The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (56 page)

“I didn’t want to risk the safety of the person who betrayed the thief to me,” I said, shutting my mouth on further explanation.

“Who seems remarkably well informed as to the vermin crawling round this city’s underbelly,” Messire observed. “I take it we’re talking about that Lescari lad’s employer?

I nodded.

“Will you tell me who this is, if I ask?” the Sieur enquired casually.

“I will but I would ask you not to ask.” I looked straight at him. “If we compromise that person’s safety, we can’t expect help from that quarter again. We recovered the Kellarin artefacts, Messire. I judged that more important than bringing the thief before your justice.”

“Did you?” Fresil plainly disagreed. “Young Temar holds your oath now, does he?”

I kept my eyes on the Sieur. “I serve D’Olbriot in serving D’Alsennin.”

The Sieur’s smile came and went. “I don’t want to curb your initiative, Ryshad, but I said you were to inform myself or Camarl of such plans. I’m surprised I failed to make myself clear.”

I looked at the expensive carpet. “I’m sorry, Messire.”

“I also thought I’d made it plain D’Alsennin was to fulfil the obligations of the rank he assumes.” Messire’s voice got colder. “You knew he was dining with Den Castevin.”

I stared at the Sieur’s diamond-studded shoe buckles.

“Enough of this,” snorted Leishal crossly. “What are we going to do about Tor Bezaemar?”

“We buy their timber for props and for charcoal for the Layne mines,” said Ustian promptly. “Den Ferrand has land over that way that could supply us instead.”

“Tor Bezaemar hides keep our tanneries in Moretayne supplied,” Fresil mused. “Could Den Cascadet pick up that trade without too much loss to ourselves?”

“We could split it between them and Den Gaerit,” suggested Ustian.

“What about closer to home?” Leishal demanded. “Where are Tor Bezaemar holdings in Toremal in relation to our own?”

“Myred, the city plans.” The Sieur snapped his fingers at his son before glancing at me. “What are you waiting for?”

“Your orders, Messire,” I said politely.

“Would you take them, if I gave them?” he asked lightly. “I’m sorry, that was unworthy of us both.” He sighed. “Finish this Festival as you started it, Ryshad, watching over D’Alsennin. You’d better attend him to the Emperor’s dance. Irianne will be there to distract Camarl, so we want someone watching Temar’s back.”

Camarl looked up, startled, as he unrolled a detailed plan of the northern side of the bay.

“Never mind that.” Leishal was bending over the parchment. “Look here, we own the road that gives access to all these Tor Bezaemar holdings.”

“So we do.” Fresil smiled with happy malevolence. “I’m sure it’s time we levied a toll thereabouts to pay for remaking the roadbed?”

“Those are mostly tapestry weavers in that district?” The Sieur stood and turned his back on me, taking a ledger from a shelf and leafing through it. “Camarl, make sure none of our spinning mills deliver yarn to any Tor Bezaemar addresses from now on.”

I left, closing the door softly behind me.

“So they didn’t skin you for a hearth rug, then?” The footman waiting in the corridor gave me a nod.

“Not this time.” I walked swiftly away. If the inner house servants knew I was in trouble, I’d really fouled my own nest. Where would Temar be, I wondered, dutifully learning etiquette from Lady Channis or intent on his own concerns? Heading for the library, I heard him in heated discussion with Avila from the turn of the corridor. At least I’d won that wager with myself. I knocked.

“Enter,” Avila snapped. She sat at the table, artefacts spread out before her, running a pointed fingernail down her list.

“What did the Sieur want with you?” asked Temar.

“To remind me where my oath rests.” I looked at Avila. “Is everything there?”

“Thus far.” She looked up at me. “What plot is Guliel hatching with those brothers of his?”

I rubbed a hand over my face and wished for a shave. “As close to outright war with Tor Bezaemar as he can manage, without actually calling out the barracks.”

“On Temar’s unsupported word?” Avila hushed his indignation with a curt word.

“The Sieur and Esquires must have their own reasons for suspecting Tor Bezaemar’s ill faith,” I told her. “I can’t imagine they’d be doing this otherwise.” I wondered what the Sieur knew that the rest of us didn’t.

“What are they doing?” Temar demanded.

“Wherever their businesses touch on each other, wherever Tor Bezaemar holdings or tenants rely on D’Olbriot services, the Sieur and Esquires will find ways to make Tor Bezaemar feel the shoe pinching. They’ll break contracts if they can, refuse to buy or sell, deny Tor Bezaemar men passage over D’Olbriot lands, refuse carriage for Tor Bezaemar goods in D’Olbriot ships.”

“Will D’Olbriot interests not suffer? Will Tor Bezaemar not retaliate?” protested Avila.

“Fresil and Ustian will make sure Tor Bezaemar losses outweigh any D’Olbriot suffering.” I sighed. “But it won’t do the tenantry of either House any favours.”

“What does this mean for us?” Temar wanted to know.

“For Kellarin? You wanted less interference in your affairs, didn’t you?” I queried. “D’Olbriot’s certainly going to be too busy with this to tell you how to run your colony.”

“We will be caught up in this regardless.” Temar looked at me. “And if Tor Bezaemar or their allies believe hurting Kel Ar’Ayen will hurt D’Olbriot?”

“Any artefacts we still seek at once become pieces on this game board.” Avila was pale with anger.

I had no answer to that.

“These Sieurs, these Esquires, they can do this?” Temar began pacing round the room. “Has your Emperor no power? Even Nemith the Whorestruck knew better than to let two Houses break each other’s horns like this! His decree to end a quarrel was law.”

