Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

case, Liam burst into exclamations of joy. "Then you'll buy! Oh, Master, you will not regret this at all! You'll be rich, I promise, and I can flee Southwark!"

"I said nothing of buying, fool, only looking. Spread them out"

Chastened, Liam tried to be meek as he laid a few of his maps on the secretary in front of Marcius.

For over an hour, the merchant studied the various papers intently, asking clever questions at every tum. At first, Liam stood by his shoulder, explaining different points, but then Marcius loudly complained of a stench. Liam, remembering that he had slept in his clothes, took the hint and went to the far side of the secretary, though he could detect no odor. More of the merchant's snobbery, he guessed.

Whenever he could, he brought Tarquin into the conversation, using him as a reference and a source of information, bemoaning his death and extolling his virtues. Marcius made no comment, focusing his attention entirely on the maps, and the details Liam supplied about the customs and goods of different ports and cities.

At the end of the hour, Marcius decided to buy three of the maps, ·with a show of reluctance. that Liam knew was feigned. The merchant prince was eager to get his hands on them, but did not want to seem so.

"I suppose I could purchase a few of these, scholar. They'd best be true, or I'll see you suffer for it."

"Oh, Master Marcius, they're true, I'll answer for it! And Master Necquer's riches will answer for it as well. He's made a huge pile this season, I assure you."

Despite the dig implicit in comparing Necquer's fortune with Marcius's own sunken one, the merchant prince did not rise to the bait, and Liam grimaced inside. He could raise no reaction in the man, which made him think the merchant dangerous, which reinforced his earlier suspicions. A hard, clever, vain man, who would stop at little, Liam judged.

Reaching into the depths of one of the drawers of the secretary, Marcius brought forth a flat metal chest with a key already in the lock. He turned the key and, keeping the lid between him and Liam, opened it.

"We've not discussed the cost."

A price was arranged, far higher than Liam would have asked, confirming that Marcius's reluctance was feigned. The merchant prince counted it out in silver coins, a tidy stack of them. Liam reached for the money, but Marcius slapped his band away and covered the coins with a protective hand.

"Here's more to our deal, scholar. You'll straight leave Southwark?"

"Of course! I cannot stay, not if Master Tanaquil's killers are after me!"

"And you'll not stop long enough, perhaps, to resell your charts to good Master Necquer?"

"Why, no, Master Marcius! I swear—"

The merchant stopped him with an upraised palm.

"Don't forswear yourself, scholar," he said, pitching his voice low and stem. "It'd not like me to find you'd given me the lie and dealt with Necquer. It'd like you to part Southwark, and escape your master's murderers. So take the money, and make short work of your leavetaking. Am I clear?"

"Very clear, Master Marcius," Liam responded, licking his lips nervously. "It will only take me a day or so to arrange my departure."

"Then see to it immediately."

He nodded, and Liam scooped up the money and the maps Marcius had not bought, bowing anxiously. As he was pulling open the latchless door, Marcius spoke again.

"One last, scholar. Where are you lodging now?" Thinking of the peaceful night he had just spent, he almost said Tarquin's, but a second thought intervened, and he mentioned his landlady's. The merchant prince nodded with a frown of disgust, as though the knowledge were important and the address distasteful but not unexpected.

Liam bowed again and scurried out onto the stairs, shutting the door quietly behind him. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face was twitching with honest nervousness as he hurried down the staircase, but Scar and the Rat let him pass with no more harassment than their scornful smiles. The high squeal of the Rat's laughter followed him into the gray street, mocking.

Once outside he hurried a few blocks away, not thinking, and then stopped to breathe deep lungfuls of the cold sea air. He almost wished it were raining, to cool down his heated face, and wash away the trickles of hot moisture running down his back and under his arms.

I completely botched that, he thought, though he could not exactly say why he felt that way. His dissatisfaction with the whole interview, he guessed, stemmed from the fact that nothing had come of it. Frustrated with Marcius's nonchalance, he had mentioned Tarquin too many times, trying to get a rise out of the merchant.

His conduct, even the veiled threat about Liam's wanting to avoid Tarquin's killers, was ambiguous. He might have been hiding guilt beneath a facade of snobbery and indifference, or the facade was real, and he was innocent. Liam could not come to any conclusion.

The interview had produced nothing but silver coins he did not need.

It was not until he was within a few blocks of his lodgings that he realized with a jolt what really bothered him about the conversation. He had agreed to leave Southwark.

The idea loomed enormously before him, presenting untold complications. But he would not consider them, ignoring the problems in favor of a second idea that came fast on their heels.

Why was Marcius so anxious to have him out of Southwark? He could not imagine it was solely to keep him from selling the same charts to Necquer. It must mean something more, and there was only one thing it could mean, he supposed.

Feeling suddenly better about the morning's work, he turned away from the narrow streets where his garret was, and headed up to the rich quarter and the tailor he had seen two days earlier.

His clothes were ready, and he spent a few moments admiring them before he had the tailor bundle them up. He paid, and retraced his steps to