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"Mind if we pop in here a moment?" Zillah said.
She paused in the middle of the narrow little lane, indicating with her head towards the entrance to an alleyway, darker and narrower than the one they were currently traversing on foot.
Edvard was not overly familiar with this part of Volisport. It was a warren of twisting streets lined with crowded row houses that was adjacent to the harbour district. It was also quite near the site of their latest criminal venture, which he and Zillah had carried off very neatly and without a hitch earlier that very afternoon.
Well, almost without a hitch.
They were both walking upright, neither one clutching at any part of themselves in a telling manner, and no one was currently chasing them. There was the satisfying weight of several coin in his pocket, and a matching amount stashed away somewhere about Zillah's person. So, disregarding the 'without a hitch' part, the day had been, all things considered, a resounding success.
And as he was caught up in that heady afterglow of a job survived, he was perfectly willing to oblige Zillah if she had some personal business to attend to, even if her objective lay somewhere down that uninviting path.
"Certainly," he said, after not more than a moment's pause.
"Great. I just want to pick something up since I'm in the neighbourhood."
He followed her into the shadowy environ, just as he had been following her since they had begun making their way home. Zillah, fortunately and conveniently, was familiar with this part of Volisport.
They had rather different backgrounds, he and Zillah. And different skills, areas of expertise, knowledge, and so on. They were really altogether quite different people. But different was not the same as disparate. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Edvard sometimes thought that they complemented each other well, in fact, as different as they were.
Professionally speaking.
He had been thinking that more and more often of late.
"So what is our errand on this fine afternoon?" he said, choosing to ignore the smell rising from the gutter - he had lived all his life in Volisport; one got used to it - and instead enjoy this stroll with his friend and colleague as the hazy afternoon gave way to a decidedly mildewy evening.
Zillah glanced at him sideways. After a moment she replied, "There's a shop down here. Mind your step."
He looked down just in time to avoid walking through a large puddle of - "What on Geth is that?"
"Anyone ever told you it's best not to ask questions you don't want to know the answer to?"
Zillah strode on, unruffled. Edvard, slightly ruffled but determined not to show it, tugged his waistcoat straight and quickened his pace to match hers.
"Usually I would say I don't believe in such a notion. Any question worth asking is worth the knowledge that comes with answering it. But... some exceptions might be made." The puddle had had a disturbingly reddish tinge to it. "And after all, rigidity of thought is the thinking man's worst enemy."
"That so?" Zillah said.
"Mm, yes, as I always say -"
"Here we are. Hello, Millie, how are you?"
Zillah, with a wave of greeting, stopped in front of what might generously be described as a market stall. It might more accurately be described as an elderly woman sitting amongst a few ancient barrels, crates, and mouldering sacks.
"Zillah, my girl!" the old woman responded with vigour. "Well, well, I never. It's been a good while since I've seen you round here. How's your mother?"
"Oh, you know mum, she's doing all right. And yourself?"
"As you can see." She spread her hands widely, her grin showing more gum than teeth. "Better than ever. And who's this fellow?"
"Oh, right. This is Edvard. Friend of mine."
"How do you do, madam," he nodded politely. He peered down at a jumble of bottles in the crates nearest his feet, growing curious as to the contents.
"Listen, have you got any of that good seathorn oil in at the moment?" Zillah was saying. "Bought some the other day up round where I'm staying at these days and it just wasn't the same."
"Well, now, I can't speak for other merchants and their standards but I always says you can go by their wares and you know I've always got only the very best. Yes, only the very best oils and greases you'll find at my establishment. I think - yes, here you go." She dug up a dark bottle and passed it to Zillah, who took out the stopper and raised it for an appreciative sniff.
"It's the best leather oil in the city," she said, seeing his interest.
"Ah." He nodded in understanding.
Zillah did have a penchant for leather. He imagined her using such oils for making supple the knuckle wraps she favoured for punching, and tending to the various straps and belts that accented and enhanced her usual attire.
After imagining that for several seconds he was startled to find himself being addressed by the old woman.
"And what about you, young man, are you in the market for some of Millie's grease? You've come to the right place. Old Millie will get you all greased up quick as you like."
Zillah frowned. "Millie."
"Oh but he's one of them tinkerers, isn't he? Knew it as soon as I saw him. Has that look about him. Bet he wants grease. They all do, them lot."
"Why yes, madam, you are entirely correct," he told the canny old woman. "Although as for your wares, really it depends on the classification and quality of grease. As a man of machines, of course I know the value of a good lubricant."
"It's as I always says. You can never be too slippery."
"Indeed, madam. I have often been known to say the very same thing."
Beside him, Zillah coughed. He turned to her. "I knew you had some interesting connections, but a reliable source of grease and oils could be quite useful to my ongoing innoventions. How fortunate I accompanied you today."
He spent the next several minutes inspecting the various wares on offer and made several purchases that pleased him greatly.
"Well, it's getting late, the others will be expecting us back," Zillah said as Millie gave him his change and a complimentary sack to carry the numerous bottles and parcels.
"Yes, of course. Thank you, madam," he told the proprietor, and looked to Zillah. "Well, let's be off, then. I'm all set."
