Swordpoint (21 page)

When Richard came fully awake, it was full daylight. He got up and opened the shutters. Sun streaked the floor in long buttery bars. Richard stretched, feeling the glories of the night in his whole body. Nothing hurt: even the memory of tears and pain produced only a warm glow, the distillation of raw spirits into liquor.

Alec was up and dressed already, his clothes gone from the top of the chest. Richard didn't smell cooking; maybe he was out getting food. Or he might be sitting in the front room, reading. Richard thought, all in all, that it might be a good thing for them to eat and go back to bed.

He heard a noise in the other room, body on upholstery, and pictured Alec sprawled on the chaise lounge with a book in his hands, waiting for him to get up. He knew he was smiling senselessly, and didn't care.

He stared at the empty chaise for a moment longer than necessary. The cat leapt down across it, wanting to be petted.

He felt something wrong in the room. There was no presence of intruders. Something was out of place, a space rearranged....

He looked again and saw it at once: Alec's books were missing from their corner. Not, he hoped, another bout of self-righteous poverty! Alec was always trying to pawn things, but who would want his books? At least he'd taken his own stuff this time -

But he hadn't. The richest things he owned, the most worth pawning, those he had left behind, in plain sight on the mantelpiece. The rings that Richard had given him, that he'd had so much trouble accepting, lay in a heap together, regardless of their beauty. Richard looked, unwilling to touch them: the pearl, the diamond, the rose, the emerald, the dragon brooch... all but the ruby; that he had taken with him.

There was no note. Richard couldn't have read it, and Alec knew this time he would not ask someone else to read it for him. The meaning of the things he'd left behind was clear: he'd taken only what he thought of as his. He wasn't coming back.

It was plain enough what had happened. Alec was fed up with life in Riverside. He'd never really been suited to it. And Horn's killing would make it harder. Alec had been badly shaken yesterday by the first signs of the caution they would have to use for awhile. He might be afraid of a manhunt. Maybe he meant to wait it out, come back when the danger was past...: Richard closed his mind to the thought, like a key turning a lock. He would not wait for Alec. If Alec chose to return, Richard would be here. If not, life would go on as it had before him.

He couldn't blame Alec, really. Leaving was the sensible thing to do. Most people thought so. Alec had a right to decide for himself. Everyone has their limits, the border between what they can and cannot tolerate. Alec had tried to tell him; but Richard had been too confident, too sure of himself - and, frankly, too used to ignoring Alec's complaints to give any heed to this one. Not that it would have changed anything. Richard had no intention of skulking out of the city just when it needed his presence to remind them all of how dangerous it was to cross him. And he could hardly run from Riverside as though he were afraid of his own peers.

He found himself back in the bedroom, looking in the clothes press. Alec's fur-lined winter cloak was still there, along with two shirts, his old jacket with the braid, odds and ends. He'd left wearing only his scholar's robe over the clothes he'd had on yesterday. Only what he could walk in. It angered Richard: the fool was going to be cold, summer was still a good way off.... But of course, he thought, Alec had gone where he didn't need old clothes. He wouldn't just have walked aimlessly out into the street, he was too proud for that. And he wouldn't have gone back to the University, not after what he'd said against it. But he never did speak of his family. That meant something. Of course they must be rich. Of course he was a lord, or a lord's son. They would be furious with him, but they'd have to take him in. His future was secure.

It made Richard feel vastly relieved. Alec was, in essence, back where he belonged. He would never again be cold in winter, or drink inferior wines. He'd marry well, but know where his other desires lay. Last night, in his farewell, he'd proved that.

Richard shut the chest. Mingled with the smell of wool and cedar was the faint aroma of meadow grass. He'd have to see to giving away the clothes. But not now. A long fine hair was caught on one of his fingers. He untwisted it; it glowed chestnut in the sunlight as it drifted to the floor.

Chapter XXII

Lord Basil Halliday put his face in his hands and tried to massage some of the heat out of his eyeballs. When the door opened he sat perfectly still, recognising the sound and scent of his wife's presence.

