belated recognition while wondering whether it was to their advantage.
Except for Coricidius-Lalo reminded himself. Rumor had it that the Vizier would
stop at nothing to spend what remained of his old age back in the capital.
A wave of scent set Lalo to coughing, and he turned to confront Lord
Raximander’s beaming face.
“Why not return to the Capital with me?” the Commissioner said expansively. “A
new talent! My wife would be so pleased.”
Lalo smiled back, his vision expanding in images of marble columns and pavements
of porphyry that far outshone the face-lifted splendors of Prince Kittycat’s
hall. Would Gilla like to live in a palace?
“But we need not waste the few weeks I have to spend here-“
Lalo’s skin chilled as Lord Raximander went on.
“A picture of me, for instance-you could do that here in the palace as a small
demonstration of your skill.”
Before Raximander had finished, Lalo was shaking his head. “Someone must have
misinformed you-I never do portraits!”
Some of the others, attention attracted by the raised voices, had drifted toward
the mural again. Zanderei was watching with a faint smile.
Coricidius motioned towards the wall with a bony finger. “Who poses for all your
pictures, then?”
Lalo twitched like a nervous horse, trying to find an answer that would not
alienate them. . . Anything but the truth, which was that a sorcerer’s spell had
enabled-nay, compelled him, to portray the true nature of his sitters’ souls.
After a few disastrous attempts to paint Sanctuary’s wealthy, Lalo had learned