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“So I said to him, ‘You can’t prove I’m guilty, but I can prove you’re an idiot.’ Can you believe that? Right to him,” said Dancer, poking at the air with a scowl.
Asp was staring across the street at the entrance of the museum. It had opened just minutes earlier, and people were walking into the building with sporadic frequency. Visits had increased since the scandalous news of Candlewax-Hobbson’s imprisonment had become public knowledge, and curious people were filtering in, looking for a part of the drama. Asp watched as these onlookers entered the museum, many of them saying as they walked in that they had never been to a museum before.
“Can you believe that, I said?” repeated Dancer.
“Unbelievable,” said Asp, her eyes still fixed on the museum.
“Listen,” said Dancer, towering an inch or two over her in mock aggression, “you invited me along and still haven’t told me what we’re doing. Can’t you at least listen to my stories?” He puffed out his lower lip into a pout and made sad eyes at her.
She turned and met his sad eyes. “Oh sweet child, bring your cries to the crow,” she said in a monotone.
“Really?” said Dancer, surprised. “Wouldn’t have guessed you’d know a newtkin nursery rhyme.”
Asp smiled. “I used to babysit a pair of newtkin twins when I was too young to con. The younger one loved his nursery rhymes. His favorite was Baby Dragon.” Not pleasant times, but they were sweet kids. Mostly.
Dancer chuckled. “Every little newtkin boy’s favorite is Baby Dragon.” He seemed faraway and content, lost in a memory of a childhood long since passed. Asp let him rest in it. Then, gradually, he returned to himself. “You got me all caught up there.” He brushed his clothes distractedly. “Now what am I here for?”
Asp looked up and down the street, then lowered her voice. “I need you to grab the toy we sold to the museum.”
Dancer cocked an eyebrow. “We need to get rid of it? You could take care of it–unless you don’t think you could get away with it?” His tone was a challenge.
Asp looked at the ground. “I can’t be seen interacting with that thing. I can’t let them discover for sure that it’s a fraud, because that implicates my other, Gilbert. And losing him would be tough. It would close that door for me forever in this city, including what I can do for the gang. It needs to leave both Penelope and Gilbert clean.”
Dancer gave Asp a look that said he felt for her, but only to a point. “You cons are so . . . CONplicated!” he said, laughing at his own wordplay. He settled himself and said, “I hear you. What’s the plan?”
Asp gestured through the front door. “We go in, me just ahead of you. If there’s anyone in there, I get their attention.”
“How are you gonna do that?” asked Dancer.
“Let me worry about that, okay?” Asp said as though she were his mother. “Once no one’s watching, you go over to the worktable and snatch the toy. Then you get the hell out of there. Take it back to the estate.”
“You mean Dancer’s Ultimate Party Pad Extreme?” corrected Dancer, leaning forward.
Asp blinked a few times. “You’re an odd duck, Dancer.”
“At least I’m not a common duck, Asp.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You ready for this?”
“Ready,” Asp breathed. She nodded and turned towards the museum.
Lady Penelope strode through the front door of the museum and towards the back corner where the exhibit was located. Dancer followed several paces behind, and the two made their way through the crowds that examined art, weaponry, and historical artifacts. Lady Penelope entered the special exhibit room and looked around. The elderly elven woman stood to the side, and the bearded dwarven man stirred at the rear; the toy was on the pedestal on the opposite side. Shouldn’t be too hard.
“Good morning, good morning,” said Penelope in a warm tone, sweeping in with a graceful twirl. “I’m so pleased you’re already here bright and early. There’s actually something I wanted to discuss. It’s about the display surfaces. What we have in here just won’t do—you see, it’s too high, and the very newtkins descended from the inventors of some of these devices won’t be able to see the displays. Come with me–let me show you what we need.” She led the elf and dwarf into the adjoining room. “You see, right here,” she said, pointing to a long, low table. “We need at least five or six of these. And if—“ Penelope stopped short. “I’m sorry, I skipped introductions altogether. We did meet yesterday just briefly, but let me make proper greetings now. I’m Lady Penelope Jasmine, and thanks to you, I’m the new official in charge of this exhibit.” She bowed. That should have been enough time for Dancer to grab the toy and get out, but just in case . . . “Can you tell me about yourselves?”
“Oskar Steelmaker,” said the well-dressed dwarf, offering a broad hand. “Historian of dwarven history and technology. It was nice to meet yesterday, even if only for a moment.”
