Fanuilh

by Daniel Hood

  She giggled, and stopped, remembering his money. From the pocket of her smock she produced a sweaty handful of coins.

  "Your money, Master," she said, and laid the change down beside his pot. He eyed it for a moment, and tasted his soup. It was only lightly spiced, not too hot, and the warmth soothed his throat. He waved his hand at the money.

  "Keep it; you've done me a great service. The broth is just what I needed."

  "Oh no, Master, I daren't." She shook her head and backed away from the table as though he had suggested something indecent.

  "Go ahead, take it. Consider it my thanks, please."

  She only shook her head and gazed fearfully at the street door, through which suddenly stalked his landlady. The thin, angular woman shot the drudge a commanding glance that sent the young girl scurrying away.

  "Y'are better, then, Master Liam?"

  "Much, madam, thank you. Your girl has been good enough to get me some soup, and I took a short walk that has cleared my head a great deal."

  "Huh," she sniffed, and Liam sensed that she was unhappy about something. "I only hope the Aedile has nabbed the monstrous roughs who did this shameful thing."

  It was not a question, but he answered it anyway. "He is looking for them right now."

  'Then he'll have them, that's sure." She frowned again, but he was busy with the soup, which was doing wonders for his stomach. She puttered aimlessly around the kitchen while he ate. "Perhaps it's none of my affair, Master Liam," she said at length, "but, might I ask, why did they assault you?"

  "A small disagreement, of no importance," he said, waving his spoon airily.

  "If it please you, Master Liam, I think it could be of some note, for my part at least."

  There was a tone in her voice he had never heard before, and it surprised him; it was firmness. She had always been such a sycophant, flattering and sucking up to him because he had money and had allowed her to believe him a scholar. He set his spoon down and steepled his fingers, looking at her curiously over the tips.

  "It was a disagreement over the terms of a sale. I sold their master some information, and he thought I had sold the same to another man. I had not."

  "Well," she said doubtfully. "Well, you needs must see my position, only a widow, and with my name to protect and this house to manage. I can ill afford any smirch to be attached to this house by the general opinion, you see."

  "It won't happen again."

  "Faith, how can I be sure, Master Liam?"

  If he hadn't been conscious of his tender sides, Liam would have laughed. She was trying to find a way to throw him out—him, her star boarder, the eminently respectable scholar. Then he thought about the last few days, and realized how it must look to her. Tarquin's murder, the Aedile suddenly calling, fights in her kitchen.

  And midnight visits from beautiful young dancers, he thought with dawning comprehension. She must think he had grown depraved.

  He decided to make it easy for her.

  "You can't be sure, madam, and I see your point. Your house's reputation must be protected, and even though I haven't done anything in the least improper, I can see my presence is disturbing. I'll pack my things, and leave in two days, after Uris-tide."

  She was taken aback, clearly not expecting this sudden capitulation. He allowed himself a small smile, and returned to his soup.

  "You may keep the deposit for the room."

  "Faith," she stammered, "I meant not that—"

  "No matter," he interrupted with his spoon, "I wouldn't dream of damaging your reputation. Consider me gone."

  For a few moments she lingered while he studiously ignored her in favor of his broth, and then she skulked off unhappily.

  Liam could not tell why she should be unhappy. He had agreed to leave in order to protect her "reputation," or what little she had. Near the bottom of his broth he thought of an answer. She would probably have been willing to sacrifice her good name for an increase in rent. Shaking his head at her malleable virtue, he pushed aside the empty pot and tried to make himself comfortable in the rigid wooden chair.

  The money the drudge had left caught his eye. The rungs of the chair's ladderback pressed into a sore spot, and he leaned away from it to pick up one of the coins.

  A small silver piece, stamped with the face and name of Auric IV, dead a hundred years but still well-defined on his currency. The noble profile —and the laurel wreath were easily made out, despite a century's use, and most of the inscription of his name and title could still be read. The other coins, mostly copper and of more recent minting, showed age, worn smooth, simple discs of cheaper metal. They made better coins in the days when being King in Torquay meant something.