He turned to leave. Zillah grasped his elbow and turned him a neat 180 degrees. "That way, actually. Thanks Millie. Be back some time or other."
"And happy I'll be to see you, my girl. Oh, and here, take this. Free sample." She held out a small vial to Zillah, who took it and regarded it with some suspicion.
"Isn't this-?"
"Some of my best stuff right there. Enjoy." The old woman looked over at him and chuckled.
"Don't know what you think I'll be doing with this, but fine. Free sample, I guess." Zillah shrugged and tucked the vial away in a pocket.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something, dearie. Now, give my regards to your mother, won't you?"
"Yes, Millie."
"And be sure to bring this nice young man of yours back again next time."
"Oh, he isn't -"
"He's got such a nice face, very handsome. And so polite! Oh, you've found yourself a good one, dearie, your mother must be over the moon."
"Yeah, all right." Zillah rolled her eyes in his direction. "Bye, then. Take care."
Her hand was back on his elbow, this time in order to tow him away with her. He would have followed her quite of his own volition, but her strong grip on his arm didn't actually bother him, either. He made no attempt to shake it off.
"Old bird goes on a bit, doesn't she?" Zillah muttered. "Don't mind her."
He hadn't minded. Had Zillah? Come to think of it, she was pulling him with quite some zeal down the street.
"I say, Zillah, everything all right?"
"What? Me? Yeah, fine. Why? Are you?"
"Well."
She glanced back at him, her eyes landing on her hand and its tight grip on his arm. She looked ahead once more, but she did slow down a little. And she released his arm. "Just probably time we were getting back to Eleanor's, yeah?"
He nodded. "Certainly."
They fell into step side by side and proceeded onwards together at a not exactly leisurely - although thankfully less breakneck - pace out of the claustrophobic network of alleys and out onto a wide, bustling thoroughfare where they had some hope of waving down a passing cab.
"Millie's just a talker, that's all, and a gossipmonger, and she would have said all that no matter who I turned up with. So don't even worry about it," Zillah said, rather abruptly, as they paused together on the footpath, blinking in the dimming light.
His brow furrowed. "About what, exactly?"
"Nothing. I mean, it was nonsense, wasn't it?"
"You mean the things that purveyor of fine oils and grease was saying about me?"
"Yes. Utter rubbish."
"I see."
They walked on in silence again for a spell. Several times Zillah raised her arm to signal one of the cabbies making their way along the busy street in amongst the other traffic. They all to a one ignored her and drove on by.
"Just... I'm just... Do indulge my curiosity, if you will, Zillah, there's a sport. Which part, precisely, was rubbish, me being nice and polite and handsome, or-?"
Zillah shrugged. "I mean, just all of it, really. No one part in particular."
"Oh."
"So don't worry about it, is what I'm saying."
"I mean, I wasn't."
"Good. Me neither. Oi! Come on!" She waved her hand furiously. A rude gesture was made. "Blimmin' cabbies, am I right?"
"Yes, quite."
He'd often thought some kind of superior signalling method for hailing one of the city's plethora of goat-driven vehicles might be useful. In a notebook somewhere he was sure he had some preliminary designs he should really dig up and perhaps work on in time for the next annual Cab Con, where it was sure to be a hit. But not even the thought of attending that most exciting of events with less nefarious intentions than the last one was enough to distract him from the current issue at hand.
It just seemed, somehow, to be a very important matter to clarify.
"You know, I'm not sure it was entirely rubbish," he said.
Zillah was busy looking up and down the street for the next cloud of approaching goat dust. But on hearing his words she stilled. "Beg your pardon?"
"Come to think of it, one might say the old girl was right on the money."
Zillah stared at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then suddenly she rolled her eyes. "Oh. What, she called you polite. Well, fine, yes, you have good manners when you want to. Speak prettily and all that. Fine."
"And I believe she called my face nice. Handsome, even."
Zillah looked at him then. Her face screwed up as she considered him, almost as if she was inspecting his appearance for the first time. "Well, I mean, sure. You're not bad, I suppose. I don't know, it's subjective, that kind of thing, isn't it?"
She turned back to the traffic, and held her arm very determinedly aloft, as if she would hail a cab this time or die in the attempt.
"Didn't she also," Edvard paused to clear his throat, "ahem, well, I think she might have referred to me as your nice young man."
"Did she? Well. I mean, like I said. Talks a lot of rubbish, old Millie."
"And what if I were?"
"Were what? Nice?"
"Aren't I nice?"
"What, then, young? I mean, you're not exactly old, are you?"
He couldn't have said for the life of him if she was being deliberately obtuse at this moment. The uncertainty was appealing, somehow. He did enjoy a hint of intrigue. And of course he adored a puzzle.
Zillah was usually such a straightforward person, and he found that appealing, too. But right this instant, he was caught, fascinated, by the idea that she might be teasing him.
"No, I'm not exactly old."
"All right. Then..." She glanced at him over her shoulder, quickly, then back to the street. "So, do you mean the other bit?"