“Of course,” replied Asp. “I’m sorry we didn’t make proper introductions then–business first, you know. And you?”
“Giza Lilina,” said the elf, bowing in her formal robes. “Assistant curator. I was moved up from being the chief buyer for the museum.” Lilina looked pained. “News of the former curators and their antics has spread, and as I said yesterday, the owners of the telescope and typewriter we had obtained have recalled their pieces. We have only the newtkin gizmo.”
Not anymore, Asp thought. “A shame,” Penelope said, shaking her head. “We will make due without them.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m glad you’re both here,” she gushed, “because I need both of your expertise right now. I want a table dedicated to each era of industrial history, and I want at least three pieces on every table. We’re going to need to scour this part of the world, and fast, because we have just shy of two weeks. Not even two weeks to find—Mr. Steelmaker, how would you divide the pertinent history into eras?”
Steelmaker blustered, stalling after being surprised by Asp’s question. Then, collecting himself, he said, “If we start in the pre-recorded history era and move forward, there are five major epochs we would need to address. I mean, we could get more specific and go into sub-strata . . .”
“That’s out of the question,” said Lilina with sharpness. “You’re suggesting a delineation of over two dozen time periods. With two weeks, we’ll barely be able to manage one.”
Steelmaker huffed and looked down. “I was only answering on historical terms,” he muttered.
“And that’s what we need—a meeting of historical truth and what will work for us,” said Lady Penelope, smiling back and forth between them. “Now,” she added, walking them back into the exhibit room, “my math tells me we need about fifteen items that represent history to be a real, full exhibit. I believe we all know that our theme is inventions. Our first step is this: we are going to contact every person we know who has any access to inventions. And I do not mean high-tech gadgets and gizmos. Those are great if you’ve got them. But consider this:” she said, sweeping across the room, “an exhibit on the history of practical inventions. I’m imagining bars of alloyed metals from different periods, a variation of paper types from a range of years–a whole array of common items that have changed over time. It doesn’t have to be inherently noteworthy, you see; we can say something about the practice of invention without only focusing on new ideas. Reinvention matters too.” She looked to the table and saw that the toy was gone. Good work, Dancer.
“That’s a fine idea,” muttered Steelmaker, “but what will the public say about this . . .” He blinked repeatedly as he searched for the right word. “. . . this populist approach to history?”
“When will you stop worrying about the public?” demanded Lilina. “Our job is to present truth and beauty, not to draw people away from cheap thrills. Let us create something that means something to us for once.”
Asp could tell that Lilina was testing the waters with her, pushing her own agenda to see how far Lady Penelope would allow it. And as much as she wanted Lilina’s vision, she couldn’t risk pitting her and Steelmaker against each other already. For all I know, they already hate each other beyond fixing. Best to walk the middle road.
“Let’s focus on telling the story of invention to the best of our ability and leave the aesthetics and politics out of it for now,” said Penelope with finality. “Now, as I said, go talk to your contacts, and think big.” She stretched her arms out wide, nodded, and turned to leave.
“Whoa!” cried out Steelmaker.
“What is it?” Penelope asked, turning back.
“The dragon doodad . . .” Steelcrafter was looking around all the surfaces in the room, his eyes wide. “It’s gone!”
Penelope cocked her head to the side, keeping a smile from her face. “Then I guess we’re starting from scratch.”
-
Asp hurried down the street. She spent a minute walking towards the old warehouse, then pulled a sharp turn and headed for the estate. Gonna have to get used to going to the new place instead, she thought, smiling to herself. She slipped into the manor at the side door, making sure no one was watching. She passed down the hall and into the living room, where she found Annabel, Dancer, Oslo, and Gregorio playing cards while Kyrn whittled a section of tree branch.
“You’re bluffing,” said Annabel, her voice tentative.
“Are you sure?” asked Oslo, taking obvious pleasure in her uncertainty.
“He’s not bluffing,” countered Dancer. “He didn’t do his tell.”
“And what’s my tell?” demanded Oslo.
“If I tell you,” replied Dancer, “you’ll stop doing it. But you didn’t do it, which means you ain’t bluffing, so I fold.”
“So what’s it going to be? Are we going to talk all day?” asked Gregorio.
“Fine,” said Annabel, pushing a small stack of caps to the center of the table. “I’m in.”
“Flip ‘em,” called Dancer. Annabel and Oslo flipped their cards over. Annabel had two dainty queens painted onto her cards; Oslo had a mismatched nine and five.
