casket, and it was filled almost to the top with battered coins.
The brief excursion had tired him, so Rafe sank to the white part of the circular bench. The elay section. “Cozy,” he offered, looking around.
“Small,” she amended. “But it serves its purpose.” She considered him a moment. “Are you willing to have me draw all three coins? We could bring in Callie or Foley or one of the girls, if you would like to proceed in the usual fashion.”
“Oh, no. I like the idea of receiving all my blessings from the hand of a princess.”
She smiled and stepped closer to the keg, stirring the coins with her right hand. “I think I’m very good at it,” she said. “Because I’m elay, not because I’m a princess! I feel as if the proper coins make themselves known to me. I don’t know how it works for anyone else, but I feel a certain warmth in the ones I’m meant to draw—”
Her voice trailed off and she concentrated, mixing the coins with more determination. Rafe wondered what would happen if none of the blessings declared themselves to her. Would she admit defeat? Concede that his was a soul so lost not even the elements would claim it? Or would she just close her hand over a random disk and force an imperfect blessing on him?