Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [165]
The cost of an Ilsig passage was measured in shaboozh, not padpols. Cauvin had three gold coronations from Captain Sinjon’s box. Three coronations was a fortune on Pyrtanis Street, but was it enough to get one person to the kingdom’s capital, let alone two? He’d feel better with a purse filled with heavy Ilsigi silver to go with his Imperial coins, and the best source of shaboozh lay in the cellar of a ruined Vulgar Unicorn. The preserved armor of Tempus Thales should get him and Leorin to Ilsig and keep them on their feet until they found livelihoods. Cauvin had gotten as far as imagining to whom he could trade the armor, when the voice of his conscience shouted—
For the love of Shipri—talk to Leorin first! Tell her what’s happened— all of what’s happened—and get her advice. She’s no sheep-shite fool; she’s made for thinking—
A shiver ran down Cauvin’s back. The people who’d said that Leorin was made for thinking were the same as said he’d never be more than a sheep-shite fool. Cauvin knew what the Hand had taught him; he didn’t know what they’d taught Leorin after they’d taken her behind the walls …
Cauvin caught himself on the verge of suspicion. She loves me. The S’danzo said that Leorin loves me and nothing, nothing at all, changes that. Love is enough … It’s got to be.
He turned toward the Unicorn—the new Unicorn.
The tavern looked smaller by daylight, just one more warped doorway, framed with unfinished wood, opening onto an alley with a slippery gutter running down its middle. The door stood open; anyone could wander inside where, without its lamps and candles, the common room was darker by daylight than it was at night. Abandoned mugs scattered across the tables scented the air with stale beer and sour wine.
A solitary wench—an unbudded girl with long, braided brown hair—collected the mugs. She looked Cauvin up and down once he’d cleared the threshold and, judging him no concern of hers, went back to work. A fresh keg had been rolled up to the bar; the tools to tap it lay on the floor, as though the keeper had gone off in search of an assistant.
The upper-room stairs beckoned, but Cauvin resisted their invitation. No matter that Cauvin knew exactly which room was Leorin’s or his determination to get his beloved out of Sanctuary, he wasn’t about to knock unexpected on her door. He sat at a table, waiting for the keeper or a familiar wench to appear, and was still waiting when the girl headed out of the commons with the last of the dirty mugs.
Realizing that he could be sitting alone until midafternoon, he called: “Have you seen Leorin this morning?”
The girl set her mug-filled bowl down with a clanking thud. “Who’s asking?” She might be too young to serve customers, but she knew how the Unicorn worked.
“A friend,” Cauvin replied; he didn’t give his name to Unicorn strangers either.
“She’s gone.”
Cauvin’s heart skipped a beat. “Gone? Gone where?”
The girl shrugged. “How should I know? I heard Mimise say she left last night.” She put one arm on her hip and cocked her body around it, imitating the wenches at work. “Why’re you looking for Leorin?”
“I was in the quarter and wanted to see her. We’re friends.”
“She left with a man,” the girl said with a voice both childish and seductive.
A bad taste rose in Cauvin’s mouth. Once they were gone, he’d froggin’ sure find a way to earn enough money that his wife didn’t go off with other men. “I’ll come back later … She’ll be working tonight?”
“Maybe … maybe not.” The girl twirled the tip of one braid against her lips, then caught it with her teeth.
“I’ll take my chances.” Cauvin made a hasty retreat into the clear light of morning.
There was another way to gather up enough money for passage out of Sanctuary, an easier way than trading the Torch’s treasures, at least for Cauvin’s mood as he stalked out of the Maze. It would mean keeping money that was owed to the stoneyard, something he’d never considered doing before, but the moment Cauvin began to think of abandoning Grabar, Mina, and Bec—the only