Dancer started. “But! You didn’t do your tell!” He looked at Oslo in disbelief. “You had garbage?!”
Oslo laughed as Annabel pulled a stack of newly-acquired caps across the table to herself. “So much for your tell,” he said, chuckling.
“You didn’t want to play, Kyrn?” asked Asp. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play cards.”
Before she could answer, the rest of the gang exploded in moans and accusations. Kyrn held up a hand to quiet them, then said, “They think I cheat, so I’m not allowed to play.”
“We think you cheat?” cried Dancer. “You haven’t bet on a losing hand in years. That’s not good gambling, that’s knowing.”
“I think she knows what the cards are by the backs,” said Annabel, her eyes wide.
“But the backs are all the same!” said Kyrn, exasperated. “We’ve been over this and over this. There’s no way I could be cheating.”
“And yet I would not bet against you,” said Gregorio, his voice flat.
“Hey Asp,” said Dancer. “When you went into the exhibit room, why did they listen to you? You just walked in and told them what to do, and they listened. Why?” He seemed more worried than curious.
Asp scratched the back of her neck and tried to formulate a response. “I, uh . . .” Would they believe me if I just said confidence works? Oslo’s probably not gonna accept that. Should I just be honest? But I can’t let them know about Melwi. Damnit. Think. She glanced out the front window and saw people streaming by in front of the estate. A cart pulled by a mule passed, several looms loaded into it. Wait!
“Gimme a second,” said Asp, eyes still focused out the window, and she darted back out the side door. She ran down the road, narrowly avoiding passersby and animals as she went. After a minute of dashing, she caught up to the cart and ran alongside it, trying to get the slightkin driver’s attention. “Hey, miss!” she cried.
“Hello?” replied the slightkin woman, raising the brim of a large sunhat she was wearing.
“Can I ask you about your looms?” asked Asp.
“I suppose you can,” replied the slightkin woman. She pushed half-circle glasses up her nose. “What about ‘em?”
“Are they yours to sell or trade?” asked Asp.
“I’m on my way to the market now. I’ve got mostly older models that people still enjoy, but a few new ones that use older designs.” The slightkin continued to look forward as she drove the cart.
Asp’s eyes were shining. “Miss, I would like to buy your looms.”
The woman on the cart looked back down at Asp, a vague smile on her face. “Which ones?”
“All of them,” said Asp, a smile creeping across her face. “And I’d love your permission to display them in the museum here.”
“You’re doing a display on cloth?” inquired the woman.
“Not exactly,” said Asp, shaking her head. “It’s a history of technology exhibit. I’d like your looms to represent different eras of fabric-making technology.”
“But looms are awfully common,” said the slightkin, uncertain. “Why would anybody want to see that?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Asp with a touch of mischief in her voice. “Almost anything is interesting in the right context.”
“Well, it makes little difference to me what happens to the looms, so I guess you’ll save me the rest of the trip. Where to?” she asked, stretching down an arm to pull Asp up onto the cart.
“A left here, then a right just past the inn, and it’ll be right there,” said Asp, pointing the way for the woman.
“Bedelia Hanover,” said the slightkin woman. “And you are?”
“Lady Penelope Jasmine,” replied Asp with a delicate smile.
“Oh, a Lady!” cried Bedelia, surprised. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”
“It’s quite alright,” said Penelope. “In my view, I serve the people, not the other way around.”
“Really now?” said Bedelia, in shock. “That’s not something you hear every day.”
“Turn left here,” instructed Penelope. “You know, I’d love to know more about your looms before we add them to the exhibit. You said that they were either old models or based on old models?”
“That’s right,” Bedelia said, pulling the reins to the left. “I’ve restored the older ones I could, and I built two of the very old ones based on the remains of machines my grandmother and great-grandmother had.”
“Well, I hope you can see the ways that the public might be intrigued to see how something as common”—she said the word carefully to remind that it was Bedelia’s word in the first place—“as a loom can be part of something bigger.”
“A bigger what?” asked Bedelia, unsure.
“A story about all of us. Think of it, Ms. Hanover!” Penelope placed a light hand on Bedelia’s arm. “We are all told different stories as children, we all eat different foods, we all grow up in different parts of the world—but who hasn’t used or worn something made on a loom?”
“I think I’m beginning to see it. Something that brings people together,” said Bedelia. She had a faint smile on her face.
“Just take a right there and pull up next to the big building with the signs out front. I’ll be right back with some people to move the looms.” As the cart came to a halt, Asp jumped down from the cart and dashed inside.
