“Certainly not. I’ve got a reputation. If people found out I created the monstrosity that you are describing...” He shuddered.
Bowe jingled his pouch in front of the tailor. “I’ll give you a gold for it. And, providing that the quality of the clothing is top notch in all respects, excepting the color, I won’t tell anyone who made it for me. What do you say? You get to turn a roll of worthless cloth and a day and a half’s work into a whole gold.”
“One gold?” Glil asked. “Are you kidding me? For the ugliest set of clothes that will ever see the light of day?”
Bowe could see that Glil was calculating how much of the Raine money Bowe was wasting. Pretty much all of it. Bowe was gambling everything on this one shot. He held his breath as the tailor thought for a long moment. “One gold, five silvers,” he said finally.
Glil groaned. Bowe took from his pouch one gold and two silvers and placed them on the counter. “Now, I know we are supposed to do that haggling thing, but I don’t feel like it right now, so can we skip it? We’ll just pretend you fought hard for one gold and three silvers and I refused to budge from one gold and one silver. We battled long and hard, eventually settling on one gold, two silvers.”
The tailor looked at the money, sighed, then slid the coins from the counter into his hand. It was just as well; Bowe needed his last silver for transportation.
Chapter 9
33 Days Left
The rickshaw seemed to be making more vertical than horizontal movement. It bounced with every half-turn of the wheel, and Bowe clutched his seat tightly, wondering if there was any way to back out now. There wasn’t, though—not really. The rickshaw puller had taken his last silver, and even then it had been a hard sell. The puller didn’t seem too keen on transporting a Green to the ascor ball. Using an enclosed rickshaw was the easiest way to get though the outer ring of marshals around Lessard Mansion; most of the invited guests would be using something similar, so this would at least get Bowe to the door. After that...
At least the preparations—such as they were—had gone smoothly. He wore his new pants, tunic, and cloak. All in breathtaking azure. Beautifully stitched and perfected fitted. Except he wished they didn’t fit half so well when he realized how much the new clothes itched. Bowe checked his pocket to make sure the neck clasp was still there. Iyra had come through on that. Via several painfully long conversations with Oamir, Bowe had finally settled on a plan. He was to give the clasp to one of three newly-raised Grenier ascor: either Kirande, Odrassan or Roneor. They were the three who Bowe decided would be most likely to wear the ruby garnet.
The rickshaw gave another almighty jolt and lurched to a stop. Bowe peeked out the curtain—they were outside the main entrance. A rolled-out carpet in Lessard green led the way inside. Marshals wearing mint-cream uniforms flanked either side of the carpet. Bowe waited for the rickshaw puller to announce him. Bowe, of House Bellanger, he was supposed to say. Instead, Bowe heard a hushed growl from above him. “Get out,” the man said.
Bowe shook his head up at the puller as he opened the rickshaw door and stepped onto the sea-green carpet. The puller didn’t even glance down at him; he pulled off as soon as Bowe closed the door, leaving Bowe to face the double row of spear-wielding marshals unannounced. Still, his clothes proclaimed him better than a newsbard shouting his name from the rooftops. They announced the arrival of a crazy person.
Bowe strode down the carpet, pretending he belonged there, but he quivered inside. One of the marshals almost let his spear fall at the sight of him, but recovered in time. None of them challenged him until he reached the main entrance. There, a more senior marshal blocked his path. He was short, and though he was only in his thirties, he was already balding. He wore a long sword at his belt. The way he stood suggested that he knew how to use the sword; the way his hand hovered over the hilt showed that he wanted to use it.
“I am Tokanu, and you are lost.” He scanned Bowe up and down. “In mind as well as in body.”
Bowe smiled, trying to project confidence he didn’t feel. This was where his plan got murky. “I’m Bowe Bellanger, but you already guessed that, I’m sure.” He held out his arm, but the other man didn’t even look at it. He continued to stare Bowe straight in the eye.
Bowe searched his mind frantically for something to say. The rickshaw had gotten him past the lower-ranked marshals, and now he only needed to bluff his way past one more guy. At least, that was the idea beforehand. Now that he’d met Tokanu, he wasn’t so sure; he didn’t look the type of guy to bluff.