  Someone had mentioned coins to him recently. Who? He moved the coin over the back of his hand, from finger to finger, wondering, a trick he had learned in his youth. It helped to have thin fingers. The silver piece made the trip from index to little finger and back three times.

  He had it: the messenger Coeccias had sent him in the wineshop above the square, who had told him about the mystery woman's rent being paid. He had said something about the coins being strange, the strangest he had ever seen. Why would he say that?

  Southwark sent ships as far as any other city in Taralon, trading in lands as far apart as Alyecir and the Freeports. A certain amount of foreign currency could be expected to come in from those places; besides, since the decline of the monarchy, any local lord could mint his own, thus adding to the mix. Provided the coins were really of the metal they claimed, no one would be interested in the origins. The coins would have to be strange indeed to arouse comment. So why had the landlord mentioned it to the messenger?

  If the gold was good, it would mean the engraving was strange, which must mean that it was not impressed with the profile or head of the minter. One head on a coin was much the same as another, Liam knew, and he had seen a greater variety than most. So the coins must have been carved with a different image.

  Some of the lands he had been to engraved their coins with local animals or buildings or landscapes that would seem strange to the people of Southwark.

  To most of the people of Southwark, he thought, except for Freihett Necquer, whom Liam had sent to some of those lands in search of trade.

  Perplexed, he missed his fingering and the coin slipped to the floor, where it rolled away under a heavy cupboard. He ignored it, cautioning himself against his own thoughts.

  Just because Necquer had been to lands no one from Southwark other than Liam had ever heard of did not mean that the coins were his. They might have come from a member of his crew, or from some tradesman to whom he had paid them. They might not even be from one of the cities on Liam's maps, but from the mint of a Taralonian noble with strange tastes. It might mean nothing, and Necquer might not be involved at all.

  But it might mean that Necquer kept the hooded woman. Lons' s comment came back to him. He had said that the merchant did not deserve fidelity.

  It could not hurt to check. If he was right, he could tell Coeccias who the hooded woman was, and that would settle a great number of things. With trembling fingers, he gathered up the coins, shoved them in his pouch, and left.

  The bells were tolling three as Liam passed the city square. The sky was alive with writhing black clouds, but he did not think about the imminent storm. Coeccias had told him where the woman's apartment was, deep in the Warren. He would look there, and try to find out what made the coins strange.

  He walked faster, and though he still kept close to walls, the dizziness was almost gone. The soup had settled his stomach, and all that was left was a steady, uniform aching. It was relatively easy to ignore.

  The Warren was less uninviting than usual, the poor being smart enough to clear the streets well in advance of the storm. The lodgings he was looking for were located off a court that was approached from two separate streets by long, narrow alleys. His footsteps sounded like the slithering of wet snakes
on the slick, gritty stones, slipping on mounds of sodden refuse. In the summer, he knew, he would not dare enter the hidden court for fear of the stench, but with the rains the smell was held down, and all that reached his nostrils was mildew. He hurried into the court, gazing wistfully up at the thin ribbon of gray sky far above him.

  Even on a sunny day, little light would have filtered down to the tiny courtyard, ringed in by topheavy buildings. With the clouds, he had to squint Jo make anything out. Fragile porches climbed the walls like ivy, hung with washing. There were few windows in the walls, and those were small and showed no lights. A heap of broken furniture and staved-in casks took up nearly half the floor of the courtyard. Two thin children, a boy and girl as far as he could tell, clambered over the jumbled pile with the agility of mountain goats.

  Liam called to them, and they approached silently, arm in fearful arm, with wide, respectful eyes. The girl, no more than ten, took in his clothes and attempted a clumsy curtsy. At a pinch from her, the boy knuckled his forehead. Liam asked them if they knew the owner of the building at the east end of the courtyard, the one whose entrance was almost blocked by the wooden junk they had been playing on.