Lady Mary looked at the undisturbed bedding still spread invitingly on the couch, pressed her lips together and said nothing to the man sitting bent over the table littered with crumbs and empty glasses. She drew back the curtains to let in daylight, and snuffed what was left of the candles.

'You just missed Chris Nevilleson.' Her husband roused himself to converse. 'He ate the last of the seedcakes. We'll have to remember he likes them

'I'll remember.' She stood behind him, her cool hands on his brow. He leaned his head back into the soft satin of her morning-robe.

'I did sleep,' he said defensively; 'I just didn't lie down.'

'There are no more seedcakes,' she told him, 'but there are fresh rolls and eggs. I'll have them brought in, with dark chocolate.'

He pulled her head down to kiss. 'There are no more like you,' he said. 'If it's a daughter, we'll name her Mary.'

'We will not. It's too confusing, Basil. And we should name her something pretty... Belinda?' He laughed, and smoothed her hair. 'What did Chris have to say?'

With regret he returned to the night's activities. .'What I've been sure of all along. It was a swordsman, not a ruffian's murder. Nothing was stolen. And Horn had lately increased his guard. Someone broke into the house expressly to kill him. That looks like a duel, simple enough. But none of our people has been able to ferret out any rumour of a challenge' called out against Horn, or any reason for one. He had no debts, his reputation for once was clear.... No one much liked Asper, really, but he was harmless. His political importance was over the day his friend the old Crescent died....' He stopped himself and shook his head. 'Sorry. Of course you already know that. Well, Chris was there tonight at the examination. There was no question but that it was the work of one skilled sword. A virtuoso job, in fact. As if someone had left a calling card. But who? Chris said Horn's hired swordsmen looked positively green. We're holding them for questioning, but I think it's pointless. They didn't do it. Someone flashy and brilliant and crazy did it, and he's out there walking free in my city right now.'

'It might be private justice,' Mary said, 'such as swordsmen practise amongst themselves.'

'Against a Council Lord? Utter madness. It must have been another noble's challenge, it's the only way anyone would dare.... Maybe something new will come to light, maybe someone will declare himself. A swordsman with a grievance against Horn could have sought redress from the civil court, or even from the Council of Lords.'

'But with what hope of gaining it?' his wife asked gently. 'The nobles have too much power in the city, you say so yourself.' He opened his mouth to defend himself, but she silenced him with the pressure of her hand, which said she knew already and agreed. 'But even if it was a swordsman working under contract, one doesn't like to think of a man using his skill for such an unclean death.'

'St Vier,' Halliday said, 'always strikes one blow straight to the heart. I have always thought, if I were challenged to the death, I would prefer it be by him.'

'Seville, then, perhaps, or Torrion...."

'Yes, you're right.' Halliday passed a hand over his unshaven face. 'The first thing is to identify the swordsman himself. There are far fewer good, ones around than there are men with money who carry grudges. All the major ones will have to make depositions, and lay bond not to leave the city until this matter is settled. The murder of a Council Lord strikes too near the centre of our peace. I'm having the roads watched, offering rewards for information___

'Meanwhile, Mary, I've called up some of our own people to strengthen the house guard. And you - please don't go out alone. Not now.'

She pressed his hand to tell him she'd look after her safety as carefully as he would.

He knew he should sleep, or go and tend to business; but even more than he needed rest he needed to offer his thoughts to her. 'It's the problem of a system that incorporates swordsmen. They say without them we'd be doing all the work of killing each other ourselves; like the olden days, the streets full of miniature wars, and every house a fortress... But swordsmen are a wild card. They're only useful under the strictest codes___'

Still talking, he let her lead him to the couch. They sat side by side, leaning only slightly against each other, alert for the first sounds of intrusion, the demands of government and housekeeping.

'Basil,' she asked when he finally paused, 'do you have to do it all yourself? If it's a murder, the city can investigate. Chris can act as liaison.'

'I know ___but it's the slaying of a Council Lord, and with a sword. Which means it still might turn out to be a matter of honour - or something else we don't want to make common knowledge. I'm the head of the Council. I want to go on being the head of the Council - or so everyone keeps telling me. Silly or not, Horn was a member of government. And I have to look after my own. Whoever killed him was a poacher on a very private estate.' Despite himself, his eyes kept dropping shut. 'Horn... I'll have to stop calling him that. There'll be a new Lord Horn now. His grandson, I think....'