Moments later, three burly museum employees were lifting the machines down out of the cart and carrying them into the museum. Asp counted them as they went past—five in total, each one gleaming in the sunlight.
“Now the matter of payment,” said Penelope, grinning. “What do I owe you for the lot of them?”
“Would it be fair to say three crowns?” Bedelia asked as though she were afraid to be rude. “It was quite a bit of work to restore them.”
“Three crowns is plenty fair. Give me one moment,” Penelope said, fishing around in her bag. Inside the bag, she counted out three gold-pointed coins into her palm and pulled out her hand, placing them in Bedelia’s outstretched hands. “There you are.” She added an additional crown, saying, “For your travel expenses.”
“My, you really do serve the people, don’t you?” said Bedelia, delighted. “Thank you, Lady Jasmine,” she added.
“Happy travels, Ms. Hanover,” Penelope said, patting Bedelia on the back. Bedelia pulled away in her cart, and Asp turned and entered the museum.
-
“I don’t know either. They just marched in here with these things and left them,” said Steelmaker, scratching his head.
“Well, how did they get here?” demanded Lilina. “Looms do not just walk into museums.”
“I think I can help,” announced Penelope, making a dramatic entrance. “I arranged for them to come in.”
“Erm, that’s fine, I suppose,” said Steelmaker. “Except that I don’t understand what they’re here for.”
“When I said to look for common things, I meant it,” said Penelope, smiling. “Tell me, Steelmaker, what time periods are these looms from?”
Steelmaker frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Pre-industrial . . . early stone age . . .” he muttered. “Mid-migration era . . . why, there’s an example of a loom from each period in history we’re examining.”
“Precisely,” said Penelope, smiling at him with pride.
“A timeline of loom technology,” said Lilina, nodding. “You’ve just cut our work by a third, and now we have a complete guide to weaving technology over thousands of years.” She seemed to be working figures in her head. “How much did this collection set us back?”
Penelope allowed herself a devious grin. “Four crowns.”
Lilina’s eyes widened. “You got all of this for four crowns?” She allowed her mouth to hang open a bit. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you spent about a tenth of our budget on a third of our exhibit. Do you realize how much that frees us up for the rest of them?”
Steelmaker turned to Lilina, a mischievous smile on his face. “We could actually throw some crowns around on this.” His eyes were alight. “Wait, wait, wait—we’ve got looms. What about smelting technology? We could get metalworking tools from all over in here.”
“And maybe some hunting and cooking technology—a whole part of it on food production,” said Lilina.
“Oooh, and what if we do printing tech?” cried Steelmaker. “From papermaking to different inks to the printing press!”
“Keep dreaming big!” said Penelope. “If the budget allows, maybe we can include all your ideas.” She strode around the room, pointing at the tables which had been moved in. “Don’t see empty space here; see your future exhibits, your statements to the public.” She stopped and turned to look at Steelmaker and Lilina. “Now that you understand what we’re here to do, I’m going to leave you to work for a bit. I’ll be back to check in throughout the week. As for me, I’m going to see if I can’t get a line on pieces from private collections. Good luck,” she said, and walked from the room as Lilina and Steelmaker resumed brainstorming.
She navigated out of the entryway of the museum and ran into Candace on her way out.
“Hey, girl,” said Candace, her tone playful.
“I’m a diplomat and a Lady,” said Asp, adopting a regal expression.
“Oh, right,” said Candace. Then, louder and in a false voice, “Hello my Lady, and good day to you.”
“Very funny,” said Asp, leading her away from the entrance. “What’s up?”
“You were in the middle of explaining something when you suddenly left. We were kinda worried since we had no idea what made you leave mid-sentence.” Candace’s voice sounded concerned.
“Oh, I just saw an opportunity,” said Asp, smiling. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“What kinda opportunity?” asked Candace before adopting a playful tone. “Something I can snatch from the clutches of our enemies?”
“Not quite,” said Asp, chuckling. “I’m working on something on my own right now.”
“Right, you’re scouting for our next job,” said Candace. “But why look at the museum where we just pulled our last job?
“How did you know to find me there?” Asp asked, maneuvering around Candace’s question.
“Dancer said he helped you with something there this morning.” Candace looked at Asp as though she’d been found out by Asp’s clever questioning.
“That was supposed to be between us,” said Asp, looking down.
“He only shared because we didn’t know what was going on with you,” Candace said in his defense. “Besides, what is there that you can’t tell little old me?” she added, her voice playful again.
