Swordpoint (7 page)

Again the scent of ambergris assailed the air, rich and sensual. It made Richard think of Alec's hair. The man held up his hand.

Dangling from it was a long gold chain, with an eight-sided medallion spinning at the end of it so that Richard could not make out its design. The candle between them winked a gold sequin in his eyes. With one finger the man stopped the spinning, and Richard had one sight of the device engraved on the medallion before it disappeared again into the glove.

'Sixty royals,' the man said, 'half in advance.'

Richard took his time as he brought the goblet to his lips, took a sip of the dust-flecked wine, put the cup down and wiped his mouth. 'I don't take money on an unnamed man. - It is a man?' he added abruptly, somewhat spoiling the effect, but wanting to keep things clear. 'I don't do women.'

The man's lips quirked; he had heard the Montague story. 'Oh, yes, it is a man. It is a man of some importance, and I am not going to tell you any more without further indication of interest on your part. Are you at liberty tomorrow night?'

'I may be.'

'It would be advantageous. Do you know the Three Keys, on Lower Henley Street?' He did. 'Be there at 8. Take a table near the door, and wait.' The gentleman reached into his coat and withdrew a little silk purse that clinked when he set it on the table. 'This should cover expenses.' Richard didn't pick it up. It made a sound like silver.

The gentleman rose, spilling a little shower of copper on the table for the tally, and pulled on his scented glove. 'It took a long time to find you,' he said. 'Are you always so hard to get?'

'You can always leave a message for me here. Just don't make it worth people's while not to deliver it.'

'I see.' The man smiled wryly. 'Your friends are not to be bribed?'

The idea amused St Vier. 'Everyone can be bribed,' he said. 'You just h'ave to know their price. And remember that they're all afraid of steel.'

'I will remember.' The man sketched him the slightest of bows. 'Good night, then.'

Richard did not bother to finish the wine. He considered taking it home for Alec, but it was bad enough to leave. Rosalie did keep a stock of decent vintage, but you had to know how to ask for it.

Ignoring the curious looks of his friends, he left the tavern and went home.

The eaves of the house were fanged with icicles. Marie's rooms were quiet, she must still be out. He looked up at his own rooms. The shutters were open, the windows dark. He let himself in by the courtyard stairs, mounting quietly to keep from disturbing Alec.

Despite his care, the floorboards creaked. It was an old house, built of heavy materials with a great care for solidness. At night they heard it settling on its foundations, like an old woman on her doorstep shifting into a comfortable position in the sun.

From the other room Alec called blearily, 'Richard?' The bedroom door was open; Alec usually left it that way when he went to bed alone. Richard could see him in the dark, a white figure propped against the heavily carven headboard. 'Are you going out again?'

'No.' Richard undressed quietly in the dark, laying out his clothes to air on the chest. Alec held the covers back for him -'Hurry up, it's cold.' Between the linen sheets Alec's warmth had spread; Richard sank into it like a hot bath.

Alec lay on his back, his hands folded demurely behind his head. 'Well,' he said, 'that didn't take long. Don't tell me it was another wedding.'

'No, it's not. It's a real job, looks like it could be interesting. Move your elbow, you've got both pillows.'

'I know.' Richard could hear the satisfied smile in the dark. 'Don't go to sleep. Tell me about it.'

'There's not much to tell.' Abandoning the pillow, he moved his head into the crook of Alec's arm. 'They're playing hard-to-get. I have to show some more interest.'

'Who's they?’

'You'll laugh.'

'Of course I'll laugh. I always do.' It was the voice, rich and arrogant and taut with breeding, that always undid him in the dark. He felt for Alec's lips with his fingers, and softly brushed over them.

'It's funny. I think he's a lord, all right, but he seems to be working for another house.'

'Working with them, more likely.' Alec's lips moved against his fingers, the tip of his tongue touching them as he spoke. 'I bet you're right, it must be something big. The fate of the state is in your hands -' Alec seized the fingers that were touching him, and Richard's other hand as well, drawing them from what they were doing in a convulsive grip, feeling there for the old ragged scar on Richard's wrist. Richard guided his mouth to it. 'So how do you know', Alec murmured into his skin, 'that it's two houses?'

