mustached armsman turned, as did the trio of others whom he led. The street was only moderately crowded, most of the market-goers having run their errands earlier in the day and most of the vendors having not yet closed up, but still it took Jourdain a moment to spot the source of that voice.
Unsurprising, perhaps, given that she wasn't standing in the street at all but was perched on a windowsill some feet above him, cast in growing shadow by the angle of the lazily setting sun.
“Widdershins,” he said, his voice neutral. The other guards stirred; no doubt they'd been told to watch for a strange woman with that stranger moniker. “Not precisely the most inconspicuous place for a conversation.”
“ You missed me until I called your name, yes? Besides, who says I'm trying to be inconspicuous? Maybe my entire goal is to…conspic.”
Jourdain's face remained straight, but the other three guards blinked almost perfectly in unison. “What do you want?” the elder soldier asked.
“Just to ask you a few questions. Well, and also hear some answers. I mean, it'd be a bit wasteful to only want to ask questions and not get any answers, yes?”
Jourdain openly glanced around him. While most passersby were blind to the young woman's presence and too far to hear the conversation over the din of the market, some few had indeed stopped to watch in puzzlement as four armed household guards conversed withwhat was either a very peculiar person or an even more peculiar windowsill. “So come down here and talk to us like a normal person.”
Shins's laugh was almost more of a bark. “Like a normal person that half of you think is your enemy, and the other half are still under orders to question? I think I'm going to decline.”
“What? How—?”
“If it helps, I'm declining regretfully.”
“How did you know our orders—?”
“Sorrowfully, even. I might cry.”
In point of fact, it was taking all she had not to laugh—not least because Olgun was “humming” a tune of mournful disappointment as accompaniment to her “regrets.”
Two of the Delacroix guards reached for their pistols, but a raised hand and an eyebrow-creasing glower from Jourdain halted them in their tracks. “Why would I answer any of your questions?”
“Uh, because I'm trying to help your employers? Maybe?”
“I still have strenuous doubts as to your motives.”
“Oh!” Widdershins slapped and rubbed her gloved hands together, hoping to restore a bit of the warmth that even the leathers had failed to retain, then waited for a small cluster of evening shoppers to pass between her and the guards. “That's not a problem. I don't doubt my motives, and since I'm the one you're telling, that makes it perfectly safe.”
This time Jourdain did blink, along with the other two guards.
“So where,” she continued before they could react any further, “would I find the Thousand Crows? Or any of Aubier's organized criminal guilds, really. I'm not picky.”
Jourdain's face began to darken.
“Only, I've already visited something like two hundred and ninety inns and taverns…”
Olgun gently corrected her with what could only be described as the emotional equivalent of eleven . Widdershins gently ignored him.
“…and even the occasional bathhouse, gods have mercy on my eyes, seeing as how they, or at least the neighborhoods you find them in, are usually the best place to uncover your more unsavory sorts. Even tried one across town, uh…Kind of grungy? Caters openly and specifically to strangers to Aubier?”
“All inns cater to foreigners and strangers—” Jourdain began, but one of the others cleared his throat.
“She means the Open Door, sir. Makes a big show of being friendly to outsiders. Wide menu, lots of servant types, welcome banners for them that reads, and overcharges for the lot.”
“Right,” the young woman confirmed. “That one. Went there, even though the people I'm looking for are local. Found nothing. Whole lot
Unsurprising, perhaps, given that she wasn't standing in the street at all but was perched on a windowsill some feet above him, cast in growing shadow by the angle of the lazily setting sun.
“Widdershins,” he said, his voice neutral. The other guards stirred; no doubt they'd been told to watch for a strange woman with that stranger moniker. “Not precisely the most inconspicuous place for a conversation.”
“ You missed me until I called your name, yes? Besides, who says I'm trying to be inconspicuous? Maybe my entire goal is to…conspic.”
Jourdain's face remained straight, but the other three guards blinked almost perfectly in unison. “What do you want?” the elder soldier asked.
“Just to ask you a few questions. Well, and also hear some answers. I mean, it'd be a bit wasteful to only want to ask questions and not get any answers, yes?”
Jourdain openly glanced around him. While most passersby were blind to the young woman's presence and too far to hear the conversation over the din of the market, some few had indeed stopped to watch in puzzlement as four armed household guards conversed withwhat was either a very peculiar person or an even more peculiar windowsill. “So come down here and talk to us like a normal person.”
Shins's laugh was almost more of a bark. “Like a normal person that half of you think is your enemy, and the other half are still under orders to question? I think I'm going to decline.”
“What? How—?”
“If it helps, I'm declining regretfully.”
“How did you know our orders—?”
“Sorrowfully, even. I might cry.”
In point of fact, it was taking all she had not to laugh—not least because Olgun was “humming” a tune of mournful disappointment as accompaniment to her “regrets.”
Two of the Delacroix guards reached for their pistols, but a raised hand and an eyebrow-creasing glower from Jourdain halted them in their tracks. “Why would I answer any of your questions?”
“Uh, because I'm trying to help your employers? Maybe?”
“I still have strenuous doubts as to your motives.”
“Oh!” Widdershins slapped and rubbed her gloved hands together, hoping to restore a bit of the warmth that even the leathers had failed to retain, then waited for a small cluster of evening shoppers to pass between her and the guards. “That's not a problem. I don't doubt my motives, and since I'm the one you're telling, that makes it perfectly safe.”
This time Jourdain did blink, along with the other two guards.
“So where,” she continued before they could react any further, “would I find the Thousand Crows? Or any of Aubier's organized criminal guilds, really. I'm not picky.”
Jourdain's face began to darken.
“Only, I've already visited something like two hundred and ninety inns and taverns…”
Olgun gently corrected her with what could only be described as the emotional equivalent of eleven . Widdershins gently ignored him.
“…and even the occasional bathhouse, gods have mercy on my eyes, seeing as how they, or at least the neighborhoods you find them in, are usually the best place to uncover your more unsavory sorts. Even tried one across town, uh…Kind of grungy? Caters openly and specifically to strangers to Aubier?”
“All inns cater to foreigners and strangers—” Jourdain began, but one of the others cleared his throat.
“She means the Open Door, sir. Makes a big show of being friendly to outsiders. Wide menu, lots of servant types, welcome banners for them that reads, and overcharges for the lot.”
“Right,” the young woman confirmed. “That one. Went there, even though the people I'm looking for are local. Found nothing. Whole lot
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