Read Online Valour and Vanity by Mary Robinette Kowal - Free Book Online Page A

Earl of Verbury. She hated the silence that followed as he burrowed into old wounds and explored the pain over again. She did not like to be the cause of reminding him how he had lived before he had remade himself as David Vincent.
    Vincent straightened his head as they reached the foot of the bridge. Surveying the street, he said, “I believe we turn left here for the Nenci Glass Factory. My notes are, sadly, aboard a pirate ship.”
    “That is what I recall as well.” She let him change the subject and accompanied him down the side of the canal. The houses were pressed one against the next without space for gardens, but the island felt alive even so. Bird-cages frequently hung out of windows, filling the air with the twitter of canaries or the cooing of doves. Window boxes dripped a profusion of blossoms in purples and golds.
    But the true life was in the glass. Animals, chalices, and candlesticks gleamed in the shop windows, the sunlight seemingly on the verge of bringing them to life. A little girl stood pressed with her nose against a shop window, looking at a glass terrier within. She put Jane in mind of Melody as a child. Shaking her head, Jane pulled her gaze away and looked to the next shop.
    Strands of beads in chalcedony, aventurine, and gold-flecked glass hung like unformed glamour in the window. One shop seemed to have nothing but ranks of mirrors. In the midst of this sparkling profusion, the haberdasher stood out.
    The soft wools and linens in the window welcomed her attention. A copper basin displayed a selection of fine canes. Jane paused. “Vincent…?”
    He looked around and sighed. “Oh. Might we not visit the glassmakers first?”
    “I was thinking of the canes, honestly. As a gift for Signor Sanuto.”
    At that, he brightened. “That is an excellent suggestion.” He turned his path toward the door.
    “But as long as we are here…”
    “I continually forget that you are wicked.” His show of affliction was made less convincing by the twinkling of his eye.
    Within the store, they were greeted by a smart man of middle years with a tailor’s apron over his coat. His gaze took in Vincent’s jacket and Jane could imagine the tally he was making. Three years out of date, fine work when new. Recently mended. Buckskin trousers, much worn. Excellent Hessian boots. A gentleman of means, but not in the fashionable set. Aloud he only said, “How may I be of service?”
    “I need to order some clothes.” Vincent scowled at the nearest bolt of cloth.
    Though he had been raised as a young man of fashion, Vincent so hated what he saw as pretence that Jane took pity upon him and spoke to the tailor. “We were recently robbed while travelling, and my husband needs to replace his wardrobe. If we could arrange for three fine cambric shirts without frills, a blue coat appropriate for day wear, and one for evening. He will also require a new pair of buckskin trousers and breeches for evening.”
    The tailor produced a small tablet and the stub of a pencil from his apron. He jotted notes, nodding.
    Vincent had wandered deeper into the shop and was rolling a fold of fabric between his fingers as though it were glamour. “Also a greatcoat. Black, preferred.” He held up a bolt of a soft sorrel. “And I should like a waistcoat of this.”
    “Very good. And the other inexpressibles? Should the gentleman require those?”
    Vincent compressed his lips. “I am wearing all the clothes I possess, so, yes.”
    “That is unfortunate. Should you require gloves, then, as well?”
    “No, thank you.” Though it was possible to work glamour with gloves, it was difficult to control the fine details, so most professional glamourists eschewed gloves. This was something that Jane had yet to accustom herself to.
    The tailor seemed perturbed at this, so Jane said, “We are glamourists.”
    “Ah.” He nodded, discomposure clearing with the explanation. “Then may I suggest a light linen coat, such as one might wear on a