Roofrats 17

She'd been waiting for her cue. "The boy who had that wanted to kill me. I thought it all right to keep the knife," she said grinning. A bit less chipperly she added, "They don't like me since a misunderstanding the day before, on the other side of the street." Here she pointed at the shop of the door, and without a pause asked, "Why do they cause trouble here?"

"This makes me think you are brave, or cause trouble. And yet the two monks outside let you in, so brave, I think. I am not. When troublesome people demand things of me that would demean my standing, I run to others for protection. I should perhaps marry someone brave, I reflect."

Hang on, two? But then, she knew that strategy, and it certainly explained the swaggering, too.

She smiled, narrowing the eyes, but also gave a half-shrug at the compliment. "I had help. It was luck. Also luck, the boy was no good at killing." She wanted to add that asking for help when you needed it did not make you a coward, but struggled with the language, so instead she said, "They asked what of you?"

"I contemplate the boy for a moment. I can't remember him well. He followed his colleagues in, pretending to be scary. Thinking now of your question, I tell you they asked me to make illegal products for them. I say with pride that I refused. Even if I could do as they demanded, I would not." Weaponsmith obviously found it insulting that they'd even asked. His vowels were lengthened.

"Very good! But..." Nico looked around the room, and finally came up with, "So many different things you make, it's a surprise you could not."

"I pause for a moment, wondering how to put this. My sister, who is my sister, makes particular weapons for the army. Gunpowder. I do not, of course, because making such things inside the city is against the law.

"I privately add that guns are nasty, noisy, unpoetic things," Weaponsmith concluded.

Nico was not surprised she didn't recognise the word, but "noisy" in context with weapons triggered an assiciation. A bit like thinking aloud, she asked, "Boomsticks?"

"I look at you in confusion," said Weaponsmith.

Nico took a breath, held it, and deflated, mumbling something ont he lines of "never mind," she hoped.

Brightening up again quickly, she asked, "Do you buy?"

"I will buy this," Weaponsmith confirmed. "On considering the unusual design, I reach for the statebook to check the correct price."

It was a thick catalogue, machine printed, full of Offwhite's illegible text along with black-and-white illustrations of parts and what Nico would recognise as numbers. Weaponsmith paged through it expertly.

She had caught wind of prices being centrally controlled, but hadn't really expected it to be that... bloated. She watched the moving pages like a kitten watching a mouse.

Weaponsmith followed this up by referring to a printed sheet with the current rates on it, and making a few calculations on an abacus that was so heavily decorated with ivory and porphyry that it could have been purely ornamental. He narrated a phrase or two under his breath meanwhile.

Eventually he quoted a price - a quite generous one.

Nico accepted the offer gladly, and asked, pointing at the catalogue, "You get new one of that how often?"

"I pause in counting notes," said Weaponsmith. "This depends when the industry standards are updated. If there is a small change, we are issued an appendix."

He rechecked the money, slipped a small paper band around it and handed it over. "Congratulations. Go and buy yourself something new, eh?"

"Thank you!" Nico dropped the inquiry and pocketed the money. After good-byes Nico turned to the door and left without another look at the merchandise.

That was the other. What to do about the one? Minder, what the hell is up with those people?! Weft's superiors' motivations were one thing that confused her and made her suspicious, Weft lying to her, well, aggravating and disappointing. Funny how that's more upsetting than him being a killer. More personal, I guess.

Just out of the door she paused. Considering "killer" and "personal", she should probably not brood too much in public, just in case the affair that brought her such a nice profit wasn't over yet. Building up not too much of a rage before asking Weft what his idea had been would be sensible, too. Or she could just forget it, pack up, and wash her hands of this whole sorry city. After a moment's consideration she decided to head towards the monastery.

She returned Triviality's goodbye-wave with more of a sour smirk than a smile.

On the way, Nico couldn't help mulling over the situation, at the back of her mind. Minder, and not asking or even just telling me, the hell with them... A bit belatedly she realised that Triviality mentioning someone following her probably meant "right now", and sat down with her back against something solid to consider what, if anything to do about that, while watching her surroundings.

She was neither angry nor bored enough to visit Mios' territory and/or raise hell to see what would happen. An attempt to shake him off didn't seem very promising, taking Triv surprising her without really trying as example of the training these guys had, not to forget that he'd know the area better. One possibility was sitting around and seeing if he got bored, but she'd probably get bored first. Or she could just scream "come out, come out, wherever you are!" at the top of her lungs, but frankly, she didn't feel like making a show of herself like that, in case he didn't. So, ignore the whole thing, and try to find Weft?

Shrugging, she got up and continued on her way, but when walking past an alley without apparent people in it, she walked into it a ways, turned around and said loudly, "If a minder is following me, I like to talk to him."

A couple of seconds elapsed before there was a clang from some metal stairs up high, towards the mouth of the alley.

Nothing was visible and nothing else moved, however.

"Well, then," said the monk from three paces behind Nico.

He was black-haired, black-clad, tanned, clean-shaven - not that Nico had seen a single Offwhite citizen with a beard - and standing against a wall, holding a hand splayed in front of him as though he'd just finished examining his nails. He was smiling, or at any rate half his mouth was.

Nico finished rolling her eyes - fell for the oldest trick in the book, how annoying - before turning around. She filed him as a considerably more competent poser than the boy yesterday, and with an effort cut off her own speculations to keep from getting nervous. Unintentionally, she mirrored his half smile exactly as she shifted position slightly towards him. Arms akimbo with hands low on her hips, head tilted ever so slightly, she asked, "Are you Snags?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm a slasher brother," said Snags, who was now standing extremely still and continuing to show the lopsided smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Can you tell me the idea behind giving me a minder?"

"Keep you out of danger," Snags said.