  The girl shoved the boy, who turned and ran, nimbly climbing over the pile and disappearing into the building.

  "My brother'll fetch'm m'lord," the girl said, curtsying awkwardly again. Liam nodded and looked around the courtyard. There was nothing to see, so he turned his eyes back to the girl, who still stood before him, staring with unabashed greed at his rich clothes. He blushed under her scrutiny. She was no more than ten, with dirty, colorless hair and a child's smock, but her eyes seemed to take him in and dissect him, weighing every piece of him for value. Apparently she rated him high, because she shared a confidence with him.

  "He's a fat rascally knave, m'lord, is th'owner. For that he's so long in coming."

  "Mmm." Liam did not know what to say. He had never penetrated this far into the Warren, never left the larger streets, and he had never felt at ease talking with children. He was relieved to see the boy clambering back over the pile and to hear behind him the cursing of a full-grown man trying to make his way around.

  The girl had told the truth: the owner was fat, and sweating heavily despite the chill. He had the poor man's haircut, shaven until just below his ears, and he cursed like a sailor until he caught sight of Liam. Then he stopped and wiggled his way past the last projecting piece of garbage and bowed as deeply as his belly would allow. He knuckled his forehead as well, with the ease of much practice. The boy and the girl drifted back to their playing.

  "How now, my lord? If it please you, what office can I perform?" He was obsequious in exactly the manner Liam disliked, rubbing his hands together with an oily smile.

  "The Aedile Coeccias sent a man to you recently, about one of your lodgers."

  The fat man nodded eagerly, dropping his grin for an expression of considered interest.

  "You told him the rent had been paid this month in foreign coins."

  "Faith, m'lord, the strangest coins I ever saw, most strange."

  "Can I see them?"

  The man stiffened, and his face alternated between suspicion and contrition. "No, if it please you, my lord, for that I've spent them. On wood, my lord, and warm clothes, with winter almost on us, my lord."

  "Well, never mind; can you tell me why they were strange?"

  He scratched his bare neck and shuffled. "Strange indeed, strange indeed. They showed beasts the like I've never seen, even in the menageries as travel down from Torquay and can be seen for a copper. Great beasts, my lord, like-well, like naught so much as a bull, but with a whip in place of a muzzle, and so large that a city stood on its back."

  "Were there others?"

  "No my lord," the man said regretfully, "only those." "Well, thank you."

  It did not matter; he knew the coins to which the man was referring. They came from Epidamnum, one of the ports on the maps he had drawn for Necquer, and represented what were called elephants. The Epidamnites used them for war, and put towers on their backs. He had only seen elephants on coins from that land, which meant that it was likely that only people from Necquer' s crew could have them.

  The man still shifted from foot to foot, as though expecting something. Liam cleared his throat and dug into his pouch.

  "Thank you again," he said, pressing a coin into the owner's hand. The fat man smiled and knuckled his forehead, then retreated behind the mound of junk where the children played, bowing his way.

  Liam called to the girl, and she reluctantly climbed down from her playground to stand before him. The boy stayed perched atop the pile, poised and watchful.

  "Thank you," Liam said and held out two coins for her. She snatched them, dropped a quick curtsy, and ran back up the pile to the boy, holding the coins high like a prize. The boy smiled shyly.

  It had grown darker in the courtyard, and Liam hurried out one of the alleys. The street it opened on was broad, marking the edge of the Warren and the beginning of the waterfront district. A row of brick warehouses stood across the way. Necquer's offices were only a few streets away.

  The clouds had grown angrier, agitated by the harsh wind from the sea; it would rain soon, but there was time to visit the merchant before it broke. Necquer would not be happy to see him, certainly, but what did that matter? He would simply ask a few harmless questions, and make sure Epidamnum had been one of the ports the merchant traded in. And since Necquer was already displeased with him, he could afford to annoy him a little more.

