I’ll see you … but I won’t be seein’ you again. See?”
She looked at him for a long moment, then seemed to relax. “You mean it?”
“Yeah.”
“Finally.”
“Gotta grow up sometime, right? I’ve found that … well, a man wantin’ something don’t make it true, you know?”
Ranette smiled. Seemed an awful long time since he’d seen her do that. She walked to him, and he didn’t even flinch when she extended her hand. He was proud of that.
He took her hand, and she raised his, then kissed it on the back. “Thank you, Wayne.”
He smiled, let go, and turned to leave. One step into it, though, he hesitated, then shifted his weight to his other foot and leaned toward her again. “Marasi says you’re courtin’ another girl.”
“… I am.”
Wayne nodded. “Now, I don’t want to go wrong, seein’ as I’m being so gentlemanly and grown-up and the like. But you can’t blame a man for gettin’ ideas when hearing something such as that. So … I don’t suppose that there’s a chance for the three of us to—”
“Wayne.”
“I don’t mind none if she’s fat, Ranette. I likes a girl what has something to hold on to.”
“Wayne.”
He looked back at her, noting the storm in her expression. “Right,” he said. “Right. Okay. Yeah. I don’t suppose, when we’re lookin’ fondly on this conversationalizing and our memorable farewell, we could both just forget I said that last part?”
“I’ll do my best.”
He smiled, took off his hat, and gave her a deep bow he’d learned off a sixth-generation doorman greeter at Lady ZoBell’s ballroom in the Fourth Octant. Then he stood up straight, replaced his hat, and put his back toward her. He found himself whistling as he went on his way.
“What is that song?” she called after him. “I know it.”
“‘The Last Breath,’” he said without turning back. “The pianoforte was playin’ it when we first met.”
He turned the corner, and didn’t look back. Didn’t even check if she’d sighted on him with a rifle or something. Feeling a spring in his step, he made his way to the nearest busy intersection and tossed the empty wallet into the gutter. It wasn’t long before a carriage-for-hire pulled up, and its coachman glanced to the side, saw the wallet, and scrambled down to grab it.
Dashing out from an alley, Wayne beat the man to it, diving for the wallet and rolling on the ground. “It’s mine!” he said. “I seen it first!”
“Nonsense,” the coachman said, swatting Wayne with his horse reed. “I dropped it, you ruffian. It’s mine!”
“Oh, is that so?” Wayne said. “How much is innit?”
“I need not answer to you.”
Wayne grinned, holding up the wallet. “I tells you what. You can have it and everything that’s inside. But you take me to the Fourth Octant west train station.”
The coachman eyed him, then held out his hand.
Half an hour later, the coach rolled up to the rail station—a bleak-looking building with peaked towers and tiny windows, as if to taunt those trapped inside with a scant view of the sky. Wayne sat on the back footman’s stand, legs swinging over the side. Trains steamed nearby, rolling up to platforms to gorge themselves on a new round of passengers.
Wayne hopped down, tipped his hat to the grumbling coachman—who seemed well aware he’d been had—and strolled in through the open doors. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked about until he found Wax, Marasi, and Steris standing amid a small hill of suitcases, with servants waiting at the ready to carry them.
“Finally!” Wax snapped. “Wayne, our train is nearly boarding. Where have you been?”
“Makin’ an offering to a beautiful god,” Wayne said, looking up toward the building’s high ceiling. “Why do you suppose they made this place so big? Ain’t like the trains ever come in here, eh?”
“Wayne?” Steris asked, wrinkling her nose. “Are you drunk?”
He put a bit of a slur into his
She looked at him for a long moment, then seemed to relax. “You mean it?”
“Yeah.”
“Finally.”
“Gotta grow up sometime, right? I’ve found that … well, a man wantin’ something don’t make it true, you know?”
Ranette smiled. Seemed an awful long time since he’d seen her do that. She walked to him, and he didn’t even flinch when she extended her hand. He was proud of that.
He took her hand, and she raised his, then kissed it on the back. “Thank you, Wayne.”
He smiled, let go, and turned to leave. One step into it, though, he hesitated, then shifted his weight to his other foot and leaned toward her again. “Marasi says you’re courtin’ another girl.”
“… I am.”
Wayne nodded. “Now, I don’t want to go wrong, seein’ as I’m being so gentlemanly and grown-up and the like. But you can’t blame a man for gettin’ ideas when hearing something such as that. So … I don’t suppose that there’s a chance for the three of us to—”
“Wayne.”
“I don’t mind none if she’s fat, Ranette. I likes a girl what has something to hold on to.”
“Wayne.”
He looked back at her, noting the storm in her expression. “Right,” he said. “Right. Okay. Yeah. I don’t suppose, when we’re lookin’ fondly on this conversationalizing and our memorable farewell, we could both just forget I said that last part?”
“I’ll do my best.”
He smiled, took off his hat, and gave her a deep bow he’d learned off a sixth-generation doorman greeter at Lady ZoBell’s ballroom in the Fourth Octant. Then he stood up straight, replaced his hat, and put his back toward her. He found himself whistling as he went on his way.
“What is that song?” she called after him. “I know it.”
“‘The Last Breath,’” he said without turning back. “The pianoforte was playin’ it when we first met.”
He turned the corner, and didn’t look back. Didn’t even check if she’d sighted on him with a rifle or something. Feeling a spring in his step, he made his way to the nearest busy intersection and tossed the empty wallet into the gutter. It wasn’t long before a carriage-for-hire pulled up, and its coachman glanced to the side, saw the wallet, and scrambled down to grab it.
Dashing out from an alley, Wayne beat the man to it, diving for the wallet and rolling on the ground. “It’s mine!” he said. “I seen it first!”
“Nonsense,” the coachman said, swatting Wayne with his horse reed. “I dropped it, you ruffian. It’s mine!”
“Oh, is that so?” Wayne said. “How much is innit?”
“I need not answer to you.”
Wayne grinned, holding up the wallet. “I tells you what. You can have it and everything that’s inside. But you take me to the Fourth Octant west train station.”
The coachman eyed him, then held out his hand.
Half an hour later, the coach rolled up to the rail station—a bleak-looking building with peaked towers and tiny windows, as if to taunt those trapped inside with a scant view of the sky. Wayne sat on the back footman’s stand, legs swinging over the side. Trains steamed nearby, rolling up to platforms to gorge themselves on a new round of passengers.
Wayne hopped down, tipped his hat to the grumbling coachman—who seemed well aware he’d been had—and strolled in through the open doors. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked about until he found Wax, Marasi, and Steris standing amid a small hill of suitcases, with servants waiting at the ready to carry them.
“Finally!” Wax snapped. “Wayne, our train is nearly boarding. Where have you been?”
“Makin’ an offering to a beautiful god,” Wayne said, looking up toward the building’s high ceiling. “Why do you suppose they made this place so big? Ain’t like the trains ever come in here, eh?”
“Wayne?” Steris asked, wrinkling her nose. “Are you drunk?”
He put a bit of a slur into his
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