Changes

She ducked her head a little, diffidently. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important . . .” At the moment there wasn’t a trace of the bold little tiger who had faced down her father.

He closed the book and pushed it aside. “Importat, aye. Urgent... not s’much.”

“Oh, good. I need advice,” she said, sitting down at the little table across from him.

Oh, bugger. Here it comes. She’s going to ask me for advice about—

“It’s my father.” She sighed heavily. “He wants me to talk to you about an invitation for you and Amily.”

Mags eyed her dubiously. “What sorta invitation? T’what? Why me’n Amily?”

“He wants you and Amily to come to one of those private concerts,” she said, with decidedly mixed emotions warring in her expression. “It’s in one of the mansion on the Hill. I... just don’t know what to think about him anymore.”

“Ye think ’bout him th’s same way ye think ’bout any other thief. But why’d ’e ask fer me i’ the furst place?” He looked right into her eyes so she could see the sincerity there.

“You’re—well, you’re Mags,” she replied, as if that was answer enough. “You stopped that madman from burning the stable, you’re a brilliant Kirball player, and you saved Amily.”

“Lotsa people saved Amily,” he pointed out with perfect truth. She rolled her eyes.

“You are either incredibly modest or incredibly dense,” she said crossly. “You act as if you aren’t anyone special, but you saw how those young highborn treated you before you rescued Amily— like a hero. And now? Every single person at that concert is going want to talk to you, flirt with you, ask your opinon on things.” She shook her head slightly. “Anyone who is there is going to lord it over everyone who wasn’t if you turn up there. Which, of course, Father knows. He acts like a spoiled adolescent who just knows no matter how much trouble he gets into, he can charm his way out of it. This is probably part of the ‘charming his way out of it.’ ”

“Because it gets ’im more people what think ’e’s next thing’ t’ a miracle worker. I’d be sick ’cept it’d take too much energy.” Mags actually did feel a little sick. Did Marchand ever stop trying to manipulate people? Was there ever a moment in his day that he wasn’t scheming and plotting a way to make an already fabulous existence even better? The man had adulation, hordes of followers, he was wealthy, he could have virtually anything he wanted within reason. But it never seemed to be anough for him.

“He’s asking Amily too, because you are the romantic couple, the hero who risked his life to save her and all of that rot.” She paused. “I think.”

“Whazzat s’posed t’mean?” he asked.

“That... I don’t know, because he could actually have taken Lita’s lecture to heart this time, and this could be a demonstration of good intentions. Or he could be even more crafty than I thought, and it’s the appearance of good intentions, designed to throw any sort of suspicions off.” She frowned. “I just don’t know. I can’t tell. And... oh, damn, anyway!” She scrubbed fiercely at her eyes. “He’s being nice to me after I was the one that told Lita what he was doing! He thanked me for ‘bringing him to his senses.’ I don’t know if it’s real, or if it’s because he knows he won’t be able to get to you except through me. I want it to be real. I still want it, even after all I know about him!” She looked up at him, shoulders hunched. “Do you think it’s real?”

Mags tried to figure out how to be sympathetic without being overly sympathetic and failed utterly. “Erm . . .” he said.

“And I am not going to cry!” she said fiercely. “Bear was horrible about it, but he was right. I am not going to cry over this! He doesn’t deserve one bit of my concern, right?”

“Ah,” was all he could manage. He studied his hands. And thought. “Well,” he said tentatively. “Amily could stand ter get out. I don’ mind bein’ shown ’round like a prize, ’cause I kin git a chance t’ do th’ whole boy ain’t too bright act thet Nikolas wants me ter do. So, hell, Marchand’s motives don’t even come inter what I decide, practically speakin’.”

“I suppose . . .” she replied. She didn’t sound convinced.

“An’ ‘nother thing. Git ’im t’invite Lord Wess. Feller has a eye on ’im, an’ ’e’s sharper nor a good knife. I cain’t go sniffin’ ’round Marchand’s head w’out he’s doin’ somethin’ ’gainst th’ law. But Wess? Wess kin watch yer pa, an’ lissen, an’ prolly git ’im t’say thin’s ’e’d ruther not. Iffen yer pa’s fakin’ it, reckon Wess’ll winkle it out.”

He smiled, rather pleased with himself for thinking of that, and made a mental note to add Wess to his little company of helpers. He didn’t have anyone among the highborn, just the people around Master Soren. Wess would be exceedingly useful, and he’d gotten the impression that Wess would enjoy being exceedingly useful. The young lord had often complained that as the third son, he had about as much utility as a third leg.

“But—” she began.

He shook his head. “Don’ e’en bother tryin’ ter figger Marchand out, ’cause it don’ matter what ’is motive is. Point is, we make ’im useful ter us, an’ nothin’ else hasta matter. Jest keep yer head on thet. ’cause otherwise, ’e’s gonna get t’yer, yer gonna want ’im t’ be a real pa t’ye, an’ yer back where ye was.”

“But—” Her eyebrows creased. “What if he really is trying to do right?” She thought a moment. “Well, this concert thing does look rather bad. There’s no reason why he would want you and Amily there except to increase his own prestige. But maybe someone is going to be there that he thinks you or Amily should meet!”

“I dunno iffen ’e’s finally doin’ right. You dunno. Likely ’e don’ even know.” Mags shrugged. “We got ter wait for it t’play out. Till then, we jest make sure we use ’im, cause damn sure iffen ’e ain’t walkin’ th’ straight path, ’e’s tryin’ t’use us. An’ iffen anythin’, ’e owes us fer bein’ sech a piss-poor father. Fair?”

She sighed. “Fair.”

He held up a cautionary hand. “Now, I ain’t said yes yet. This’s fer two, and I gotta go talk t’Ami—” He