Glasswrights' Apprentice (23 page)

The soldier smoothed his tunic's pleats, and his strong fingers did curious things to Rani's pulse. “We're moving to the night shift, starting with sunset. We've been given the day to prepare.”

“Th' 'ole day?” Shar crowed, shifting her pail to one hand and reaching up to play with the careful lacings at Dalarati's throat. Rani thought that she should look away.

“The whole day,” the soldier confirmed, “after you've broken your fast.” He produced two sweet rolls from the sack at his waist, proffering both to Shar.

“Oh, Dalarati! You remembered me!” Shar pulled him close, coming dangerously close to sloshing water on his leggings.

“How could I forget,” he answered wryly, when he had finished kissing her thoroughly. He traced a finger along her throat. “Now, are we going to stand in the square all morning, or are we going back to my quarters? I've got a lot to do before duty tonight.”

“A lot to do?” Shar pouted, starting to turn away from her handsome benefactor.

“Aye,” he laughed at her posturing and reached out a loose fist to chuck her lightly on the chin. “I've exercises to complete.” His supple fingers closed around Shar's waist. “And weapons to polish.” Shar giggled, and let the man lead her toward the edge of the square.

Rani was still staring in a bemused combination of shock and jealousy when the Touched
girl wriggled out of the soldier's embrace. She darted across the square, coming to a breathless
stop in front of Rani. Before the apprentice could speak, the Touched girl thrust one of the sweet
buns into Rani's hand. “But -” Rani began to protest.

“Take it! I'll not 'ave time t' eat both.” Shar giggled and glanced at Dalarati, who was feigning impatience. “Welcome t' th' Soldiers' Quarter, Rai.”

Rani barely managed to wait until the pair was out of sight before she tore into the roll. She was hungrier than she had imagined, and the sweet almond filling left her licking her fingers unabashedly. On her way back to Garadolo's lair, she imagined the meals she could feast on in the Soldiers' Quarter. Feast, that was, if she were willing to pay the price.

Of course, such thoughts were sheer foolishness. She would be leaving the Quarter before supper time. Bardo would be there by noon, taking her away from the dingy room and the frightening filth, carrying her off to whatever life he had built for himself.

Rani occupied herself with such thoughts as she set about straightening the small
room. As the morning ripened, she found herself singing “The Merchant's Blue-Eyed Daughter.” The
song had always been Bardo's favorite, and before the sun set that night, Rani would make him sing
it aloud, rolling his rich bass voice over the notes.

As she sang, she set about loosing the locks on the shutters, but when the morning light streamed into the room, she almost wished that she had not bothered. A layer of grime covered wood, plaster, everything in the chamber, as if Garadolo and an army of predecessors had never washed their greasy hands, but had fondled every surface. Repeatedly.

Sighing, Rani set her pail of water by the door. The shreds of some garment were tangled on the floorboards - it appeared that Rani was not the first person to rip Garadolo's rotten clothes. She set her lips in a grim smile as she salvaged the filthy cloth, so full of holes that it could serve no legitimate purpose.

No legitimate purpose, that was, except as a rag. Rani shivered when she plunged her bare hands into the bucket of cold water, and she needed to wring out the cloth three times before the water ran clear. Still, she started in the corner, cleaning out a circle of human living space.

It took her the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon, but the room was reformed when she was finished. She had listened to the cathedral bells toll noon, unable to resist waiting on the doorstep for Garadolo to show up with Bardo, but she had been sorely disappointed. Now, as she added a sheen to the rippled glass reflecting sunset in the window frame, she fought a wave of despair.

Despite the chill in the air, she left the door open and sat on the front porch. She had made several more trips to the well for fresh water, and her arms ached. Her belly roared with hunger as well, and she fought back the suspiciously salty taste of tears as she leaned against the doorframe.

The sun had set before Garadolo returned to his room. He strode jauntily down the street, beefy legs rolling in new trews that he had apparently cajoled from the quartermaster. The spring in his step faded visibly when he saw Rani sitting on the doorstep. “Still here, are you?” he grunted.

“Of course. Where's Bardo?”