Gently Richard freed one hand, and began stroking the length of Alec's back. It pleased him to feel the taut body relax under his touch, straining langorously to be closer to his. 'He showed me a medallion with a device,' he said.

'Which you didn't recognise and were too embarrassed to ask about... ah, that feels nice.'

'As a matter of fact, I did recognise it. It was that swan woman's, the duchess.'

For all the tricks Alec played with his voice, he had never realised how easy it was for the swordsman to read his body. It stiffened suddenly, although Alec's voice rambled on, 'How delightful. Isn't it nice to know, Richard, that you're not the only one to have succumbed to the allure of the swan boat?'

'I haven't succumbed,' Richard said comfortably. Alec must have recognised the nobleman. 'Although I wouldn't mind a ride on that boat. But they have to name their mark first. If it's a good job, I'll succumb to the money.'

'You think so?'

'I think so.'

Alec breathed out in a feathery sigh as Richard sought out his pleasure, always careful not to startle him with anything sudden or unexpected. Sometimes finding it was like stalking prey, or coaxing a wild creature to his hand. Alec stopped speaking, let his eyelids fall thin over his bright eyes, and Richard felt his body coursing fluid like water, as though he held the power of a river in his arms.

When they kissed, Alec's arms tightened around his shoulders; then they began to move up and down Richard's body as if looking for something, trying to draw something out of the taut muscles of his back and thighs.

'Ah!' Alec said, contentment mingled with surprise; 'you're so beautiful!'

Richard stroked him in answer; felt him shudder, felt the sharp fingers sink into his muscle. Richard teased himself, pulling Alec along with him deeper into no-return with the smoothness of skin against skin, the harshness of breath and bone. Alec was talking now, his voice rapid and full of air - not making any real sense, but a pleasure to have that light voice in his ear, gasped syllables stirring his hair, lips teasing his earlobe, breaking off occasionally to sink sharp teeth there___

'There is no one like you, they never told me there was anyone like you, I had no idea, it amazes me, Richard - Richard - if I had known - if I – ‘

Alec's hands struck against his throat, and for a moment Richard didn't realise that pain was pain. Then he pulled away, catching the fragile wrists before they could try again whatever mad notion Alec had of attacking him.

'What in hell do you think you're doing?' he demanded, harsher than he'd meant to because his breathing was not yet under control.

Alec's body was rigid, and his eyes were wide, glinting with their own unhealthy light. Richard ran one hand along his face to soothe his terror; but Alec wrenched his head away, gasping, 'No, don't!'

'Alec, am I hurting you? Has something happened? What is it?'

'Don't do that, Richard.' The long body was trembling with tension and desire. 'Don't ask me questions. It would be easy now, wouldn't it? You could ask me anything. And I'd tell you like this, I'd tell you... now that you have me like this I'd tell you anything - anything - '

'No,' Richard said, gently gathering him into his arms. 'No you won't. You're not going to tell me anything. Because I'm not going to ask.' Alec shuddered; some of his hair worked loose across his face. 'There's nothing I want to know, Alec, I'm not going to ask you anything...' He started to brush back the hair, soft and brown as an old forest stream; then he changed the gesture and lifted it to his lips. 'It's all right, Alec... lovely Alec...'

'But I'm not,' Alec said into his shoulder.

'I wish you wouldn't argue all the time.' Richard's fingers luxuriated in the high-bred bones. 'You are very lovely.'

'You are very... foolish. But then, so is Ferris.'

'Who's Ferris?'

'Your friend in the tavern. The Mysterious Mr One-Eye. Also the one and only Dragon Chancellor on the Council of Lords.' Alec carefully licked his eyelids, one at a time. 'He must be crazy to come down here. Or desperate.'

'Maybe he's just having fun.'

'Maybe.' Alec's long body twisted around him, adding weight to his statements. 'Somebody has to.'

'Aren't you?'

'Having fun? Is that the idea? I thought we were supposed to be providing material for poets and gossips.'

'I kicked them out.'

'You skewered them.'

'I skewered them. Roast Poet on a Spit.'

'Gossip Flambée... Richard... I think I can see what you mean about having fun.'

