Painted Devils by Margaret Owen

Author:Margaret Owen
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BEAUTIFUL

When we return to the Jolly Magistrate in the early afternoon, Joniza is lounging in the little garden partitioned off for tavern patrons who want to eat in the sunshine. She takes one look at the red chalk splattered over us both and bursts into laughter. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourselves into now?”

I figure Emeric and I can take a quick detour before we clean up and figure out how to extract Erwin Ros. “Cultists,” I tell Joniza by way of explanation as I walk over. She nods sagely. “You look like you’re having a better day than we are.”

Joniza raises a glass with a fancy little floral garnish. “Baba knows a decorator here who always makes a big purchase. This time he’s apparently committed to a project large enough to clean out most of the caravan.”

“So Meister Bajeri can start the return trip early?”

“And if we leave in the next few weeks, we can use the summer pass through the Alderbirgs down south, instead of going around.” Joniza grins. “He’ll make it to Sahali with plenty of time before Fatatuma’s due date. We might even stop in Minkja so he can meet Bastiano.”

I remember every long trip Bajeri made through Sovabin, every time he saw how we lived there but didn’t say a word in judgment. “I think he’d like to see you happy.”

“Hm.” Joniza peels one finger from her glass to point at me. “You’ve gone and gotten insightful on me. Maybe this cult thing isn’t so bad.”

“No,” Emeric says sourly, trying once again to brush red powder off his coat. “It is still extremely bad.”

A head pokes around the doorway leading into the tavern: Agnethe. My stomach drops. We still haven’t figured out how to get her paid.

“Please congratulate your father for me,” I tell Joniza. “We’ve got to go handle something.”

We head over to Agnethe. “Did you try the apple cake?” asks Emeric, pulling out a chair at an empty table. Agnethe nods as she sits across from him, fidgeting, but doesn’t speak. “So,” Emeric starts, “we went to see Madame Treasury.”

I plop into the seat next to him. “She’s horrible.”

A flicker of relief darts through Agnethe’s expression. I understand why; when you say a powerful person has wronged you, it’s always a coin toss whether others will decide it’s easier to pretend they didn’t hear.

“When you signed the contract to work for her, what did she tell you it said?” Emeric asks.

Agnethe’s face twists as she tries to recall. “That I’d earn a white penny every day I worked for her. Then she asked me to sign and said it was all right that I couldn’t write my name.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“No.”

“Did she say anything about paying you in spintz? Or a fee to change them out?”

“Not until I asked for my wages. Then she said I was in…” Agnethe’s brow wrinkles deeper. “Administration forfeit?”

“Administrative forfeiture?” Emeric’s brow gets a matching divot as Agnethe nods. “That’s not … I’m afraid that was a lie.

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