King Of Fools. Amanda Foody
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punched him in the arm. “Of course I’ll worry about you, muckhead.”
Jac smirked. “That didn’t hurt much. You won’t jaywalk. You’ve got no strength. No wonder you collect all those knives—how else would you convince people to fear you?”
She scowled. “I have my methods.”
Jac wondered why someone like Lola would stay in New Reynes. When they were in the National Library a few days ago, she’d claimed she had people she cared about in this city, but as far as he could tell, she was alone. But she was smart, and she could read, and even if it was sometimes easy to forget, the world was a lot bigger than the City of Sin. And a lot kinder, too.
“If volts weren’t an issue,” he started, “if you weren’t some assistant to the Orphan Guild, if you weren’t Enne’s second... What would you be? What would you be if you could be anything?”
“A librarian,” she answered matter-of-factly.
He couldn’t help himself. He hollered. “I can’t believe you just admitted that you’re actually a softie.”
She crossed her arms. “What’s your answer, then? What would you be?”
“I don’t know,” he said. It was a depressing thought. “But thanks for coming out here. I don’t... I don’t actually have a lot of people to talk to, other than Levi. But you get things that he really doesn’t. You’re a good friend.”
“Friend.” She squinted. “That’s pushing it, don’t you think?”
“Acquaintance?” he offered.
“Better,” she said, smirking.
The two of them stood up, and she eyed him with suspicion. “You look like you’re about to hug me. I don’t like hugs.”
He held out his hand. “Fine. Acquaintances.”
She snorted and shook it. “The ones who never wanted to be players.” And with that, she gave him a final order to be careful and a wave goodbye. Jac watched her walk down the block and disappear around the corner.
He was glad he’d called her—he did feel better now, with far less of an urge to smoke, at least for a few hours.
But there was still something that bothered him. Something about the last words she’d said.
The ones who never wanted to be players.
Sure, maybe Jac had never asked to be a player.
But Lola’s words about him weren’t entirely true.
Lola scanned Enne’s ruffled sleeves, visible even beneath her black trench coat. “That’s what you’re wearing? To meet my bosses?” Her voice was barely more than a squeak.
“I like the blue.” Enne pouted her lips and followed Lola into the Tropps Street Mole station. Though it hadn’t rained in several days, the cement steps were mysteriously and disturbingly covered in puddles, which Enne carefully avoided.
“You have a reputation now,” Lola groaned. “You have to look the part, otherwise we won’t attract the best.”
“And what attracts the best?”
Lola frowned at Enne’s necklace. “Not pearls.”
“This city thinks I killed the Chancellor. Everyone knows I killed Sedric Torren. And I did so while wearing pearls.”
“You’re in a mood,” Lola grumbled as they slid their tickets through the turnstile and followed the signs for the gold line.
Enne thought of her meeting that morning with Levi and soured further. “Maybe I am.”
They descended the steps and waited along the platform.
“If you could buy anything you wanted, what would it be?” Enne asked her.
Lola narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s—”
“Only a question.” Enne leaned her head back, smiling to herself wistfully. “I bet I can guess it. You strike me as a Houssen girl. In silver? In—”
“In black,” Lola answered quickly. This was clearly a fantasy she’d already given some thought. “Are you trying to buy my contentment for some reason? Because we should really be discussing the plan for today. You said Levi would—”
“There is no plan,” Enne responded. “I’d hoped Levi would have one, but he didn’t.” Her voice dripped with resentment. At least she’d learned her lesson: if she wanted something in New Reynes, then she needed to learn to depend on herself.
The train sped its way to the platform in a rush of wind, saving Enne from having to look at Lola’s undoubtedly frustrated expression. They claimed seats in a shadowed corner of the train. Advertisements by the doors featured perfumes held by famous opera stars and prima ballerinas of the South Side, or the address of a real estate agent selling “Once in a Lifetime” properties on the up-and-coming New Reynes boardwalk.
“Then what were you and Levi doing all morning?” Lola hissed. “No, no, I don’t actually want to know.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Enne said, flushing. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”
“So that explains the mood,” Lola remarked. “Regardless, you can’t be distracted. Not today. In fact, we need to be very, very careful. I don’t like Bryce on a good day, and after what happened at the Guild, he’s distraught.” She looked around the train car nervously, as though Bryce might’ve been able to overhear. “And he’s not typically a stable person.”
The more she heard Lola speak of Bryce, the more the prospect of this meeting intimidated her. “Tell me more about the Guild?” Enne asked.
“It works like a temp agency,” Lola explained. “If you’re interested in work, Bryce will find it for you, whether it’s with the gangs or otherwise, temporary or permanent. Bryce sets the price of each guildworker based on their talents and various skills. Two thirds goes to the worker, and one third goes to him.”
“Why give a portion of your earnings to Bryce when you could find a job yourself?” Enne asked.
“Some people aren’t looking for steady work. And some places only hire from the Guild, like the Doves. Expect a lot of assassin hopefuls there.”
Enne nervously tucked her ruffles into her sleeve. Maybe everyone else’s jokes were right. Maybe she was about to be eaten alive.
Lola drummed her fingers on the metal seat. “So we have no idea how to earn an income. No idea what sort of talents we’re looking to hire. No place for them to live—”
“I want to find a place in the Ruins District,” Enne told her.
“By tonight?” Lola asked with exasperation.
“Well, I don’t want to bring them to St. Morse. Can’t they stay with you?”
“I live in a studio. I’m not hosting some would-be killer for a slumber party in six hundred square feet.”
“Who said they have to be a would-be killer?” Enne asked.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to find a lady,” she muttered, piquing Enne’s irritation. “I’ve convinced Bryce you’re some aspiring street lord, and so you’ll need to act like it. For starters, we need a trademark. The Irons have tattoos—”
“I already have