“Ignore him,” Waxillium said. “Trust me. He’s like a rash. The more you scratch him, the more irritating he gets.”
“Ouch,” Wayne said, though he grinned.
“Aren’t you worried?” Marasi asked softly of Wayne. “You’re wearing a waiter’s uniform. If they see you sitting at the table and eating…”
“Oh, that’s a good point,” Wayne said, tipping his chair back. The person behind him had left, and with Lord Harms gone, Wayne had just enough room to—
—and there it was. He leaned his chair forward again, clothing changed back to a duster with a loose button-down shirt and thick Roughs trousers underneath. He spun his hat on his finger. The earrings were gone.
Marasi jumped. “Speed bubble,” she whispered, sounding awed. “I thought I’d be able to see something from outside!”
“You could, if you were watching closely,” Waxillium said. “A blur. If you look at the next table over, the sleeve of his waiter’s coat is sticking out from where he tossed it. His hat folds—though the sides are stiff, you can compress it between your hands. I’m still trying to figure out where he had the duster.”
“Under your table,” Wayne said, sounding very self-satisfied.
“Ah, of course,” Waxillium said. “He had to know beforehand which table would be ours so he could be assigned as our waiter.” I really should have looked under the table before we sat, Waxillium thought. Would that have seemed too paranoid? He didn’t feel paranoid; he didn’t lie awake at nights, worried that he’d be shot, or think that conspiracies were trying to destroy him. He just liked to be careful.
Marasi was still looking at Wayne; she seemed bemused.
“We aren’t what you expected,” Waxillium said. “From the reports you read?”
“No,” she admitted. “The accounts usually omitted matters of personality.”
“There are stories ’bout us?” Wayne asked.
“Yes. Many.”
“Damn.” He sounded impressed. “Do we get royalties for them or something? If we do, I want Wax’s share, seeing as to how I did all the stuff they say he did. Plus he’s already rich and all.”
“They are news-style reports,” Marasi said. “Those don’t pay royalties to their subjects.”
“Filthy cheats.” Wayne paused. “I wonder if any of the other fine ladies in this establishment have heard of my outrageously heroic and masculine exploits.…”
“Lady Marasi is a student at the university,” Waxillium said. “I’m assuming she read reports that are collected there. Most of the public won’t be familiar with them.”
“That is true,” she said.
“Oh,” Wayne said, sounding disappointed. “Well, maybe Lady Marasi herself might be interested in hearing more of my outrageously—”
“Wayne?”
“Yes.”
“Enough.”
“Right.”
“I do apologize for him,” Waxillium said, turning to Marasi. She still wore the bemused expression on her face.
“He does that a lot,” Wayne said. “Apologizing. I think it’s one of his personal failings. I try to help him out by being damn near perfect, but so far, that hasn’t been enough.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said. “I do wonder if I should write something for my professors describing how … unique it was to meet you two.”
“What is it, exactly, that you are studying at the university?” Waxillium asked.
She hesitated, then blushed deeply.
“Ah, see!” Wayne said. “Now, that’s how to act shy. You’re getting much better! Bravo.”