Richard intercepted the hand poised to tickle him, and turned the motion into quite another one.

'I'm glad. You are lovely.'

Chapter IX

There was, after all, no real reason for Richard not to go to the Three Keys the next night. If Ferris took it to mean that Richard accepted the job, that was his mistake. When he knew the name of the mark he would decide whether to take the job or not. He only hoped he would find out now, and not be offered more circumlocutions and little bags of silver. -

Richard crossed the Bridge well armed. The poor who lived around the wharves tended to be desperate and unskilled, without pride or reputations to lose. They would jump a friend as readily as they would a stranger, and give no challenge first. The upper city people thought they were a spillover from Riverside. Riversiders sneered at them as graceless incompetents who knew enough not to cross the Bridge.

The Three Keys was admirably suited to mysterious rendezvous. It was set in the middle of nowhere* between warehouses and counting-houses that were vacant at night, silent except for the occasional step of the Watch. People with nowhere else to go went there, seeking anonymity. Some sought oblivion: as Richard approached the tavern he saw the door open, a rectangle of dusky light, and a body come pitching out. The man lay snoring stertorously on the melted snow. St Vier stepped around him and went in.

He had no trouble finding a table near the door. It was a chilly night, with damp fog off the river, and the room's population was clustered at the other end, near the fire. They were mostly men, companionless, nameless. They noticed the newcomer; a few looked at him twice, trying to figure out where they'd seen him before, before going back to what they had been doing.

His contact aroused more interest. It was a woman who appeared poised in the doorway, cloaked and deeply hooded, her shadowed face turned toward the table. Richard wondered if it might not be the duchess herself this time, imitating Ferris's feat of bravado slumming. Whoever it was, she recognised him at once, crossing to his table with a firm stride. Before she could reach him, however, a large red-faced man sauntered up and barred her way, saying in a less than ingratiating growl, 'Hello, sweetheart.'

Richard started to come to her, then saw her flash of steel. 'Clear off.' She was holding a long knife to the drunken man's chest.

'Hey, sweetie,' the man coaxed, 'don't get upset.' And he wasn't as drunk as he looked, or else he'd once been a fighter, because suddenly the knife was on the floor. He had her wrist in his hand, and was pulling her in to him when she twisted away, shouting, 'Richard!'

St Vier came forward, his knife already out. The man saw and his grip slackened enough for the woman to pull away. 'Get out of here,' Richard told him, 'or find yourself a sword.'

A man in a leather apron came hurrying up from the back. 'Outside,' he said; 'you know the rules.'

The drunk rubbed his own arms, as though he had been hurt. 'Lenny', he said to the tapster, 'you know I don't mean anything. What the hell have I got to fight for?'

Richard gestured with his dagger: Back. The man backed off, and faded with Lenny into the rear of the tavern.

With Richard covering her, the woman picked up her own knife and replaced it in her sleeve. She sighed, and shook herself all over. 'I can't believe I did that,' she said.

'I can.' Richard returned to the table. 'You've got that hood in your eyes, how do you expect to see anything?'

She laughed and shook the hood away from her face. A mass of fox-coloured hair tumbled down with it. 'Buy me a drink?' she grinned.

'Just one?' he answered her smile. 'Not eight? Or have you lowered your limit these days?'

'I'm not testing it here: this place serves river water, mixed with raw spirits to cut the taste.'

'It seems' - he looked back at her assailant - 'to do the trick, whatever. Sit here, so I can keep an eye on him.'

'Yes.' She snuggled down, with her elbows on the table. 'They told me you'd look after me. I think you're awfully brave. Do you really kill people with that thing?'

'Oh, well, only for money.' He looked at her blandly. 'Is that modest enough for you?'

'It's an improvement. You're the best in the city now.'

'I was then, too.'

She laughed, exposing brown teeth in a strong pretty face. 'That's right. But word's trickled up to the ones who make the judgements. You know the channels as well as I do.'

Richard snorted. 'Channels! You kill enough people for them, they finally realise you know how to.'

Impatiently she said, 'Don't start up with that. You're important now, and you know it.' She looked stern, her grey eyes opaque and business-like. 'How long do you think that you can keep on playing him out?'

