Amberlough(56)

“Yes,” said Finn, leaning his head on Aristide’s shoulder. “But I’d rather not go to sleep just yet, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s t-t-two quite d-d-different things, in fact, and we’re in full agreement. Ah, but we might not be able to slip away just yet.” Because he was taller than most of the people on the footpath, Aristide could see a plume of peacock feathers swaying like glamorous semaphore over the crowd. Zelda Peronides had spotted him and was waving her hat to catch his attention. “There’s a friend I need to speak with, before I go.”

“Ari,” said Zelda, as she hove through the press of people. “Oh darling, this is the first I’ve seen of the new show. It’s simply marvelous. Even Mab thought so. Didn’t you, Mab?”

Zelda’s companion, a leather-faced woman in country clothes, laid a hand on Aristide’s free arm. “Pleased to meet you, and it certainly was.” Her pursed, immobile lips, the way her words crowded behind her teeth … Even more than Finn’s soft lilt, her dialect was intensely familiar to Aristide. This woman was mountain-born: the Currin Pass, or somewhere nearby. Her dark skin and darker curls said she was at least part Chuli, too.

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce you two during the interval,” said Zelda. “But Mab’s got a little bit of a problem I hope you might sort out for her. Mab, this is Aristide Makricosta. Ari, meet Mab Cattayim.”

“If you sort my problem,” said Aristide, shaking Mab’s hand but speaking to Zelda, “I would be more than delighted to sort hers.” They hadn’t got the details of the ivory worked out in the short minutes he’d spent at her table. Zelda’s fee was exorbitant, and Aristide was a ferocious haggler by nature. “B-B-By the way, this is Finn Lourdes. You didn’t get to meet him at the interval either. Because the silly thing actually waits in the q-q-queue for the washroom.”

Zelda shook her head, laughing. Her long earrings jangled against her neck. “Darling,” she said, kissing each of Finn’s cheeks. “That’s what the mime is in the show for. So you have a tidy five minutes to piss and you won’t miss anything good.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Finn.

“Now, Ari.” Pixie-sized Zelda had to cock her head back to meet his eyes. “When can we have our little sit-down? I suppose a pretty thing like you has all manner of dinner engagements after a show of that caliber. I hear you’re dabbling with one of Culpepper’s foxes these days.” Finn stirred at Aristide’s side, but Zelda went on. “Rumor has it he’s a roto print of poor old Solomon Flyte.”

At that, Finn froze—he knew she wasn’t talking about him.

“D-D-Dabbling?” Aristide assembled his strongest quelling glance and aimed it down at Zelda. “I wouldn’t say that. Not anymore.”

“Oh dear. It always stings to be thrown over. You must be shattered. Do let us take you out. It would be such a treat.”

“I’m afraid I’m t-t-tied up,” he said. “Might we have a bite of lunch tomorrow? And let’s keep it strictly business, please. I prefer not to air my d-d-delicates in public.” He squeezed Finn close. The accountant’s spine held stiff against his embrace.

“Mab?” Zelda looked at her friend.

“I’ll be free.” She smiled at Ari like she expected something of him.

“Perfect.” Aristide caught Zelda’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Ring me up in the morning, Zelly. But not t-t-too early, understand?”

*

“Makricosta, Makricosta … why do I know that name?” Müller chewed his lower lip. “Damned familiar.”

“The smugglers on the southern wharves owe him most of their success.” Cyril lit a cigarette and offered one to Müller, who took it but made no motion to light up. His eyebrows were drawn down against the thin frames of his spectacles, and he watched Aristide with the intensity of a hungry raptor.

“Of course,” he said, at last. “Makricosta’s his stage name. He goes by a different handle when he’s bringing in ships.”

“I know.”

“Isn’t that Zelda Peronides he’s talking to?”

Cyril finally let himself look at Aristide, instead of watching Müller look at him. He still had Finn tucked under one arm, and the accountant was suffering himself to be kissed on the face by a slip of a woman in an outrageously feathered hat. “Looks like it.”

“The two of them can’t be up to any good.”

“Relax, Alex. You’re off the clock. You can’t spend all your time chasing criminals.”

“That’s the kind of attitude that’s got the ACPD into such a shameful state,” said Müller, finally lighting his straight. “They don’t want to spend any time cleaning the place up. They’d rather play in the filth.”

“Well, then it’s good I’m not an officer.” With relief, he spotted Cordelia coming toward them. He held out an arm to her as she sidled between people queuing for the trolley. “Ms. Lehane! So kind of you to join us.”

She dipped gracefully into the circle of his arm. “Had a beast of a time gettin’ out,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff that goes on behind that curtain.”