“One,” Tokanu said.
“Listen, I’m sure the Guardians will want me to attend. I’m the last Bellanger. One final time with representatives from all four families together.”
“Two.”
“You never told me what you are counting up to and what happens when you are finished. There are rules to this sort of thing.”
“Three.”
Another rickshaw rumbled into position behind Bowe, and two words rang out that made Bowe feel like he was the luckiest bastard on the whole damn island: “Kirande Grenier,” a puller announced. One of the three he had come here to meet.
“Four.”
“Enough counting—I’m going. I need to talk to the man behind me.” Three, five and ten seemed the most dangerous numbers. Bowe had survived a three, and he certainly didn’t want to risk a five. He went to intercept Kirande.
He reached the rickshaw just as Kirande was stepping out. The man was tall with thin limbs, and his body was all sharp angles from his shoulders to his knees to the hatchet-shaped thing that passed for a nose. Prominent swirls of scarlet slashed across his coat. He stopped short at the sight of Bowe, then threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter. He clapped Bowe on the back. “Look at you. Spectacular. And here I was afraid that the ball would be dull.”
“I’d like to talk to you privately for a moment,” Bowe said.
“Very well. He took a silver from his pocket and tossed it to the first of the two pullers. “Wait here a moment more.” He held the rickshaw door open for Bowe. “After you, young Bellanger.” Bowe got in and sank into the cushioned seat. His rickshaw had been nothing like this.
Kirande sat opposite him and rubbed the lapel of Bowe’s tunic. “This is great. I can’t wait to see the reaction to your outfit when we go inside. Stenesso, in particular. This is going to be fun. Now,” he said, leaning back, “what’s do you want with me?”
“To be honest, I only wanted to meet you. I have a gift that I hope you might appreciate.”
Kirande’s smile faltered. “Well then, let’s see it.”
Bowe produced the neck clasp. Kirande took it and turned it over in his hands. “Open the curtain,” he ordered. Bowe complied. The gem glittered as the torchlight reflected deep inside it.
“Remarkable. I had heard about the red garnets’ recent arrival, of course, but I never imagined their color would match a ruby’s so well. So why have you given me this?”
“I need to get selected. I hope you will look favorably upon me when the time comes.”
A smile played on Kirande’s lips. “A bribe?”
Bowe shifted in his seat, causing the rickshaw to creak. “More of an exchange of gifts.”
“I see.” Kirande examined the clasp closely. “There’s very valuable information to be gleaned from lies.”
Bowe leaned forward. “I wasn’t—”
Kirande raised his hand to stop Bowe from continuing. “You can often tell the skill of an ascorim player from the quality of his lies. In your case, they are rather unsophisticated. Given your bold choice of dress, I had hoped for more from you. Let me see.” Kirande steepled his long fingers in front of his face. “You have access to those garnets and need to sell them. And you think that having an ascor wear one at the ball will make them desirable. Why me?” He scratched his chin with his thumb. “You wanted someone who doesn’t care about annoying the Lessards. Someone who would actually enjoy it.” Kirande grinned. “G
uilty as charged. And you needed someone independent, not someone else’s lackey. How am I doing?”
Bowe looked down at his knees and shrank back into the cushion. He was now aware of how clumsy his attempts to manipulate Kirande had been, and he realized that he’d been a fool to think he could outwit someone who’d been playing the ascorim since before he had been born. There was a click, and Bowe looked up to see Kirande adjusting the garnet against his neck.
“You’re going to wear it?”
Kirande smiled and stepped out of the rickshaw. “Just because I can see through your plan doesn’t mean it doesn’t suit my purpose. You got one thing right.” He helped Bowe out of the rickshaw. “Choosing me to wear it.”
