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Authors: Michelle West
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central role in his thoughts, which he kept largely to himself.
The only exception to that—and it was a rare exception, and prone to make him uncomfortable after the fact—was Finch. He knew where Jay had found Finch; she had found Jester in the same place. He knew that Finch had been sold to the brothel by her family, that she’d been saved as something “special,” and that if she escaped, she had nowhere to go. The only people likely to offer aid were also likely to abuse her in exactly the same fashion, without the need to pay someone else for the privilege.
Speaking to Finch was speaking to someone with a breadth of common experience—and neither of them talked much about that past. Neither of them spoke about Duster. Jester vastly preferred not to speak about unpleasant things; they caused pain, to no one’s amusement or benefit.
But he thought, as he mused in the interminable carriage ride to Ludgar’s, that Haval had observed what Jester himself rarely thought about for long: Finch was important to him. All of the den was, but Finch occupied a space no one else did—or would. He was not, had never been, in love with her; he frankly doubted the existence of that emotion, at least as it pertained to himself. She was like a sister to him; sometimes an older one, sometimes younger. He really never thought more about it than that.
But it was clearly obvious to Haval, and that irked him. Nobody took Jester seriously enough to search for his weaknesses; Haval, almost unobtrusive, had merely noted them. And he had shown, in one baffling and inexplicable meeting, a willingness to use them.
What did he want?
He had asked Jester to work for him. He hadn’t explained in exact terms what he expected, but the specific lack of explanation made clear—to Jester—what that work entailed; subtlety and possible sleight of hand. Jester would not be surprised if it involved more than that and, frankly, of a more dubious legality.
The clothier had waited until Jay left to make his offer of employ. This said something to Jester. He had no doubt that Haval had discussed the possibility with Jay—but every doubt that he had made clear what he wished Jester to achieve. Yet Jay trusted the old man.
Trust was a luxury she could not afford. They were all far too trusting for Jester’s liking; all except Finch, and no one considered Finch naturally suspicious. She wasn’t. She didn’t sort people into trustworthy and untrustworthy; she didn’t appear to make judgments at all. She accepted them as people—and she knew full well what people considered respectable by a vast swathe of humanity were capable of.
He adjusted the ring on his finger. It identified him as ATerafin, but frankly, anyone could wear one, if they could find a jeweler willing to create it. Ring on hand, he generally chose not to wear House colors. All official correspondence was delivered by House messengers; as Jester had not been sent in that capacity he had no desire to appear to be one—although he had, a handful of times in the past, chosen that camouflage when it suited his purposes. Finch had not elected to use the official service, for reasons of her own; Jester was the informal option. Informal or no, Ludgar would be well aware that Jester served—occasionally—as her adjutant; any message he carried would therefore be weighed with that knowledge in mind.
It was not the first time he had been sent to both carry and fetch messages. It was unlikely to be the last. In truth, he enjoyed Ludgar’s company; the man had a sense of humor, something often absent in the pompous and pretentious. He did have a healthy sense of his own importance—but Jester found that true of most of the Terafin merchants, especially those who spent half of their life at sea, as Ludgar did.
He would not have considered Ludgar a threat, although he was well aware that Ludgar could throw his weight around when it suited him; Ludgar was both ambitious and practical.
The only exception to that—and it was a rare exception, and prone to make him uncomfortable after the fact—was Finch. He knew where Jay had found Finch; she had found Jester in the same place. He knew that Finch had been sold to the brothel by her family, that she’d been saved as something “special,” and that if she escaped, she had nowhere to go. The only people likely to offer aid were also likely to abuse her in exactly the same fashion, without the need to pay someone else for the privilege.
Speaking to Finch was speaking to someone with a breadth of common experience—and neither of them talked much about that past. Neither of them spoke about Duster. Jester vastly preferred not to speak about unpleasant things; they caused pain, to no one’s amusement or benefit.
But he thought, as he mused in the interminable carriage ride to Ludgar’s, that Haval had observed what Jester himself rarely thought about for long: Finch was important to him. All of the den was, but Finch occupied a space no one else did—or would. He was not, had never been, in love with her; he frankly doubted the existence of that emotion, at least as it pertained to himself. She was like a sister to him; sometimes an older one, sometimes younger. He really never thought more about it than that.
But it was clearly obvious to Haval, and that irked him. Nobody took Jester seriously enough to search for his weaknesses; Haval, almost unobtrusive, had merely noted them. And he had shown, in one baffling and inexplicable meeting, a willingness to use them.
What did he want?
He had asked Jester to work for him. He hadn’t explained in exact terms what he expected, but the specific lack of explanation made clear—to Jester—what that work entailed; subtlety and possible sleight of hand. Jester would not be surprised if it involved more than that and, frankly, of a more dubious legality.
The clothier had waited until Jay left to make his offer of employ. This said something to Jester. He had no doubt that Haval had discussed the possibility with Jay—but every doubt that he had made clear what he wished Jester to achieve. Yet Jay trusted the old man.
Trust was a luxury she could not afford. They were all far too trusting for Jester’s liking; all except Finch, and no one considered Finch naturally suspicious. She wasn’t. She didn’t sort people into trustworthy and untrustworthy; she didn’t appear to make judgments at all. She accepted them as people—and she knew full well what people considered respectable by a vast swathe of humanity were capable of.
He adjusted the ring on his finger. It identified him as ATerafin, but frankly, anyone could wear one, if they could find a jeweler willing to create it. Ring on hand, he generally chose not to wear House colors. All official correspondence was delivered by House messengers; as Jester had not been sent in that capacity he had no desire to appear to be one—although he had, a handful of times in the past, chosen that camouflage when it suited his purposes. Finch had not elected to use the official service, for reasons of her own; Jester was the informal option. Informal or no, Ludgar would be well aware that Jester served—occasionally—as her adjutant; any message he carried would therefore be weighed with that knowledge in mind.
It was not the first time he had been sent to both carry and fetch messages. It was unlikely to be the last. In truth, he enjoyed Ludgar’s company; the man had a sense of humor, something often absent in the pompous and pretentious. He did have a healthy sense of his own importance—but Jester found that true of most of the Terafin merchants, especially those who spent half of their life at sea, as Ludgar did.
He would not have considered Ludgar a threat, although he was well aware that Ludgar could throw his weight around when it suited him; Ludgar was both ambitious and practical.
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