She waited until she was sure he was asleep before getting up. One poor dead man, she was thinking, and the whole city threatens to crumble. Mary Halliday pulled the curtains in the study closed again, and let herself quietly out of the door.

A fine fall of rain hung like a curtain of mist over the city, veiling one section from another across the long stretches of sky dividing them. The various greys of the city's stone glittered and glowed with the sheen of the water on them; but that was an effect best admired from indoors, preferably through a pane of window-glass. The Daw's Nest in Riverside didn't have one. It didn't have much, except an interesting clientele and enough for them to drink. There was always something going on there. One section of the earthen floor had been a mumblety-peg arena for as long as anyone could remember.

What really made it attractive was its location: on the south bank of Riverside, far from the Bridge and any encroaching of upper city life. No one who didn't belong in Riverside got this far in. When he didn't have to make himself available for job contracts, Hugo Seville found it a good place to relax.

'Your star is on the rise,' a fortune-teller was informing him. 'Terrible things are happening in the upper houses....'

'You wouldn't know an upper house from the back of your neck,' a failed physician growled at her. 'You can't even chart your way home from this place.'

She hissed at him.

'Never mind,' Ginnie Vandall consoled her; 'Ven can't even see his way home. Go on, Julia.' Ginnie didn't believe in fortune-telling per se, but she understood the techniques involved: a judicious blend of gossip and personal assessment. She did have faith in gossip, and in Hugo's susceptibility to flattery. Ginnie's hair was a new bright red, her bodice purple. She sat on the arm of Hugo's chair enjoying herself.

'The Sword of Justice is lifted high in the northern quadrant, ready to strike. The Sword___ Do you want to see the cards?'

'No', said the swordsman.

'Hugo,' his mistress caressed his golden curls, 'why not?'

'They're creepy.'

'They're powerful,' said Julia, unwrapping them. She handed the deck to Hugo. 'Cut them.'

'Oh, never mind,' said Ginnie Vandall. 'I'll do it.' The rings on her fingers glowed against the dull backs of the cards. She gave them a professional shuffle and handed them back to Julia, who laid them out in an incomprehensible pattern.

'Money.'

One of Ginnie's crew of friends looked on, hanging over her shoulder. 'Lucky lady. You know who's worth a lot these days?'

Ginnie said, 'He's always been worth a lot. Only this time he hasn't got any choice about it.' It was hard to tell whether she was pleased.

'I'm talking about St Vier.'

'I know,' said Ginnie Vandall.

'He doesn't dare to leave Riverside now. Someone's going to turn him in: what they're paying out for information alone's enough to....'

'No swordsman's going to turn him in,' Hugo rumbled. He could be forbidding when he wanted to.

'Well, no,' Ginnie's friend simpered; 'you've just gone up on the Hill and made your depositories, haven't you?'

'Depositions,' Ginnie corrected sharply. 'Well, of course. It's crazy not to clear yourself when you can. Sign a piece of paper, give them some money and promise not to leave town. Let them think we want to cooperate - keep them from coming down here and snooping around-----'

'Well that's just what I'm saying,' her friend insisted: 'When all the swordsmen have gone up to say they didn't do it, it's going to look funny if he's missing, isn't it?

'That's not proof, though,' Ginnie said; 'not enough to hang him.'

Hugo pulled his pretty Ginnie over to him. 'The whole thing's a pain. Nothing funny about it.'

'They don't need enough information to hang him yet, they just want something they can arrest him on, or try to. The reward'll be astronomical.'

Solemnly, Hugo lifted his cup. 'To information.'

'Think they'll catch him?'

'Not if he hides.'

Hugo said, 'His boyfriend's probably turning him in right now. Shifty bastard. Just like in the play.'

Ginnie sneered. 'Alec? He's not that shifty. He's got butterflies for brains.'

'Think it was the Tragedy that did it for him?'

