Maledicte (25 page)

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A
LITTLE PAST THE FASHIONABLE
hour of the evening, Maledicte and Janus were still at home, sitting in moody silence in the library.

From the dining room, they heard the maids laying the table for their last meal together. Without a word, Maledicte rose from his seat and straddled Janus’s lap. Janus tugged Maledicte closer, resting his chin in the dark, loose curls.

“Sir,” the newest butler said, entering. “There is a solicitor to see you.”

“Gilly said Bellington would be back. But so quickly? I must have over-paid him dramatically.”

The butler coughed. “It is not Bellington, sir, but another gentleman and, from the cut of his coat, foreign. Shall I show him in?”

“Why not?” Maledicte stood, pushing away from Janus’s chest. “Perhaps he’s heard I sought him and chose to save me the effort.” Maledicte collected the sword, strapping it to his hip, ready for use. “But show him into the dining room. I see no reason to hold back supper.”

Janus said, “I mislike him coming to us. It seems counter to his mission.”

“Never question fortune,” Maledicte said. “But I agree, he must be a most confident gentleman indeed.”

The man stood in the dining room, the lean, well-dressed man Maledicte had seen in the park. Laughing at him. Maledicte’s mood darkened.

“Maledicte, and Lord Last, is it not? How gracious of you to receive me.”

“How obliging of you to come to us,” Maledicte said, faintly startled to see that the man’s wary eyes fixed not on Maledicte and his sword, but on Janus.

“I’ve had a task to do first,” he said, “but with that accomplished, I’m aware of how little Dantalion is paying me.” Unasked, he took a seat at the table. Deliberately, he laid a pistol before him, like an unexpected part of their place setting. “It is primed,” he said. “And quicker to hand than that blade of yours. Still, keep it sheathed and all will be well.”

“You want money from me?” Maledicte said. “Like some distant relative come a-begging?”

“You have no relatives,” the solicitor said. “Unless you count a Relict whore. Dantalion chose not to challenge the will outright, not with Ixion, and some say Aris himself, sotted on you. So I sought levers and found such a lovely one, I can barely believe it, even now.”

Maledicte sat down, leaned forward. “Tell me.”

The solicitor said, “Not until Ixion takes his seat. I know his reputation and I don’t want him at my throat. I doubt you’d grant me my pension if I had to shoot him.”

Maledicte’s breath sailed out in a rush. When he took it back, there was nothing but rage filling him, pure, cold, and smelling of feathers. “So far you’ve told me nothing worth a copper.” He poured himself a glass of wine, settled himself, hitching his hip to allow for the sword’s presence.

“I sought information on this black-haired boy from the Relicts and found nothing at all. As if he never existed. But I did hear stories about Janus. I found a quick talker in a Relict rat called Roach—you know him? A useful boy, hungry for coin, and short on moral qualms. He agreed to act my courier for certain letters if I fail to return to him tonight.” The solicitor reached out for a goblet. “Will you quench my thirst,
Sir
Maledicte?”

Maledicte poured the glass. The solicitor’s eyes never left his hands. “Do I have your attention?”

Janus said, “Roach is a liar.”

“Only an inadvertent one. He told me Miranda was dead. I thought nothing of it, until I saw you in the park, Maledicte.”

Maledicte shuddered, shaken to the core by hearing that name unexpectedly voiced.

The solicitor laughed. “I couldn’t believe it—there you were, in a crowd of blind men. No one takes the time to look past expectation anymore. No one but me. So tell me, girl, what do I do now? Tell Dantalion that the will is invalid, or tell him nothing, and let you take care of me?”

“I will kill you,” Maledicte said, voice raw with outrage, nearly shaking. He sought control. Murder in an aristocratic house took concentrated effort and planning.

“You’re nothing but a girl, and I won’t let your man get close enough.”

Gilly tapped and entered. “Mal, Cook’s waiting to serve.” He paused, eyeing the stranger at the table. “Mal?”

“This is Dantalion’s solicitor, come to blackmail us. I see no reason he cannot stay, so long as he understands that talking business during dinner is a killing offense.” Maledicte’s thoughts raced, calculating risk against risk, exposure versus letting the man disappear back into the shadows.

“Your house,
sir,
” the solicitor said. “But I’m afraid I’ve taken someone’s place; the table is set for three.”

