The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,115

The shark fang dangled from her neck and her vest was open, her shirt partially unbuttoned, offering a teasing glimpse of her freckled chest.

“Good afternoon, Kaolin lady,” she said. “I see you are keeping your word.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Agnes asked.

Vada shrugged. “It is not in my nature to trust the Kaolin people.” Her lips twitched. “For you I may have to be making an exception.”

Agnes flushed with pleasure. “I have the money,” she said, opening her purse. “But I need—”

“Do not be hasty,” Vada said, putting a hand on hers and snapping the purse closed. “Let us have a drink first. It is not wise to be showing our business off so publicly.”

Agnes noticed that several eyes were darting in their direction, and she saw two sailors whispering to each other, smirks on their faces. At that moment, the bartender slammed the orange juice down on the bar.

“Yes,” she agreed. “All right. A drink.”

Vada looked confused. “What in Saifa’s holy name is that?”

“Juice,” she said meekly.

“Are you in nursery school?” Vada cackled at her own joke. “Gregory, two ales.” She slapped a five-kroger bill on the bar and the bartender began to pour the drinks from one of the copper-headed taps. “We do not seal a deal with juice,” she said, picking up the pints and carrying them to the nook where she had been entertaining May before. Agnes took a seat across from her, grateful that the booth provided them a measure of privacy from the tavern’s prying eyes.

Vada raised her glass. “You might have thought to wear something a little less”—she paused, searching for the right word—“rich.”

Agnes tugged at the collar of her blouse. “I don’t own anything less rich.”

“Somehow this does not surprise me.” She took a drink of ale, her catlike eyes trained on Agnes’s face. They were the gray of the sky before a storm today, and Agnes thought she could lose herself in them for hours. “We agreed on six and fifty, did we not?”

“We did, but I was hoping I could make an amendment to the arrangement.”

One eyebrow arched. “Amendment?”

“Not in terms of price,” she said quickly. “I need to purchase another berth.”

Vada threw her head back and laughed again. It was the wild laugh of someone who did not care who heard her. It sounded to Agnes like freedom.

“Kaolin lady, you are either very brave or very stupid. You are lucky I am agreeing to take one Kaolin passenger. Now you want two?”

“She isn’t Kaolin,” Agnes said.

“You have another Pelagan friend? Why, I am burning up with the jealousy.”

“She’s not Pelagan either.”

“You are speaking in riddles,” Vada said, growing irritated. “Perhaps our deal should be called off.”

“I can pay you two thousand krogers, up front.” Agnes took most of the bills out of her purse and slid them across the table.

Vada stared at the money, dumbfounded. “That is no small sum.” She took it quickly and counted it under the table. When she’d finished, she whistled. “Two thousand krogers,” she murmured. She flashed Agnes a wicked grin. “Well, my mama will not be happy with me, but then, she is rarely happy with me. All right, Agnes.” She raised her glass again and gave a pointed look at Agnes’s own ale. It was the color of wheat with thick white foam on top. “Slansin!” she said, clinking their glasses together.

“Slansin,” Agnes said, taking a delicate sip. The ale was strong, earthy with a bitter tang. She coughed and Vada chuckled.

“I am going to have to teach you how to drink, Kaolin lady.”

“I’m used to champagne, that’s all.”

“Of course you are.”

Agnes jutted out her chin defiantly and downed half her ale in three large gulps. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she slammed the glass on the table and prayed she wouldn’t belch and ruin the effect.

Vada tilted her head, fingering the fang around her neck. “It’s a start,” she said. She finished her own drink in one long draught and got up to get another round before Agnes could protest.

“So tell me,” she said as she set a full pint next to Agnes’s half-finished one, “how is it that the daughter of a Byrne has to purchase a berth on such a bastard ship as the Maiden’s Wail?”

“Well,” Agnes said, taking another drink and considering her response carefully, “like you said, I don’t look like a Byrne. I’m so very . . . Kaolin.”

“This is true,” Vada agreed.

“Pelagan ships aren’t taking on Kaolin passengers. And I can’t get