The Dog of the North (22 page)

‘Beauceron!’ called a voice from his left: Davanzato. ‘I did not realize that you and Sir Goccio were acquainted.’

Beauceron sprang back. ‘Only in the most casual sense. We became acquainted at Lady Cosetta’s salon.’

Davanzato nodded. ‘Naturally, it is easier for a foreigner to maintain links with both courts. My own acquaintance in the Summer Court is negligible.’

‘Do not overstate my familiarity with the Printempi,’ said Beauceron. ‘My relations with Sir Goccio are of the most cursory nature.’

Davanzato bowed fractionally. ‘I would not dream of regarding your word as anything other than scrupulously accurate.’

Sir Goccio said: ‘Under-Chamberlain Davanzato, you should not attach significance to a casual conversation at the Midwinter Ball. On this of all evenings, surely intercourse between our
courts is permissible. Even you and I might converse with cordiality, did we but consider it agreeable.’

Davanzato reached for two glasses of sherbet from the table. ‘I am grateful to you for your insight, Sir Goccio. If you will excuse me, I intend to offer refreshment to Lady
Isola.’

Beauceron raised his eyebrows. He doubted that Isola would welcome the attention, but he was not minded to intervene. A measure of cordiality between Isola and Davanzato could only make his life
easier.

Sir Goccio mopped his brow with a lace kerchief as Davanzato moved away. The room was warm, with torches burning at close intervals and abundant dimonettoes nearby, but Beauceron knew this was
not the only reason.

‘You should not have approached me tonight,’ said Beauceron. ‘Davanzato has the most keen perceptions.’

Sir Goccio tossed back a goblet of rum. ‘He knows nothing. He is fishing.’

‘Do you believe that?’ asked Beauceron.

‘I hope you show greater initiative on the battlefield. You cannot cower in the corner every time Davanzato approaches. What is his power? A knife in an alley would settle him in a
moment.’ His eyes shone with a strange gleam.

‘Do not think I have not been tempted,’ said Beauceron. ‘He hates and fears me, and Mettingloom would be a safer place without him, but the fact is that I need his
intervention; and he is not friendless. There are too many who depend upon him for their advancement.’ He paused. ‘Although if you are minded to take independent action, do not let me
deter you.’

Sir Goccio reached for another goblet. ‘I would not buy his life with my own,’ he said. ‘One way or another, he will come to a bad end. It is simply a matter of patience. For
now, we should part. I will wait on you in due course.’

5

Beauceron was well enough known to King Tardolio that he thought it not unreasonable to present his compliments. Surely Tardolio would give some subtle indication of his
thoughts. He began to make his way over to the corner of the room where the Summer King was holding court.

Beauceron pressed through the throng and found himself drawn aside by a middle-aged man with a bald pate and self-important air: Urbizzo, the King’s Chamberlain.

‘Captain Beauceron, I believe.’

‘You know me well, Urbizzo.’

‘Not as well as you might think. You are hardly a familiar of our court, and neither should I imagine you would wish to be.’

‘I have campaigned under the Sunflower Banner. I merely thought to present my compliments to His Puissance.’

‘King Fanrolio licensed your previous campaigns. My sources suggest you are considering less formal activities. If I were you, I would be more discreet; and indeed I should reconsider my
position altogether.’

‘The hospitality of your court is much lessened, Urbizzo, if a man may not present his compliments to the Summer King at the Midwinter Ball.’

Urbizzo sniffed. ‘His Puissance cannot give audience to everyone. My commission this evening is to weed out riffraff: a category in which I emphatically place yourself.’

Another voice, strong and well-modulated: ‘What goes here, Urbizzo?’

‘My lord! I was keeping undesirables away from your father.’

The newcomer looked at both for a moment. ‘“Undesirables”? Beauceron is the only commander of spirit in the Winter Court – or the Summer for that matter.’

Urbizzo flushed. ‘I only follow the instructions of your father the King.’

‘Go and chase undesirables elsewhere. I will deal with Beauceron.’

With poor grace Urbizzo sidled away.

‘Now, Beauceron, perhaps you will tell me why you are so eager to see my father,’ said Prince Laertio, a model of understated elegance in an indigo doublet and cerulean cape. His
almond-shaped grey eyes took in the surroundings with almost imperceptible movements. Tall, with a slender muscularity, he looked everything Prince Brissio was not.