“I’ll eat in the kitchen,” Gilly said.

“I think not,” the solicitor said. “I will not trust any of you near my food’s preparation. Come, sit beside me and share my plate.”

Maledicte lowered his head to disguise his sudden chagrin. He wanted the man dead, wanted it so badly he was willing to take any risk, with Ani spurring him on. He met Janus’s eyes, read the communication there, that they could kill the solicitor before he could do more than wound one of them, but the servants were one wall away, and secrets were hard to keep. Best for the man to die silent and quick. If Dantalion’s man could not trust them with his food, neither could they trust him to leave this house and keep to his word.

Maledicte dropped his hand to his sword, and watched the solicitor’s eyes follow the movement and narrow. Death wouldn’t be by blade; the man was warier than his confidence painted him.

“What is for supper, Gilly?” Maledicte said, buying time and thinking there was always poison, an Itarusine’s love, but all Maledicte’s potions were upstairs.

“Oysters from market.”

Maledicte leaned back as he was served, watching the solicitor, trying to judge whether his wariness was only the usual thing, weapon-focused, or something more troublesome. He picked up an oyster shell, feeling the sharp, rippled edge.

“Gilly, is it?” the solicitor said. “I’ll let you have the first bite.”

“Too late,” Maledicte said, dropping the empty shell to his plate. “They’re good, Gilly.”

“So you say,” Janus said, poking at his with open revulsion. “If you loved me, Mal, you’d never serve them, no matter Aris’s strictures on imported foods. I’ve seen the harbors here. The water’s vile.”

“The price of tablestuffs is ridiculous; Itarus gets the lion’s share and leaves us to squabble over the rest, driving the price beyond reason. The nobles should learn to eat rats, as we did. Cure their impecunious ways.”

“Must you bring the past into every conversation, Mal?” Janus scowled. “And we
never
ate rats. Filthy animals.”

The solicitor grinned. “Hard to convince everyone you’re Quality when they picture you in rags and rubble.”

Janus surged from his seat, hand tightening around his dull table knife. Gilly flinched. The solicitor’s eyes swung in Janus’s direction, even at that minimal threat; his hand found the pistol beside his plate.

“Sit down, Janus. Don’t let him distress you. After all, your breeding, illicit though it was, is surely more genteel than his,” Maledicte said.

Janus nodded at Maledicte. “Ever my voice of reason.”

Maledicte smiled back. The temper tantrum had done what he needed, shown the solicitor’s predilections toward conventional weaponry. After all, he had focused on Janus and the dull knife, rather than Maledicte with a better edge to hand.

“Gilly, I’m done. And you’ve had to share. Would you like my last oyster?” Maledicte rose; the solicitor watched him walk, watched Janus, and rested his hand on the pistol.

“Open your mouth, Gilly,” Maledicte said, sitting on the arm of Gilly’s chair. “I’ll feed you.” Distantly, he trusted Gilly would play along, but Ani spread Her wings and the feeling of imminent bloodshed was so pleasurable, he smiled.

Gilly raised his head, parted his lips, and Maledicte tipped the oyster down. “Good?”

“Yes,” Gilly said, swallowing, lips pale.

Maledicte kissed his forehead, and as he did so, the solicitor said, “Not content with one man? You are a wanton creature—”

The quick, slicing kiss of the ragged oyster shell across his neck shocked him into silence, into groping for the trigger. The wound was not deep; the breadth of Gilly’s body and the chair robbed Maledicte of a killing blow. The solicitor shoved his seat back, a hand covering the bloody line. Maledicte swung again before the solicitor could bring the pistol to bear, and the second blow was messier, deeper, and quite fatal.

Maledicte slammed the shell into the solicitor’s gasping mouth, silencing any attempt at an outcry, and then shoved him over the back of his chair.

“Gilly, get the doors,” Maledicte said.

Gilly started out of his shock and darted to the doors, locking them. Janus seized the pistol from the solicitor’s thrashing hands. “Mind the trigger,” Maledicte warned. They stepped back; the man convulsed in silence, boots kicking at the overturned chair until Janus righted it.

Gilly’s hands were at his mouth, shaking. He picked up Maledicte’s wineglass, and drained its contents. Still, his hands trembled.

