She strolled toward Fortune and the Tenamet; it would make sense for her to seek employment in the boutiques of the city’s wealthiest district, or perhaps the eating and drinking houses of the place where Seranthians went for pleasure. Heading along the Grand Boulevard also gave Carla a chance to see if anyone was following her. She’d caught the sidelong looks from Alise, Killian’s mother; the woman was definitely keeping an eye on her.
Carla pretended to read the inscription on one of the statues lining the side of the Grand Boulevard closest to the park. It was difficult to establish whether any of the multitudes walking along the avenue were watching her, but she was trained at these things, trained and talented. Looking back at the palace, Carla continued to wait. Anyone following her would have to loiter when they were uncertain where she was going. Carla was satisfied, for now, but she couldn’t let down her guard.
She turned back into the warren of streets and alleys when she reached Fortune. So far, her actions hadn’t given away any purpose other than a young woman looking for work.
Carla passed a series of dressmakers and resisted the urge to glance in. She loved fine dresses and had a wonderful wardrobe, but her current guise had her wearing basic clothing. She’d chosen this set carefully and had some nicely snug bodices and fashionably short skirts, but she knew she could be much more beautiful in a lovely dress. As always, it was a matter of striking the right balance, in this case between poor and pretty, careworn and clean. She needed to evoke the right amount of sympathy, yet not be pathetic. She needed to be attractive.
Next Carla walked past a row of manses, and now she was truly envious. One day she wanted to have the biggest manse in Seranthia, but though she sometimes spent time in the company of Seranthia’s lords, she didn’t want to achieve her ambition—to become rich—because of a marriage to some powerful man. She wanted to do it on her own. Carla shuddered at the thought of being given an allowance and told how she should spend her time. Nothing was more valuable than freedom.
Carla felt absolutely no remorse at using Killian. She supposed that in some strange locked-up part of her mind, she blamed him for her father’s death. She knew that didn’t quite make sense, which was also strange to her: that she could think that and still feel the same. Shouldn’t logic prevail over emotion? Carla thought of herself as a logical person. But one couldn’t be perfect all the time.
Savory aromas wafted toward her as she walked past a pastry shop. Carla entered and ordered a scroll, sitting down and taking her time to enjoy it. She liked the fancy food they served in the palace, but sometimes simple food was just as good.
She’d chosen the shop well, and she knew that any watcher would have to keep an eye on the shop from the street. Carla exited, and straight away she saw him.
He was good, to have escaped her notice so far. A professional, obviously. His tailored clothing—rich enough to get him into most places, but not ostentatious enough to stand out—gave that away. Even his face was bland, with two little moustaches his only distinguishing feature.
Looking down at the ground, as if disappointed by the results of a luckless job hunt, Carla continued into the Tenamet.
She passed through a section of storehouses with spiked fences, quiet streets where a young girl needed to keep her wits about her, and pretended to scan the alleys fearfully, though Carla knew this area well and could handle herself; her search was more to keep an eye on her follower. Then the number of passersby increased, and though it was early evening, revelers began to fill the streets and alleys in numbers.
Raucous music blared from doorways, and lopsided fa?ades in need of new paint invited anyone with gilden to enjoy a meal, a few mugs of beer, or something more. Carla entered The Gilded Remedy and waited for the space of twenty breaths and then exited again, once more looking dejected. A few doors down she walked into The Hornet’s Nest and nodded at the barkeeper. Giving him the sign, Carla went to the door at the back and knocked three times, paused, and then knocked twice more.
The door opened, and a huge man with a spiked iron club looked her up and down. Carla gave him the sign, and he made way. “Just passing through,” she murmured.
This was where she would lose her pursuer.
Carla descended a set of stairs and walked along a narrow hall, passing doorway after doorway; she knew each contained a bed and little else. Some were open, and shone the wan red light of faded nightlamps in lukewarm invitation, whereas others were closed, grunting sounds coming from within.
Carla reached the door at the back and nodded at the guard. He recognized her, but she made the sign anyway, and he pushed the rear door open, revealing a dark alleyway.
Carla wrinkled her nose at the stench and stepped around the piles of refuse. The alleyway popped her out onto the streets again, a block away from where she’d started, and now she hurried, taking a series of turns and then finally breathing freely as she left the Tenamet behind altogether.