Page 30 of Kingdom of Dance

He stood slowly, lumbering toward her. Zinnia kept her face blank, hoping he couldn’t tell how his unwelcome proximity made her heart race.

“In that case, mayhap I should just shake you down, take your…” His eyes passed lingeringly over her figure, “…gold, without the need to give you any information.”

Zinnia met his eyes calmly. “If you do, I won’t be back next time with more, will I?”

He laughed, resuming his seat with a creak of overburdened wood. “And that’s what stops me every time, my dear.”

“Any new information?” Zinnia repeated.

“I did hear a little detail,” the man said, his attention back on his work. Zinnia waited silently, not willing to give him the satisfaction of asking. “About the missing enchanter you’re interested in. Apparently some nephew is applying to have him declared legally dead. Wants his house or something.”

A shudder went over Zinnia at the wordslegally dead. Legal or otherwise, she knew perfectly well that the so-called missing enchanter was well and truly deceased. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the sudden blaze of flame that had reduced him to ash the night she met Idric. Not that she could tell anyone his fate, of course.

“How does that help me?” she asked bluntly, returning her mind to the present.

“How should I know?” shrugged the man. “I don’t know what you’re looking for. But you said you’d pay in gold for any new information about that enchanter who disappeared. So pay up.”

“That’s all you have for me?” Zinnia asked, disappointed. “I don’t think that’s worth gold. A few coppers, maybe.”

The man gave her an amused look. He knew as well as she did that she wasn’t leaving the workshop without handing over her gold. But she still deemed it worth her while to try to weasel every last bit of information out of him before doing so.

“I met someone interesting since you were last here,” he said, nothing in his tone suggesting that he was giving her the information in response to her words. “Someone else is asking about your missing enchanter friend. Asking a lot of the same questions as you, in fact.”

“Oh?” Zinnia asked, startled. “Who was it?”

“Didn’t catch his name,” the man said evasively. “He was Fernedellian, though.” He met her eyes, some hidden meaning clearly behind the words. “Strange haircut, too.”

Zinnia froze as she grasped what he wasn’t saying. This man came from Fernedell, with a strange haircut? She pursed her lips. Clearly he was referring to the break out from the prison where Fernedell housed all the continent’s criminal magic-users. The entire high security wing had escaped several months back, and although the Fernedellians had mounted a massive manhunt, the prince himself had recently told her that three of the prisoners were never found. Prisoners whose hair had been magically shorn to proclaim their status as criminals.

“This man was an enchanter, did you say?” Zinnia asked carefully.

“I didn’t, actually,” smiled her companion. “But yes, he was.”

A shiver went over Zinnia. “And he was asking about the missing enchanter?”

“Not just about him,” said her informant with relish. “Other things, too. It was uncanny how similar his questions were to yours. He wanted to be directed to any enchanters who’d been expelled from the Enchanters’ Guild, or denied membership. He also asked about…” He looked up at her carefully. “Dragons.”

“Did he?” Zinnia asked, proud of how steady her voice was, in spite of her racing pulse. This was bad news. Very bad news. “That is uncanny. What did you tell him?”

“The same as I told you,” the man chuckled. “For a price, my dear, I give information. Not loyalty.”

Zinnia scowled, but she wasn’t really surprised. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s about it.” The man’s attention was back on his carving, running a critical eye over the effect he’d achieved so far. “Beats me why you or him would be interested in the missing enchanter. He’s been gone eighteen months, and no one else seems to miss him. Haven’t heard a good word about him from anyone.”

“But where is this Fernedellian now?” Zinnia demanded impatiently. “When did you speak with him?”

“Oh, no more than a week ago,” the woodworker said comfortably. “I imagine he’s still kicking his heels somewhere in the city. But I couldn’t say for sure.” He gave her an indulgent look. “A piece of friendly advice, child. If you’re thinking of going looking for him, don’t. I don’t know his story, but I can tell you one thing. That’s a man who knows how to avoid being found if he doesn’t want to be.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to pay you extra for the advice,” said Zinnia flatly.

A chuckle was the informant’s only reply.

With a sigh, Zinnia reached down the front of the tunic she’d pilfered from Basil’s old things, withdrawing a pouch from the bodice she wore underneath. The man raised an eyebrow, and Zinnia’s skin crawled a little at the smile that curved his lips. But honestly, where else could she possibly keep gold without it clinking tellingly when she moved?

She threw the pouch down onto the table the man was working on, eliciting the first show of genuine emotion she’d seen from him that night.

“Oi! Watch it! This is a valuable piece.”

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