Radast’s crabbed hand covered the pages.
“You must work through the night often,” said Caina.
Radast blinked. “Yes. How did you calculate that?”
“All the layers of old wax coating the candlestick,” said Caina. “Though I’m surprised you do not use some of the Magisterium’s glass spheres.”
Radast blinked again. “Your perception is excellent. But I prefer candles. I do not trust sorcery.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “It does…not easily conform to precise calculation.”
“Wise of you,” said Caina.
Radast kept starting at her. He began to chew upon the end of his quill. She could see something happening behind his eyes. Perhaps an equation coming to its end.
“What?” said Caina.
“You are most unusual. Many women serve in the Emperor's Ghosts, my Jiri among them. But a woman nightfighter? Astonishingly rare. Practically unique. You are a variable with a single value. And unusually perceptive.”
“It’s what I was trained to do,” said Caina.
“When you look at me,” said Radast, “what do you perceive?”
Caina considered for a moment, and then shrugged. “You’re a locksmith. You’re not married to Jiri, but you live with her, and I’ll wager you share a bed. You can’t function without her. You’re a member of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths, but the other master locksmiths hate you, won’t have anything to do with you, and would expel you if you didn’t bring in so much money. Oh, and you used to be in the Legion, but you didn’t finish your term of service.”
Radast blinked several times. “Remarkable. How did you calculate all of that?”
“I didn’t calculate, I inferred. Deduced. And it wasn’t hard,” said Caina. “I’ve seen the way Jiri looks after you, the way she’s always bringing you pens and sheets of paper. She reminds you to eat and bathe, too, doesn’t she? She’d only do that if she loved you. When we first met, you calculated my height and weight at a single glance, and you didn’t have the self-restraint to keep it to yourself. I’ll wager that particular gift doesn’t endear you to the masters of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths. Nor to their wives.”
“No,” said Radast. “No, it does not. Especially Presiding Master’s wife, who is fifty years and old and two hundred and forty pounds, and believes herself to be half that.” He snorted. “A foolish conceit. Numbers are numbers, and they do not lie.”
“No, but people lie to themselves, don’t they? Collegium masters are a pompous bunch,” said Caina, “and they love their pride, but they love money even more. So the only reason they tolerate you is because you bring in the money. Special security needs, Basil said…so you probably specialize in locks equipped with lethal mechanical traps.”
“Yes. Normal locks are boring. I prefer puzzles. I learned from the Strigosti,” said Radast.
That caught Caina off-guard. The Strigosti were a secretive, unfriendly people, scattered far and wide, but no one could match their mastery of mechanical devices. Caina wondered how an outsider had learned some of their teachings.
“How did you know I was in the Legion?” said Radast.
She pointed. “Yesterday, you wore a tunic with shorter sleeves. Every time you raised your arm to write upon your slates, your sleeve pulled up enough to reveal the Legion tattoo. Though not all of it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if you were in the Twenty-First, the Twenty-Second, or the Twenty-Third.”
“The Twenty-Third,” said Radast. “My father was an agent of a Strigosti colony in the Great Mountains. The Strigosti hate anyone not of their race, but need someone to sell their devices to outsiders. My father did that. When I was fifteen, he tired of me, and sold me to a Legion recruiter.”
“That’s illegal,” said Caina.
“Correct. However, gold has considerably more weight than morality in most equations.” Radast fiddled with his quill.
“You must work through the night often,” said Caina.
Radast blinked. “Yes. How did you calculate that?”
“All the layers of old wax coating the candlestick,” said Caina. “Though I’m surprised you do not use some of the Magisterium’s glass spheres.”
Radast blinked again. “Your perception is excellent. But I prefer candles. I do not trust sorcery.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “It does…not easily conform to precise calculation.”
“Wise of you,” said Caina.
Radast kept starting at her. He began to chew upon the end of his quill. She could see something happening behind his eyes. Perhaps an equation coming to its end.
“What?” said Caina.
“You are most unusual. Many women serve in the Emperor's Ghosts, my Jiri among them. But a woman nightfighter? Astonishingly rare. Practically unique. You are a variable with a single value. And unusually perceptive.”
“It’s what I was trained to do,” said Caina.
“When you look at me,” said Radast, “what do you perceive?”
Caina considered for a moment, and then shrugged. “You’re a locksmith. You’re not married to Jiri, but you live with her, and I’ll wager you share a bed. You can’t function without her. You’re a member of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths, but the other master locksmiths hate you, won’t have anything to do with you, and would expel you if you didn’t bring in so much money. Oh, and you used to be in the Legion, but you didn’t finish your term of service.”
Radast blinked several times. “Remarkable. How did you calculate all of that?”
“I didn’t calculate, I inferred. Deduced. And it wasn’t hard,” said Caina. “I’ve seen the way Jiri looks after you, the way she’s always bringing you pens and sheets of paper. She reminds you to eat and bathe, too, doesn’t she? She’d only do that if she loved you. When we first met, you calculated my height and weight at a single glance, and you didn’t have the self-restraint to keep it to yourself. I’ll wager that particular gift doesn’t endear you to the masters of the Imperial Collegium of Locksmiths. Nor to their wives.”
“No,” said Radast. “No, it does not. Especially Presiding Master’s wife, who is fifty years and old and two hundred and forty pounds, and believes herself to be half that.” He snorted. “A foolish conceit. Numbers are numbers, and they do not lie.”
“No, but people lie to themselves, don’t they? Collegium masters are a pompous bunch,” said Caina, “and they love their pride, but they love money even more. So the only reason they tolerate you is because you bring in the money. Special security needs, Basil said…so you probably specialize in locks equipped with lethal mechanical traps.”
“Yes. Normal locks are boring. I prefer puzzles. I learned from the Strigosti,” said Radast.
That caught Caina off-guard. The Strigosti were a secretive, unfriendly people, scattered far and wide, but no one could match their mastery of mechanical devices. Caina wondered how an outsider had learned some of their teachings.
“How did you know I was in the Legion?” said Radast.
She pointed. “Yesterday, you wore a tunic with shorter sleeves. Every time you raised your arm to write upon your slates, your sleeve pulled up enough to reveal the Legion tattoo. Though not all of it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if you were in the Twenty-First, the Twenty-Second, or the Twenty-Third.”
“The Twenty-Third,” said Radast. “My father was an agent of a Strigosti colony in the Great Mountains. The Strigosti hate anyone not of their race, but need someone to sell their devices to outsiders. My father did that. When I was fifteen, he tired of me, and sold me to a Legion recruiter.”
“That’s illegal,” said Caina.
“Correct. However, gold has considerably more weight than morality in most equations.” Radast fiddled with his quill.
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