poses – the one he thought made him appear noble of purpose and full of derring-do, but actually made him look like he had a squint.
“I wasn’t thinking about fun, Voch.”
He finally stopped pacing and stood in front of her, face serious for once. “You never do, lately. You used to be daring and reckless – not as much as me, but good enough – and above all fun. Pompous old Eggy sucked it out of you, bit by tiny bit, turned you into a… a… clockwork mannequin of what he thought a woman should be. I miss the old you, the real you. So, time to get some fun back in our lives! And some Kass back in my sister. Maybe get her a few other things back too.”
It was the first time in months she’d seen him with anything approaching a bit of life in him, wearing the grin that always meant a world of trouble for everyone else. Maybe he was right – she was tired of being angry, but it was her only defence against Petri, against the tangle inside her when she thought of him. Against the thought that she’d fucked up, this once, hadn’t been perfect like Eneko had always expected her to be. She’d been wrong about Petri, which rankled, and maybe Vocho was actually right about him, which rankled even more. She’d wanted to please Petri, be perfect for him as she was driven to be for everyone else, and so, bit by tiny little bit, she’d changed.
Now she wanted to go back to being the sort of woman who laughed loudly and often, who swore and cussed and went her own way. Maybe she could get back there, and maybe she couldn’t, but it had to be worth a try. Besides, even if they dumped the papers, Petri wouldn’t know they had. If they were that important, that valuable, then Petri wouldn’t stop. He never did, once he set his cap at something. Constant to the end, one of the things that had drawn her to him in the first place. It seemed like less of a virtue now. First things first: they had to get out of here before he found them again, that was certain.
“All right,” she said at last, then wiped her face after Vocho planted a great big kiss on her cheek. But she was laughing too, at the sudden change in Vocho and the unexpected and just as sudden change to herself. Fun. It’s going to be fun, like it used to be; just keep hold of that thought. Of course there was the part Vocho wasn’t mentioning, the bit about if they got caught they were up for the block. But there was no going back, not to the farm. They had to keep moving or die. Much as she hated to admit it, Vocho was right about finding out what the papers were. They could maybe use them to bargain for their lives. At the very least they might be able to return them. It was that or spending their lives robbing people, always hoping no one recognised them. Petri had, and look how that had turned out.
“Excellent!” Vocho said, expansive now. “So, first things first. Cospel, we need a translator. A good one. No idea what language we need translated. Off you go.”
Cospel’s face fell. “But—”
“What?” Vocho had the papers all laid out in front of him now and was looking them over as though he could already understand them.
“I think,” Dom murmured from his chair, “that Cospel, while undoubtedly a servant of much initiative, would struggle to find a translator of anything in this region.”
Vocho cocked an eyebrow his way, and Kacha could see her own thoughts mirrored on his face. There was something different about Dom now, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.
“I suggest therefore,” Dom carried on with a flick of his handkerchief, ridding himself of some imaginary speck of dirt on his knee, “perhaps Reyes. I’ve never been, you know.”
“Ah well,” Vocho began. His left eye was twitching. What lie he was going to spout now? “You remember what I said about our father?”
Dom smiled, and Kacha wondered how she’d ever thought him an idiot. “Oh yes, I suspect Reyes is difficult for you. For me, however, it’s not a problem. I could take the papers, get them translated and return them.”
Vocho’s eyes narrowed. “Strange how you were there just as Egimont turned up.”