Beauceron bowed. ‘It is as I suggested to Urbizzo. I wished to pay my compliments to His Puissance.’

Laertio clapped him on the arm. ‘We have ranged the northern steppes together, Beauceron. I know you too well for that. Now, the truth.’

Beauceron shrugged. ‘I hardly know how to answer, especially given the implication that I lie in my throat.’

‘Beauceron! Do not be so prickly. I have heard interesting rumours, to the effect that Fanrolio has forbidden your assault on Croad, and that you intend to approach my father.’

‘Such a course would be treasonous.’

‘So it would. You are not known as a scrupulous man.’

Beauceron’s mouth twitched. ‘Perhaps not. I am, however, a cautious one.’

‘Let us step outside a while.’

‘The night is cold, my lord.’

‘You may prefer to discuss treasons in here.’

‘I do not wish to discuss treasons at all.’

‘Oblige me nonetheless. The air is stuffy, is it not? Dimonettoes are all very well, but any effect carried to excess must cloy.’

The crowd stepped respectfully aside at Laertio’s approach and soon they were out in that courtyard where, Beauceron reflected, he had killed Albizzo less than a season ago. It paid to
tread carefully in Mettingloom.

‘Now we can talk like men, not fussy old women like Urbizzo and Davanzato,’ said Laertio.

‘You give me little incentive for frankness.’

‘Come,’ said Laertio with a laugh. ‘I care nothing if you betray Fanrolio: quite the contrary, in fact.’

‘I have never given any such indication.’

Laertio exhaled slowly, his breath a mighty cloud of condensation in front of him.

‘I have agents the city over, as a man in my position must. More than one tells me that you are losing patience with Fanrolio, and plan to approach my father. Somebody has told you my
father looks favourably on the idea, or you would not take the risk. I would know the truth, Beauceron.’

‘You seem to know much already, my lord. My testimony would add little.’

‘You do not deny it, then?’

Beauceron smiled. ‘Since you are not disposed to believe me, I will not waste my time.’

‘Let me be candid with you. My understanding is that my father is completely, implacably opposed to the idea of a raid upon Croad, for reasons we both understand. If you know differently,
I am interested to know how.’

‘You ask for information I cannot give.’

Laertio rubbed his hands against the cold. ‘I myself am not hostile to your raid. On the contrary, I support it with vigour. Were I King, as I could be tomorrow, I would launch the
assault, and demand your own presence.’

‘You are not the King, my lord. Your father looks to enjoy excellent health; he could live another twenty years.’

‘Men die. All men die.’ He looked into Beauceron’s face without expression.

‘I am unclear as to your meaning.’

‘As you wish. If I were King, preparations for your assault would begin immediately. As matters stand, both Summer and Winter Kings oppose you. If I were you, I would be looking for ways
in which I might alter prevailing conditions in either – or both – courts. They say “Everything comes to those who wait.” Men of action know it for craven
falsehood.’

Beauceron stared up at the top of the Viatory’s tower outlined against the clear winter sky. ‘What you are suggesting makes the treason you accuse me of less than nothing. Regicide,
parricide . . .’

Laertio held up his hands. ‘I suggested nothing, Beauceron. Our interests may coincide, but only under certain circumstances. Perhaps, as a token of our potential understanding, you might
wish to tell how you have come to believe my father’s attitude has changed.’

‘I gain nothing thereby. Either your father is hostile to the raid or he is not. I must verify the matter for myself.’

‘I verify it for you: his position is unchanged. Consider your advantage where you can take it, Beauceron.’

From behind them came a high clear voice: ‘Beauceron! Are you ignoring me?’

Beauceron thought guiltily of Lady Isola, whom he had left to Davanzato’s mercies, but the voice came from Lady Cosetta.

‘My lady! I thought you were the companion of Sir Thivalto.’

‘That tedious buffoon! What little interest I had in the breeding of gallumphers was exhausted within the first minutes of our acquaintance, but he would not take the hint. Who is your
friend?’

‘My lady, may I present Prince Laertio, lord and heir to the Sunflower Throne. My lord, Lady Cosetta of Sey.’

Cosetta dimpled and blushed as she curtsied; Laertio gave an answering bow with stately gravity.

‘My, but you are well-connected, Beauceron!’ said Cosetta. ‘And Prince Laertio is even more handsome than Prince Brissio!’

