The laughter subsided as Pryce spotted Karkober and approached the bar, motioning for the waitress to put his dinner on the bar near the proprietor. He leaned over the plate, his arms folded on the bar edge, to look into the knowing face of Azzo Schreders. “Dearlyn Ambersong,” was all the barman said.
“Ah,” Pryce said, using Azzo’s proffered damp cloth to clean the rest of his face. “Geerling’s…?”
“Daughter.”
“Ah.” Covington said again, sitting down.
“Her mother’s name was Lynn,” Azzo explained solemnly. “Died in childbirth, sad to say. Father named her.” Azzo looked distantly off toward the door. “Spitting image of her mother,” he mused. “Her mother’s temper, too.” He took the crockery and cutlery the waitress had retrieved from Dearlyn’s table and arranged it in front of Pryce.
“You all right, Darling?” Karkober inquired of Pryce solicitously. She leaned over provocatively before Azzo motioned her away with his head. She looked at him with resentment, but she went anyway.
Pryce ruminated at the bartender. “Doesn’t like me, apparently… Dearlyn, I mean.”
Schreders pursed his lips, looking down at the wine goblet to make sure all the liquid had been emptied before he began cleaning it. “No,” he intoned deeply. “I should say not.”
Pryce started to eat. “Doesn’t appreciate my approach?” he ventured.
“Doesn’t appreciate your existence” Azzo corrected him.
Pryce took another bite of his food, choosing his next words carefully. “Can’t blame her, I suppose… ”
“Oh, don’t take it personally,” Schreders said absently, busying himself with some goblets and tankards. “It’s the talk of the town. Full of resentment, that one. She’s told anyone who’d listen that her father should have been teaching her instead of you.” He looked deeply into a goblet, seemingly to spot any stains he may have missed with his washcloth. “No one wants to listen to her anymore.”
Pryce ate his food without comment, but inwardly he felt relief. Another disaster narrowly avoided. That’s what he got for trying to exploit his mistaken identity. His best course of action was to finish his meal, leave the city quickly to “take care of some business that just came up,” and then let the legend of Darlington Blade grow or wither of its own accord.
By the time Covington had finished his meal, he was more convinced than ever that this was the only possible scenario. Now all he had to do was leave the tavern without speaking to another soul. That way, no one else could possibly discover that he wasn’t Darlington Bladethat he was, in fact, actually nothing more than the lowly, insignificant, inconsequential
“Pryce Covington!” he heard from behind him.
Pryce sat bolt upright on the barstool and spun around. Behind Pryce stood Azzo Schreders. Off to one side was Sheyrhen Karkober. And coming directly toward him, his arms spread wide, was tiny, portly, extravagantly dressed Teddington Fullmer.
Teddington Fullmer… Pryce didn’t have to wonder what he was doing in Lallor, nor in Schreders’s bar. Fullmer was a successful trader of Luiren stout and Ulgarthian coffee, for whom Covington had worked when the businessman was investigating the exportation of Nathian ore deposits. He had ultimately decided to stay with liquid assets, but he was about to trade in cooked goose if Pryce didn’t shift his mind into top gear. “Pryce! Pryce!” Fullmer boomed.
“Please, sir,” Azzo interrupted from behind the bar. “I’ll have your check for you immediately. No need to shout.”
Covington launched himself from his seat and caught both Fullmer’s arms in a death grip. ‘Teddington Fullmer,” he said directly into his face. “Call me Darling.”
“What?”
“Darling. Isn’t that what you used to call me? Your Darling boy at any Pryce?” He laughed, a trifle hysterically. He knew even Fullmer might balk if he thought Covington was trying to impersonate a man as great as Darlington Blade. “Please, Teddington, for old time’s sakefor mecall me Darling. Would you do me that favor, dear?”
“Darling? You want me to call you darling?”
“Would you? That would be wonderful.” Pryce quickly leaned over and hissed into Fullmer’s ear. “It’s a bar bet. Go along with it. I’ll cut you in.” He leaned back and looked hopefully into the trader’s face.
