Between Worlds: the Collected Ile-Rien and Cineth Stories by Martha Wells Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t appear to be signaling anyone, or
going to make a report. Still, it was an odd incident. He glanced idly back at
Nicholas and Belina.
    Belina caught his eye briefly but didn’t make the
mistake of acknowledging him. She sipped her drink and said, “You can’t kill
someone in the grand foyer of the opera and get away with it.”
    Nicholas raised a brow. “If it comforts you to believe
that.”
    “How would you--” Belina frowned. “Do you have poison
darts?”
    Nicholas’ failure to answer was pointed. “Why did that
creature think he could approach you that way?”
    Belina bit her lip, controlled herself, and said, “I
think Idilane’s spread rumors. Well, I know he has. My friends have told me.”
    “Mmm,” Nicholas commented, and flicked a glance at
Reynard.
    Yes , Reynard
thought, this little bastard has a great deal to answer for .
    “You should have told us earlier,” Nicholas told
Belina, offering her his arm for the obligatory stroll around the grand foyer. “I
would have brought more poison darts.”
    * * *
    After Nicholas and Belina had started for the stairs
to the boxes, Reynard strolled around the crowd for a while, but couldn’t spot
anyone who matched the description of Idilane. The man could be magically
disguising his appearance; the opera’s wards wouldn’t interfere with such a
mild spell. He spotted one acquaintance, a young man called Dissonet who was
the despair of his family and proving it by already being drunk before the
performance had even started. Few people attended the opera unaccompanied, so
Reynard contrived to run into him. Dissonet greeted him with somewhat bleary
delight. “Morane! What are you doing here?”
    “I was meeting someone for an assignation, but he didn’t
show,” Reynard made his tone mildly regretful. “And you?”
    “I forgot it was Life of the Good Duke tonight,”
Dissonet said sadly. He wavered and Reynard took his arm to steady him.
    “Yes, it’s unfortunate,” Reynard said, “Come along,
let’s find your seat.”
    * * *
    Before the first interval, Reynard left Dissonet
snoring in his box and made his way around to the Shankir-Clare box. He
listened through the door long enough to hear Nicholas and Belina having a
spirited conversation about the merits of Voyagers of the Fire Islands which was playing at the High Follies. Belina had of course not been allowed to
go to the scandalous production but had read her maid’s copy of the playbook. Reynard
slipped inside.
    He crouched just inside the doorway, having an expert
knowledge of just where one could stand or sit in an opera box and still not be
visible from the floor or the other boxes. Though Nicholas and Belina had
evidently done such a good job of being boring and conventional that he doubted
anyone was watching. He had been waiting quite a while to air his principal
grievance and now whispered, “I can’t believe this bastard forced us to sit
through the first two hours of Life of the Good Duke .”
    “It’s insupportable,” Nicholas agreed.
    “Why does everyone think it’s a comic opera?” Belina
said. “It’s not funny.”
    “It’s apparently hilarious for individuals who have no
sense of humor--” Nicholas began.
    Reynard had kept one hand on the floor, and felt the
telltale vibration of someone approaching the box. “Someone’s coming.” He stood
and slipped behind the curtain.
    Nicholas twisted to face the doorway. Belina knotted
her hands together, then deliberately forced them apart.
    The polite knock was unexpected. Nicholas told Belina,
low-voiced, “It’ll be a steward.” Louder, he said, “Come in.”
    It was a steward, a young boy in the opera’s black and
white livery. He said, “A note for Miss Shankir-Clare,” and held out a folded
piece of stationery on a silver tray.
    Nicholas stood, took the note, and tipped the boy. The
boy bowed his way out of the box, and Reynard toed the door shut behind him. Reynard
said, “There’s no spell on