The Duchess of the Shallows (28 page)

"But he had to seem to be doing
something
," Minette continued, taking her seat, "so he roughed up a number of Eusbius' known enemies, including your new friend Hector. The Uncle never dreamed Hector would be behind such a thing, and to be honest I don't think he was, at least not originally. But I haven't yet been able to discover who put him up to it." It was the first time Duchess could recall knowing something Minette didn't, a historic day indeed, but she knew better than to gloat.

"In any case, when I saw what the Red was up to, I decided it was better for the Uncle to hear the truth from me and not to discover it on his own.
That
kind of discovery leads to violence, you see. So I spent most of the morning getting in touch with the Uncle and persuading him to call off his people."

"Why would he do that?" Lysander’s courage seemed to have returned. Duchess figured it must be the wine. "Can't he just do as he pleases?" he asked.

Minette smiled. "As the saying goes, in Rodaas no one does just as he pleases. Not even Uncle Cornelius." She fiddled with her wine glass. "You see, whenever the Red and the Grey intersect…well, the meeting must be handled delicately.
Very
delicately. You, Duchess, are not a member of the Grey, yet when you stole this dagger you acted under its aegis. Baron Eusbius is not on the Red, never was, and is not under their official protection; if he were, he'd have a red hand on his gate. Which he does not." She smiled again. "No one of noble lineage, even if they purchased that lineage, would truck openly with the Red. So," she concluded, "when I told Uncle Cornelius what had happened, he found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He could either disappoint his friend the baron, or he could punish you for acting according to custom and thus earn the ire of the Grey. He remains still on those horns, you may be interested to know, which is why he has sent for you." She nodded at Duchess.

Duchess' head spun as she tried to make sense of it all. "So…I'm not in trouble?" she finally asked.

Minette laughed. "Oh, indeed you are, but not the kind of trouble that ends in knives. Unless, of course, you do something foolish…like, say, trying to hide from Uncle Cornelius." She fixed Duchess with a stern glance. "So do you understand why I had that door locked?" Duchess nodded, feeling foolish. Minette had saved her from a fatal blunder. She would never have gotten involved with Hector if she'd had the slightest notion of the snake pit she was stepping into; when he'd made his mad offer she should have told him to jump in the harbor.

Lysander spoke up. "If Duchess goes to meet with the Uncle," he asked, "how do we know she'll come back alive?"

Minette shrugged elegantly. "There are no sureties in these matters, or in any, really. But I will tell you this: When Uncle Cornelius wants someone dead, the man he sends carries a blade and not a polite request.
Remember too that this situation involves a potential conflict of the colors, and the Uncle is just as aware of that as you are. The last war between the Red and the Grey was a long time ago, and no one is ready for a repeat. Also," she went on, softening a bit, "the Uncle values my friendship, and he's well aware that if anything were to happen to you – either of you – I would be most put out."

"So what happens now?" Duchess said, feeling lightheaded.

"We call Antony and he delivers the Uncle's message. And assuming anything I've said has gotten into your head, you do precisely as it says." Minette sighed and finished her wine. "I do have your best interests at heart, Duchess, believe that or not as you will. Now can I unlock that door, or do you feel the need for more dramatics?"

Duchess sighed, but said nothing, merely watching Minette.

As if hearing the answer she expected, Minette took a moment to settle languidly back into her chair, a brilliant smile plastered across her face. Then she leaned forward and drew open a drawer. She gracefully produced a small metal key from its depths.

"Lysander," Minette said, leaning forward and handing it to him, "be a dear and run upstairs and interrupt Daphne and Antony at whatever they’re about. I need a word with Duchess." Lysander looked doubtful, and Duchess
felt
doubtful. When you just wanted to chat, you asked to speak with Minette; when Minette asked to speak with
you
, it meant trouble. Still, she nodded and Lysander unlocked the office door and left the room. Duchess turned back to Minette with trepidation, torn between wanting to know what information Minette would choose to share and fear of what she might learn.

There was a silence as Minette rooted in the drawer again. Without a word she laid on her desk a small, brass coin. Duchess’ breath caught; on the coin was stamped, along with the worn image of a snake devouring its own tail, a letter
P
. She willed herself not to touch the mark in her pocket to ensure it was still there.

