Stepsister(107)

The crone gave him a skeptical look. “Our contest ended in a draw. I do not have to give you any maps.”

“And I am still allowed to visit my three favorite ladies in their beautiful palazzo,” Chance said, flashing a charming smile.

“If I allow you to stay, you must promise that you will not steal any more maps.”

Chance solemnly held up his right hand. “I promise,” he said.

The crone waved him inside and bade him sit down at the long worktable. The servant was sent to fetch refreshments. Other servants, cloaked and hooded, moved silently down the long rows of shelves that contained the Fates’ maps.

Chance put his satchel on the floor and sat. He turned to the little monkey and patted him. “Hop down, Nelson,” he said. “Stretch your legs.”

“Don’t let him go far,” the crone warned.

“He won’t. He’ll just play around my feet,” Chance assured her.

The servant reappeared with a bottle of port, four glasses, and a tray of fine cheeses. When everyone had been served, the crone asked, “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“Truth be told—”

“I doubt it will be,” said the maiden.

“—I felt bad about my last visit. It was a bit rushed. I left so abruptly.”

“Thieves usually do,” the crone said.

“I wanted to make amends, so I brought some gifts,” Chance finished.

“I believe that’s what the Trojans said to the Greeks,” the mother observed.

Chance bent down and opened his satchel. One by one, he pulled presents out of it. “Pearls from Japan,” he said handing a small suede sack to the maiden. “Silk from India.” He gave a bolt of shimmering crimson cloth to the mother. “And for you”—he handed the crone a velvet-covered box—“black opals from Brazil.”

“These are generous gifts, thank you,” said the crone. Then she gave him a knowing smile. “I still say you want something in return.”

“No. Nothing,” Chance said innocently. He smiled, waited a few beats, then said, “Well, perhaps one small thing …”

He dipped into his bag again and placed three small bottles on the table.

“Here are some inks I made especially for you,” he said. “Perhaps you could try them out. That’s all I ask. Here’s Moxie …” He pulled out a bottle containing an ink the shimmering teal blue of a peacock’s tail. “This one’s Guts.” That one was a fleshy, intestinal pink. “And my favorite, Defiance.” He held that up to the light. It flared red and orange in the bottle, like liquid fire.

The crone gave the inks a dismissive wave. The mother eyed them suspiciously. But the maiden picked up Defiance, swirled it in the bottle, and smiled.

As she did, a noise was heard from deep within the towering rows of shelves. A sound like an entire shelf of maps falling to the floor.

The crone’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s that monkey?” she demanded.

“He’s right here,” Chance said, bending down to the floor. He picked up the little capuchin, who’d been sitting by his satchel, and placed him on the table. The monkey looked at the crone. He blew her a kiss.

The crone’s scowl deepened. A servant hurried to see what had caused the noise, then reported back that some maps had, indeed, fallen to the floor. He suggested that the shelf had been overloaded and assured the Fates that the problem was being fixed. The crone nodded; her scowl relaxed back into a frown.

Chance drained his glass, thanked the Fates for their hospitality, then he said he must be going. He cinched his bag and picked it up. Nelson jumped onto his shoulder.

The crone accompanied him to the map room’s doors. As they said their goodbyes, she suddenly took hold of his arm. With something almost like pity in her voice, she said, “The girl—Isabelle—she was an exception. Do not ask more of mortals than they can give.”

“You are wrong. They have so much to give. Each and every one of them. More, sometimes, than they know.”

Fate released his arm. “You are a fool, my friend.”

Chance nodded. “Perhaps, but I am happy.”

“In this world, only a fool could be.”

A servant led him out of the map room, and back down the stairs to the street. Chance stepped outside, then turned to thank the servant, but he was gone. The doors were already locked behind him.

Chance tilted his face to the dark sky, happy to see the stars and the moon, happy to be out of the gloomy palazzo. Nelson, still on his shoulder, pointed to a group of colorfully dressed people who were loitering nearby in the glow of a street lantern. Chance hurried across to them.

“Well?” said the magician, raising an eyebrow.

“She made me promise I wouldn’t steal anything,” Chance said. “I honored it.”

The magician’s face fell. So did everyone else’s.

Then Chance opened his satchel. Three monkeys jumped out, chattering gleefully. Nelson chattered back.

“She didn’t make them promise, though,” Chance said, cracking his rogue’s smile.

He opened the bag wide, so his friends could see inside it. Nestled on the bottom, slightly squashed by the monkeys, were a dozen rolled maps.

Laughing, Chance took the magician’s arm; then they and their friends ran down the sidewalk into the ancient city, into the crowd, into the beautiful, sparkling, full-of-possibilities night.