City of Lies - Lian Tanner [16]
“Do you want some?” said Goldie. She cut another slice and held it out. The cat’s nose twitched, but it did not move.
Goldie shrugged, too hungry to be patient. “I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.”
The wild eyes glared at her. There was nothing soft in their depths, nothing but distrust and hunger, but Goldie found herself suddenly thinking of the museum, and of Broo, the brizzlehound. She bit her lip and placed the piece of mutton beside her foot. There was a flash of movement, too quick to follow, and both cat and mutton were gone.
She cut another slice for herself. Mutton grease ran down her chin, and she wiped it off and licked her fingers. She heard a groan. The music had stopped and the bandmaster was staring up at her, his face sagging with misery.
The mutton turned to ashes in Goldie’s mouth. She flushed and tried to look away, but the man’s unhappy gaze held her. She could hear Olga Ciavolga’s voice in her ear, as clearly as if the old woman sat beside her.
“To move quietly, to be quick of hand and eye, that is a gift. If you use it to hurt other people, even in a small way, you betray yourself and everyone around you.”
Like all the keepers of the Museum of Dunt, Olga Ciavolga was a thief. But she had very strict rules about when it was all right to steal and when it was not. And this was not.
With a sigh, Goldie climbed down from the fountain and pushed her way through the crowd, which was thinner now. Most of the food had been thrown and people were wandering away. The children had raced off, chucking oranges at each other.
“We’ll be here again tomorrow, herroen and frowen,” said the bandmaster wearily. “Don’t forget. Feed the hungry, the Seven Gods will ignore you, blah blah blah.” He sounded as if he didn’t expect anyone to feed him ever again.
The musicians tucked their instruments under their arms and began to shuffle across the plaza. Goldie hurried after them. “Um, Herro—” she said.
The bandmaster’s face sagged even farther. “Come to gloat, have you, lad? Come to wave my rightful breakfast under my nose—”
Goldie held the mutton out to him. He broke off, blinking. “You’re right, Herro, it’s yours,” she muttered, trying to sound like a boy.
The bandmaster stared at her as if he thought it might be a trick. She thrust the mutton into his hands and turned away before she could change her mind.
“Wait,” mumbled the bandmaster.
Goldie looked back at him. He had already bitten a mouthful of meat straight off the leg and was chewing desperately, as if he hadn’t eaten for days. The bombardon player was patting him on the back and trying to sneak pieces of mutton. He batted her hands away and beckoned to Goldie.
“Come here, come here, lad. Don’t be afraid.”
As Goldie retraced her steps, the musicians stared at her. “Am I right in thinking you have a knife?” said the bandmaster, wiping his mouth on his striped sleeve.
Goldie nodded.
The bandmaster made a stiff little bow. “Would you be so good as to cut a slice for each of my companions here? And—ah—another slice for yourself?”
Goldie didn’t wait to be asked twice. While the bandmaster held the mutton steady, she whipped out her knife and cut off several big chunks.
“Ah—perhaps a little smaller,” said the bandmaster hastily. “My companions have eaten this morning, after all, and I have not.”
“Sorry,” said Goldie, and she cut the chunks into pieces.
“Yes, yes, that’s better,” said the bandmaster, watching the meat hungrily. “And some for you—good, good. And now I believe it is my turn again. Yes, definitely my turn.”
With his mouth full, he said, “Would you care to walk with us? We must not be late, but I am curious—” He broke off and licked his lips. “Mm, that is truly the sweetest mutton I have tasted for years. Hardly mutton at all. I suspect it was lamb only yesterday, prancing in the fields beside its doting mother. Are you too busy eating, or could you cut me another slice?”
“Where are you going, Herro?” said Goldie, hacking at the meat as they walked.