Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (best books for students to read TXT) 📕

"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