Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

Isana had once shared a similar contact with Lady Aquitaine. Isana had indeed felt the truth in her voice, but the sense of the woman had also been utterly different. Both women were the sort to keep their word-but what was primarily integrity in Aria was, in Lady Aquitaine, simple calculation, a kind of enlightened self-interest. Lady Aquitaine was an expert at negotiations, and to negotiate one needed a reputation of keeping one’s end of the bargain, for good or ill. She had a steely resolve to make sure that she paid what she owed-and more to the point, to be paid what was owed her. Her honesty had more to do with calculating debt and value than it did with right and wrong.

It was one of the things that made Lady Aquitaine particularly dangerous, and Isana suddenly realized that she feared her patron-and not merely for what Lady Aquitaine might do that would touch upon Isana’s loved ones. Isana feared her, personally, sickeningly.

She’d never realized that. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she’d never allowed herself to realize it before now. Aria’s simple offer of support had created another possibility for the future. Perhaps it was the relief Isana had needed to allow herself to face the fear she had kept hidden away. Isana had found hope again.

She shivered and put her face in her hands. Silent tears came, and she did not try to stop them. She sat in the peace of the little garden and let some of her bitter fear wash out with her tears, and in time, when the tears had passed, she felt better. Not buoyant, not ecstatic-but better. The future was not set in stone, no longer unremittingly dark.

Isana murmured to Rill to cleanse the tears from her eyes and restore the reddened skin of her face to its natural color, and left the garden to face the world.

Max regarded Tavi, grinning. “They say if you breathe through your mouth instead of your nose, it will help you keep your breakfast down.”

Tavi sighed. He looked down at himself. His trousers were soaked to above midthigh and stained with the most vile effluvia imaginable. More of it had splattered onto his tunic, arms, neck, and he felt sure there was some in his hair and on his face. “And slog around in that with my mouth open? Smelling it is bad enough. I don’t want to taste it, too.”

Max lounged on a camp stool next to the practice grounds, watching Schultz and his spearmates drilling with live steel and their shining new armor. Schultz was running the drill, while Max watched over the recruits. “Schultz!” Max called. “Relax a little. You hold your shoulders that tight, it’s going to slow down your thrust.”

Tavi grunted. “He still thinks you’re going to kill him?”

“It was fun at first,” Max said. “Useful, too. But it’s been almost a month. I think he’s getting it figured out now.”

Tavi grunted and grabbed a ladle in a nearby bucket of water.

“Hey,” Max protested. “Downwind.”

Tavi idly flicked the ladle of water at Max, then drank one of his own, being careful to swallow in small, controlled motions. He had learned to his own dismay that gulping down liquid on a stench-soured stomach could produce unpleasant results.

“What’s he got you doing now?” Max asked.

“Inspections.” Tavi sighed. “I have to take measurements of each latrine, make sure it’s got the right dimensions. Then estimate volume and compare the rate that they’re all filling up. Then I have to supervise the digging of new ones and filling in the old ones.”

“That stomach bug clear up?” Max asked.

Tavi grimaced. “Finally. Took four days. And the captain’s asked Foss to brew me up some kind of tea to help me fight off other sicknesses.”

“How’s that working out?”

“I’d almost rather get the diseases. You should smell that stuff Foss makes.”

Max grinned. “And if you think it smells bad…”

“Thank you. I needed a little more humiliation,” Tavi said.

“In that case, you should know what the legionares are calling you. “

Tavi sighed. “What?”

“Scipio Latrinus. Is that enough humiliation for you?”

Tavi suppressed a flash of irritation. “Yes. That’s perfect, thank you.”

Max glanced casually around, and Tavi could feel the air around him tightening as Max ensured privacy. “At least it’s given you a good excuse to go to the Pavilion every night. And I’ve noted that you aren’t whining about Kitai anymore.”

“I’m not?” Tavi asked. He frowned and thought about it. That hollow, unpleasant sensation in his stomach, the empty pang, had been absent for some time, and his frown deepened. “I’m not,” he mused.

“Told you you’d get over her,” Max said. “I should have bought you a girl for the evening weeks ago. Glad you did it on your own.”

Tavi felt his face heat up. “But I didn’t.”

Max’s eyebrows lifted straight up. “Ah,” he said. He squinted at his recruits and said, “You didn’t buy a boy, did you. ‘

Tavi snorted. “No,” he said. “Max, I’m not there to enjoy myself. I go there for the job.”

“The job,” Max said.

“The job.”

“You go to the Pavilion because it’s a duty.”

“Yes,” Tavi said, half-exasperated.

“Even though there’s all those dancers and such?”

“Yes.”

“Crows, Calderon. Why?” Max shook his head. “Life is too short to pass some things by.”

“Because it’s my job,” Tavi said.

“Easy to argue that you have to maintain your cover,” Max pointed out. “A little wine. A girl or two. Or three, if you can afford it. What’s the harm?”

Tavi frowned and thought about it. Max was quite correct when he said that the girls at the Pavilion could be quite enticing, and Tavi had avoided watching them dance. It was a given that any dancer with earthcrafting would use it to hone the appetites of the men watching. Often, several danced at once, and such an environment was geared to fleece the pockets of the legionares who succumbed to their urges. Since the legionares by and large went there with exactly that purpose in mind, it tended to work out.

Tavi had been propositioned by several of the doxies there, but had declined to purchase anyone’s charms for a night or to sample the wine and other intoxicants available. He had no intention of clouding his judgment-his wits were what had kept him alive.

“You should enjoy yourself,” Max said. “No one would begrudge you that.”

“I would,” Tavi said. “I need to keep my wits about me.”

Max grunted. “True, I suppose. As long as you aren’t constantly mooning over Kitai, I guess it’s all right if you don’t tumble a doxy now and then.”

Tavi snorted. “Glad you approve.”

Three cohorts of recruits, nearly a thousand legionares, pounded by on the practice road, now moving in a solid block and in full armor. Their footsteps thundered in uniform rhythm, even through the muting effect of Max’s screen. After they passed, and the racket faded away, Max asked, “Turn up anything?”

Tavi nodded. “Found two more legionares reporting to that contact from the Trade Consortium.”

“Do we know who he’s reporting to yet?”

“He thinks he’s reporting to a Parcian merchant’s factor.”

“Heh,” Max said. “Who is the factor working for?”

Tavi shrugged a shoulder. “I crossed a few palms. I might get something tonight.” He gave Max an oblique look. “I heard about an unlicensed slaver operating nearby. Apparently grabbed a couple of camp followers. But someone beat him unconscious, tied him to a tree, sneaked past his guards, and released his slaves.”

Max lowered his windcrafted screen long enough to stand up and shout, “Crows take it, Karder, get that shield up or I’ll give you a few lumps on top of your fool head to remind you! If Valiar Marcus’s spear humiliates my best, you’ll all be running circles for a week!”