“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve heard a thing or two about you.” She looked me up and down. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“Good and bad.” She grinned. “But nothing boring.”
I folded my hands to keep from fidgeting. “So how exactly do we do this?”
“Not much for banter, are you?” she said, giving a brief, disappointed sigh. “Fair enough, straight to business. How much do you need?”
“Only about a talent,” I said. “Eight jots, actually”
She shook her head seriously, her strawberry-blond hair swinging back and forth. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid. It’s not worth my while to make ha’penny loans.”
I frowned. “How much is worth your while?”
“Four talents,” she said. “That’s the minimum.”
“And the interest?”
“Fifty percent every two months. So if you’re looking to borrow as little as possible, it’ll be two talents at the end of the term. You can pay off the whole debt for six if you like. But until I get all the principle back, it’s two talents every term.”
I nodded, not terribly surprised. It was roughly four times what even the most avaricious moneylender would charge. “But I’m paying interest on money I don’t really need.”
“No,” she said, meeting my eyes seriously. “You’re paying interest on money you borrowed. That’s the deal.”
“How about two talents?” I said. “Then at the end—”
Devi waved her hands, cutting me off. “We aren’t bargaining here. I’m just informing you as to the conditions of the loan.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear from the beginning.”
I looked at her, the set of her shoulders, the way she met my eyes. “Okay,” I said, resigned. “Where do I sign?”
She gave me a slightly puzzled look, her forehead furrowing slightly “No need to sign anything.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a small brown bottle with a glass stopper. She laid a long pin next to it on the desk. “Just a little blood.”
I sat frozen in my chair, my arms at my sides. “Don’t worry,” she reassured me. “The pin’s clean. I only need about three good drops.”
I finally found my voice. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Devi cocked her head to one side, a tiny smile curling one edge of her mouth. “You didn’t know?” she said, surprised. “It’s rare that anyone comes here without knowing the whole story.”
“I can’t believe anyone actually ...” I stalled, at a loss for words.
“Not everyone does,” she said. “I usually do business with students and ex-students. Folk on this side of the river would think I was some sort of witch or a demon or some nonsense like that. Members of the Arcanum know exactly why I want blood, and what I can do with it.”
“You’re a member of the Arcanum too?”
“Former,” she said, her smile fading a little. “I made Re’lar before I left. I know enough so that with a little blood, you can never hide from me. I can dowse you out anywhere.”
“Among other things,” I said, incredulously, thinking of the wax mommet I’d made of Hemme at the beginning of the term. That was just hair. Blood was much more effective at creating a link. “You could kill me.”
She gave me a frank look. “You’re awfully thick to be the Arcanum’s bright new star. Think it through. Would I stay in business if I made a habit of malfeasance?”
“The masters know about this?”
She laughed. “God’s body, of course not. Neither does the constable, the bishop, or my mother.” She pointed to her chest, then to me. “I know and you know. That’s usually enough to ensure a good working relationship between the two of us.”
“What about
She spread her hands and shrugged carelessly. “Then we work something out between the two of us. Like rational people. Maybe you work for me. Tell me secrets. Do me favors.” She smiled and gave me a slow, lecherous looking over, laughing at my discomfiture. “If worse comes to worst, and you end up being extraordinarily uncooperative, I could probably sell your blood to someone to recover my loss. Everyone has enemies.” She shrugged easily.
“But I’ve never had things descend to that level. The threat is usually enough to keep people in line.”
She looked at the expression on my face and her shoulders slumped a little. “Come on now,” she said gently. “You came here expecting some thick-necked gaelet with scarred knuckles. You were ready to make a deal with someone ready to beat twelve distinct colors of hell out of you if you were a day late. My way is better. Simpler.”
“This is insane,” I said, getting to my feet. “Absolutely not.”
Devi’s cheerful expression faded. “Get ahold of yourself,” she said, plainly growing exasperated. “You’re acting like some farmer who thinks I’m trying to buy his soul. It’s just a little blood so I can keep tabs on you. It’s like collateral.” She made a calming gesture with both hands, as if smoothing the air. “Fine, I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you borrow half the minimum.” She looked at me expectantly. “Two talents. Does that make it easier?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but I can’t do it. Are there any other gaelets around?”
“Of course,” she said coolly. “But I don’t feel particularly inclined to give out that sort of information.” She tilted her head quizzically. “By the way, today’s Cendling, isn’t it? Don’t you need your tuition by noon tomorrow?”
“I’ll find them on my own then,” I snapped.
“I’m sure you will, clever boy like you.” Devi waved me away with the back of her hand. “Feel free to let yourself out. Think fond thoughts of Devi in two months’ time, when some thug is kicking the teeth out of your pretty little head.”
After leaving Devi’s I paced the streets of Imre, restless and irritated, trying to get my thoughts in order. Trying to think of a way around my problem.
I had a decent chance of paying off the two-talent loan. I hoped to move up the ranks in the Fishery soon. Once I was allowed to pursue my own projects, I could start earning real money. All I needed was to stay in classes long enough. It was just a matter of time.
That’s really what I was borrowing: time. One more term. Who knew what opportunities might present themselves in the next two months?
But even as I tried to talk myself into it, I knew the truth. It was a bad idea. It was begging for trouble. I would swallow my pride and see if Wil or Sim or Sovoy could lend me the eight jots I needed. I sighed, resigning myself to a term of sleeping outside and scavenging meals where I could find them. At least it couldn’t be worse than my time in Tarbean.
I was just about to head back to the University when my restless pacing took me by a pawnshop’s window. I felt the old ache in my fingers....
“How much for the seven-string lute?” I asked. To this day I do not remember actually entering the store.
“Four talents even,” the owner said brightly. I guessed he was new to the job, or drunk. Pawnbrokers are never cheerful, not even in rich cities like Imre.
“Ah,” I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. “Could I take a look at it?”
He handed it over. It wasn’t much to look at. The grain of the wood was uneven, the varnish rough and scratched. Its frets were made of gut and badly in need of replacing, but that was of little concern to me, as I typically played fretless anyway. The bowl was rosewood, so the sound of it wouldn’t be terribly subtle. But on the other hand, rosewood would carry better in a crowded taproom, cutting through the murmur of idle conversation. I