  Necquer's warehouse was more attractive than Marcius's, red brick and long-fronted with a wide strip of clean windows near the roof. There was a large sign as well, painted in elaborate letters, announcing "Freihett Necquer, Factor and Merchant." Liam had been there before on three occasions, while selling his maps. There were no guards, only an old doorkeeper who seemed to recognize him. He let Liam in, and bid him wait while he went to announce him.

  There were more goods in the warehouse than in Marcius's, kegs and boxes and bales reaching to the raftered ceiling in tidy stacks, and they filled most of the floorspace. Between the stacks at the center of the warehouse, an aisle had been left that led back to the offices. The doorkeeper appeared again after a moment, and waved Liam on.

  "He'll see you," the old man called.

  Liam went down the aisle and passed the doorkeeper into the merchant's offices. There was a large area with tall secretaries and the high stools that went with them. The other times he had been there, clerks had perched precariously on the stools, busily scratching away at ledger entries and bills of lading, making jokes and speaking among themselves. Now there was no one, all gone for Uris's Eve, Liam supposed, and the silence was eerie. Necquer's private office was beyond the clerks' area, behind a stout wooden door. He knocked at the door and then went in.

  Necquer sat at a simple table, papers piled neatly before him, pen and inkpot and blotter arrayed with military precision. Sea charts and maps of Taralon hung on the walls, but Liam did not see his own charts. Too valuable to be displayed, even for Necquer's own clerks.

  "Rhenford. What may I do for you?" He spoke formally, sitting rigid in his chair, his affability replaced by a brisk, businesslike demeanor.

  "Well, Master Necquer," he said, smiling brightly, "I had the afternoon free, and it struck me that we never really discussed the outcome of your journey."

  "Yes?"

  "Naturally, I'm interested to know more about it. The maps, after all, were mine, and I'm glad to have heard you did well by them. But I'm really more interested to know how you found the lands themselves. Some of them I have not visited in a long time."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. For instance, I was wondering how things were in Domy—I spent six months there, and found it a very pleasant place. Did you find it so?"

  "The trade was good."

  The merchant's apathetic answers were exasperating. He decided to simply a
sk.

  "Ah. And Sardis? And Epidamnum?"

  "We did not make Sardis. Epidamnum was fairly profitable." He mentioned the second port without hesitation.

  "I would like to discuss your journey in more detail, Master Necquer. Compare notes, you understand. Perhaps if you could spare an hour or so?"

  "I am occupied at present, Rhenford. I have work to fill the afternoon."

  Liam could sense that Necquer was getting impatient, but he wanted to know how far he could push him. It couldn't hurt, as the merchant's attitude towards him was already obviously negative.

  "I see. Maybe this evening, then? Only an hour or so, I promise."

  "Tonight is Uris's Eve, Rhenford. I will be working until eight, and then I must attend the vigil at her fane. I cannot spare you any time."

  He spoke the last in such a way that the word "ever" was clearly attached, and Liam decided to take the hint.

  "That's too bad. I would have liked to hear what you thought. Well, perhaps some other time."

  "Perhaps," Necquer said coldly, and pointedly picked up his pen and began writing.

  Liam nodded and left, still smiling brightly to show that he had not taken offense. The merchant paid him no attention. The doorkeeper was waiting outside the clerks' room, and escorted him out.

  A fat drop of rain stained Liam's cloak. The storm was only a few minutes away, and he walked as quickly as he could towards the city square and the jail.

  Lay worshippers were not allowed into the Uris's Eve vigils, Coeccias had told him. Necquer knew he was a Midlander only recently arrived in Southwark, and would not expect him to know that. But why then say he was going to attend the vigils? A convenient lie to avoid meeting with him, or did Necquer have somewhere to go at eight? More likely the first, but it was just possible that the merchant had a rendezvous scheduled. And if it were in the Warren, with a certain hooded woman ...

  Liam hurried faster, happy Scar had left his legs alone. The drops of rain began to fall sporadically, spotting his cloak, and by the time her reached the jail, it was a solid drizzle.