“Then why in Plague’s name are you embroidering Temple stitches? Temple motifs? You expect me to believe that you just came up with these on your own? The Lovers’ Knot, the Hands Raised in Prayer, the Broken Bone, the Pointing Finger … No one dares use these stitches outside of altar cloths and ceremonial robes.”
“I didn’t know …”
“If you’ve run away from a nunnery, have enough sense to conceal yourself better.”
“I didn’tknow!” I shouted. “I just … did them!”
“You copied them?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. It was easier than trying to explain. “Yes. Yes, I … I saw the stitches. I taught myself. I didn’t know it was forbidden.”
Fleshy Man grabbed my chin between his thumb andforefinger and forced it up, looking into my eyes. “You’d better be telling the truth. If you’re a Temple spy, all I have to do is shout it out and you’ll be—”
“It is my own work!” I interrupted. “I’m not stupid enough to try to sell—”
“Just stupid enough to copy forbidden designs,” he finished for me. He leaned back, exaggeratedly tapping a finger against his lips as he pretended to think. “Well, if you’re not a Temple spy yourself … then the Temple would like to hear of this, I’m sure.”
I felt my eyes grow wide. I stayed very still, willing my Hair to follow suit. I didn’t need him believing I was a mage, on top of it all.
“Please,” I said, trying to show my sincerity in my face. “I didn’t even want to sell them, just trade. I don’t need money. I really do just need information. And I’m not a spy.”
Fleshy Man raised his eyebrows at Guard and Onion Breath, who chuckled obligingly.
“Information? All right, young lady. And what’s thisinformationthat you seek?”
“I need to find a spellbook.”
He looked me over. “No one sells them here. Take your silks and be off with you.”
“No! It’s a particular book. I have to find it. It’s important. I’m looking for someone called the Book Man. Here.” I scrabbled in my pockets. “I have more. Collars, handkerchiefs …”
He watched the silks spill out. They seemed to glow in the dim light.
“You made all of these?” He made a seemingly involuntary movement, reaching for them.
“Yes. You can have them all. I just have to talk to him.”
Fleshy Man chewed his lip as he stared at me. His gaze kept darting to the embroidered cloths, seemingly despite himself.
“What do you know about the Book Man?” he said at last.
“Nothing! I was just told that he was the one to help me.”
“He deals in rare books and apparently inextremely rarebooks also, if you get my meaning. The kind of rare that the Temple knows nothing about. People say he can find any book, anywhere in Virelith, and perhaps even beyond our borders. I’ll tell you where he is, but how—and whether—you get in is up to you. In exchange for these.”
“That’s fine. Tell me where to go, and I will do the rest myself.”
“Wait. You’ll need a letter of introduction.”
Fleshy Man gave the nod to the other two, who slipped out through the back curtain, then opened one of the boxes and got out a sheet of parchment, a quill, a little pot of wax, and a seal. Striking a match, he lit one of the stubs of candles, cursing and shaking his fingers as they touched the flame, and then swiftly wrote a note. Before he sealed it, he hesitated.
“Can you read?”
I considered lying, but knew the falsehood could easily be discovered. “No. But I know someone who can read it to me.”
“All right, then.” He signed with a flourish, folded it, then heated the wax, dropped a generous dollop of it onto the letter, and pressed in the seal. “I wrote the address on the front, but I’ll draw a map on the back. For all the good it will do you.”
“Thank you.”
