To Best the Boys(22)

I ease my shoulders.

He stops his snickering and taps on his pipe before he scrutinizes me with curiosity. “You got a name, girl?”

“Maybe.” I glance at the door Germaine and the others are behind, then look back at the giant blue buttons on the elderly man’s vest. “Do you?”

“Of course—everyone has to have a name. I’m Kellen.” He blinks at me in expectation.

Fine. “Rhen. Rhen Tellur.”

“And I take it you were just on your way out, Rhen Tellur?”

“I was.”

“Well, that makes one of us. Me? I leave when I’m inclined or when my presence is declined,” he rhymes. Then puffs his unlit pipe again and leans back against the wall as he cheerfully grins. “But before you go, tell me, whence exactly do you hail, Rhen Tellur?”

I stare at his pipe. What exactly has he been smoking in it? Normally I’d enjoy chatting with an old guy off his nutter—but not when boys in the next room are talking about killing people. “I live across the bridge, on the port side. This is my uncle’s house. Speaking of which, I’m not sure why you’re up here, but I don’t think he’d like it.”

“Neither should those boys in there, I wager. And yet—” Kellen spreads his arms. “Here we all are.”

I half snort, half chuckle, as Germaine’s and Rubin’s voices waft out from the cracked door. Fair point. “So it appears. And where are you from?”

“Oh, from all over and nowhere and everywhere at once.”

Yes, he should definitely lay off whatever herbalist’s blend is in that pipe. I move my gaze back to the room where the boys’ whispers have reached a fever pitch, and I shift my posture to return to the door, but the man continues, “Forgive me for noting it, but you appeared quite bothered at those men in your uncle’s study.”

He heard? Of course he heard. “It’s nothing. I’m regularly put out with them. Aren’t most people?”

His brow goes up. “They are? How fascinating. And why, may I ask, is that?”

“Because they’re out-of-touch Uppers who don’t know the first thing about living in the real world.” I wave my hand. “Now if you’ll excuse—”

“You think so, do you?” The man stops with the pipe midway to his mouth and peers hard at me, as if curious whether I’m serious. Then he nods. “I see. And what exactly would you have them do differently, Tellur?”

I shift impatiently. I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m wasting time talking to him or why he even cares about any of this. But he’s standing here waiting for some kind of answer, so I finally shrug and say, “I guess I’d want them to listen to the people they’re making decisions for. Maybe a variety of voices rather than that monolith of middle-aged men.” I clear my throat politely. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. And not to be rude, but I think most people wouldn’t like the idea of you spying on them. Even if—”

“Spying? Ah, but isn’t that what you’re currently doing too, Miss Tellur? Besides, I don’t spy or lie. I simply listen in as conversations swirl. If people forget I’m here and say things they shouldn’t, that’s hardly my fault. For instance, do you know what they’re plotting in there?” He points his pipe toward the room Germaine’s in and clicks his tongue, then bends forward confidential-like. “Seems rather unsportsmanlike, if you ask me. Distasteful even.”

He shakes his head, clamps his teeth around his pipe stem with a click, and dusts off his grey-and-lavender sleeve. Then pushes off from his spot and walks toward me. “And for the record, Miss Tellur, I rather believe you about the need for varied voices. Keep trying.”

He strides past me and heads down the stairs. I narrow my gaze and turn. “Mr. Kellen,” I whisper after him. “Mr. Kellen?” But the old man’s only reply is to pick up humming a tune as he reaches the bottom and strolls away.

I shake my head and stare at the back of his fancy suit, with no idea what to think—until my senses kick in and I return to the door through which I can still hear the boys mumbling, and Rubin says, “Isn’t that right, Germaine?”

Germaine’s tone is so low I have to tilt forward not to miss it. “You boys just take care of it. The two of us will make sure you’re paid.”

“Good, then it’s settled. The other contestants won’t know what hit them. Tomorrow when they’ve all—”

“There you are. I wondered what was keeping you.” Vincent’s deep voice makes me jump for the second time tonight. I slide backward to the middle of the hall, but he is already stepping onto the landing near me. Vincent glances down to my uncle’s study where the door is clearly closed and then at the crack of space in front of me, from which the light is peeking forth. He scans the opening as Germaine’s voice creeps through, then lifts a brow and eyes me and says with a reproachful tone, “You know, eavesdropping is not very ladylike, my dear.”

I swallow as he studies me, before his features morph into interest. “So what are you overhearing? Anything I should know?”

I should tell him what they’re planning. Vincent’s going in the competition tomorrow and deserves to know. But I don’t because Seleni is calling loudly from the bottom of the stairwell, “Oh, Rhen, there you are!”