“You have a discerning eye!” he said, his hands moving with enthusiasm as he spoke. “This ring is a rare find! A singular and scarce, splendiferous spangle! Pure gold and the finest of silver!”
I doubted that it was real silver and gold at all.
“You deserve such a treasure! A dazzling delectation for a delightful lady!” he went on with exaggerated flourish, his tongue twisting with glee over his descriptions. “For you, today, I will cut the price in half. Ten gralos!”
I smiled and shook my head. “Not today—”
“But wait!” he said, grabbing my hand. “You must try it on! It was made for your exquisite hand.” He was a short, stout man, his face cheerful and round-cheeked with lines etched around his eyes.
“Your tongue is golden sir, and your words alluring, but I cannot afford to spend coin on a luxury like this.”
He slipped the ring on my finger. “There. It’s yours! Surely you have something to offer me in return?”
His methods were certainly different from merchants in the jehendra. He seemed as eager to engage as he was to sell. I smiled, thinking for a moment. “I can only offer you this as a testament to your mastery of persuasion. A riddle crafted just for you.”
His eyes lit up and his long wiry brows twitched with delight. He waited with anticipation. I added extra theatrics as a bonus just for him.
“I have no fingers, but can pick you apart,
“I’m not a healer, but can mend a heart,
“I amuse and hush, deceive and astound,
“And there’s no sword forged that can cut me down.
“With rosy enticement, and pouty appeal,
“I can twist and shape and pour forth zeal,
“I am made of snare, and wit, and gold,
“And you, kind sir,” I said as I held the ring back out to him, “add a touch of bold.”
With my last phrase, he clapped his hands with jubilation. “Words?” he cackled. “Yes, words!” he said, spouting the answer again. “The joy of my trade!” He curled my fingers back around the ring in my palm. “A fair payment, bought and paid for.”
The more I refused the more he insisted, and I finally thanked h
im for his generosity and moved on. I hadn’t gotten far when someone fell into step beside me, someone as welcome as a flea on a scalp.
“I’ve never seen that old curd quite so enamored with anything besides his own wares.”
It was Paxton.
“He’s a logophile.”
Paxton clucked and wrinkled his nose. “That sounds nasty.”
I was pleased that, courtesy of the Royal Scholar, I knew a word that the very polished Paxton didn’t know.
“What do you want, Paxton?” I asked, hoping to be rid of him as quickly as possible.
He started to link his arm with mine. “Ah. Careful there. Only if you wish to lose it,” I said, eyeing his arm.
He glanced at the dagger at my side, then grinned. “We’re practically cousins. I thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other. Be friends.”
“I think I know enough about you already. I got quite an eyeful the first time I saw you.”
“At the funeral? Emotions were high. In runs in the Ballenger blood.”