"You’ve seen something like this before," Minette said without preamble. She smiled without warmth. "As have I." She touched the coin with one finger. "Rare as rainstorms, they are, and even less welcome. It's not mine, if that’s what you’re wondering. I've come across three of these in my time," she said, watching Duchess carefully. "The first appeared in the midst of the Color War, well before you were born. The only true bit of trouble I've ever known between the Red and the Grey." Duchess blinked, and Minette laughed. "This business with the knife and Baron Eusbius is a child's spat: simple, controllable, a fire in the hearth and not in the house. Nothing compared to what I saw during that conflict. Be glad you missed it."

"The second mark – this very one here – appeared during another, more recent bit of nastiness, known commonly as the War of the Quills." Duchess bit her lip. "No, the mark wasn't given to me; I acquired it on my own...after quite a bit of doing, as I recall. It was given eight years ago to a woman named Gelda."

Duchess started in her seat, no longer bothering to hide her surprise. She cursed the tears that sprang to her eyes; Minette was the last person to whom she wanted to show weakness. "Gelda? Where is she? Is she…" Duchess could not continue, torn between fear and anger. Fear that her secret was out, and anger that Minette had known her for years and never told her the old nurse was still alive. With an effort, she got control of herself. "So you’ve known about me." It was not a question.

Minette placed a hand over her heart. "Duchess, you wound me," she lamented, not sounding wounded. "Do you think me capable of missing what was right under my nose? Noam can keep a secret like few Rodaasi I've ever known, but sometimes silence can speak louder than a shout. It was not so unusual that Noam would take in an orphan – a great many children were orphaned during the war – but that he'd be so close-mouthed about it was...interesting. Then of course there were tales of an old woman, dressed better than any low-district crone, towing a soot-stained child through the Shallows at night, at a time when anyone with sense was hiding behind a closed and bolted door. And all of this happening on the same evening as a violent end to a piece of nasty high-district politics, during which a small girl went missing. A girl the same age as Noam's mysterious foundling. A challenge to make the connections, but not impossible."

Minette was never one to answer a direct question – not unlike her father, in that way – but Duchess could not restrain herself. "Who?" she choked out. "Who set fire to my family’s house? We both know it wasn't a gang from the Deeps. Who have I been hiding from all these years?"

"Who, indeed?" Minette said, as infuriatingly vague as always. "I imagine you've dreamt up hordes of black-cloaked assassins, stalking the Shallows at night, looking for the last scion of House Kell?" Minette shook her head ruefully. "That's simply not the way things work in Rodaas, as you well know. Remember the story of One-Penny Will."

Then how
did
things work in Rodaas? The last time one noble had assassinated another had resulted in the Color War; after all the chaos of the War of the Quills she was certain no one would have wished
that
. The blackarms would never dare such a thing, the Grey would never take such direct and destructive action, the Red would have little to do with such high-hill politics and of course the Whites were too direct to stage a house fire. If they had wanted the family obliterated they'd have simply knocked in the doors and put the entire household to the question if they were lucky, the sword if they were not. And no one up or down the hill would have said a word in protest.

"Such a destructive conflict, the War of the Quills," Minette mused, as if she were discussing the weather. "Ended by a truce, to be sure, but imperial blood
was
spilled, and your father had left the guilds in such a…conspicuous position, wouldn't you say?" She folded her hands before her. "There are hundreds of books and thousands of songs that tell what happens when a war is nobly won or tragically lost, but so very few speak of the messy details of a negotiated peace." She watched Duchess intently.

The pieces were before her; she simply had to put them together. If the nobles had decisively won the War of the Quills, Marcus Kell would have been hanged as a traitor, and if they'd simply lost, he might have been crowned emperor. But when both sides negotiated a peace, could the rebel leader simply go back to his previous life as if nothing had ever happened? But that meant…no…

She sat numbly as shape of it came to her. The nobles had given the tradesmen the political power they wanted, but after the deaths of Violana's sons there had to be some accounting, some way to save face and demonstrate to their enemies the cost of victory. "My father set the fire himself," she said at last. "His death was the price of peace. He killed himself for his own cause." She didn't need to look at Minette to know she was right. She put her head in her hands as the tears came in earnest. She cried partly in relief, washing away her fears of a threat she now realized had never existed. But mostly her tears were for her father and the price he had paid for speaking hard truths. She was certain that he had paid that price with eyes open, fully aware of what he did.

