Free Path of Smoke by Bailey Cunningham

purse.”
    Morgan rolled her eyes. “Just lift up your tunica and be done with it.”
    â€œWhat sort of crass world are you living in? Do archers simply grunt and lift their tunicae whenever they meet each other on the battlements?”
    She gave him a light shove. “Just go. Be creative in the face of adversity.”
    He smoothed his hair and approached the L-shaped counter. The ale-wife was pouring hot chickpeas into a clay vat.
    â€œLet me help you with that,” he offered.
    â€œYou’d only smash your fingers.” She smoothly replaced the vat, which fit into a round opening in the counter. “What’s your pleasure?”
    â€œI could name several.”
    She gave him a flat look. “What do you want to drink? We’ve got spiced wine, hippocrene, and barley beer so thick you could balance a knife in it.”
    â€œI’m actually looking for some information.”
    Her expression didn’t change. “I don’t know what cheap scrolls you’ve been reading, but I run a caupona. I’m too busy to fuck about with intrigue. Go to court if you’re looking for that.”
    â€œI can respect that you’re busy—”
    â€œDrink something, or go away, nemo.”
    The insult stung him, but only slightly. “Fine. I’ll have—”
    She’d already poured him some wine from the amphora. “One maravedi.”
    Babieca reached into his purse. This investigation was growing more expensive by the moment, and the whole point had been to avoid spending anything. He handed over the coin, and the ale-wife snatched it quickly, as a bird might snatch a seed from your hand.
    â€œEnjoy,” she said, and started to walk away.
    â€œWait. Please.”
    She turned, now looking annoyed. “Fortuna preserve us, boy, is this your first drink? Just drain the cup, and I’ll get you another. It’s not so difficult.”
    He cleared his throat. “As I was saying before, it isn’t intrigue that I’m looking for. It’s a young artifex. A woman, about my age, with red hair.”
    â€œI see a lot of women. She doesn’t sound familiar.”
    â€œShe’s Naucrate’s daughter.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a significant name, boy. Don’t throw it around unless you can prove what you claim.”
    â€œDid you hear about the bee that nearly killed Basilissa Pulcheria?”
    â€œThat’s old news.”
    â€œWell, the bee was Naucrate’s design. She gave it to her daughter, and then a fat spado took it from her. Is this starting to sound more plausible?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œWe need to talk to her. I’ve seen her in this tavern, building birds.”
    â€œYou’ve just described half of our patrons.”
    He touched her hand, lightly. “Let’s talk about this upstairs.”
    The ale-wife looked at him curiously for a moment. Then she burst into laughter, sliding her hand away. “This was your plan? To seduce me?”
    Babieca struggled to maintain his composure. “I assure you, it was no jest.”
    â€œAnd I assure you, fuckwit, that your tiny cock holds no interest for me.”
    â€œReally? You haven’t even seen what it can do.”
    She shook her head and returned to pouring drinks. “I’ve no interest in whatever games you’ve taught the little brain to play. I chase the velvet, not the fur.”
    â€œBut I’m not a—” He bit down on the word
fur
as realization dawned. “Oh. You’re in search of a different type of refreshment altogether.”
    For a moment, she looked at Fel, who was standing by the door. Babieca knew that look very well. Then she returned to her task. “No time, anyhow,” she said. “Someone’s puked in the necessary, and after I clean that up—”
    â€œLeave that to me,” Babieca said smoothly. “If you give me one moment to speak with