Interacting with the real Reynald was anything but easy. It was tense. So much was riding on him having faith in me and I kept blundering about.
There had to have been a more diplomatic way to go about that conversation. I felt so uneasy about it.
Too late now. Besides, what would I have said?In my world, you’re a character in a book and you were described as older and more beat down, so I’m trying to suss out the reason for the discrepancy before something I can’t predict bites us in the butt?Yeah. That would go over well.
I sighed. I needed to strike the first blow against Hreban and make it count. If I pulled it off, Reynald would trust me. The problem was, my plan was risky, expensive, and came with a massive moral dilemma attached.
Setting that aside, Reynald was right—I needed an identity. My original plan would have been to establish greater ties with the Shears and ask them to make me some fake papers. That could still work, but it required Solentine to trust me, and that twisted bastard rationed trust like it was water in the Sahara.
Trust, the bane of my existence.
We required more money as well. We’d just doubled our forces. We would need to feed, clothe, and arm everyone. Buying the boat had taken a big chunk out of our budget. Solentine’s money would float us for a while; however, that money would run out.
Trading in secrets was lucrative but doing it too often would alter the chain of events beyond recognition. I had to be picky. I knew what I wanted to offer to Solentine next, but the timing wasn’t right for it.
Money, money, money . . . Where could I get some?
I had to find a source of legitimate income that could cover our collective butts when I presented it to the government. It was time to invent popcorn or something. A farm, a shop . . . If only I had some kind of marketable skill that would apply to this world.
A bee landed on my sleeve, its fuzzy fur red from the wine tree’s flower pollen. I sat very still. Bees were delicate and precious, as our world had found out.
The bee crawled across the fabric, leaving a little trail of vermillion, buzzed, and took off slowly. I brushed at the smudge of red.
I wonder if this pollen will wash out.
Oh.
Right. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?
CHAPTER13
PLANTER10
Iopened my eyes. Above me, the ceiling of my new bedroom glowed slightly, its thick beams, sealed with resin, bright in the light of the morning sun.
Today was the day we went to the Dog Market.
I’d spent yesterday figuring out two plans: one for the salt and one for our legitimate business enterprise. I’d made a single shopping list, handed it to Clover, and informed her that this morning we had to go to the Dog Market. It was the closest and largest market nearby, named so not because puppies were sold there, although they were, but because of a massive stone statue of a demonic dog that perched at the top of the market’s main gate.
The Dog Market was a wondrous place. All sorts of goods were sold there: weapons, armor, clothes, groceries, potions, magical creatures . . . So many interesting things happened at the Dog Market in the books. I had to see it.
Get up, make myself presentable, and go to the Dog Market. Yes. Yes-yesyes . . .
There was an odd wetness on my chest.
I touched it. Slimy . . .
I flung the slimy thing off me and leaped out of the bed like there was a surprise cobra in it.
A fish lay on the floor. It was about a foot long, with a narrow body and shiny iridescent scales with a gold cast and purple stripes. Plum-colored fins, edged with crimson, thrust from its spine and belly. The mouth under its bright red eyes bristled with a forest of thin, sharp fangs.
What the hell?
The room was empty except for me and the fish. Was this some sort of weird message from the Shears? Was Solentine telling me to sleep with the fishes?
I had locked my window last night because Reynald insisted on it. I glanced at the window. Still locked and bolted in place from the inside. My door wasn’t locked though. Reynald’s suite was only a few feet away across the hall, and I felt better knowing that if I screamed, he would come running. Putting a locked door in the way of my possible rescue didn’t feel prudent. Theoretically, anybody could’ve come in and put a fish on my chest.
Was this some weird prank?