For many years, she had been sure that her father was dead, but there had always been a part of her that held out even a shadow of hope that someday he might come for her. And now even that shadow had been taken from her, dispelled by the harsh light of realization, and she felt as if she'd lost him once more. Never again would she talk with him over scrolls of lore, or laugh as he teased Marguerite or frowned at Justin. He would never again take her on his knee and make the difficult explanations that seemed part of any discussion about the city and its history. He was gone, and he was never coming back.

"With so
many
fires that night, who could say which were the work of Deeps gangs and which were not?" Minette gave her a moment, and then went on as if Duchess were not falling apart right in front of her. "Whatever plans your father made for his children, I imagine it was
not
that his youngest child be raised in a bakery. Some might speculate that you were...redirected."

"By Gelda," Duchess said, certain. She rubbed away the tears. "Someone told her where to bring me, and gave her that coin to make certain she obeyed." How long had Gelda's loyalty been bought? For how many years had she shown the Kells one face while hiding another? Duchess saw that Lysander had not finished his wine, so she seized his glass and downed the remainder in one gulp. Minette had hinted that plans had been made for all of her father’s children; did that mean that Marguerite and Justin were hidden somewhere in the city, saved as she had been saved? She knew Minette would say nothing more on that topic even if pressed, but it didn’t matter; Duchess would soon have her own access to the Grey, and she’d find her family on her own. She waited until her hands were steady. "And the third mark you've come across?" It seemed easier to focus on that aspect of things.

Minette smiled. "Why, I believe that one is in the pocket you were so desperately trying not to touch." She traced a finger across her own coin. "As you have probably noticed, this mark is well worn, as if it were minted centuries ago. No mark should be this old, and yet here it is. The one that arose during the Color War looked nearly as old, and I imagine the mark you received, the one that so caught Hector's interest, looks the same."

Duchess thought of the Domae woman on the Godswalk and her altar. The symbol on the coin, of the snake devouring itself, was older than Minette suspected, older than Rodaas itself.
He Who Devours has set his mark upon you.
Something else Duchess knew which Minette didn't, which elevated the day from historic to mythic. But it would not do to say so; no doubt the older woman was hoping Duchess would reveal more than was necessary.

"The city of Rodaas is a strange place, don't you think?" asked Minette. "Long periods of almost stultifying quiet, punctuated by sudden eruptions of violence and upheaval, in the same way a rainstorm builds even as the sky seems calm. In my time I have seen two such storms, and weathered both."

Duchess shifted in her seat. "And during each storm comes forth one of these marks." She cast about for the right words. "Some might wonder if the coins bring the storms, or if they simply herald them."

"They might," Minette agreed, smiling obscurely. "They might also find it interesting that, in the wake of the last storm, one of these special marks saw you safely stowed with Noam the baker, one of the best secret-keepers in the Shallows."

The dawn broke; she now knew why Minette was telling her all this, and why she'd taken such an interest in Duchess over the years. She knew that someone had his eye on Duchess but she could not puzzle out why, and so had instead kept a watch of her own. Like the experienced hand at tiles she was, the mistress of the Vermillion had sensed a game at play but she could not pinpoint the players, and she hoped Duchess might lead her to them.

If so, she was mistaken on two counts: that Duchess knew, and that Duchess cared to share. She'd be damned if she'd tell Minette something like that for free. Duchess had not lived in Rodaas all her life and learned nothing, nor did Minette have a fool for a pupil. But the woman's point was clear enough: this unknown player had, on the night of the fire, moved a piece – Duchess – from her father's house to where he needed that piece to be...and where he could find it later. He played the game as Minette played her own. Minette, who had seen Marcus Kell's daughter appear in the Shallows and had moved to take advantage. Minette, who had helped her gain access to the Eusbius estate, and thus the dagger, and thus the Grey. In life just as in tiles, Minette was investing early.