time?”
“I’m generally paid for my time. Do you need something built? If so, I charge eight maravedies for a consultation.”
Babieca started to say something, but Morgan stepped on his foot. “Right. I’m sure you’ve very good at what you do. The truth is—”
“—that I’m very busy, and you’re interrupting my dinner. The rate for people who interrupt my dinner is twelve maravedies.”
“You’ve barely touched it,” Roldan observed.
At this, she looked up. “An auditor with a sense of humor. How odd. Don’t most of you go crazy from listening to invisible monsters?”
“You’re thinking of vigils. Auditores just tend to develop ringing in their ears.”
She looked at him more closely. “As I recall, you’re not actually a member of the Gens of Auditores. You’re a nemo.”
Morgan sat down. “I promise this won’t take long. We just have a few questions about the item you gave us.”
“I have no reason to tell you anything.”
“No. Of course you don’t.” Morgan was silent for a beat. Then, casually, she picked up a metal disc from the table. “What does this do? It looks important.”
“Don’t touch that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s delicate, and I need it.”
“What are you making?”
The artifex reached out to snatch the component. Morgan drew her hand back. The woman stared at her in disbelief.
“Give it back.”
“I don’t think I will.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re surrounded by my people. You don’t even have a bow. Did you forget it somewhere?”
“What does this piece do?” Morgan repeated. “It’s a simple question.”
She sighed. “It turns a mechanism.”
“What kind of mechanism?”
“A bloody dove’s beak, all right? It’s part of a ridiculous machina that the basilissa wants for her throne room. Water enters through small pipes, and the dove sings. Half of the builders in here are working on similar toys—machinae designed to impress idiots.”
“But you’d rather design something different.”
“Of course I would. But this is what they pay for. Cooing birds, hooting owls, cute little frogs that hop about on mechanical lily pads. When rich people watch them, it makes them feel like they’re living in the past, when machinae were real. But they’re not. They’re empty.”
“That fibula wasn’t.”
“Fortuna. Keep your voice down.”
“What—don’t your people know all about it? Or was that a commission you’d prefer not to speak of in public?”
The artifex stared at Morgan, saying nothing. Roldan saw something more than annoyance cross her face. She was actually scared. She put down the lens. Morgan gently replaced the disc on the table. The woman looked at it, then chuckled.
“It’s the smallest pieces that can be the most dangerous.”
“What was it?” Morgan asked. “What did we deliver to the basilissa?”
“I—don’t fully know. I didn’t make it.”
“Who did?”
She looked at the table. Roldan could feel her weighing something in her mind. He couldn’t tell if she was crafting a lie or working out a sequence of events. Most likely, it was a bit of both. Finally, she swallowed, then spoke:
“I found it—a long time ago. I don’t remember where. It never did anything. It just sat there, looking plain. I live with other apprentices. A few of them were curious about it, but mostly we keep to ourselves. There was nothing I could tell them. It was just a fibula. Then one day, I came back to my cell and found a note.”
Morgan leaned forward. “What kind of note?”
“It was in the hand of Narses, the high chamberlain. I guess the basilissa was interested. She’d heard about the fibula—I don’t know from where, but artifices like to gossip. She wanted it, but first, it needed to be appraised. I was supposed to find an auditor”—she looked up at Roldan—“but not from within the gens. That part was explicit. The transaction would be made at the Hippodrome, where Narses could
“I’m generally paid for my time. Do you need something built? If so, I charge eight maravedies for a consultation.”
Babieca started to say something, but Morgan stepped on his foot. “Right. I’m sure you’ve very good at what you do. The truth is—”
“—that I’m very busy, and you’re interrupting my dinner. The rate for people who interrupt my dinner is twelve maravedies.”
“You’ve barely touched it,” Roldan observed.
At this, she looked up. “An auditor with a sense of humor. How odd. Don’t most of you go crazy from listening to invisible monsters?”
“You’re thinking of vigils. Auditores just tend to develop ringing in their ears.”
She looked at him more closely. “As I recall, you’re not actually a member of the Gens of Auditores. You’re a nemo.”
Morgan sat down. “I promise this won’t take long. We just have a few questions about the item you gave us.”
“I have no reason to tell you anything.”
“No. Of course you don’t.” Morgan was silent for a beat. Then, casually, she picked up a metal disc from the table. “What does this do? It looks important.”
“Don’t touch that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s delicate, and I need it.”
“What are you making?”
The artifex reached out to snatch the component. Morgan drew her hand back. The woman stared at her in disbelief.
“Give it back.”
“I don’t think I will.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re surrounded by my people. You don’t even have a bow. Did you forget it somewhere?”
“What does this piece do?” Morgan repeated. “It’s a simple question.”
She sighed. “It turns a mechanism.”
“What kind of mechanism?”
“A bloody dove’s beak, all right? It’s part of a ridiculous machina that the basilissa wants for her throne room. Water enters through small pipes, and the dove sings. Half of the builders in here are working on similar toys—machinae designed to impress idiots.”
“But you’d rather design something different.”
“Of course I would. But this is what they pay for. Cooing birds, hooting owls, cute little frogs that hop about on mechanical lily pads. When rich people watch them, it makes them feel like they’re living in the past, when machinae were real. But they’re not. They’re empty.”
“That fibula wasn’t.”
“Fortuna. Keep your voice down.”
“What—don’t your people know all about it? Or was that a commission you’d prefer not to speak of in public?”
The artifex stared at Morgan, saying nothing. Roldan saw something more than annoyance cross her face. She was actually scared. She put down the lens. Morgan gently replaced the disc on the table. The woman looked at it, then chuckled.
“It’s the smallest pieces that can be the most dangerous.”
“What was it?” Morgan asked. “What did we deliver to the basilissa?”
“I—don’t fully know. I didn’t make it.”
“Who did?”
She looked at the table. Roldan could feel her weighing something in her mind. He couldn’t tell if she was crafting a lie or working out a sequence of events. Most likely, it was a bit of both. Finally, she swallowed, then spoke:
“I found it—a long time ago. I don’t remember where. It never did anything. It just sat there, looking plain. I live with other apprentices. A few of them were curious about it, but mostly we keep to ourselves. There was nothing I could tell them. It was just a fibula. Then one day, I came back to my cell and found a note.”
Morgan leaned forward. “What kind of note?”
“It was in the hand of Narses, the high chamberlain. I guess the basilissa was interested. She’d heard about the fibula—I don’t know from where, but artifices like to gossip. She wanted it, but first, it needed to be appraised. I was supposed to find an auditor”—she looked up at Roldan—“but not from within the gens. That part was explicit. The transaction would be made at the Hippodrome, where Narses could
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