I started to speak, but Zlata cut me off.
“Who sent her?”
Mieka produced the token I had given her. Zlata took it from her hand and examined it, then snorted and threw it onto the table, where it landed with a dullclunk.
“I thought we were done with him,” she said, her lip curling.
“With whom?” I asked. “Patrick? Who is he? Is he someone I need to be wary of?”
“Yes,” said Zlata, at the same time as Mieka said, “No.”
Mieka sighed. “Be grateful that he helped you, that is all.”
“He doesn’t help people without a reason,” said Zlata.
“Well, who knows what his reason was? She’s a pretty enough girl. Perhaps that was it.”
“Like he cares about that.”
“Whoishe?” I burst out.
“Trouble,” said Zlata briefly.
“Look,” said Mieka. “In our line of work, we have reasons for keeping our names and business private until we absolutelyneed to share them. Got it? All you need to know is that he brought you to us, which was undoubtedly a charitable act,for whatever reason”—this last part was directed with a glare at Zlata—“and I doubt you will ever see him again. Your paths crossed, and he chose to be helpful rather than … anything else.”
“As far as we know,” muttered Zlata darkly.
“And that’s all I’m going to tell you, so you had better be satisfied with that,” Mieka finished. “All right?”
I hesitated, then nodded. That seemed to be the end of it. Zlata fished in one of the pockets of her coat and brought out a paper bag of hot rolls, tipping them out onto the long table. The girls reached out to grab one each. They smelled like heaven, yeasty and steaming. I hesitated.
“Go on,” Mieka said, nodding to me, and I took one gingerly. It was almost hot enough to burn, but I did not care. The first taste of the fresh bread seemed to open a pit in my stomach, and I finished the whole roll in seconds. To drink, there was a pitcher of water that the girls poured into tin cups, so brackish on the tongue that I half expected tadpoles to be swimming in it. Zlata drank something from a flask at her hip. I couldn’t see what it was, but it smelled of blackcurrants.
When we had all eaten, Mieka steepled her fingers and peered at me over them.
“So,” she said. “Everyone works for their bread here. Can you do anything? Any special skills I should know about?”
“Um … I can sew.”
Mieka sighed. “I’m still holding out hope for a master jewel thief or lockpicker to show up on my doorstep, but no luck so far. Well, that will have to do.”
“If you want to keep her, it’s on your own head,” said Zlata. “I want nothing to do with it. I’m off to sleep awhile. Mieka, wake me up in an hour, would you? I have an appointment.”
Zlata yawned and pulled aside a length of hanging clothto reveal a stepladder I hadn’t noticed before. I supposed that led to Mieka and Zlata’s chamber, separate from the rest of the women.
“Where does she go to so late?” I whispered as Mieka led me towards one of the curtains on the ground floor.
“The gambling hells are open all night, and no one who’s anyone shows up before midnight. She’ll nap for a time, then get in her fancy dress and go out to dance and play cards with the nobles until breakfast.”
“But why?” I said, bewildered.
“She has her own line of work that requires she do so.”
“What is it?”
“Something like mine, but … more sophisticated.” Mieka grinned. “It’s easy to get close enough to someone to pick their pocket when you look like she does. And she can rub shoulders with the gentry because she looks the part. I don’t.”
“Is she … ‘gentry’?” I tasted the unfamiliar word.
