"We'd be better off without an aristocracy," said a tanner, his trade apparent from the stink that clung to him. "There are other ways to run things. The philosopher Rutilinus said…"
Shamur and Thamalon moved away. "Torm's fist," the nobleman said, "we knew the children were in a certain amount of danger, but I certainly didn't expect two attacks in less than twenty-four hours. Deadly serious attacks, by the sound of it, even allowing for the exaggeration that inflates any tale as it makes the rounds."
"Our side must have believed itself prepared for the second assault," she said, "yet poor Captain Orvist and Master Selwick were slain anyway. That's… troubling."
'To say the least." Thamalon looked fretful and irresolute as she had seldom seen him, and for some reason, the sight tied a knot of complex emotion in her breast.
"You love the children, don't you?" she said.
He snorted. "You sound surprised."
"You always seem so disappointed in them."
"I am. Each of them has a great deal of growing up to do before he or she would be fit to lead our House, or even support it in any meaningful way, and it's disgusting that they aren't even trying! But that doesn't mean I don't care about them, or that I'm ready to give up on them."
Shamur shook her head. "I didn't realize. In recent years, after we Karns recouped our fortune, and the children were nearly grown, that was one of the reasons I continued my masquerade."
"I don't follow."
"I was afraid to give you the opportunity to annul our marriage, illegitimatize Tamlin, Thazienne, and Talbot, remarry, and sire an heir more to your liking."
He scowled. "It's clear why I was never able to understand you, woman, but it's becoming painfully obvious that you never understood me, either, and since I wasn't trying to conceal my true nature, that's a puzzle. But I suppose we have more immediate questions to ponder. We know now that the children are in graver peril than we supposed. Should we stop prowling the city incognito and go home, so we can look after them?"
Shamur frowned as she mulled it over. Finally she said, "They still have guards, Erevis, and the walls of a fortified mansion to protect them. Moreover, judging from our friend the butcher's admittedly garbled account, they did a fair job of fighting on their own behalf."
Thamalon snorted. "That must have been a fluke."
Shamur felt a reflexive surge of anger. They'd quarreled so often over Tamlin and Talbot, he belittling them, or so it had seemed to her, and she defending them. "That's unkind and unfair."
To her surprise, he hesitated, then said, "Yes, I suppose it is. Whatever their flaws, Tazi and Tal at least know how to swing a sword. Tamlin, too, perhaps. But be that as it may, you were observing that even with Jander and Brom gone, the children still enjoy a fair amount of protection."
"Yes, and I hope they have the sense to be careful from now on. So perhaps in the long run, we'll serve them best by holding to our present course and tracking down Master Moon. Whereas if we emerge from hiding, he might well go to ground for a month or a year, then strike again when we relax our guard."
"You have a point," Thamalon said. "I guess it's on to the Scab, then."
Shamur attached the scabbard of her new sword to her belt, and the two nobles headed south, away from the waterfront and into the warehouse district. A frigid breeze chilled their faces and plucked at the folds of their cloaks. Snowflakes began to fall from the leaden clouds overhead.
"Are the children truly as feckless as you make them out?" she asked after a time.
"Of course they are," he said. "If you weren't always so keen to disagree with me, you'd perceive it, too."
"Do you think the estrangement between us is somehow to blame?"
"I don't know," Thamalon replied. She sensed that he felt as uncomfortable contemplating the possibility as she did. "I tried to be a good parent. So did you. Who could do more?"
"I wonder if I tried hard enough," she said. They halted at an intersection to let an ox cart laden with garden statuary go by. "How could I have, when my children don't really even know me?"
"Don't think that," he said. "Yes, you wore a mask for them as you did for everyone else. But the love and care you gave them were genuine, were they not? That was your true self, shining through."
"I hope so. Still, my situation must have influenced the way I treated them. It surely poisoned the bond I shared with Thazienne. From early on, when we first realized what a young hellion she was, I tried to mold her into the kind of staid, proper noblewoman that I myself hated being, and looking back, I don't even know why. Was I jealous of her for fencing, wrestling, and enjoying the life of the streets when I could no longer do those things myself? Am I that petty and spiteful?"
"Judging from my own experience," said Thamalon, "yes." He grimaced. "No, never mind, I shouldn't have said that. Your coldness toward me has no bearing on your performance as a mother. Actually, I believe you always meant well in your dealings with all the children, Tazi included. What's more, you were right to think she needs some reining in. Eventually, her penchant for theft is likely to land her in serious trouble."
"You may be right," she said, picking her way around a mound of filthy slush. "After all, that's what happened to me." They walked a few more paces. "I've been thinking about what you said before. You were right. I couldn't emulate my grand-niece's warm, gentle nature for very long. Once we were married, I had to change, in order to push you away."
Thamalon laughed an ugly little laugh. "You don't have to keep reiterating that you found me repulsive. I've already gotten the message."
"That's not what I meant." They strode past a furniture maker's factory whining and banging with the sounds of lathes, saws, and hammers. Shamur had to raise her voice a bit to make herself heard over the racket. "You didn't repel me. You were sweet and loving, and that was the problem. I realized the affection wasn't actually for me but for a dead girl, that your fondness would turn to rage and loathing if you ever discovered I was an impostor, and somehow that made our closeness too strange, difficult, and even painful to bear."
"I'm sure that had you revealed your true identity in the first year or two," he said, "I would have reacted as you say. Later on, I would still have been dismayed, but by that time you were an integral part of my life and the mother of our children. Perhaps, once I recovered from the shock, it wouldn't actually have mattered.
Since you never found it in your heart to trust me, we'll never know."
Shamur didn't know what to say to that. She was relieved when they rounded a corner and the Scab came into view, recalling them to the task at hand.
Like much of Selgaunt, the Scab was built largely of brownstone. Some people claimed that the sandstone blocks that had gone to construct it possessed an odd, rusty tint that made them precisely the color of clotted blood. Others maintained that the walls in the rookery were the same hue as those found elsewhere, but that fanciful minds perceived them differently because of the area's sinister reputation. For while the city had other dangerous neighborhoods, the Scab was generally regarded as the worst. A maze of narrow, twisting alleys and decaying tenements, it was home to the poorest of the poor and every variety of vice and depravity. Shamur had heard that the Scepters never entered the rookery except in force, and even then with the greatest reluctance, which she supposed made it a desirable haven for the Quippers. "Not an especially charming sight, is it?" Thamalon said. "Not to my eye," she agreed. "Watch yourself in there. We mustn't look nervous or otherwise out of place."
"Don't worry about me," he replied. "Unlike my father, I never made common cause with pirates or bandits. But in the bad old days, when my fortunes were at low ebb, and scoundrels of all stripes assumed one lone, friendless trader would prove an easy mark, it helped me to learn to treat with them on their own level. Shall we?"