diverted her eyes, uncomfortable.
âIâI donât know.â
âFair enough,â the man said, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth. âWell, if weâve moved on to the stage of the evening where we make formal introductions, allow me to present myself. I am Temujin, master of fakements, grifts, dodges, and cons.â
When, after a long silence, Gamine didnât answer, the man went on.
âThat means, in short, that I am a confidence man, a trickster, one who plies his trade by parting other men from their hard-won coins. I was born poor, to a mother who never had two coins to string together. She worked as a cook in a roadside inn and, from the travelers who stopped by there, I picked up enough of the patter of merchants and bureaucrats that as an adult I could pass myself off as belonging to one of the wealthier classes. When I was a young man, I used to pull a con where Iâd claim to be the only surviving child of a horrible accident, the last son of a merchant family, and work the Grand Trunk from one end of the Tianfei Valley to the other with that dodge. As I got older, though, I couldnât pull off the gaff, and had to fall to other, meaner pursuits. Now I pull short cons on merchants on the road, posing as a trader in exotic goods who needs just a few coins to get my goods out of hock, promising that Iâll share the haul with the hapless mark. Things like that. Carrying greater risk than the more charitable âdonationsâ I got as a younger man, since Iâm now forced to promise goods and riches I canât deliver, but I do what I must to survive.â He paused and took a sip of wine. âWhich is not to say that Iâd be forced to fall so low as to be a cutpurse, foyst, cracksman, or footpad. Iâll not earn my dayâs wages by violence or destruction of property, no sir. What I take from my fellow man, I get by the power of my own voice. I talk their wealth out of their purse and into mine. And I know of no nobler pursuit.â
Gamine could only nod, trying to take it all in.
âAnd you, my dear?â Temujin said. âWhat profession do you call your own?â
Gamine chewed on a bite of chicken and swallowed it before answering.
âI was once a beggar, and then was a student, and now it would seem that I am a beggar once more.â
âNot a very good one, mind you. Meaning no disrespect, of course.â Temujin smiled and refilled his cup of wine. âWell, bung your eye!â He drained the cup in one swallow and poured himself another.
Â
Gamine and Temujin shared a room that night, bought with the coins sheâd gotten from the bureaucrat. She was happy to be well fed and out of the elements, with a blanket across her and a roof over her head, but it seemed that Temujin was after something more, besides.
Once the lights were dimmed, Gamine lay on her sleeping mat, staring up at the darkness, listening to the sounds of Temujin settling on the other side of the floor. Her blanket was threadbare and thin, but the inn was warm and dry, at least compared with the cold cobblestones of the city streets.
Gamine heard Temujin rustling on the far side of the room. He coughed, an unpleasant rattling noise at the back of his throat, and then spat his mucus onto the floorboards.
âExcuse you,â Gamine said absently, and closed her eyes, drifting gradually off to sleep.
She was awoken suddenly by the feel of rough hands on her arms and shoulders, and a weight across her legs and stomach.
âWhat are you doing?â Gamine sputtered.
âDonât fight it, little one. Itâll be over soon.â Temujinâs breath was hot in her ear and smelled heavily of wine.
Gamine fell back on years of self-defense instructions. She reached out and grabbed Temujinâs hand, bending his pinky finger back at a vicious ninety-degree angle. Then, as Temujin started to howl, she slid to one side, and