The poet’s street looked no nicer by morning. Same stupid row houses, same slumping newsstand on the corner, same pox of printed tulips on every window’s curtains.
Izza sat against the wall south of the newsstand, hands cupped in her lap. Once in a while she glanced up and down the road with the unfixed, vaguely hopeful expression she wore when begging. Traffic was light, but she got a sliver or two of soul before Cat bought a paper and sat down beside her, cross-legged, paging to the funnies.
“We don’t have these where I’m from,” Cat said. “Surprises a lot of folks when they visit Alt Coulumb. You’d think, big city, big papers, but it ain’t necessarily so.” Her accent slipped into a drawl at the last, as if she were quoting something.
“You’re spoiling my act.”
“You’re not here for the act, kid.” Cat turned the page. “I like this one.”
Izza looked. “It’s not funny.”
“No, it is. It’s funny because their dog, see, it’s really big, so it eats more than the rest of the family.”
“That’s not funny.”
Cat chuckled. “Guess not.” She set down the comics and picked up another section. “Looks like Zolin’s out the next couple of games for giving Kasadoc a concussion. Unnecessary violence, which what that means in a game of ullamal I do not know. Also the Oxulhat police seem to have found three kilos’ worth of dreamdust in her luggage. Doesn’t look good for the Sea Lords. Gods, I love sports. All the excitement of real news, only it doesn’t matter so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting a grip on current events. What are you doing here?”
“Begging.”
“On this sleepy street? Houses that way, apartments that way, residential for three blocks on both sides. And this part of town isn’t exactly high-rent. Most of the folks who live here leave for work before sunrise. Not a choice spot.”
“I remember a month ago,” Izza said, but Cat interrupted her.
“When I was flat on my back unconscious. Good times.”
“When you couldn’t find your way around this island to save your life.”
“I can learn, you know. Give a girl some credit.”
“You’re not here for the paper.”
“Well,” she said. “You’re not here to beg.”
“You warned me to stay away from Margot last night.”
“And you stormed out and didn’t come back to the warehouse afterward. I had to venture out to scrounge up my own supper.” She laughed. “I figured I struck a chord. Which meant you were as likely to be here as anywhere else.”
“I spoke to him,” Izza said. “He recognized me. He asked about the Blue Lady. I told him the truth.”
Cat nodded, that nod people gave when they had something to say but didn’t want to say it yet. “And?”
“He wanted more, just like the kids. And I still want to get out of here.” She shot a hopeful glance at a passerby, a bearded man wearing boxer shorts, a bathrobe, sandals, and dark glasses. The man dug into his robe pocket, withdrew a folded slip of paper, and dropped it into her cupped hands. Izza said, “Thank you,” waited until he moved on, and looked at what he’d left: an expired library card.
The man waved to Izza from the corner, grinning. She flipped him off in return.
“What did you do when he asked?”
Izza tore the library card into thin strips. “I left him.”
“You’re here,” Cat said, “because you don’t know if you made the right choice.”
Izza waited for the man to leave before she replied. “That’s part of it.”
“What’s the rest?”
“I told you Margot’s name, yesterday, while we talked. I never gave you his address.”
Cat folded the sports section and laid it on top of the funnies. “Plenty of possible explanations for that.”
“You recognized his name. You know where he lives. What’s going on here that I don’t know?”
“Begging’s the wrong line of work for you. Should have been a cop. Or a spy.”
“I never had a chance to choose.”
Cat leaned back against the wall. Her skull met brick with a heavy sound. She closed her eyes, laced her fingers together, and squeezed. “Look. I came here because the local priests don’t let other powers near Kavekana’ai. If you’re on the run from gods and Deathless Kings, this is a great place to hide. That suited me fine: I could lie low, get clean, and leave. Thing is, my old … well. My people back onshore have a, let’s call it a professional interest in this island. There’s not much crime here by mainlander standards because of the Penitents, but the lack of gods and extradition treaties makes Kavekana a spa for all the better kinds of criminal. Those guys who live out on West Claw, puttering around in sandals and flower print shirts, drinking rum punch and playing bad golf—you ever wonder how they got the soulstuff to support that lifestyle?”
“What does that have to do with Margot?”
“He attracted our attention, back onshore. A bard like him, a nobody, a third-rate scrivener, moves to this island of all places and suddenly produces top-flight work. Inspired stuff. That’s a surprise, and surprises are suspicious. I recognized his name when you said it.”
“And remembered his address.”
“I’m good at my job.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Izza said. “He writes a few poems, and gets the gods’ attention?”
“Like I said. It’s hard for mainlanders to learn what happens here. The local priests are thorough, not to mention the Penitents, for proof of which see my ribs and shoulder. So we used to flag anything unusual that happened here, stuff that wouldn’t attract attention anywhere else. Even money was on him being an Iskari spy.”
“He’s a poet.”
“Means nothing. Deathless Kings built a whole literary magazine in Chartegnon back during the God Wars as an intel front.”
“No,” Izza said. “I mean, you haven’t seen his room. I have. He’s a poet. And a hungry one.”
“If you say so.” Cat stood, and Izza had to squint against the brightness of the sky behind her. This would be a hot day. “Yesterday you said I was afraid. You’re right. I’m hiding. I don’t want the kind of attention this guy attracts, and you don’t, either. If I were you, I’d draw the line here. I would have drawn it earlier.”
“I owe him,” Izza said. “I tried to pay it off yesterday, but I only made things worse.”
“I know the feeling. Just think about what your debts might cost you.” Her face twisted as if she’d just swallowed something foul. “I hate the way I sound. This cloak-and-dagger crap. One more reason to get out of the gods’ game while you can, kid.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Being so close to this guy makes my skin crawl. Shouldn’t have come here. Wouldn’t have, but for you.”
“Thanks,” Izza said.
Cat glanced up and down the empty street. “I’ll see you back at home. Think about what I said, please. And watch out.”
“Okay.”
“You can keep the newspaper.” Cat looked as if she were about to say something more, then shook her head, hooked her thumbs through her belt loops, and walked away, shoulders slumped. She glanced back before she turned the corner. Izza thought she saw a flash of teeth between the woman’s lips—the hint of a smile, maybe, at the fact Izza was still watching. Or else a trick of distance and light.
She was too far away to say for certain.
The sun rose, and the day began to burn.