'I don't mean to. I just need more information. Tell me about the other…lady.'

'What other lady - ' Her face began to flush and she dropped her eyes. 'I don't think that that has anything to do with this,' she said gruffly.

'I'm sorry.' Richard reverted to his polite, dealing-with-clients voice. 'I thought you were with another household.' He had learned a great deal from her discomfort - more than he'd really intended to.

'I'm his chambermaid.' She gave him a hard, defiant look across the table. 'One of them. We keep the place clean. It's a nice house.'

'You look well,' he said. Neither of them brought up the name of her master, she by instruction and Richard because he obviously was not supposed to know it. 'Life on the Hill agrees with you.'

She looked directly at him, cutting through the sociableness. 'It agrees with me better than jail. I thought it would be nothing, being whipped; it happened to everyone else, and they just laughed and went back to stealing.' She lowered her gaze to her hands, folded on the table. They were well shaped, the rounded fingers in pleasing proportion to the palm. Richard saw that their skin had coarsened from menial work. 'But that straw they give you smells, and they strip the dress off your back as though it meant nothing, as though you're some actor putting on a good show for the crowd. I saw what it was like, and how it all came out - What happened to Annie?'

It took him a moment to remember who she meant. 'She got better. Then she lived like a queen for a while, before they caught her again.'

'And then?'

'She died that time.'

She nodded. 'I'd rather die in private. Or take a nice clean sword thrust, like you did to Jessa -'

'No,' Richard said. 'You wouldn't.'

But she'd left Riverside long ago, and she wasn't afraid any more. The past was a story told, a battle fought. 'I really thought you loved her, that one,' she said quietly.

'I don't know,' Richard said. 'It doesn't matter. Why did you get sent down here?'

She shrugged. 'He -I work for him. He had to send someone.'

'He knew you'd know me.'

She looked down at the table, deeply polished and carved from the flow of other people's hands. 'He just knows I'm from Riverside. You know the way they lump us all together up there.'

She had a right to her privacy. That her noble employer was also her lover seemed sure; how else would Ferris know that her past included St Vier? Nor would the lord be likely to entrust a common servant with such a delicate mission. For Katherine, it was a good thing: Ferris was not unattractive, and his favour could help her stay out of Riverside.

'And you,' she asked. 'Are you alone now?'

'No.' She let out a tiny sigh. He said suddenly, 'Katherine. Is he hurting you?'

She looked tired. She shook her head. 'No. I don't need anything. Just an answer to bring back.'

'You know I can't answer yet,' Richard said; 'you know the way I work.'

'You haven't heard all the question.' She was smiling strangely, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. It was another woman's smile; he didn't know whose, but he knew what it meant.

Richard reached across the table, and covered her hand with his. 'It's an idea,' he said; 'but not yours or mine. Tell him you asked; tell him you plied me with drink, but I was more interested in money. It's actually true,' he added lightly. 'People get the strangest ideas about swordsmen.'

Calmly she repossessed her hand, saying dryly, 'I can't imagine where they got them.' Then, following his tone with its offer of safe trivialities, 'They miss you on the Hill, now you're not young and wild anymore. Who've you finally settled down with, Ginnie Vandall? No one seems to know.'

'It's a man,' he told her, 'a stranger called Alec'

'What's he like?'

He seemed to consider the question carefully. 'Nothing else, really. He's not like anything I've ever seen.'

'What does he do?'

'He used to be a student, I'm pretty sure of that. Now he tries to get himself killed,' he told her with perfect seriousness.

'With what, falling rocks?'

'Falling rocks, knives, people... anything that's handy.'

She considered the prospect. 'A student. Can't fight.'

'Total incompetent. It keeps me busy.'

'Protecting him.'

She let the words hang in the air. She could hurt him now with a name - or try to. Jessamyn. A beautiful woman, an accomplished thief, rising con-artist... she and the young swordsman together had dazzled Riverside like twin stars. Jessamyn was not incompetent, she knew how to use a knife. Jessamyn had a temper, and one night she had made Richard lose his. There had been no protecting her.