‘Such is the consensus,’ said Beauceron with a smile. ‘No doubt Brissio has other advantages.’

‘You are well acquainted with Prince Brissio, my lady?’

Cosetta made a gesture of demurral. ‘I would not go so far, my lord. His father holds me for ransom, and he is kind enough to look to my welfare.’

‘Ransom? But of course, you are one of the ladies Beauceron kidnapped in Emmen! Beauceron, we all have reason to be grateful to you.’

Beauceron gave a sour smile.

‘You must tell me of conditions in Sey, my lady,’ said Laertio. ‘I have never been more than a few miles inside the Emmenrule. Are all the ladies as comely as
yourself?’

‘My lord, you are shameless!’ said Cosetta, her hand going to her throat. ‘Are all the princes of Mettingloom so fair-spoken?’

‘My lord; my lady; will you excuse me,’ said Beauceron. ‘I am conscious I have left Lady Isola unattended.’

Neither seemed to notice his presence, so Beauceron quietly walked away, leaving Cosetta to her conquest of the man who only two minutes before had been calmly plotting to murder his father.

6

Although he had only been outside for a few minutes, the atmosphere within the Great Hall had become more louche in his absence. Laertio had all but promised him his
support in return for backing a coup against King Tardolio – a coup which could only end in the King’s death. He owed Tardolio nothing and the idea was not one to reject out of hand.
Laertio deserved credit for initiative, which argued that he might be prepared to launch an assault on Croad. But Laertio was clearly a dangerous, ruthless man, and one unlikely to be constrained
by promises once they became inconvenient. Were he to murder Tardolio, his hold on the Summer Throne would, initially at least, be tenuous. Would he be prepared to send troops south at a time when
he would need them to buttress his position at home? Or perhaps he might feel that such a distraction would draw attention away from his monstrous crime?

Beauceron had no moral objection to what Laertio was proposing. Arguably Fanrolio would approve of the scheme if he knew about it. The real difficulties arose from the reliability of Laertio as
an associate. If Tardolio was willing to back the raid, Beauceron had no need to support Laertio. Could not Laertio act without Beauceron? The idea was conceivable, but Beauceron was under no
illusions that his reputation as the most effective and ruthless captain in Mettingloom made him the ideal associate in such a scheme. He shook his head in frustration: the matter was becoming more
complex.

‘Where have you been?’

Beauceron turned to see the flushed face – and hear the shrill tones – of a clearly vexed Lady Isola.

‘I was waylaid by Prince Laertio,’ he said. ‘Princes are impatient of delay.’

Isola’s cheeks had a red flush. ‘I imagined you were my escort. Instead, you bring me here, dance once, leave me with Davanzato and disappear to pursue your obsession.’

‘It is in the nature of these events that one converses with a variety of folk. As to my “obsession”, you may be sure that Prince Laertio is no part of its fulfilment. I am
King Fanro-lio’s man.’

Isola made a swatting gesture – exaggerated, it seemed, by the wine she had drunk – indicating the matter of Beauceron’s allegiance was of no interest to her.

‘What is truly galling,’ she said, ‘is that under normal circumstances I would not even consider accompanying you to a ball. You are of a stamp more suited to be my steward, or
even my linen-master.’

‘My lady, you are shouting.’

‘I am not!’ she shouted.

‘As you wish; but you are making your points with excessive vehemence.’

‘It is only what is warranted by your conduct,’ she said in a near-whisper, evidently intended to convince Beauceron she had not been shouting in the first place.

‘Perhaps we should take a seat, my lady.’

‘Do not touch me, servant!’

Beauceron assessed her coolly. ‘Davanzato!’ he called. ‘Lady Isola is unwell. Perhaps you might find a cool and quiet ante-room for her.’

Davanzato appeared. ‘With pleasure,’ he said with a smirk.

‘Thank you,’ said Beauceron. ‘And if I find that you have mistreated her, it will go the worse for you.’

Davanzato pushed his chin out. ‘So you may dream, Beauceron.’

He watched Davanzato lead Isola away to some more secluded place. He was well rid of her, in this humour. How had she become drunk so quickly? In his experience, females and alcohol were best
kept apart. Cosetta had more sense than to make such an exhibition of herself, he reflected.

He turned at the blundering approach of Prince Brissio. Some men should also be kept away from alcohol, he decided.