Valour and Vanity by Mary Robinette Kowal

Author:Mary Robinette Kowal [Kowal, Mary Robinette]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2014-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

A Matter of Perspective

November in Murano was typified by heavy rains without any of the charm of snow. Even the incessant pigeons crowded under stone pilings and huddled in windows to avoid the rain. Their fat grey bodies seemed like cobblestones piled in every damp corner.

Jane had been caught by such a shower on her way home, though speaking of their single room as “home” was dispiriting even without the rain. She pulled her heavy woollen shawl, a gift from the nuns, over her head and ran down the street. Without pattens to lift her above the walk, the hem of her skirt quickly became heavy and damp with rain. Jane ducked into a small grocer close to their lodgings as the downpour increased too much to ignore. Other passers-by crowded into a café across the street to pass the time with a cup of coffee and a pastry.

The more wealthy simply rode through the rain in sedan chairs or upon the water in gondolas, leaving the task of getting wet to their drivers. In that moment, Jane would have been happy just to be able to afford an umbrella. Wanting even that, she must wait out the heaviest part of the downpour in the shelter of this small shop. Happily, she had some purchases to make for their dinner, so the time need not be a total waste.

Jane eyed the brace of ducks hanging from the ceiling with some longing, though she had not the slightest idea of how to prepare them. Simply the thought of warm duck, roasted perhaps, was enough to make her mouth water. She turned away from them, and from the rabbits hung beside them, and slipped past another customer to the dried cannellini beans. They already had rice and some onions in their room. She measured the beans into a small burlap bag and thought that she might go to the butcher and get a little rasher of pork fat to add to the beans for flavour. Vinegar, too. They were nearly out.

The thought gave her pause, that they had been here long enough to empty a bottle of vinegar. She almost had not purchased it, thinking that they would not be here more than a few weeks. She now suspected that they would have to spend the winter in Murano.

“You have to pay for that directly.” The woman who ran the shop, a matronly widow with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, stood with her arms crossed.

“Thank you for the reminder, Signora Rotolo.” Jane put the beans on the counter.

The woman said this every time Jane came in. Her son was a gondola driver and had received the notice from the capo about Jane and Vincent’s travel restriction. He had passed the notice to his mother, and she, in a show of benevolent mistrust, reminded Jane of her want of funds every time she came into the shop. If her prices were not so good, Jane would have gone elsewhere.

“No credit.”

“Have I ever asked for credit?” Jane’s exhaustion spoke for her.

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