Page 71 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“It’s a long story,” she said gently. “But I need to be dressed differently if I’m to leave safely.”

“It’ll take more’n clothes.”

Probably true, but she’d start with her dress. “I will trade you,” she said. “My dress and shoes for yours. And a cloak.”

It was a good bargain for the woman. She’d be able to sell the dress for enough food for a month. And a quick look around at the terrible condition of her flat made Mari want to give her more.

“How do you survive?” she asked quietly. “Do you have a husband? A way to get money?”

The woman nodded. “He’s a sailor, but he ain’t been ’ome for a while. I work down there when I can.” She gestured with her chin toward the tavern. “But Rudy don’t like the babe coming with me.”

“No, I don’t expect he would,” Mari said. “Do you have anyone to help you?”

“Me mum comes ’round, but she’s got troubles of her own.”

Of course.

“And she’s not quite as respectable as me.” The woman lifted her chin. “I was married right and proper in a church. You ain’t got no cause to be thinking less of me.”

“I don’t,” Mari said hurriedly. “Not at all.” But she couldn’t help thinking that if this was respectable, then what happened to the others? Were their lives better? Or infinitely worse? Meanwhile, she began to unbutton her gown. “So will you do it? Do you have clothes to trade?”

The woman nodded slowly, still wary. “Over there.”

Since the woman held the babe, Mari had to sort through the pile. There was a cloak on a peg that would serve. The dresses, however, were dropped on the floor in a cluttered pile.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she crouched down to find the most suitable of the bunch.

“Ellie.”

“Hello, Ellie. I’m Mari.” She set down her gloves, then pulled out a dress. Ellie was rail thin, and Mari would never fit into anything the woman normally wore. But there was a fuller gown there, probably worn during Ellie’s pregnancy.

“May I have this?” she asked. “I’ll give you my gloves and my dress.” Then she saw rough shoes that could work. “I’d like those as well, and I’ll leave you my slippers.”

Ellie nodded, but her eyes were still wary. “Wot brought you ’ere?”

A dozen lies hopped to her lips, but there was no need for them. “I’m looking for a boy named Tie. I’m told he runs in that tavern down there.”

Abruptly, Ellie sidled backward. “’E’s one of Silas’s boys. You don’t want to mess with ’im.”

“Who is Silas?”

Ellie frowned at her. “’E’s not a good man.”

Mari took a moment to think, then she slowly pulled off her ear bobs. They were simple dark sapphires, tiny enough to match her sedate image. She held them out to Ellie.

“Tell me everything you know.”

*

Peter set down his drink and tried not to throw it against the wall in frustration. The ale here was lousy, the stench hideous, and worst of all, there was no point in being here. He understood the benefits of lying in wait, in listening to the grumbles of folk who had information he wanted. He knew he had to wait here for Silas or Tie or someone who knew something that would help him figure out what his father was up to. But so far, he hadn’t learned anything but that the barmaid would tup him for a penny, a half dozen cargos were being unloaded, and no one was paid enough.

He had given up a night spent with Mari to fester in this shithole. That made his mood very, very foul.

He stared at his drink, wondering if he could stomach another draught. Three young sailors came in, bursting with pay, and the pair of thieves by the fire hunched closer together, no doubt planning to rob the boys before they spent it all on drink.

Then a voluptuous barmaid, with assets spilling out of her gown, slipped into the seat across from him. He growled, too frustrated to speak civilly, when her scent teased his mind. Not a true scent, not in this morass of ale and piss, but a clean smell that might have had lemon in it. She certainly didn’t reek of the usual tavern wench. So he looked closer.

Mari.