Asp thought of Melwi and their strange chamber, the stash of coins in the fireplace, the silver pendant.
“Okay, fine,” said Asp. It seems like I can trust Candace. But I feel like I don’t entirely understand her. Still–I’ll tell her the truth. “If you say I can trust you, then keep this to yourself: I have a job at the museum. But it’s not a group job. It’s a solo thing for me. And I can’t have the gang knowing about that. So if anyone asks, I’m scouting for missed angles at the museum.”
“Oooh, juicy,” replied Candace, sass intermingling with pride. “A secret job after your first big score—I see how it is.” She pushed her white hair back in a smooth, practiced movement, then did a half-hearted impression of Asp: “I’m such a big bad baker that nobody can budge me.”
“Exactly like me,” said Asp, laughing. “It’s uncanny.”
“Seriously, though,” said Candace, adopting a solemn tone, ”you can’t tell me about your top secret job?”
“Not yet,” said Asp, her voice tight. “It’s nothing personal.”
“When I steal, it ain’t personal for me, but that don’t mean it ain’t personal for the one who got stolen from,” Candace almost whispered.
Asp had been watching where she was walking, but Candace’s sudden gentleness of tone surprised her. She raised her eyes to meet Candace’s.
“How do you know what it’s like to get stolen from?” Asp asked.
“Who doesn’t know that’s like?” replied Candace.
-
“They’re back,” said Jehosaphat, coming down the hall with Candace and Asp in tow.
“Praise the gods,” said Oslo, and Asp couldn’t tell how sincere he was being.
“You okay?” asked Kyrn, concerned.
“I’m fine,” muttered Asp.
“You ran out of here pretty quick,” Kyrn said, her voice heavy. “Like you were running from something.”
Asp adopted a serious demeanor. “Like I was running from the question.” She looked between the faces of the gang. “I can see how it looks that way. But that’s not how it is.” She began to pace in a short line, back and forth. “You asked why the museum docents listened. The truth is,” she said, making eye contact with Candace, “I have something brewing over there.”
“That hardly seems reasonable,” scolded Oslo.
“But we just got out of there!” cried Gregorio.
“Did we miss something?” asked Jehosaphat.
“I know that,” said Asp to Gregorio and Oslo. “I don’t know if we missed anything, Jehosaphat, but I’m kinda stuck there for now, so I’m checking things out.”
“Stuck?” asked Dancer, fear in his voice.
“It’s nothing terrible. I just talked myself into a tight spot,” she said, trying to keep a casual delivery. “I told the Captain of the Guard that I was involved in the museum so that I had a connection to Candlewax-Hobbson, and now I have to play along at the museum until the new exhibit is over.” She tossed some errant hair over her shoulder. “While I’m there, I’m checking to see if there’s any other advantage I can get out of the position. Security isn’t considering the new curator a threat, you know?”
“Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered,” said Annabel. “You’re the new curator?”
Asp waved her arms in front of her like she was trying to put out a flame. “Interim curator,” she corrected.
A long, low whistle sounded from Jehosaphat. “You’re a hard one to predict, you know that?” He stroked his chin, smiling. “And what did you go out chasing?”
Asp smiled and looked sheepish. “A new exhibit.”
The gang burst into laughter, and even Oslo was more amused than worried.
-
Asp was lying on her back on her bed. The bare walls still had dust and the occasional spiderweb on them. The room was large—about the size of her entire apartment back home. Why do I still call it home? she thought. This place is already better than what I had. When does this become home?
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” called Asp.
“Did you still want to go shopping?” Candace’s voice asked.
“Oh, right,” said Asp, propping herself up on an elbow. “Gimme a sec.”
The door creaked open. Candace stood in the doorway in a burgundy gown. It was the first time Asp had seen her in anything but black.
“What’re you all dolled up for?” Asp asked.
“For shopping,” said Candace, play in her voice. “C’mon.”
Asp got off her bed. “Okay. I’m coming as Delia; give me a second.”
“Take your time,” said Candace, standing in the doorway.
“Could you give me a little privacy?” asked Asp, gesturing to the open door.
“Oh sure,” Candace said, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Um,” began Asp. “I meant you too.”
“Oh,” said Candace, her face showing signs of embarrassment. “Of course.” She stepped outside and closed the door.
Asp changed out of her more regal Penelope costume and into Delia’s brightly-colored dress. She pulled her long hair up and stowed it inside her leather cap. She slipped into her heeled boots which made her taller than Lady Penelope and headed for the door.
