Cheb smiled at his sister-in-law. “That’s nice of you to
say. And let me tell you, you’re still a pleasure to look at,”
he added. “I’ve always said, my brother’s done an awful lot
of foolish things in his life, but marrying you wasn’t one of
them.”
To accept the compliment was also to accept the slap at
her husband, and that Kyra would not do. She simply
nodded curtly and offered her brother-in-law a chair at the
table.
He was dressed like a prince, but his clothes looked
better than he did. His face was long and sallow, with deep-
set green eyes that gave him a cadaverous, if mesmerizing,
appearance.
As Cheb strutted through the doorway, Seron nervously
glanced out the window into the deepening twilight. Tosch
would not show himself if he saw a third person in the hut;
they had to get rid of Cheb. Assuming, that is, that Tosch
was actually coming.
“You’ll be glad I made this surprise visit,” Seron’s
brother announced grandly, “when you hear what I have to
say. But first – ” he dropped his satchel to the floor and
plopped down into the most comfortable chair in the house –
“pour me some ale, girl.”
When she returned with a full mug, he winked and said,
“A barmaid never forgets her craft.”
Kyra stepped across the room to stand with her hus band.
“You said you had news,” she said coolly.
The older man downed the mug of ale in one long
draught. “Good for what ails you,” he said. Then he
laughed. “Hey, I made a joke. ‘Good for what ALE’S you.’
Get it?”
“The news?” asked Seron.
“Of course. You must be anxious to hear it. It’s
obviously clear,” he added gesturing at their home, “that
you’re in need of glad tidings. Well,” he continued, “one
day, lo and behold, I received a request for twenty paintings
from a wealthy man who wanted to decorate his new home
with an artistic touch. Naturally, he didn’t want to pay very
much, but we managed to settle on a fair price. Of course, I
never told him that I had a brother who was a painter. Nor
did I tell him that this brother of mine had a hut overflowing
with his unsold works of art.”
“At what price did you propose this sale of my
paintings?” asked Seron.
“Never mind the price,” Cheb said with a wave of his
hand. “It isn’t important. All you need to know is that I will
take twenty of your paintings – of my choosing – and give
you five percent of everything I make.”
Seron physically flinched at his brother’s words.
Though he could almost feel the knife wound of betrayal, he
fought his temper and quietly said, “Forgive me if I choose
to ignore this opportunity. I know how you made your
fortune – buying unsold goods at a fraction of their cost in
one city and then selling them at a generous markup
somewhere else. You’re entitled to your profits, but five
percent of twenty paintings means I’m giving nineteen away
for free. No, thank you.”
“Come now,” said Cheb. “Don’t be foolish. This is money
in your pocket. Why hesitate? You can’t sell this stuff,
anyway. Might as well let me take it off your hands.”
Seron was silent. He had turned away to look out the
window, then glanced back at Kyra. “What do you think?”
he asked.
“I say no,” she said with firm resolution. “Someday
soon,” she added pointedly, following his gaze into the dark
sky, “your paintings – all of them – will be worth a great
deal more.”
“You have your answer,” said Seron to his brother.
“This is ridiculous,” insisted Cheb. “I found a willing
buyer and you turn me down. But I’ll be magnanimous. I’ll
raise the offer to a full ten percent. Now what do you say?”
“No,” Seron answered emphatically. “You’d best be on
your way,” he added, afraid that his rage was beginning to
break through his calm exterior.
The two brothers glared at each other. Cheb could not
understand such an empty-headed artist, while Seron knew,
from sad experience, that he could never explain himself to