“Terk,” one said unhappily. “Settle down now, so we don’t get kicked out.” He let go, leaving marks on her wrist, his eyes narrowed. The other gamblers scraped back in their chairs. “I’m off,” one said. “That’s enough for me.”
Before he could say anything more, Jone and Mirandine swooped back in, laughing and drunk, hanging on each other’s shoulders.
“There you are!” Jone cried. “Right where we left you! And look, you have done splendidly.”
“Good God!” Mirandine said, thunderstruck at the winnings in front of Tesara.
The ringleader did not move. He didn’t bluster or berate. He gave Jone a hard look. “Very interesting, Mr Saint Frey,” he said in a soft voice. “Very interesting, indeed.”
“Oh come on, Terk, you of all men know that she didn’t cheat, and we didn’t bluff you. It was beginner’s luck, and it came through.”
“Funny how that happens though,” Terk said.
Jone stopped laughing. He leaned in close, pushing away Mirandine’s careless arm. “Funny how you don’t complain when you win.”
Jone was thinner, lighter, and shorter than Terk. Terk’s hands were raw-knuckled and huge, and he had the shoulders of a boxer. Tesara wondered how Jone was not afraid of him. She glanced up at Mirandine, who no longer looked drunk.
“Come on,” Jone said. “Let me buy you all a drink and order a cab to take you home.”
Terk didn’t move at first, but then they all did, the men gathering up what was left of their coins and following after Jone. Just Tesara and Mirandine remained. Tesara stood, exhausted and light-headed. She felt stupid with weariness and confusion, and her hands were tingling again.
“Well done,” Mirandine said. “Here, we’ll split it three ways, does that sound right? I must admit, I had no idea you would do so well. Well done.”
“Nor I,” Tesara said. “Thank you so much for teaching me. I never expected it to be so much fun.”
Mirandine counted the money efficiently. “It is fun, isn’t it?” the girl said lightly. “I do hope your parents won’t be unhappy that we’ve debauched you. Now you’ve got a taste of winning, it’s easy to want to keep on playing.”
An invitation?
“Oh, you haven’t debauched me,” Tesara said, just as lightly. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be sure to bring my own purse next time, so you won’t have to stake me.”
“If you do as well as you did tonight, I might continue to stake you,” Mirandine said with a little laugh. She scooped up a third of the winnings, the bills folded neatly in a bundle, and put it all in the little purse. “Here. Take the purse for now, since you forgot to bring yours. I have dozens, and I’ll just borrow one from Jone’s mother.”
Tesara knew better than to demur, so she just thanked Mirandine and took the heavy purse. I’ll buy one of my own and give her this one back, she thought. The idea of spending her own money was heady.
She followed Mirandine out of the gambling salon and into the gallery. It had grown late. The hour was past two in the morning, and the oil lamps burned low. The crowd had thinned, and most of the remaining guests were gentlemen, with a few stalwart ladies of a certain age to accompany them, in their cozy wraps and yawning behind their gloves. She and Mirandine were by far the youngest of the remaining guests.
Jone came back to them, alone. He looked feverishly bright-eyed, as if it were not at the end of a long night, and he had not just fleeced several men using Tesara as a pawn.
“I’ve sent a runner for a cab for Terk and his cronies, but for you, old friend, I’ve engaged our coachman and the carriage. You’ll be quite comfortable. And next time, let me send him round to fetch you so you don’t have to walk. No, I won’t have any protests,” he said. “You’re one of us now.” He slipped his arm around her waist and Mirandine’s, hugging them both close. He smelled of spirits and sweat and a faint aroma of cologne. She closed her eyes, drinking in the scent.
When she opened them again, looking over Jone’s shoulder, she looked directly into the lean, wolf-like face of Trune.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The clock on the Saint Frey Cathedral Tower boomed ten of the clock by the time Yvienne made it home, taking a circuitous route to avoid any pursuit. The city rang with the bells of the fire wagons, punctuated by the whistles of the constables. Her three drunken revelers had not wasted any time in raising the alarm.
The excitement of the night, coupled with the grief and shock of Treacher’s death, caused Yvienne’s blood to run hot. She felt a creature of the night, wild and dangerous. She sought to avoid notice not just to evade capture but to prevent another outburst of violence. What had she become, and why did she not fear it? She had robbed three men at gunpoint and it was intoxicating.
Down near Kerwater, she had the city to herself again. The fog had drawn in, and she was in darkness. She shivered, both from the chill and from the waning reaction to her night. She drew her cap down over her hair and rubbed her hands to bring some warmth to them. Abruptly, she thought of her bed, lumpy mattress and all. She wondered what Tesara had thought of her disappearance and her ruse?
What shall I tell her?
The last thing she needed to do was to involve her sister in the night’s escapades. She would have to dissemble convincingly.
Yvienne let herself in the front gate, easing slowly so the rusty hinges wouldn’t shriek. She tiptoed