“Kirande Grenier,” the puller announced again. Another rickshaw waited behind. Bowe looked around, trying to figure out how he was going to get off the Lessard grounds and back to Bellanger Mansion. Perhaps Kirande would let him—
A bony arm wrapped around Bowe’s shoulders, and the next thing he knew, he was being half-dragged down the green carpet. “Wait,” Bowe protested. “I don’t—”
“You don’t think you need to go to the ball now that you have already given me the garnet?” They were approaching Tokanu. “As it turns out, you do.” Kirande leaned down to whisper in Bowe’s ear, “Because I insist.” His tone made Bowe suddenly very aware of how many marshals stood on either side of him. Bowe decided he did, after all, want to attend the ball.
“Kirande, you are most welcome, as always.” Tokanu stepped in front of Bowe. “However, the walking blueberry hasn’t an invitation.”
“I just invited him.” Kirande barely glanced at Tokanu and guided Bowe past him and through the doors. Bowe couldn’t resist turning to wiggle his fingers at Tokanu in a goodbye wave. He mouthed the word, “Five.” Tokanu’s grim expression was the only response.
A long, arching staircase swept up and away from the entrance hall. To the right, a wide doorway led into the main ballroom. Bowe followed Kirande inside. Bowe thought that just seeing that expression on Tokanu’s face made attending the ball worth it. That feeling lasted for a few moments, and then people started to notice him. He felt naked. A ripple of turning heads spread across the crowd as more and more people became aware of his presence. Kirande had a big smile on his face, loving the attention.
What in Helion’s name had Bowe been thinking when he’d decided to come here dressed like this? And why hadn’t Glil stopped him? Shouldn’t Defenders stop their Elect from doing crazy stuff like this? Glil should have at least tied Bowe down until the ball was over.
The room contained many more women than men, since each of the ascor had multiple wives, plus all the Greenettes were here. The Greenettes had put aside their plain clothes and now wore dresses almost as elaborate as the ascora. As much makeup, as well. Everyone was dressed in finery, and Bowe had never felt more out of place in his life.
Kirande leaned down to whisper, “Wear your clothes—don’t let them wear you. You can either look like a clown who got lost on his way to the circus, or you can look like the person who owns this ball. The daring Green who everyone will be talking about long after this is over.”
Bowe straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. What Kirande was saying made sense, but it was hard to look confident when he felt all quivery inside. He glanced around the room, trying to ignore all the stares. The fact that everyone was wearing white with only small slashes of color was more noticeable than ever. He caught Ariastiana’s cold gaze, and it was almost a relief; she had looked at him like that all his life. At least there was something familiar. At her side, Kesirran was one of the few not staring at Bowe. That, too, went with the usual pattern of life in Raine Mansion.
Kirande led Bowe into the heart of the ballroom and stopped in front of Veliro and Alandar. “Ah, two of the mentors,” he said.
Bowe gulped, remembering his last meeting with each of them.
“Bet you’ve never been joined by one of the Greens at a ball before,” Kirande said.
“Definitely not.” Veliro had a pastry in his hand. “Nor have I met anyone as strangely dressed. And I’ve met all sorts of queer outlanders while trading.”
Alandar rubbed the fabric of Bowe’s cloak between his thumb and forefinger. “Despite its ghastly coloring, this appears expensively made. Good cloth, fine stitching, well fitted. Might have cost a gold piece. Where would a Green get the money to purchase such clothing?”
“You insult me,” Bowe replied. “I do not dress in cheap clothes. I am a Bellanger, not a Raine.”
Alandar gave a thin smile. His fingers circled a gem on his knife’s scabbard. “I hear you have some loans to pay off—I would consider that before buying expensive clothing. Some friends of mine tried to have a talk with you about that the other day, but lost you in the crowd.”
“Maybe you need more competent friends.” The confidence flowed through him as he bantered with the Raine mentor. As long as he was with Kirande, Bowe was safe from arrest. He lifted the side of his cloak and let it fall. “You are right about the fit, and both the quality and color suit me.”
“I’m going to have so much fun when I finally catch you.” Alandar nodded respectfully to Kirande and Veliro and walked away.
Bowe watched Alandar’s departing back. Making himself Alandar’s biggest enemy didn’t seem the wisest move, but Bowe couldn’t help himself. Veliro licked cream from his thick fingers.
“I’d like to thank you for that bargain we made early in the Path,” Bowe said to him.
