Fable (Fable #1)(63)

I looked from Paj, to Auster, and back again. “Who?”

“We’re not going to Leo.” Paj glared at him.

“Who’s Leo?” Willa was growing impatient.

“Someone we know from the old days. He’ll do it,” Auster answered.

But Paj didn’t look like he was going to give in.

“No one would ever find out. In a way, it’s safer.” Auster shrugged.

“How do you know no one would find out?” Willa looked between them.

“Because this sailmaker isn’t supposed to exist.”

“Don’t you think you should have mentioned that before we went in there and started rumors about the crew of the Marigold going to Tinny for sails?” Willa’s voice rose.

Paj sighed. “It’s kind of a last resort.”

“That sounds about right,” I said, turning on my heel. “Let’s go.”





THIRTY-TWO



We sat in the window of the cramped teahouse, waiting.

North Fyg was the only district of the city where the cobblestones were dry and children didn’t run barefoot in the streets. Many of its residents were Bastian-born, stationed in Ceros to represent their guilds or oversee their employer’s interests outside the Unnamed Sea. They were used to a different way of life than the one we led in the Narrows. The smell of Ceros didn’t exist here, where the sun reflected off stone-faced houses trimmed in bronze ornaments that had turned green with the passing of years.

I’d never been in North Fyg, because my father refused to step foot anywhere west of Waterside. When he had meetings with city officials or guild masters, he made them come to the heart of the city, where he could negotiate and conduct business on his own turf.

Every eye on the street had followed us as we made our way to the teahouse, and I wondered when the last time any of them had been down to the docks was. Our kind wasn’t exactly welcomed in North Fyg, but they weren’t going to turn down our copper either. We paid extra for our seat at the window, where we could watch the red door across the street.

“What the hell is this?” Auster picked up one of the small cakes on the tiered platter, holding it before him. The layers of thin, brittle pastry were covered in a crumbling powder the color of blood.

A woman stopped beside the table with a rolling silver cart and laid the tea, setting two hand-painted pots on the table. She kept her eyes down, as if we weren’t there, and I realized it wasn’t disapproval that kept her from looking at us. She was afraid. And for a fleeting moment, I found that I liked the feeling.

I turned the teapot before me, studying the intricate purple flowers and painted gold along the rim. The matching cup alone was worth more than my entire belt of tools.

“Is he going to show or what?” Willa huffed impatiently, filling her cup with the steaming black tea.

“He’ll show,” Paj said, his eyes still pinned on the red door.

“How exactly do two Bastian-born crewmen know an affluent tailor in North Fyg?” Willa watched Auster over her cup.

“He’s a Saltblood.” He looked to Paj before he answered. “And Paj did him a favor once.”

“What kind of favor?” I asked.

“The kind that needs repaying,” Paj cut Auster off before he could speak.

They’d already said more in front of me than I would have expected them to. I wasn’t going to push it.

Willa picked up a cake from the platter, taking a bite and talking around a full mouth. “What if he refuses?”

Auster smirked. “He won’t. He’d do it for one hundred coppers if that’s what we offered.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he hasn’t made a set of sails in years. He’ll jump at the chance.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Then why aren’t we offering him one hundred coppers instead of eight hundred?”

“We’ll pay him one hundred for the sails. And seven hundred for his silence,” Auster said.

Willa laughed. “Saltbloods don’t stick together, then, huh?”

“Here we go.” Paj stood, leaning into the window as a man with a white mustache in a speckled scarf appeared across the street, a bundle of packages in his arms. He fumbled with his pockets until he found a key and unlocked the door, pushing inside.

I finished my tea as the others stood, and Auster opened the door for me, Paj at my side as we stepped out into the sunlight.

He looked up and down the street before he gave me a nod, and we moved together, crossing in lockstep. But there was no going unnoticed in North Fyg for a ship crew. Our leathered skin, sun-streaked hair, and worn clothes gave us away. A woman leaned out her window in the next building, watching us with a scowl on her face. Everyone else on the street stared as we stopped in front of the tailor’s door.

Paj lifted the latch, letting it swing open, and we went up the steps. Inside, the walls of the small shop were painted the palest shade of lavender, bolts of fabric in every color lining the shelves.

“One moment!” a voice called out from the back.

Paj took a seat in the armchair beside the window, where a threefold mirror stood in the corner to catch the good light. Beside it, a tray of crystal decanters filled with amber liquids sat on a small table, and Paj unstopped one of them, filling a little etched glass before he brought it to his lips and took a sharp sip.