“Where's Bardo?” he mimicked, pushing her into the room. “Don't be saying his name aloud in the streets! What do you want, for the entire quarter to know the mark I bear?” There was honest fear behind his words, a cowardice that fed Rani's disappointment. “What in the name of Cot! What have you done with my room?”

“I cleaned it.” Rani resisted the urge to add an epithet to her simple declaration. “You told me you'd bring Bardo to me. You lied!”

“I didn't lie, little tiger.” Garadolo looked around as if in shock, seeming scarcely to recognize the neat bed roll against one wall, the shimmer of glass behind dust-free shutters. Stroking his greasy beard, he turned to her with a leer he doubtless intended to be soothing. “I tried to find him, honest I did. It's not easy for one as low in the Brotherhood ranks as I. I tried to see my commander, to send a message up the ladder. Your Bardo has himself better protected than a spider in his web.”

“Fine,” Rani seethed, nearly yelping as Garadolo left streaky fingermarks on the clean window. “I'll find him myself, then. I thought one of Shanoranvilli's own soldiers could get things done, but I clearly was mistaken.”

“Those words are creeping close to treason, little one. Don't be dragging the king's name through your own muck.”

“My -” Rani started, anger crystallizing to push her fingers toward her Zarithian
knife.

“And don't think you can pull a knife on one of the King's Guard.” As if to underscore his meaning, Garadolo set one hammy fist on his own much longer dagger.

“If you won't -”

“There's no ‘won't' about it. I
could
not, not today. The whole City was crazed, with heralds standing on every street corner, crying out the search for that cursed Ranita Gl- that cursed guild-girl. Tuvashanoran's pyre was lit at noon, you know.” Rani had not known, although she should have remembered. Her thoughts flashed to the ladanum she had worked among the winding sheets, to the shroud she had prepared. Garadolo harrumphed as Rani slunk away from him; she could not tell if he knew her true role in the prince's death. When she merely stared at him sullenly for a long minute, he swore and repeated, “I tell you, I
could
not! I've sent a message, and tomorrow I should receive a response. Of course, I'll need to pay the messenger.…” He trailed off meaningfully, twisting his fingers in the air.

Rani clutched at her pouch, her meager hoard of treasures. “What do you want from me?”

“I'm just a poor soldier, girl. I can't be paying bribes for you. What have you got in the sack?”

Reluctantly, Rani had to admit his claim was reasonable - he
was
only a soldier. Sighing, she dug into the pouch, pulling out first one indigo glove, then the other.

“These'll fetch a fair price. They were worked for a noble family.”

Garadolo inspected the gloves in the glimmer of the lamp Rani had trimmed so carefully, and he seemed pleased with what he saw. “They should do the trick. What do you say we eat now?”

“How can you eat, when you need to steal from me for a messenger?”

“Your messenger is out of the ordinary, girl. Eating is what soldiers do, every day and every night. Come along.”

Rani was hungry enough that she dropped the fight. Reflexively, she set herself to remembering the twists and turns as he dragged her along, and she managed to snare at least one of the passwords as they passed a bristling checkpoint. Soon, she found herself in the soldiers' mess hall, eating stew out of a hollowed loaf of bread. She washed down the chunks of meat with ale, doing her best to ignore the fact that she had to share her tankard with her keeper.

Garadolo was intent on letting everyone know that Rani was his companion for the evening. He settled a heavy paw on her shoulder as often as he thought he could get away with it, and more than once, he decried the appetite of his little tiger. The grizzled men leered at their companion, and Rani wished that she could sit on the far side of the room, where the men were quieter, more sedate, even though many of them also sported female companions.

When one of Garadolo's peers indulged in a particularly graphic speculation, Rani was spared the need to respond by the wholly unexpected arrival of Dalarati and Shar. The handsome young soldier looked about the room and seemed about to join his quiet, orderly brethren at the far side of the chamber. His eyes caught on Rani, though, and he darted a quick look of ill-disguised disgust toward Garadolo.

Dalarati grimaced and leaned down to whisper something in Shar's ear. The Touched girl started to protest, but Dalarati set the palm of one hand against her cheek in a soothing, fleeting caress. Nevertheless, Shar dragged her feet as Dalarati crossed the room to Rani's side. Obviously, Dalarati and Shar were accustomed to sitting on the far side of the room.

