Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [140]
Then he heard applause … and laughter coming from both ends of the bridge. Worse, he saw Soldt at the bazaar side of the ditch, laughing and clapping along with the rest, the gods-all-be-damned wooden box tucked under his arm. The froggin’ spy waggled a finger and pointed to the ground at his feet.
A man wasn’t a froggin’ dog. A man deserved to be asked, not told, but standing at the bottom of the bazaar ditch with swill clinging to his only pair of boots, Cauvin didn’t feel much like a man. He stuck his hand up in the air and accepted Soldt’s help climbing up to level ground.
Soldt greeted him with: “That was well done. Do you think you could have made a greater spectacle of yourself?”
“I’m not as rich as you. When some froggin’ thief steals my froggin’ coin pouch, I need to get it back.”
“You could have lost this—” Soldt offered the wooden box.
Cauvin hadn’t expected to get it back. He eyed it and Soldt a moment, then tucked it under his arm again.
“Let’s just get out of here and go back to the ruins. I can’t listen to some froggin’ S’danzo lie about my betrothed until I’ve scraped myself raw. Maybe the arch is clear by now—”
“That way’s not possible now.”
“Froggin’ sure why not?”
“Thanks to you, we’re being watched, so we’re not going anywhere that we want to go. We’ll take a walk along the river instead. Lure them out or lose them.”
Soldt started walking away from the footbridge. Cauvin scuffed his boots brutally against the nearest rocks before catching up with him.
“All right, they laughed at me. I made a froggin’ fool of myself. People in Sanctuary have better things to do than watch fools crawl away in shame.”
“How do you know? You don’t know that we’re being watched right now.”
They were back in the bazaar with Soldt leading at a steady pace, not headed for the arch or Davar’s or the center, and not consulting Molin’s map, either.
“Frog all, no one’s watching us. This is Sanctuary, Soldt, home to the world’s greatest fools. Safest way to hide in this froggin’ city is to act like a sheep-shite fool.”
Soldt sighed from somewhere below his navel as he confronted Cauvin with—“We are not being watched because you made a fool of yourself chasing a child into a sewer. We’re being watched because we have secrets, and secrets attract a certain type of man the way sewers attract flies, children, and sheep-shite fools.”
“What secrets?”
Soldt raised a finger to his lips. “We’ll just go for a little walk along the river. Lure or lose—follow me.”
Cauvin had no intention of following Soldt one step farther. “Damn you to Hecath’s hells, you’ve been baiting me like a fish since you walked out of the froggin’ shadows up at—”
Soldt blew across his finger. “Take advantage of opportunity and try to control yourself.”
“You’re not as clever as you froggin’ think you are, Soldt. I’ve got all the control I need to put my fist between your eyes.”
That almighty smile spread across Soldt’s face again. “Have you? Lord Torchholder said I was to teach you. I know a secluded spot along the White Foal where you can try to put your fist where it doesn’t belong.”
Cauvin liked the idea of battering Soldt’s froggin’ face. He’d have liked it more if Soldt had liked it less. The man was a froggin’ spy and, for all intents, unarmed. If he were the Torch’s froggin’ armsmaster, Cauvin didn’t expect to do much learning.
Anger and resentment made Cauvin cocky. “Since I’ve got the box and you’re not going to feel like showing your black-and-blue face anywhere tomorrow, you mind telling me where I’m supposed to find this froggin’ S’danzo?”
Soldt held out the parchment scrap. The writing didn’t look Wrigglie; Cauvin guessed it was Imperial. Too shamed to admit that he couldn’t read much more than his own name in either language, Cauvin said, “Can’t read it here—we’re being watched,” and stuffed the scrap into the pouch he’d retied to his belt.
“Can’t read it at all,” Soldt corrected. “Can’t read a word of your own language, can you? and certainly not Imperial Rankene.”
Gods all be damned,