“What? Oho! Oh, ho, ho, ho!” Teddington said knowingly, then nodded.
Pryce nodded back, then led the man to the bar. “Azzo Schreders,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Teddington Fullmer, the finest trader of refreshing beverages this side of the Shaar.”
What the barkeep saw was a short, round manstout, befitting his productwith a magnificent mustache and goatee and a prominent widow’s peak. He wore a dark-colored coat over an ornate vest, a ruffled shirt, and copper breeches under shin-high boots of expensive leather.
“Pleased to meet you, Schreders,” the trader said expansively. “Any friend of… Darling’s is a friend of mine.”
Covington considered fainting in relief but decided against it
“Well,” said Schreders with a raised eyebrow. “Good to meet you, too, Teddi. I imagine you’ll be wanting to meet our winemaster, Gheevy Wotfirr. I’ll call him up here, eh?”
The bartender left to fetch the wine manager while Fullmer turned to Pryce. “So what do I get, Pryce?” the trader asked insistently. “What’s this all about?”
“No, no!” Pryce wailed softly. “Darling. Call me Darling. You get nothingI get nothingunless you call me Darling. Do you understand? From here on, I’m not… that other name. To you, I’m Darling!”
“Yes, yes, all right!” Fullmer replied indignantly. “From now on, you’re Darling.” “Cost!”
Covington winced in stunned amazement at the sound of the new voice. No, he thought It can’t be…
It was. Asche Hartov, a tall, thin, almost cadaverous Nath mine owner, with whom both he and Fullmer had had less than straightforward dealings, was coming toward them. And that was not Pryce’s only new problem. In order to maintain the secret of Fullmer’s interest in Hartov’s ore deposits, Pryce Covington had told Hartov that his name was Cost Privington.
“Cost!” Hartov called again loudly.
“I’ll get your bill immediately, sir,” replied Sheyrhen Karkober, scurrying off. “Bill?” echoed Hartov. “No,” said Fullmer. “Darling.” “What?”
“He’s Darling,” said Fullmer, pointing at Pryce. “Well, I suppose he is,” said Hartov, “but I wouldn’t go around announcing it.”
“No, no,” Covington said, putting his arm around Hartov’s shoulder, his other hand on the mine owner’s chest, speaking directly into his ear. “It’s a bar bet. I’ll cut you in. Don’t call me Pryce…”
“What?” the mine owner interjected. “Are you going to cut me in on this bet or aren’t you?”
It was Covington’s turn to say “What?”
“Well, first you say you’ll cut me in, and then you say you won’t name your price!”
Covington gritted his teeth and grimaced for a split second. “Sorry… my mistake.” He kept one arm around Hartov’s neck while pointing at Fullmer. “You don’t call me Pryce.” Then he pointed at Hartov. “You don’t call me Cost.” He positioned himself before both of them. “Both of you call me Darling. My name is Darling. Right?”
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Hartov bristled. He always had been a humorless sort.
“Tell me, Asche,” Pryce said reprovingly, “did you ever unload that shaft of Merrickartian ore?”
Fullmer’s face grew dark. “Darling, don’t you dare…” the trader warned.
“As a matter of fact, no,” the dour mine owner replied. “The secret bid was pulled back at the last moment.”
“How could that have happened?” Pryce exclaimed. “You should discuss it with my friend here. He’s one of the most experienced traders in all the Shining South.”
“Really?” Hartov said with interest, always looking for any edge to turn a profit. “What do you know about it, sir?”
Fullmer stared daggers at Pryce, but Covington didn’t really mind. The trader had pulled a fast one in that deal, and he knew it. Besides, Covington hadn’t really exposed Teddington, just supplied himself with a quick diversion. Now all he had to do was slip out and run away as fast as his legs could carry him.
As the mine owner cornered the trader for some inside information, Pryce was distracted by the tankard next