Katherine could try to hurt him with it - but what if nothing happened? Richard had always been likeably sure of himself. But these last few years had cast a glamour over him. There were no more rough edges, no hesitations. He turned a smooth face to the world, making it see him as he saw himself. It pleased her to think that here was someone who didn't care what others thought of him, someone free from the daily struggle for dominance-it chilled her to think that he believed it himself, that he was free of all that made human life impossibly painful, found she did not want to try.

'Really,' Richard said, 'if you want another drink, you can have it.'

'I know,' she said. 'What's he trying to kill himself for?"

'I don't know. I haven't asked.'

'But you don't want him to do it.'

St Vier shrugged. 'It seems stupid.'

Slowly, not to alarm him, she took out her knife to look at it, and shook her head. 'When I came in here... I shouldn't have called for you. I should have stuck that idiot when I had the chance.'

'This isn't Riverside. You could have got into trouble.'

She kept shaking her bent head, hair dancing along her cheeks like snakes. 'No. I just couldn't do it. I missed my chance because I couldn't do it.'

'You were cumbered by the hood.' She looked up, smiling: 'cumbered' was a country word. But he met her eyes gravely: 'Anyway, it doesn't matter. You'll never have to go back to Riverside.'

She hoped it was true. 'Don't tell him I fumbled,' she said.

'I won't. I probably won't even see him again.'

'I don't know.’ She pulled a flat, folded piece of paper out of her cloak. It was closed with blank gobs of sealing wax. 'It's what you think it is. Open it when you get home. He says he doesn't want to rush you: you've got a week to think about it. If you decide to go ahead with it, be at the Old Bell a week from tonight, same time. Someone will be there with the first half of your payment.'

'Half in advance... he really meant it. Generous. How will I know the messenger?'

'He'll know you. By the ring you're wearing.'

'What ring?'

This time she handed him a small doeskin pouch. Richard loosened the drawstrings, and glimpsed the heavy glow of an enormous ruby. Hastily he closed it, and tucked the pouch inside his shirt, along with the sealed paper.

'And if I don't go... ?'

She smiled at him, a ghost of her old street-smile. 'Wear it anyway. He didn't say anything about giving it back.'

The ring was worth almost as much as the job itself: double payment, the gift that was a bribe. Lord Ferris was no idiot, nor was he heavy-handed.

Katherine stood up, wrapping herself in the cloak. She stood only shoulder-high to St Vier. He dropped one of Ferris's silver pieces on the table for the tally. When she queried with her eyebrows he explained, 'It's the smallest he gave me. Maybe he thinks I only drink rare wines.'

'Maybe he thought you'd get change for it,' she replied. 'Get the change, Richard, or there'll be talk.'

He got the change, in brass, and pocketed it. Then he stood very close to her and handed over the silver pouch. '"For expenses" was what he told me. I wouldn't want to be guilty of a cheap evening.' Mutely she took what he offered. She could buy a lot with that money; and if he didn't need it, so much the better for him.

As they walked out, the rows of men muttered flatly, 'Good night, sweetheart. Take care of yourself, darling,'

They left the tavern. Over their heads the three iron keys, with a few flecks of gold still clinging to them, jangled in the wind. They turned up Lower Henley Street, making for the Stooping Eagle Tavern, where one of Ferris's footmen, discreetly attired in buff, waited to escort her back to the Hill.

It was late when Richard came in, but Alec was still up, reading by the light of a candle. Alec looked up out of the circle of light at him, blinking at the darkness across the room.

'Hello, Richard."

'Hello,' Richard said amiably. 'I'm back.'

Slowly St Vier unbuckled his sword. He removed his knives gingerly, as though they were infants, or creatures who might bite, and placed them on the mantel.

'I see you're back,' Alec said. 'You've missed all the excitement. Marie got into a fight with one of her clients. She chased him three times around the courtyard, throwing socks and using language. He tried to hide behind the well. I threw an onion down at him. I missed, of course, but it scared him. Maybe he thought it was you. Anyway, he finally went away, and then the cats started yowling up on the roof and I didn't have anything left to throw at them. Have you?'

'No. I don't think so. I think they've gone away,' said Richard, who hadn't heard anything.

'I think we should get a cat of our own. We could train it to fight. It could chase them away. After all, there's no point in sending you up on the roof.'