Maledicte joined him, reached out for his hands; Gilly drew back, his eyes on Maledicte’s bloody fingers. “Go then. Flee if you must. But it had to be done.” Maledicte toed the corpse; the solicitor made a spasming gasp. Maledicte wrinkled his nose in distaste. Gilly paled and fled.

Janus settled back into his seat and began picking through his cooling dinner. “I must do something about Roach. I should have done it when he told me I’d killed you. But I’ll do it before I go. The solicitor was right about that. Roach does love his coin.”

“Roach was my friend.” Maledicte picked up a cloth, wet it in the finger bowl, and started washing his hands.

“Roach’s tongue is a danger. Those letters are a danger.” Janus’s voice soothed and coaxed.

“Roach’s probably lost them already,” Maledicte said. “Or drunk away the coin meant to frank them. But if you worry so, go find him and bring him back here.”

“Then there’d be two who knew your identity and soon after, multitudes, when Roach slips your secret to Gilly, to the maids, to the gossips on the street.”

“We could warn him not to talk.”

But Maledicte knew that Roach’s discretion was not to be relied upon. Even as a child, he let information slip at the worst moments. Might as well expect Ella to learn modesty. “We could send him away?”

“Where?” Janus said. “He can barely manage the skills of a Relict rat.”

Maledicte closed his eyes, his heart pounding. Janus could have been killed. Or Gilly, if the pistol had misfired. “We haven’t time to hunt him down. Not now. We have to dispose of the solicitor tonight.”

“The timing is unfortunate,” Janus agreed. “But inescapable. Intercepting the letters before they’re sent, taking them from Roach, is feasible. Intercepting them after they’re sent is not. The solicitor gave us no word on the recipients. Dantalion, Aris, Echo, Last? Who knows how many? But Roach is easy; you could lure Roach out.”

“Go back to the Relicts and chance being recognized? How many men do you want to see dead tonight? I’ve killed one man already.” And night in the Relicts meant Ella would be trolling. What if she saw him, recognized him—would she see Vornatti lingering on his skin, know what he had become? “If you must go after Roach, you’ll do it on your own.”

The doors opened and Gilly returned, pale-faced but steady. “I sent the butler on an errand.” His mouth twisted. “I blamed your eccentric desire for some
absente
and never mind about the hour. We’ll have to get the body out the door—” Gilly blanched again, and Maledicte went around the table to see what had disturbed him.

Janus peered over the table and swore.

“What a mess. Indoor bloodlettings are so unforgiving without the earth to soak up the fluids.” Janus joined them, and looked down at the corpse. “Still, dead is dead. That’s the crux of it. Gilly, get the floor cleaned before the blood sets. Mal, get his feet—no, wait.” Janus cleared the table, then yanked the tablecloth free and laid it out on the floor. “Now.”

Janus and Maledicte levered the body onto the cloth; Janus went through the solicitor’s pocket with quick, agile fingers, sorting coin and rubbish, before allowing Maledicte to wind the cloth tight. He handed the mixed pile of currency to Gilly, who looked at it with horror before dumping it onto the table.

“Where to?” Maledicte said. “The docks and the sea beyond?”

“No,” Gilly said, his voice ragged. “Too many eyes.”

“Loath as I am to agree with Gilly, he’s right,” Janus said. “The docks rarely sleep, or the Relicts. Wrap him tight and I will take him courting with me.”

Gilly asked, “Will you really do that?”

“What else is there to do? Bury him out back? His ghost will not haunt me, I assure you.” Janus bent, checked for seepage.

“Gilly, go confine the maids to their quarters so we can fetch water from the laundry,” Maledicte said.

With the servants out of the way, the cleaning went faster; Gilly brought water and soap and removed the blood from the carpet, while Maledicte and Janus practiced winding cloths. When they had finished, they headed to the attic to locate a suitable trunk.

Alone in the room, Gilly was aware of his hands shaking again, pale red to the wrists. He kept tasting the sweet firmness of the oyster in his throat, followed by the sound of the solicitor’s blood-soaked gasp. Gilly swore off blackmail on the spot.

Janus’s casual appropriation of the solicitor’s purse and pistol lingered with him, the absentminded way he wiped the smeared gore on his fingers on the man’s shirt. He contrasted it to Maledicte’s hungry stillness and sudden violence and wondered, not for the first time, which of them was more dangerous.