“Looking for a date?” he asked coyly in Pelagan.
Leo had never been propositioned by a man before. “No,” he replied in Pelagan without even really thinking about it. Vada grabbed his hand and pulled him away.
“Stop that,” she hissed.
“Stop what?” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”
Suddenly, he was caught up in the crowds pushing and shoving to get through the arch, and he had to struggle to keep sight of Vada and her auburn braid. The white building was a massive portico that stretched out as far as Leo could see in either direction, its stone halls reverberating with the sounds of so many people. Then he emerged into the market itself and Vada was dragging him toward a golden building about the size of a small house, with a striped awning. Leo didn’t need to use his Pelagan to understand the sign posted on its face.
KROGERS—AURUMS
Vada turned to him, her voice low. “Okay, jackass, let’s see how precious this face of yours truly is. And act like everyone here is beneath you. Shouldn’t be too hard, no?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as she started shouting, “Out of the way! Mr. Byrne coming through! Make way for the Byrne!”
Leo watched in awe as the crowds parted and people in line stepped aside to usher him and Vada to the front. Many of them looked at him wide-eyed or bowed their heads when he passed.
“Give me your money and let me do the talking,” Vada muttered as they approached the window. Leo quickly shoved a thick wad of krogers into her hand.
“Dorinda, you lazy bastard,” she said, slamming the money down onto the sill, “look sharp and change these bills at once!”
Dorinda was a rail-thin woman with a mass of bright red hair pulled back from her face by a band of mussel shells. A set of bifocals was perched on her nose and her nails were long, sharpened to points, and painted jet black.
“Vada,” she said, drawing out the last a with apparent relish, a sickly sweet smile spreading across her face then suddenly vanishing. “Get to the back of the line, you little shit. I told you last time, no special favors. I don’t care who your mama is. You want me to call the Misarros?”
Leo hid his shudder at the thought—he might look like a Byrne but there was no way he would be able to pass himself off as one once someone started asking questions.
“If you are wanting to call the Misarros on Mr. Byrne here, then by all means, go ahead,” Vada said. “I’m sure Ambrosine would be delighted to hear how her family is treated in this market.”
Dorinda started as she looked at Leo, then immediately adopted an obsequious expression. “In the name of the goddesses, I did not see you, sir. I will change these for you right away.”
Once she was gone, Vada grinned at him. “This is working even better than I had been thinking.”
Dorinda reappeared a few minutes later with a heavy leather purse that clinked as she set it down. “Would you like me to count them out for you, sir?”
Leo shook his head, then rested a hand on one hip and stared out into the distance, as if looking for something far more interesting. His father always did that when he was speaking to someone he felt was lesser than he.
Vada snatched the purse and tied it to her belt. “May the goddesses bless you,” she said to Dorinda.
But Dorinda was eyeing Leo with interest and he saw a disconcerting flash of recognition. “I was wondering, sir, if you could tell . . . it is being said that Ambrosine has cut off the passages around Culinnon, ones that lead to the Lost Islands. Does this mean she has found Braxos?”
The name Culinnon sparked something in his memory, but Leo couldn’t quite place it.
“I’m sure if Ambrosine wanted you to know what she was doing, she would have hurried right here to tell you herself,” he said before remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak. But Vada looked quietly pleased as Dorinda’s cheeks flushed. Leo felt the best course of action was to leave as quickly as possible.
“Vada, come,” he said sharply. He turned without waiting and strode off through the crowds with no idea where he was going. Tents in bright colors dotted the landscape alongside pens of animals, little brick houses with thatched roofs, and grocer stalls boasting baskets filled with all sorts of fruits and vegetables—ripe peaches, dark purple plums, and some sort of orange fruit with spiky blue leaves were nestled among shiny cucumbers, red tomatoes, and thick bunches of carrots. He finally stopped between a fruit seller and a butcher shop and Vada clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well done,” she said. “That was getting dicey, no?”
“Yeah,” Leo said.
“Well, now we know you can pass yourself off as a Byrne.”
Leo didn’t find any comfort in that. “What if she tells the Misarros about us?”
“The Misarros would not wish to be messing about with a Byrne,” Vada reassured him. “Unless the world has gone truly mad. Come, we need to get you clothes. And something to eat; I’m starving.”
She bought them each a pear and Leo felt his anxiety ease slightly as he sank his teeth into its sweet flesh, letting the juice dribble down his chin. It had been fifteen days of salted pork, stale bread, and hard cheese. He was fairly certain this pear was the best thing he had ever tasted.
“We should bring one back for Sera,” he said through another mouthful.
Vada raised an eyebrow.
Leo’s face went hot. “I only meant . . . just because she doesn’t eat meat,” he stammered.
“Yes. I am sure that is what you were meaning,” she said with a sly smile.
They made their way past a silversmith, urns and platters and spoons reflecting the late afternoon sun, then ducked down an alley that led to a little square ringed with stalls in various shades of umber and maroon whose vendors only seemed to sell rugs. They skirted a woman on stilts dressed in flowing robes of brilliant green juggling four striped balls, then pushed through a band of musicians playing a cheery tune on fiddles and pipes and drums. Misarros seemed to be around every corner, but Vada always found some path to avoid them. Leo kept his head down until they had turned a corner and he was nearly blinded by a stunning array of jewelry.
“How big is this market?” he wondered.
“Very big,” Vada said. “There is a famous story that a wealthy woman from one of the northern islands came to see its splendors and was lost for twelve days. When they found her, she was skin and bones and nibbling on a dead rat.”
“Ugh,” Leo said, and Vada laughed as she ducked underneath a thin sheet of colored silk hung between two apothecaries, pungent herbal smells emanating from their open doors. Leo followed and found himself in a row of tents dyed in shades of lilac and lavender and violet. Pants were folded neatly on tables inside one, shirts hanging in another, and a third had the most stunning collection of dresses Leo had ever seen. There were tents selling seashell headdresses and ones displaying all types of shoes and still others with a wide selection of scarves.
“This,” Vada said, spreading out her arms wide, “is the best place to buy clothes in all the market. The question is where to start. . . .”
“Agnes will want pants,” he said. “Something comfortable and functional.”
Vada nodded. “We can dress her to have the look of the daughter of a merchant or a wealthy sea captain or a high-placed servant.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps servant is working best for our scheme.”