Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [162]
I sighed. "Can nothing ever be simple?"
"Ah, don't let it worry you." Eamonn grinned. "You worry too much."
"I have too many reasons to," I muttered.
Clean and fragrant, I returned to the insula to change my attire, reckoning the plain student's togs I was wearing weren't suitable for an evening with one of Tiberium's wealthiest citizens. Most of the clothing I had brought was simple and sturdy; well made, but nothing too fine. But I had brought one or two items I thought might suit, though they were doubtless worse for the wear after being crumpled in our packs.
A strange sight greeted me as I drew near the incense-maker's shop. A beggar had esconced himself near the gate that led to the courtyard of the insula. Somewhere, he had obtained a vast pine-wood barrel, still intact, though its staves were cracked and sprung. An opening had been cut into it and the beggar sat cross-legged in its confines, cradling a wooden bowl, neat as a statue in an altar's niche.
He poked his head out as I approached. "Good day, young sir!" he called cheerfully. His Caerdicci was good, but he spoke it with an accent I couldn't place. He shook his wooden bowl, rattling the few brass sestertii it contained. "The wise man frees his soul from the burden of wealth," he said. "Will you not lighten your burden?"
I raised my brows. "And burden you in turn, my friend?"
"Ah!" A smile dawned on the beggar's face. Beneath the dirt and the lank hair, he was younger than I had thought at first glance, not yet thirty. Still seated, he gave a little bow. "I see, you are kind. I thank you, young sir, for sparing me temptation. Perhaps, as my wisdom grows, I will learn to live upon air and sunlight." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Or the sweet fragrance of incense, like the gods themselves. Yes! I shall become godlike in my wisdom."
Laughing, I dug into my purse. "Here," I said, depositing a silver denarius in his bowl. "Lest your mortal part fail you ere your ascendancy."
The beggar repeated his seated bow, eyes bright. "And thus in abjuring temptation, I am tempted thrice over. My thanks, young sir! I will seek to ascertain the meaning of this lesson."
"I wish you luck," I said, turning to the gate.
"Wait!" He beckoned to me. "I have a gift for you in turn." Ducking into his barrel, he scrabbled in the darkness, emerging with a rude clay medallion strung on a leather thong. "Here!"
I shook my head. "My thanks, but it is unnecessary."
"A kindness must be returned," he said stubbornly, thrusting out the medallion in one grimy hand. "Besides, everyone in Tiberium knows 'tis ill luck to refuse a beggar's gift."
I hesitated, then thought about Eamonn's words. I didn't want to further perpetuate the myth of D'Angeline arrogance, which was not entirely a myth. I accepted the beggar's gift with a bow. "My thanks," I said, placing it around my neck. "I, too, am seeking wisdom."
"I wish you the finding of it," the beggar said.
In the courtyard, I found Gilot sitting on the stoop of our apartment, conversing with a pleasant-faced young woman. She sprang up at my approach, blushing.
"Imri!" Gilot got to his feet. For the first time since our arrival, he looked glad, his handsome features alight. "This is the widow Anna Marzoni, who lives on the second floor of the insula. She has agreed to assist us with some small chores. We're going to the marketplace tomorrow," he added smugly. "To buy a few things so we don't have to live in squalor. Anna's promised to show me the best places."
"Oh, indeed?" I gave her a courtly bow. "Well met, Anna Marzoni."
She blushed more furiously and essayed an awkward curtsy. "Thank you, my lord!"
I smiled at her. "Imriel," I said. "Call me Imriel."
Whatever bargain Gilot had negotiated with Anna, it proved its worth within the hour. Upon seeing state