“Ready?” asked Candace as the door swung open.
“Ready,” said Asp, grinning.
They headed out of the estate and into the evening air. They headed for the market district with its bright colors and exotic scents and were soon lost amid the swirls of different cultures and densely-packed goods.
“Ooh, a tapestry booth,” cried Candace and rushed over to see the wares before an elderly elven woman. “See, this one has a traditional elven design,” she said to Asp, “and this one is kind of more modern, but still very elven.”
“You know your work,” said the old elf, smiling at Candace. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“I’m covering my walls with elven designs,” said Candace. “I want it to remind me of home, back on Afira.”
“A long way away,” said the old elf. “Perhaps you’ll like this one,” she said, pulling a folded cloth from beneath her table. She held it up, and it unfolded to reveal a snaking pattern that appeared to connect to itself and endlessly repeat. It drew the eye in a rough circle which was easy to get lost in.
“No way,” said Candace, awed, “that’s just like the one my nana had.” She beamed. “I’ll take it, and the first one, and . . .” she pointed at a mostly orange tapestry on the table. “And that one.”
They completed their deal, and Candace slung the light tapestries over her shoulder.
“You lied to them so easily,” she said as they walked away.
“I didn’t lie to that woman,” protested Asp. “I don’t think I even spoke to her.”
“Not her,” corrected Candace. “To the gang.”
Asp looked surprised. “Yeah, well . . . I kinda had to.”
“That’s what you say,” said Candace. “But maybe you’re lying about that too.”
Asp frowned. “You could say that about anyone. You could be lying about liking those tapestries. You could be lying about liking your work.” Asp touched Candace on the arm. “You could be lying about liking me.”
Candace stopped walking. “Shut up,” she said, her voice cold and defiant. “I’m not a liar.”
Asp breathed in hard, surprised by the sudden change in Candace. What have I stumbled into?
“Candace, I didn’t mean to call you a liar.” Asp’s voice was pleading. “Look, if I promise to tell you the truth, will you believe me?”
Candace was avoiding eye contact. “There’s a seamstress down this way. We can get your dummies.”
“Candace,” said Asp again, more firmly this time. “If I promise to tell you the truth, will you believe me?”
Candace kept looking away, then suddenly met Asp’s eyes. “I really want to, Asp.”
“It’s Delia when we’re in public,” corrected Asp.
“Well, tell me when I can talk to Asp,” snarled Candace, then stormed off.
“Candace!” cried Asp. “Wait!”
But Candace was fast when she chose to be, and she was gone in the crowd before Asp could follow. Defeated, Asp marched down the street and into the seamstress’s shop. Inside was a middle-aged human woman behind the counter and a younger grey Ronan'el woman looking at heavy skirts. The shopkeeper looked at Asp over spectacles.
“How can I help you, miss?” asked the middle-aged woman.
Asp glanced behind the counter at the two wooden dummies the seamstress had outfits covering. “Where’d you get the dummies?” she asked.
“There’s a woodworker down the block who made them. I can give you his name if you like.” The seamstress pointed out the front door and down the street.
“Yes please,” said Asp, barely able to focus on the dummies. How did I manage to piss Candace off that bad?
“It’s Quincy Harrow,” explained the seamstress. “Tell him Helena sent you.”
“I absolutely will,” said Asp. “Thank you, Helena.”
“Certainly,” replied the seamstress. “And you are?”
“Asp,” she said without thinking. Oh shit. She quickly placed her thumb on the pendant. There was a yellow flash and a loud snap.
“Certainly,” replied the seamstress. “And you are?”
“Delia,” she said firmly. “Reporter.”
“Nice to meet you, Delia,” said the seamstress.
“Excuse me,” said the Ronan'el woman from across the shop, “but didn’t she just say her name was Asp? It’s quite rude to get someone’s name wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” said the seamstress, trying to suppress frustration in her voice. “She clearly said Delia.”
“Whatever you say,” said the Ronan'el, rolling her eyes.
“I did say Delia,” added Asp.
“Hmmph,” grunted the Ronan'el. “Fine then.” She went back about her shopping.
It only works on one person, thought Asp. Now what to tell Oslo.
As Asp wandered down the block to speak to Quincy the woodworker, she thought of what Candace had said. She began to wonder about the last time she had told someone the honest truth, and she wasn’t able to think of anything both consequential and true that she had said in months.
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