interesting reputation,” Milan continued. “Are the things they say about you true?”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips, smiling, expecting more. Instead, he met her eyes and waited. She shuffled, moving her cup from one hand to another, then excused herself, walking off.
“Wow,” Steris said. “And they say I can make people uncomfortable.”
“You learn the stare early,” Wax said, returning his attention to the governor. In the back of his mind, he assessed the woman Milan and decided to keep an eye on her. Had that been Bleeder in disguise, trying to feel him out? Or had it been just another foolish partygoer with a bit too much wine in her and an inflated opinion of how men would respond to her?
Rusts, this is going to be tough.
* * *
Wayne sauntered about the party, his tiny dining plate stacked with food as high as he could get it. Why did they always use such tiny plates at fancy parties? To keep people from eating too much? Rusts. Rich folk didn’t make sense. They gave away the most expensive booze in the city, then worried about people eating all of the little sausages?
Wayne was a rebel. He refused to play by their rules, yes he did. He quickly laid out a battle plan. The ladies with the little sausages came out from behind the east bar, while the west bar was preparing the salmon crackers. Tiny sandwiches to the north, and desserts of various sorts to the south. If he made a round of the penthouse room in exactly thirteen minutes, he could hit each station just as the servants were entering with fresh platters.
They were starting to give him glares. A fellow knew he was doing his job right when he got those kinds of glares.
Marasi stayed nearby, playing the part of Professor Hanlanaze’s assistant. Wayne scratched at his beard. He didn’t like beards, but Marasi said the few evanotype pictures of Professor Hanlanaze showed him wearing one. Hanlanaze was far thicker at the waist than Wayne was too. That was great. You could hide all kinds of stuff in padding like that.
“I still can’t believe you had all of this in the carriage,” Marasi whispered, then she stole one of his sausages. Right off his plate. Outrageous!
“My dear woman,” Wayne said, scratching his head, where he wore a colorful Terris cap, a proud emblem of Hanlanaze’s lineage. “Being a qualified academic depends, before anything else, upon suitable preparation. I would no sooner leave my home without appropriate equipment for every eventuality than I would work in my lab without proper safety precautions!”
“It’s the voice that truly makes the disguise, you know,” Marasi said. “How do you do it?”
“Our accents are clothing for our thoughts, my dear,” Wayne said. “Without them, everything we say would be stripped bare, and we might as well be screaming at one another. Oh look. The dessert lady has chocolate pastries again! I do find those irresistible.”
He stepped toward them, but a comment cut him off. “Professor Hanlanaze?”
Wayne froze.
“Why, it is you!” the voice said. “I didn’t believe you’d actually come.” A tall man approached, wearing so much plaid that you could have strung him up on a pole and made a war banner out of him.
On one hand Wayne was pleased. He’d only had Marasi’s description of Hanlanaze to go on in creating his disguise, so the fact that he fooled someone who had obviously seen the professor’s picture was impressive.
On the other hand … damn.
Wayne handed Marasi his plate, giving her a stern glare that said “Don’t eat these.” Then he took the newcomer’s hand. That suit’s fabric really was something. The mill that made it must have used up an entire year’s quota of stripes.
“And you are?” Wayne asked, pinching his voice. He’d found that big men like Professor Hanlanaze often had voices that sounded smaller than the person was. He was glad he’d been studying southern accents. Of course he also injected some of a university accent into it, and set both on a base of Thermolian “v” sounds, from the outer village where the professor had grown up.
Getting a good accent was like mixing a paint to match one already on a wall. If you didn’t blend just right, the flaws could look much worse than if you’d chosen a different color entirely.
“I’m Rame Maldor,” the man said, shaking Wayne’s hand. “You know … the paper on the Higgens effect?”
“Ah yes,” Wayne said, releasing the hand and stepping back. He gave a good