in her belly, its sizzle reaching to her fingers. Her awe receded, the way the impact of a dream steadily recedes once one awakens.
Shumyzin had been ready to tell her something important. Maybe she could come back tomorrow…although somehow she suspected he would not manifest again, whether the sun fell upon him or not. The rules of things known and unknown were in play, and though she was incognizant of them, she sensed that what he had been about to say fell into the category of things that could not be known until their time.
Her food arrived, and after two mouthfuls she was sniffling merrily from the bite of the spices and washing the fire down with her wine. Though her face flushed with heat from the seasonings, she kept her hood up and her mask on.
On Vijnagar it was not uncommon for people to go about masked. The wealthy in particular did so, sometimes in order to conduct liaisons with lovers who, for one reason or another, might have been inappropriate. As a result, masks had attained fashionability. Many were intricate, sequined, edged in gold, scales, or feathers. A wide variety of them passed by as she ate; jewels and sequins gleamed in the torchlight. Her mask was far simpler—a tight, shiny black cloth with a diamond pattern in the weave; it covered her from the top of her head to the tip of her nose. The idea was not to draw attention to herself. She might easily have been a rich young man disguised to go slumming, and no doubt it was this impression that attracted the tattered procurer who slid onto the bench across from her, crooked his pinkie to his nose, and asked, “Paidika, young master?”
Leodora looked up coldly. He still held his pinkie to his nostril. She set down her spoon, then bit the tip of her thumb and flicked it at him.
The grubby man affected a look of indignation. He bowed a hasty apology and moved off to find a willing client. She watched him glide from table to table, eventually to an elaborately masked couple being led by a hired torchbearer. They discussed his smiling proposition and, to her surprise and disgust, went off with him, dismissing the torchbearer with a coin. It was risky business—the procurer might have been laying a trap to rob and murder them. She noted that both the man and woman wore khanjarli daggers across their bellies. They weren’t fools, whatever else. However, his skimming the area made it likely that the grubby pimp did in truth represent a paidika—a harem of boys. She shuddered at the thought of what such a place, run by so scabrous a creature, must be like.
With the meal finished, she stood on stronger legs. The wine and food in her belly gave her a compact, integrated feeling—a feeling that she could do anything. After all, she was a favorite of the gods. She was a great storyteller. And she was now most definitely late. Soter would be wringing his hands in worry that something horrible had befallen her. He always expected disaster. He courted it.
She hailed a girl with a torch, who could not have been more than twelve, and said huskily, “Lotus Hall.” The girl led her down Caritas Avenue. They passed a cluster of other unhired torchbearers, all of them the girl’s seniors, and all of them male. They glowered sullenly. Leodora chuckled.
The girl led her to the open doors, there bowing with proper respect. Leodora smiled and handed her three silver coins, where one was sufficient pay. The child’s eyes grew wide. Leodora leaned down and said, in her own voice, “There, and don’t share any of it with those ruffians we passed.” The girl’s amazement doubled as she realized she’d been leading a woman, who now slipped into the dark interior of Lotus Hall.
Some nights statues spoke and women dressed as men.
Inside the hall, torches in wall sconces to each side of the doors had been lit, as had the main chandelier. The oil burned brightly, smoking, above a noisy crowd. She didn’t see Nuberne, the owner, but his wife, Rolend, stood beside the serving bar. Moonlight trickled through the lancet windows, splashing milky radiance upon the tables. Between tables and wall lay deeper pockets of shadow. Leodora skirted the main crowd, trying to keep in the shadows, trying to avoid Rolend’s attention. But it was Rolend’s nature to notice everyone who came into her hall, no matter