shoulders. His voice gave the language a melodious accent, as if to bespeak
white cities, green fields and woods, quicksilver lakes, blue sea, of the
homeland he left in search of his fortune.
‘Well, you have charm, Cappen Varra,’ she murmured, ‘and how you do know it.’
Alert: ‘But coin you lack. How do you propose to pay me?’
‘I fear you must work on speculation, as I do myself,’ he said. ‘If our joint
efforts lead to a rescue, why, then we’ll share whatever material reward may
come. Your part might buy you a home on the Path of Money.’ She frowned. ‘True,’
he went on, ‘I’ll get more than my share of the immediate bounty that Molin
bestows. I will have my beloved back. I’ll also regain the priest’s favour,
which is moderately lucrative. Yet consider. You need but practise your art.
Thereafter any effort and risk will be mine.’
‘What makes you suppose a humble fortune-teller can learn more than the Prince
Governor’s investigator guardsmen?’ she demanded.
‘The matter does not seem to lie within their jurisdiction,’ he replied.
She leaned forward, tense beneath the layers of clothing. Cappen bent towards
her. It was as if the babble of the market-place receded, leaving these two
alone with their wariness.
‘I was not there,’ he said low, ‘but I arrived early this morning after the
thing had happened. What’s gone through the city has been rumour, leakage that
cannot be caulked, household servants blabbing to friends outside and they
blabbing onward. Molin’s locked away most of the facts till he can discover what