“I’m not going to New Sfinctr,” growled Gwendolyn.
Wolfgang dismissed her protest with a wave. “Quibbles, quibbles—and you know it! You’re going as far as the Mutt, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“And isn’t New Sfinctr but a hop, skip and a stumble from there? Of course it is! A well-traveled route, too. Even a simpleton could find his way from the Mutt to New Sfinctr. And Benvenuti’s no simpleton. Not even today—and he certainly won’t be one by then. No, not at all! He’ll be what the Ozarine call ‘an old Groutch hand.’ ”
I wished he’d left off that last bit. Needless to say, the mention of the Ozarine brought a scowl from Gwendolyn.
“And that’s another thing! There are people I’ve got to meet.” She glared at me. “People I don’t want this damned Ozarine to see, so he can run and tell his people who they are.”
“Damn you, madame!” I overrode her bellow with one of my own. “And don’t tell me not to call you ‘madame’! Aren’t you acting the perfect high and mighty lady? I assure you, no Ozarine heiress could do it better. I told you once—I will say it again—I am an artist, not a politician. And I’m certainly not a policeman! Make any detour you wish. See anyone you desire. If you want me to remain off to one side while you undertake your mysterious missions—why, so I will. If you choose to have me accompany you—why, I will say nothing to anyone.”
I spat on the floor. “And finally—madame—you may rest assured that not all Ozarines are pig-bellied plutocrats. My own branch of the Sfondrati-Piccolominis has known its share of poverty and hard times. But we’ve always been artists, or scholars, or soldiers of fortune. Or—if those words don’t suit you!—call us potters and pedants and plunderers. But there’ve been precious few respectable bourgeois in the lot. And never a police informer!”
We were glaring at each other fiercely, practically nose to nose. It was she who stepped back, with a new look in her eyes. Respect, I thought, and I was stunned by how much I cared.
“Got quite the bite, this boy does,” she chuckled.
“No boy, Gwendolyn!” exclaimed Wolfgang. “No boy could have carved up so many Godferrets. Skill and training be damned—that takes an adult passion. He did save your life, you know. Well, actually, I would have saved it if he hadn’t—but he didn’t know that at the time. Quite the hero lurking somewhere inside this young fellow, if my twin powers of madness and amnesia are to be trusted—and they are! They are!”
The round of insane laughter which followed from the giant’s mouth enabled both Gwendolyn and me to catch our breath and take new stock.
And then she smiled, for the first time since I had met her. Not a sunny smile, Gwendolyn’s, never—too many scars had forged that smile. But there was a great cool gleam in it, like moonlight, and friendship, and a sense of unyielding courage.
“All right,” she said. “I’m willing, if you are. I warn you, the trip will be long, hard, and dangerous.”
I didn’t need to answer with words. I was grinning from ear to ear, and laughing, and happier than I’d been—ever, I think. An adventurous life, I’d wanted, since I was a lad. And here it was!
But after Wolfgang explained the details of his plan, I wasn’t happy at all. And the look on Gwendolyn’s face was positively terrifying.
“But—but—” I was stammering like a schoolboy. “I’d thought—perhaps—Gwendolyn could pose as my wife—well, local girlfriend, in any event—the police might know I’d just arrived unaccompanied—but—” I was actually blushing.
“Nonsense!” boomed Wolfgang. “The whole idea’s preposterous! Look at her. Oh, don’t mistake me—she’s an immensely handsome woman, Gwendolyn is. But—let’s face it. Would the dullest-witted policeman in the world believe, for one moment, that this Amazon would be some Ozarine playboy’s skirt of the evening?”
Gwendolyn’s face was like an iron mask.
“He’s right, damn him. His plan will work, I’ve no doubt of it. That’s why I hate it.”
Even Wolfgang’s air of perpetual good cheer seemed clouded, for a moment.
“I know, my dear. But that’s partly why it’ll work. The police may have learned by now that you’re here in Goimr. If they have, they’ll be looking for you, as sure as the sunrise. But not as a draywoman! Not ever! Not Gwendolyn Greyboar!”