“Evening, Rai,” was all the soldier said as he straddled a bench. Shar took her place beside him, apparently forgetting her momentary displeasure as her young man fed her snippets of meat from his trencher. Dalarati held his tankard to her lips for her to sip delicately at his ale. Rani felt a rat of jealousy burrow into the hollow space behind her heart, even as she was grateful for their companionship.

The meal began to break up as the soldiers with consorts headed toward the door. Rani delayed as long as she could, engaging a thoroughly uninterested Shar in a discussion of raids in the Nobles' Quarter. Shar humored her new friend, even pretending not to notice the occasional lapses in Rani's adopted accent. Nevertheless, the other girl leaned against Dalarati, steadying herself by looping suggestive fingers through his belt.

Dalarati could not ignore such attention for long, and he turned an open grin on Shar. “Ready to return home, are we? Fine enough - we've an hour before the night watch calls.” Amid the chorus of good-natured suggestions of pastimes, Dalarati managed to gain his feet, conducting his clinging companion to the door. The sharp night air, though, apparently reminded him that Shar's shawl remained at the soldiers' table.

Rani handed the garment to the handsome guard, contriving to let her fingers brush against his. “Thank you for joining us,” she managed, swallowing hard against the pounding of her heart.

“The pleasure was mine, my lady.” He delivered a mock bow, using the motion to dig into the small pouch at his waist. “Buy an almond bun in the morning and think of Shar and me.” Rani caught the coin and stifled a gasp, and then the dashing soldier was gone.

Garadolo decided to leave shortly thereafter, and when they entered his quarters, Rani immediately took her belongings to her corner. Garadolo began to laugh harshly, and Rani had to raise her voice to be heard. “You'll be seeing Bardo tomorrow, won't you?”

The soldier swallowed a curse, but his ardor was clearly quenched. “Aye, little tiger. I'll see you delivered tomorrow. You have my word on that.”

 

Garadolo's word was worth as little as his soldierly oath to defend the poor and the weak.

Rani waited eagerly through the next day, too excited to think about eating, about cleaning, about any details of daily life. She reminded herself that her indigo gloves had been well-spent if they brought her brother to her. She tried to order her thoughts, to think of the questions she would ask Bardo. She wanted to know why she had seen the snakes in so many places, how the mark was connected to Tuvashanoran's murder. She wanted to ask Bardo why he had not sought her out, how he could have let their merchant shop be burned to the ground, let their family meet with unspeakable horrors in the king's dungeons. She wanted to know how he could be mixed up with the Brotherhood when she heard such terrible tales about them, when she had witnessed the destruction that they had created in the cathedral yard.

Bardo had always had answers before, and Rani longed to hear his deep voice, serious and slow as he explained it all to her. She longed for the comfort of his wisdom, even as she consciously set aside memories of his rage. After all, it was her
brother
she sought, not some crazed, tattooed rebel, not some murderous vigilante who had enforced justice among Touched thieves. There must have been some mistake. Bardo would set all right. He would explain away the horror. He had to.

Despite Rani's hopes and prayers, Garadolo showed up alone at the end of the next day. He told Rani that he had sold her gloves and used the money to bribe the first of the Brotherhood's petty officials. That bribe had secured him an interview with another protector tomorrow, but he must be prepared with another bribe. The soldier paused eloquently, clearly waiting for Rani to pay her way.

She hesitated for a long minute before extracting Dalarati's coin from her pouch. The silver meant more than breakfast - it had been a gift from the handsome soldier. Garadolo tested the metal between his rotten teeth and nodded his approval before squirreling it away in the filthy folds of his clothing.

And so each day took on a pattern. Every morning, Rani waited restlessly, straightening the tiny room, cleaning surfaces that were long-since shining. Every afternoon, she sat on the doorstep, certain that Bardo was going to round the corner at any instant. Every evening, Garadolo returned home with a new excuse, a new explanation of how he had progressed in his attempts to reach the Brotherhood. Every night, they returned to the mess hall, and Rani ate her fill of the soldiers' food, despairing that she would ever see her brother.