'Did what?' said Ginnie languidly. 'Wait and see if the fight kills him first.'

Hugo laughed. It caught in his throat when he saw St Vier come through the doorway. He nudged Ginnie but she paid no mind, so he let his laughter continue to its natural end.

Richard ignored the little group in the corner. Ginnie Vandall was draped over Hugo like a carpet claiming its owner. They were laughing over some fortune cards. Ven, the drunken old bonesetter, got up and shuffled over to St Vier.

'You're young,' Ven said thickly; 'you should live! Don't fart around with these types. Get out of here while you can.'

'I like it here,' said Richard, and turned away. Ven stumbled forward and clutched at the swordsman's arm. The next second the old man was rolling on the floor. 'Don't do that,' Richard said, straightening his sleeve. 'Next time it'll be steel.'

'Hey!' an old woman protested. 'He don't mean no harm. What're you pushing people around for?'

The barmaid cautioned her, 'Leave him alone, Marty. He's a swordsman, you know how they can get. What's your drink, master?'

The beer was not as good as Rosalie's, but it was better than Martha's. Alec would have something to say about it. Alec would start a fight. He always seemed to like fights on rainy days.

Richard wandered over to watch the mumblety-peg tournament for a while. He'd been addicted to the game when he first came to Riverside, having finally found some people who were as good with a knife as he was. He was better than any of the ones playing now, though. The players' bodies were close together, not letting anyone in.

He wouldn't come here again; it was not a good idea to establish a recognisable pattern of habits now. Soon the price would be fixed on his head - funny expression, like a hat.

He wasn't interested in Julia's cards. Hugo and Ginnie were laughing again as he went out of the door.

Although it was only a short walk to the Hallidays', Lord Christopher ordered up his carriage because of his companion. He was proud of himself; he felt as if he were bringing home a trophy. A liveried footman brought them into the Crescent Chancellor's presence.

'Tell him,' Lord Christopher prompted the nervous, overdressed woman. She was small, pretty in a garish way, with painted eyes. 'He's the second noble witness we need to make your testimony official, and you can't do much better. We'll record it; then you can go.'

'I'll want my mm-money,' she said, her clipped Riverside speech marred by a stammer.

'Of course you'll have it,' said Basil Halliday. He nodded to his secretary to begin the transcription. 'Go ahead.'

'Well the man you want's St Vier. Everyone knows it.'

'How do they know it?'

She shrugged. 'How do you know anything? People don't nun-make mm-mistakes like that. He mm-must have told someone. But you can ss-see it. Nnn-nobody else that fast, or d-does that good a j-j-job.' Chris winced.

'Do you know why he did it?'

'He's a bb-bastard. Probably that scholar told him to.'

'What scholar?'

'Some bb-boy he had with him. Who knows? Swordsmen are all crazy. You just pay me, and I'm getting out of this city and hope I never see another one.'

She left, and the two noblemen signed the transcript. Halliday swore bitterly. 'The one man I was sure of!'

'It's no good,' Christopher said sensibly, disturbed to see his mentor so distressed. 'They all tell the same story. Unless it's a conspiracy___'

'Among thieves?'

'It isn't very likely,' Chris continued earnestly. 'That leaves us with a handful of consistent testimonies, and the depositions of every other notable sword in town. St Vier must be arrested on suspicion of Horn's death.'

'So he must,' said Halliday heavily. 'Now how do you propose we get him out of Riverside?'

Lord Christopher picked up a pen, opened his mouth, put it down, and shut it.

'Never mind,' said Halliday a bit more gently. 'I won't have to call in my own landguard. It's very simple, really: we cry the arrest, post the reward, and wait for someone to turn him in.'

A fire was burning brightly in the Duchess Tremontaine's little parlour. The curtains were pulled back the better for their owner to savour the contrast with the rain outside. She sat curled up in a round chair of velvet, her feet tucked under her, enjoying the comfort and surveying a delightful incongruity.

He stood dripping in her doorway, a lanky figure in tattered black flanked by the gilded cherubs guarding the entrance.

'You're very wet,' she observed. 'You shouldn't have stayed out in the rain so long.'