Veliro frowned. “I got you to give me money for nothing. And you’d like to thank me?”
“Hardly nothing,” Bowe said. “Money is just metal; wisdom is priceless.”
Veliro smiled. “Never heard anyone value my words so highly. Though I fear you’ll find that Alandar and the Raines might not agree with that philosophy.”
“You let me worry about Alandar. I have it under control.” Bowe almost believed it as he said it. The confidence he was channeling was liquid fire in his veins.
Kirande laughed. “The boy is something else, isn’t he? To think, I wasn’t looking forward to tonight, and now it’s so much fun.”
Veliro studied Kirande. “Interesting gem you have around your neck.”
Kirande cocked his head. “Funny you should mention that. Quite the story behind it. The price was much higher than you’d expect to pay for a garnet. Must be the beautiful Grenier coloring. To purchase the gem, I had to go to a meeting place deep in the heart of escay Arcandis. I had to leave my protectors behind and was led with a cloth covering my head down a twisting series of alleyways. There, the exchange was made. I was led back and the cloth was removed.” Kirande rubbed at the neck clasp. “Quite the adventure. But it’s worth the high price to have it admired by you.”
“We have been looking for those who stole the red garnets.” Veliro licked the remains of the pastry from his lips.
“I suggest telling your marshals to keep their eyes open down dark and twisty alleyways in the poorest areas of the city.”
Veliro’s grunted. “A fake ruby for a fake Grenier.”
Bowe held his breath. Veliro must be among those who didn’t see Kirande as a true ascor, due to all of Stenesso’s recent promotions. Bowe didn’t know how Kirande had come up with the story about buying the garnet so quickly, but it was perfect.
Kirande smiled. “If I was not a real ascor, I don’t think you’d let me get away with wearing this Lessard-prohibited gem. But I am, and so you swallow it like month-old bread.” Kirande looked Veliro up and down. “A common occurrence around Lessard Mansion, I’m sure. Bits of food forgotten by the edges of the trough.”
A flush rose in Veliro’s cheeks, and Bowe thought he was going to explode. Instead, he nodded at Kirande, said, “Excuse me,” and walked away.
Kirande patted Bowe on the shoulder. “Now that was fun.” He scanned the ballroom. “Who else can we annoy?”
Bowe didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure
he wanted to meet anyone else—he couldn’t afford many more enemies. Or even the ones he’d already made, truth be told.
“Wait, I’ve a better idea: circulate by yourself and see what happens.”
Bowe stiffened. “On my own?”
Kirande slapped his back. “Go on. You’ll be great. Just remember what I told you: wear the clothes.”
Bowe pushed back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and marched into the center of the room. He stopped a waiter and took some grapes from the tray he carried. He popped one into his mouth and looked around. Among the maelstrom of disapproving and calculating faces, Bowe saw someone gesture him over—a Lessard, judging by the sea-green patterns on the man’s tunic.
Bowe approached him and held out his arm. “Bowe Bellanger.”
“I’m Eolnar. No introductions were necessary on your part.” Eolnar clasped Bowe’s arm warmly. “As of this moment, you are the most famous person in Arcandis.”
“Famous or notorious?” Bowe asked. Eolnar was the elder brother of Sorani, and second in command after the Lessard leader, Bowe remembered. Maybe not the best person to talk to when Bowe seemed ready to insult anyone and everyone. “Tomorrow, I could be the most famous corpse in Arcandis.”
“Such are the vagaries of the Path.” Eolnar had a small, round face, a pointy nose, and a head of short, curly black hair. He reminded Bowe of one of the creatures from those picture books—a hedgehog. “And of the ascorim. The possibilities are endless. One choice leads to death and ruin, another to riches and glory. The skill is in knowing beforehand which choice leads where.”
“There seem to be many more paths toward death than ones to riches. What’s the direction that leads to a quiet life and a peaceful old age?” Bowe asked.
Eolnar chuckled. “Gatecrashing this ball wearing that outfit does not suggest a search for tranquility.”
Bowe didn’t know about that—he would have happily skipped the ball once he’d given the neck clasp to Kirande if he’d been allowed.
The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4) Page 10