Staring at the side of her head, he noticed her dark hair was not entirely in place, loose strands escaping their bounds here and there. She had punched a fair few people earlier that day, it was understandable. And not at all unattractive, he mused, as he worked up the courage to go on.
"Yes. What if that wasn't nonsense? What if I was..."
"What?"
"Yours?"
Anyone else would have long since dropped their hailing arm, the muscles tiring after being held aloft. Not Zillah. Her pose was solid as a rock, her muscles unfailing, arm still outstretched.
And just as it seemed like she might answer his question, a pair of goats drew up beside them in a clatter of hooves and poorly-oiled carriage springs. Here was a cabbie in need of Millie's services, Edvard couldn't help noting as his stomach dropped into his feet at the distinct lack of a response from Zillah.
Instead of saying that yes, of course, she would very much like it if he was hers, Zillah let her arm fall to her side and gave the cabbie the address of the townhouse in Brightstone.
Sitting on either side of the bench seat in the back of the carriage there was a good foot and a half of space - along with an oppressively tense silence - between them for much of the journey.
Entirely of his own doing, of course.
He had seen she was embarrassed by Millie's words and instead of letting it drop - which would certainly have been the polite thing to do - he simply had to take things entirely too far.
"Apologies, old girl," he said, finally managing to make his voice work properly as they left the harbour district far behind and were moving on into the wealthier parts of the city. "Don't know what got into me. Let's forget about it. Oh, do you see that there? The streetlamp on the corner is blown out. Wonder why? Not very reliable, are they, those damn Astor -"
"So do you think it would be a good idea, then?" Zillah interrupted. "That whole nice young man thing? Or were you just wondering about it? As in a hypothetical. Because you said what if, not would you like to. For a declaration - if it was a declaration - well, a bit wishy-washy, is all I'm saying."
He stared at her. She was busily inspecting her fingernails. "I say. The only thing wishy-washy here is the paltry light emitting from the third-rate Astor brand street lamps."
He watched her roll her eyes before finally meeting his gaze head on. "Right. Do you want to try that again without name-dropping your innovention nemesis? I've got no interest in being a fifth wheel on that whole business."
"Um." He cleared his throat, finding the interior of the cab to be very warm all of a sudden, the temperature seeming to rise as high as his hopes. "Well, would you perhaps care for me to be - that is, should you care to, if you were of an inclination... Possibly I might escort you some evening or other somewhere that isn't involving a criminal venture? By which I mean attending some place or venue together in the non-platonic sense, rather than one of our usual professional excursions, if you see my meaning, um." He pulled at his collar. "A concert or some such. A review. An exhibition, perhaps. Some sort of sporting match? I understand you like that sort of thing."
"I think I do, actually."
"Well, yes, the athletic arts, all very interesting."
"No, I mean I think I see your meaning."
A small smile was playing around her lips. It took him a few uncomfortable seconds to notice it, but when he did it struck him how lovely she was when she smiled. And in general, but especially then.
"Oh. Well. So I may... court you?" His voice went awkwardly high at the end. He cleared his throat.
"Well, yeah," Zillah said. "I mean, we could see how it goes. No harm in that, is there?"
The relief that filled him was immense. He fairly sagged back into the seat, which was not a seat conducive to sagging, but his suddenly limp frame managed it all the same. It had been, altogether, a rather stressful afternoon.
After another few seconds he realised that Zillah - wonderful, lovely Zillah - was not the only one smiling, for he was fairly beaming himself.
"Capital!" he said.
And it was. What an excellent day it had turned out to be.
"I'll say," Zillah replied.
He inched towards her across the seat. They were only two turns away from reaching the townhouse by now.
A few seconds passed during which the silence was still very tense, albeit in a much more interesting way. Zillah chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment before she suddenly saw his inch and raised him the other seventeen, sliding right along the seat to his side. The leather of her knuckle wrap was a smooth balm against his cheek as she cupped his face in her hand and kissed him sweetly.
"So, I'll have to take you back to Millie again next time I want leather oil," Zillah said as they alighted on the footpath in front of the townhouse after tossing payment to the cabbie. "The old bird'll be that smug."
"Canny old woman. I liked her."
Of course, right now he liked everyone. If he saw Astor in front of him at this moment he might just shake the man's hand.
No, he wouldn't. He'd ask Zillah to give him a good punching. If she was in even half as good a mood as he, she might even oblige him. With that happy thought crowding in amongst all the other ones filling his head, he offered her his arm and with an amused but tolerant smile she took it.
"And your mother," he said as he escorted her up to the front door. "Will she really be over the moon?"
"We're living together and we're not married. What do you think?"
He tripped over the top step. Zillah's arm, entwined with his, was all that kept him upright.
"Oh, my, yes, well." He coughed.
Zillah opened the door and led him inside, saying, "It's the whole living in sin, thing, you know. She's a bit traditional like that."
"I say. Well. I do hope it doesn't trouble you?"
Zillah shrugged. "Depends on how good the sinning part is, probably."
"It, um, perhaps warrants some further investigation."
There was an intriguing touch of colour in her cheeks as she nodded. And together they went to find the others and inform them of, well, some of the day's events and triumphs.