“Almost like an illusion,” Luca says. He grabs my arm and pulls me back toward him, and then he leans down to my ear. “What do you think of his jynx-work?”
“He’s not smart enough,” I whisper back.
“That’s not his jynx-work.”
“And he has an alibi that we can verify with the manager of the Show of Mysteries.”
Luca sighs. “You’re not much of an outside-the-box thinker, are you? He could be lying. There could be something to his jynx-work we don’t know about.”
“He’s a drunk, Luca.”
“I’m certainly not disagreeing with you about that.”
Narayan points between us. “You’re both jynx-workers?” We nod. “What kind?”
“Poison-worker,” Luca says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t die, even if you kill me.”
“No shit? Can I try to kill you? Uh, if you don’t mind—”
“I have a show in the Downhill. Pay up and you can.”
Narayan nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think I will. Sounds fun. No offense, but you look like you’d be fun to kill.”
“What do you mean?”
Narayan makes motions over the top of his head. “Your hair. It’s too everywhere. It annoys me.”
“Well, that’s rather harsh.” Luca turns around, twisting a blond strand around his finger. “Does my hair annoy you, Sorina?”
My face warms. Why is he asking me? As if I cared about his hair. “Your hair is fine.”
“I think that’s all of our questions,” Luca says. “Thanks, Narayan. I know you’re a busy man. I’ll send your wife a gift for the baby.”
His face softens with a loopy grin. “Our fortune-worker said it’s a girl. She’ll be a pretty one, like her momma.”
When we leave the tent, I say to Luca, “You’re awfully formal to a drunk.”
Luca shrugs. “So what are you going to get his daughter?”
“Me? I didn’t agree to that.”
“It’s polite,” he says.
I mutter a curse under my breath. I suppose I could ask Kahina to make the baby a life quilt. She loves making those.
“We’ll go see the next person tomorrow,” Luca says. I almost demand to know why we’re not seeking out anyone else tonight but catch myself, remembering that Luca has a whole life of his own outside this investigation. He probably has a prettyman to share crumpets with or something equally as absurd to do later. And I can’t expect progress to be made overnight.
“Same time?” he asks.
“That’s fine. But I’m not leaving yet. I’m following you to the Downhill. I need to talk to Jiafu.”
We pass through the food market at the back corner of the Uphill that caters to Gomorrah residents, not to visitors. It’s been months since we’ve been in the Down-Mountains, so most of the food is local. Fresh apples and pears. Beef, poultry and deer meat hang from wooden stakes, rubbed with salt for preservation.
Luca waves to a few of the vendors and calls them by name. I grimace. I’ve come here my entire life to shop for food, and I don’t know any of their names. Luca’s lived in Gomorrah for less than a year, and he’s managed to make friends with half the Festival. How am I supposed to be proprietor if I don’t know anyone?
