Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(70)

A lopsided grin filled his face as he took me in. “Aw, you don’t need him, sweetheart. Let me buy you a drink.”

The woman gestured impatiently. “Show Jenks what you have.”

When I took out the coin, his smiled diminished but not his good humor. “Oh, well, aren’t you lucky.”

“I need a favor,” I explained.

Jenks’s eyes glowed. “I always love those favors. Lemme cash out, and I’ll track him down.”

He disappeared in the crowd, leaving me to wait awkwardly at the bar while the woman continued her work. Casks of ale and bottles of wine filled the shelves behind her, and I noted a gun lying on a lower one. At one point, the man delivering drinks hurried up to her.

“The ones in the corner want a bottle of the Harkford red.”

Her displeasure deepened. “That’s all the way in the back of the cellar.”

He placed a handful of silver and gold coins on the counter. “They’re serious about it. I’d go get it, but you know how he is . . .”

“I know, I know.” She set down a mug with such force that its contents sloshed out. “I’ll take care of it.”

The server returned to his work, and I watched as she bent down out of view behind the bar. When she straightened up, she held a key ring. She lifted up a section of the bar that allowed her to step out and walked away without comment to a small, nondescript door in the back. She unlocked it with the key and disappeared. I stared at the closed door, fascinated.

“Well, well, as I live and breathe. My angel has decided to grace me with her presence.”

I turned at the sound of the theatrical voice and found Tom striding toward me, Jenks at his side. Here, in the light, I had a better sense of Tom’s features. He was older than me, by at least five years or so. His hair was a honeyed blond, pulled back into a tail, though much of it had loosened. The black mask emphasized green eyes. And once his cloak was pushed back, I could see peacock feathers trimming the edges of his elbow-length shirtsleeves.

“Well, I know you hate unpaid debts.” I pointed at one of his arms. “Which came first: the sleeves or the name?”

He grinned back. “Does it matter? The one can’t exist without the other anymore. It’s part of my image.”

“It’s still pretty cold outside. Is image worth that?”

“Image is everything,” he assured me. “Now, Jenks claims you came flashing the coin around. Tell me he’s wrong and that you just wanted to see me.”

Adelaide’s advice from the ship suddenly struck me with perfect clarity. If you’re ever in some situation that needs a crazy solution, just be confident. If you act completely convinced about something, people will go along with it. This situation was unquestionably crazy, and I knew I had to play up my persona to stay afloat. I smiled slyly.

“Why can’t it be both?” I proffered the coin again and lowered my voice. “But it is mostly business, I’m afraid. I have some friends who are in trouble—friends currently being held in the militia’s jail. They’re going to be moved out tomorrow.”

“Ah,” said Tom. “Those prisoners. I never took you for a worshipper. I figured an angel would have her own circle of devotees.”

“I’m not Alanzan. But I don’t want them held there—or transferred to a worse place. I thought you were someone who could help.” I paused, as if reconsidering my decision. “But maybe you can’t.”

Jenks had been standing a respectful distance away, pretending not to listen, but he let out a great bellow. “She’s calling your bluff,” he told Tom.

Tom snatched the coin from me. “Nothing to bluff about. Mostly I’m disappointed she didn’t ask for something more challenging. How many men do you think they’ve got on watch there?”

“Two usually.” Jenks scratched his head. “Probably double if they’re keeping a bigger group of prisoners.”

“Easy enough then. Let’s go rustle some of the others up.” Tom beckoned me to follow as he and Jenks moved back toward the crowd.

I glanced between them. “Right now?”

“Sure,” said Tom. “You need it done right away, don’t you?”

“Well . . . yes. But I thought there’d be some sort of plan.”

“Of course there is. We’ll overpower them, get your friends, and be on our way.”

I was so used to Grant’s calculation and scrutiny that a quick, impulsive act was startling.

As we crossed the room, the crowd’s indifferent air shifted dramatically. People stopped what they were doing, shouting out greetings to Tom. He responded in kind, calling many of them by name and making jokes as he did. A few of the pirate pretenders jumped to their feet, hoping to be noticed. They shot me envious looks, and I tried to act like I was completely unimpressed by a den of pirates. Secretly, I was fascinated. I could understand the glamour and intrigue that surrounded them—especially if saving others was a regular practice. But what about their other activities? Stealing? Assault?

Tom kept walking until he reached a table where three masked men played cards. All immediately looked up. “Gentlemen,” he announced. “Allow me to present the angel I told you about the other night, the one who rushed bravely into battle, defending me against some of Abernathy’s goons.”