Part 73 (2/2)
”Reading, sort of. It's mostly just learning the letters,” she added. ”But I bought another slate or two; we can share for now.”
”Torra?”
She shook her head. That was the language of the street, for too many people. ”Weston.”
He nodded again. His eyes were bright, too bright, and she knew he was thinking of his mother. Would think of her often, in this place. But so did Jewel. Nothing wrong with that.
”Carver's good,” Duster said, when they had finished eating. She spoke quietly, and only to Jewel, although everyone in the room could hear what she said. People tip-toed around Duster. Wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it would change. She hoped.
”Good how?”
”He knows how to handle himself. I'd have trouble taking him down.”
”And Arann?”
”He's big and he's slow,” Duster replied. ”And he's afraid of hurting anyone.” She said it dismissively.
”He'll defend what he feels needs defending,” Jewel told her.
”He'll do that, yes. But only that.”
”Not asking him for more.”
”No. You wouldn't.” The words were sharp. They were meant as a criticism. But they had enough truth in them that they couldn't sting. ”Not much of a den,” Duster added. ”You've got two of us, two and a half if you really count Arann. I think Fisher's got the right build to fight, but he just sits back and watches. Jester couldn't fight a mouse. Lefty-” she bit back the words, although the contempt in the name was d.a.m.ning anyway.
”And the others, Finch and Teller. They won't be worth much in a fight.”
”Neither will I.”
Duster looked at her dubiously. ”If you say so.”
”We're not that kind of a den,” Jewel said quietly.
”I know. I just don't know what kind of den you are. And I know what's out there,” she added, nodding up in the direction of the street beyond the walls. ”We're not going to carve out much of a territory the way we are now.”
”We're not carving that kind of territory.”
”You said you wanted to protect your own,” Duster said, facing her squarely. ”How are you going to do that if you can't stake a claim and hold it?”
”I'll figure it out. We've got other things to worry about first.”
At that, Duster was satisfied, or mollified. She nodded. The dresses were gone; they once again wore the loose pants and tunics that best suited them. They were heavy wool, and Jewel found they chafed at her neck, but they were at least warm.
Jewel rose and took out a stack of heavy slates, and these she pa.s.sed around. Duster glared at them. ”You have to learn, too,” Jewel told her quietly. It wasn't a command. It was not, however, a request.
”And what in the h.e.l.ls am I going to do with this?”
”G.o.ds know,” Jewel said crisply. ”But you'll find something. Hopefully, something legal.”
There was a lot of silence around Jewel and Duster as Duster stared at the slate. People waited.
”We're not going to stay in this holding forever,” Jewel told Duster, aware that she was speaking to them all. ”We're not going to be poor forever. If we have to steal to eat, fine, we'll steal-but there are other ways to make a living, and we're not going to have even a chance at those if we can't master a few crooked lines.
”We need to do this. We're going to do this.”
Duster took the slate and said, ”Only until I'm finished what I need to do.”
”All we have is-”
”Now. Yeah, I heard you. d.a.m.n your now.” But she didn't rise, she didn't stalk out. It was a start, and a better start than Jewel had hoped for.
Two days pa.s.sed in this fas.h.i.+on. Teller was still silent, but he spoke to Finch and Lefty, and he struggled to memorize letters with a hunger that Jewel dimly remembered as her own. There was a world that words opened, if you could read them. Not a world of money, not a world of opportunity-a different world. A different place.
He asked her questions. About the letters, about the forms, about where they came from. In the end, she borrowed some of Rath's books-his prized books-and she opened them for Teller. He stared at the pages with a mixture of dismay and open hunger.
”This is a book about the history of the Blood Barons,” she told him quietly. ”It's grim. But it ends with the story of Veralaan and the Twin Kings-the first Kings-so it's not all bad.”
”You can read this?”
”With Rath's help. The language is kind of strange. People talked differently then, I guess.”
”I recognize these ones,” he said, pointing out letter shapes. His smile was bright and open; a studied contrast to Duster's. She nodded, because he actually did. He was fascinated by the pages, by the texture of the paper, by the binding of the book itself, by its obvious age.
But when he closed it, he turned to her and said, ”I talked with Finch and Jester.”
She frowned.
”They're worried about you.”
”Are they?”
He nodded. ”What are you going to do?”
It caught her by surprise, and Jewel wasn't good at surprises. ”Do?”
”You went out with Rath in those dresses, you came back, Rath shut himself in his room.”
”Oh, that. He always does that.”
”He left again.” Which was obvious, or they wouldn't be in his room, in front of his books.
He stared at her, and she felt the weight of his observation pinning her down. In the quiet corner of this room, book in her lap, she struggled with lies, and gave up on them.
”Duster was-”
”Finch told me.” He spared her the words themselves, and she was grateful for it.
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