Free Valour and Vanity by Mary Robinette Kowal

beyond her expectations.
    The tailor pulled a piece of paper from his tablet and scribbled a name upon it. “The usual course is to have your measurements taken at the modista of your choice and then I make them to fit. Signora Bartalotti does lovely work, and we have cooperated before.”
    Jane dropped a curtsy in thanks. This would also solve the problem of how to replenish her own wardrobe without taking further advantage of Signor Sanuto’s kindness.
    With the formalities completed, the Vincents returned to the street, cane and a small package of stockings and other inexpressibles in hand.
    Sighing, Vincent shook his head. “You understand that I am committed now to two more visits.”
    “It did not seem such a hardship as you made it out.”
    “The man knows his craft, so that makes it easier.”
    “Hm.” Jane arched her eyebrow at his evasion. “Was there any trouble with our letter of credit?”
    “None at all.” He rubbed his hair. “It was deuced uncomfortable to be without resources.”
    “Do you think we will have any trouble without our letters of introduction?”
    “I hope not.” They turned off the main street and went in search of a glassmaker.

 
    Five
    Interview with a Glassmaker
     
    Without their notes, which had been lost with the ship, it took the Vincents some time to find one of the glass factories. Working from memory and directions from a street performer, they eventually made their way to a narrow street, little more than an alley. It led towards a little courtyard formed where two of the buildings were set back from the street. A pair of stable doors led out of the building to their left. The small sign over the doors said PIETRO NENCI: VETRI D’ARTE ALL’INSEGNA DI S. GIOVANNI—PIETRO NENCI: ART GLASS UNDER THE BANNER OF SAINT GIOVANNI .
    Vincent tried the door, which was locked. He knocked on it. Some moments later it opened, and a slender young man with a heavy leather apron stepped out. Jane caught a glimpse of the glowing yellow maw of a glass furnace through the door before the man pulled it shut behind him. He addressed them in Italian, clearly recognising that they were not local.
    Vincent replied in the same language, “Could Signor Nenci spare a moment? We have a commission we wish to discuss with him.”
    The young man seemed entirely indifferent. “Who is calling?”
    “My name is Sir David Vincent.” He hesitated as though considering adding more of his credentials, but checked himself. Though they had originally carried letters of introduction from His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, Vincent had a natural modesty that would prevent him from claiming the acquaintance without proof.
    Shrugging, the young man left them and slipped through the door again, opening it only wide enough to enter himself. He left them standing in the street.
    Nearly a quarter hour passed before a stout man in the rough linen of a labourer opened the door and stepped out into the street. He, too, pulled the door shut behind him. “Yes?”
    “I am Sir David Vincent. This is my wife, Lady Vincent.” He paused, waiting for the man to introduce himself as well, but the glassmaker simply scratched the stubble on his chin. “We want to commission you for a project that is somewhat unusual in nature.”
    “Leave a drawing with my assistant, and we’ll get back to you about price.”
    “The unusual aspect requires us to be present while it is being made.”
    Nenci squinted at them and scratched his chin again. “Happy to make any design you want, but you can’t watch.”
    “It is crucial that we—”
    Nenci barked in laughter. “Bold, aren’t you. No.” He turned to go.
    “Pardon?”
    Barely turning his head, he replied, “I don’t take kindly to spies trying to steal my trade secrets.”
    Vincent inhaled sharply. “You have mistaken our intent.”
    “Have I? You are English. We’ve already lost enough trade to you and those cursed hacks in Bohemia who think they can drop in