"A friend of mine is staying there," the girl said from beneath the lip of her bonnet.
"You ever play One-and-Thirty," he asked. "It's mostly luck. Even women can play it."
Ignoring his curiosity, Gloria jabbed a fingertip on the spine of the page. "She's a dancer. Ask the bartender where the dancer's room is and slide it beneath the door for her."
"I might be able to find a pick-up game when I go."
"It's urgent. It's very urgent," Gloria said.
But because there was coin involved, the courier eagerly complied to deliver -- hoping he might win a gamble or two in the process.
Jig,
I am mo st concernt for you haveing left so quickley after our fine day. I aught to tale you that the ve ry strange women who we s aw at the kamereta, I saw her speaking to a man which looked quite like her and that from my ecsperiance people who choose to dress alike often share simi lar fowl intents if any are bared at all, so with haste you shoult come see me at the Broken Dagger tonight, for if there is poor-natured intrige afoot sorely there are people who I know that may protect you,
Your friend,
Scarlet Glass (G.W.)
"And when you've done that, I would ask you to deliver this as well." Another letter, meant for an entirely different recipient altogether. She pushed it at him with a tarnished penny wedged between thumb and page.
"For the Lady Warden? That new one?"
"The same. Will you?"
"Sure," he said. "Sure."
Lady WARDEN,
First I shoult congratale you on your newest position, Lord Treadwell will be a fine assosiate and I thi nk you will per form a many great good things. But for now I wish your attention to a mat ter of personnel importants: I have very recently come into the company of a friend who I believe may be hounded by a particuler set of bother some shadows, if time allows would you be willing to meet with me at the Broken Dagger tonight that you may speak to her and be sure there is no danger, I should think the LADY WARDEN's presents would diswayed any untoward practises she may suffer at their hands,
Your friend,
Glour'eya Wynsee
* * * *
At the Broken Dagger, she sipped a mug of twice-boiled water and, in lieu of the silence, spoke to the only other patron in the inn: the bulging swell in her abdomen, a nameless, faceless thing that showed like a pilfered melon underneath the folds of her dull, earth-colored skirt. Day had started to creep toward its simmering end. The Glass Sun glared a fading orange beam across the floorboards.
"I have to -- to think for two, now," she whispered. "That's what Menna Mercy said. The wellsmith. She's going to be there when you decide it's time."
She drank her water. She waited.