I bit my lower lip and lifted my gaze to Marc. “I wouldn’t want to bother her.”
“Nonsense!” Theo insisted as he lifted his chin, and a far-off look slipped into his eyes. “Miss Dolios is a gentle soul who loves to meet new people. She would be delighted to speak with you.”
I shrugged. “Alright. Before or after the show?”
“After. She has a great many preparations to make ahead of every performance, and they can’t be interrupted.”
“Then we’ll meet you backstage, and in disguise,” Marc told him as he drew out a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’ll be wearing this around my neck so you can recognize us.”
Theo looked practically giddy as he bowed his head. “Excellent, Master Torvus. You think of everything. If you will excuse me, I will go make the arrangements. I look forward to seeing you two there.” He bowed, spun on his heels, and hurried away at a clip just short of a run.
I lifted my eyebrow at Marc. “He really wants us to meet her.”
“We’ll see why that is later,” he promised as he nodded at the street. “Now let’s go see an old friend.”
“And I’m going with you this time,” Ramaro spoke up.
“But Ramy!” The sing-song voice came from inside the house, and Gisela scurried out clutching her duster. “You promised me you’d catch that nasty, nasty mouse!”
“I made no such promise, human!” he snapped as he tried to scuttle away from her. She snatched him and hugged me against her ample bosom.
“But I can’t do it without your help!” she cooed as she squeezed him tight enough to make his eyes pop. “You just have to help me!”
While Ramaro made some terrible gargling noises, Marc caught my eye and nodded at the street. We slipped down, though not completely unnoticed.
“Don’t leave me with this female!” Ramaro screeched as he thrashed in her grip. “Remove me from her grasp this instant!”
Marc took my hand and, with a twinkle in his eye, hurried us away. Ramaro’s cries of terror echoed after us.
Chapter 31
We fetched our coats and sprinkled some disguise juice on ourselves, and trudged along the winding streets to one of the many small shops nestled between two houses. The abode was nondescript, with only a little sign above the plain door announcing the proprietor: Tinker. Master of Metals.
A smaller print underneath the title made me pause and stand on my tiptoes. “What does it say below the master part?”
Marc grinned. “All payments up front, or I have the right to shoot you.”
My jaw dropped open. “That’s really what it says?”
“In clear letters,” he confirmed as he opened the door.
The shop was small, perhaps fifteen feet square, and was lined with well-dusted wooden shelves. Some of them were even covered by sliding glass windows. All of them were filled nearly to the brim with every kind of weapon I could think of, and many I’d never seen before. There were pistols, knives, daggers, axes, rapiers, and many more small arms. The halberds and spears were standing in a barrel in the left corner. Shields, breastplates, and helmets hung from the ceiling, almost low enough to brush against the top of Marc’s head. The air was filled with the scent of leather, metal, and the oils that kept them clean.
The back of the room had a small door and a long workbench. A short man with graying hair sat on the stool, hunched over the work table with his hands busying away at his project. His hands were covered in thick brown gloves, but he still worked the tiny tool with precision born from many years of practice.
He didn’t look up as the bell above the front door announced our entrance. “I’m too busy. Go away.”
Marc’s eye glowed, and his disguise dropped away. “Too busy to talk to an old friend?”
The man on the stool spun around and revealed a man well past seventy, with fine wrinkles on his face. He had a pair of bright blue eyes that were hidden behind thick spectacles, and those were hidden behind an even smaller pair of glasses perched on the very tip of his nose. His eyes lit up, and the magnification of his double pair made his orbs look huge.
“Marc!”
He removed the more precarious pair of glasses, placing them on the table before he slid off his stool and strode over to us with arms wide open.
“It’s been ages! You look like you haven’t aged a day!”
“And you look like you’ve aged a century,” Marc teased as he clapped his hands around one offered by the man.
