His head tips up, and he nods as he catches sight of them. He flicks the tip of the blade clean of wax, and rubs it dry with a rag.
‘Figured it wouldn’t be too long before I saw you, Fallon.’
He turns his head. ‘Nice to properly meet you, Shipwright.’
Shipwright smiles. ‘I’m afraid you’re a little ahead of me.’
The man nods, slips the blade into a thin case and pauses to cover one of the bowls.
‘It’s sort of my job. There’s been a lot of talk about you, since you first arrived, all those years ago.’ His sunken face softens into a smile. ‘Since you charmed the hell out of Fallon’s wife.’
She blushes. ‘I rather regret that entrance.’
He laughs. ‘No need. You made a name for yourself. Hesper likes flash.’ He wipes his hands dry, shooting a look at Fallon.
‘So, you’ll be wanting me to clue her in.’
Fallon’s expression is sheepish. ‘Am I that predictable?’
The man smiles. ‘You only turn up when you want something important, Fallon. Otherwise it’s just that vile thief you keep around.’ Seeing Fallon’s expression he waves a hand. ‘Don’t worry. I like it. It’s honest. Come in.’ He pulls aside the tent flap and ushers them in.
It is all neatness inside – neatness in the books, in the journals arrayed in stacks, bound by date and coloured, it appears, by city; neatness in the three clean blackwood chairs that sit in a circle; neatness in the pot that simmers gently next to a set of regimented cups.
He gestures to two of the chairs and waits until they’re seated. Shipwright shifts uncomfortably. The chairs are a little small. She wonders if that’s deliberate. Fallon looks like a sack on a pedestal.
The slight man sits, neatly.
‘You didn’t introduce me, Fallon. I’m not that ubiquitous.’
Fallon shifts awkwardly. Crosses his legs, uncrosses them.
‘Shipwright, this is Heartshamer.’
The slender man tips fingers to his brow, wryly. ‘As billed.’
Shipwright smiles, a little tensely. Something about this space, this conversation, makes her feel out of place.
Heartshamer catches her eye. ‘Feeling more foreign than usual?’
She nods, startled.
He smiles softly again, and she notices that one side of his mouth pulls higher than the other.
‘I have that effect on people. A legacy of my old profession. Let me pour you some tea.’ He rises, passes out cups, and fills them with a light amber brew that smells of flowers.
She takes a cup. Declan takes a cup. He sips. She sips.
Heartshamer drains his tea slowly, sets it down and folds his fingers in his lap. ‘I’ve heard good things about you, Shipwright.’
She watches his face. ‘That’s reassuring.’
He nods. ‘It is. You’d be amazed how few people I hear good things about.’
He gestures to the journals. ‘I daresay my notes are more comprehensive than most. It’s a point of pride now really. I like to keep track of the notables. The disreputables. The respected.’ He looks directly at her. ‘The novel. Sometimes, the brave.’
Fallon clears his throat. ‘Heartshamer is …’
Heartshamer holds up a hand. ‘Let her guess, Declan.’