“A decision in the Imperial Courts should cut a lot of this short,” I offered.

“When?” Temar flung an impatient question at me. “Aft-Summer? For-Autumn? This year? Next?”

“Who’s to say your courts deliver justice, when Raeponin is denied?” Avila was packing the artefacts back into their coffer with rapid, angry hands. “When nothing holds a House’s mouthpiece to the truth but their unsupported word?”

I was about to protest, at least on Mistal’s behalf, when a footman followed a brisk tap on the door.

“My lady Channis sends her compliments,” he said as hastily as was polite. “She invites you to attend her as soon as convenient.”

“My compliments to Lady Channis, and we will be there as soon as suits.” Avila barely managed not to vent her anger on the hapless servant. “Find the mage Casuel Devoir and send him to D’Alsennin’s chamber.”

The footman left with alacrity and I didn’t blame him. Avila headed for the door. “You two, bring that.”

Temar and I carried the coffer between us, following Avila up the backstairs, sharing a puzzled look. We’d barely reached Temar’s opulent room when Casuel came hurrying along the corridor. “Demoiselle, Esquire,” he puffed. “How can I be of service?”

Avila stalked into Temar’s chamber and looked around with disfavour. “Where best to hide something? Under the bed?”

“The first place someone would look.” I was glad to let Temar give the obvious answer.

Avila smiled thinly. “Then that is the place we want. Put it underneath.”

“But—”

“Master Mage.” Avila cut through Casuel’s protest with a voice like steel. “Can you make this box invisible?”

Casuel thought for a moment. “Weaving an illusion of empty space might be more effective.”

“As you see fit, it is your magic’ Avila looked impatient as Casuel waited, smiling hopefully. “At once, if you please.”

“Of course.” Casuel dropped to his knees and threw a dizzying burst of magic beneath the bed, azure shifting to jade and blending to startling sunset hues. I blinked as the afterglow faded slowly from my eyes.

“I should have done this before,” muttered Avila, pulling up a stool. She sat down and drew a deep breath, laying her hands on the cream and crimson silk coverlet. “Zal aebanne tris aeda lastrae.” She repeated the invocation, each time more softly until her words were a mere hint of a whisper in the rapt silence of the room.

“Suspecting Elietimm malice looking over our shoulders every time we use Artifice, we hesitate to do the most obvious things,” she said crossly. “Master Devoir, has my enchantment affected your magic at all?”

Casuel bent down to peer under the bed and I couldn’t resist doing the same. All I saw was empty carpet.

“Not at all, my lady.” Casuel stood up. “What have you done?”

Avila smiled thinly. “Laid an aversion over the bed and beneath it. Anyone not knowing the coffer is there will have no interest in looking. Anyone searching for it will dismiss such an obvious hiding place with contempt.”

“A fascinating combination of the two schools of magic,” Casuel looked intrigued. “What—”

“Now let us see what Lady Channis thinks she can tell us about etiquette.” I hoped Lady Channis was equal to Avila’s belligerence. Temar and I dutifully followed the Demoiselle and Casuel came scurrying after us.

“I suppose I’ll have to bespeak Planir,” he was muttering. “To tell him about your latest successes.”

“And your working magecraft to complement Avila’s Artifice,” I pointed out.

Lady Channis’s apartments are on the cool north side of the residence, furnished with all the elegance Den Veneta coin can buy. The lackey ushered us all in, assuming Casuel and I were both in attendance, and we couldn’t retreat before two minor Demoiselles of the Name curtseyed themselves out, the door closing behind them.

“Demoiselle, Esquire, a tisane?” Lady Channis was wearing a simple cream chamber gown but her maid had already dressed her ebony hair high with amethyst-tipped pins. A naturally spare frame and the finest unguents lent her the appearance of youth. At second glance you would see the fine lines of age in her hands and neck but by then she’d have captured you with her charm.

I took a seat by the wall and Casuel did the same. Temar and Avila joined Lady Channis around a low table set with finest porcelain, crystal spice bowls and a small copper urn piping hot over a spirit lamp. The silver spoons and tisane balls marked with the Den Veneta sheaf of arrows gleamed with the soft lustre of antiquity. “Ryshad? Master Devoir?”

Casuel jumped up with an obsequious bow as she turned deceptively soft brown eyes on us. “My lady.”

“Your father is a pepper merchant, I believe?” Beauty had brought Lady Channis a long way from the minor House she’d been born in, and intelligence had carried her further still.

Casuel’s smile became a little fixed as he selected spices for his tisane. “He is, my lady, of Orelwood.”

“And your brother is the famous Amalin.” Lady Channis offered Temar a bowl of shredded citrus zest, ruby and enamel rings dark on her pale fingers. “Your mother must be very proud of such talented sons.”

Casuel hesitated. “Naturally, my lady.”

Channis filled Avila’s cup with hot water and reached for Casuel’s. “So, Ryshad, what’s your Sieur doing now?”

“He and the Esquires are planning to chastise Tor Bezaemar for their apparent hostility.” I filled my own tisane ball with a simple mixture of elder and sourcurrant.

“You can rely on the Sieur’s judgement.” Lady Channis’s dark eyes were shrewd in her flawless maquillage.

“I take it he acts on more than the suspicions Temar raised yesterday and the few things we learned this morning,” said Avila speculatively.

“Doubtless.” Lady Channis handed me my drink and waved Casuel and me back to our seats. “Den Veneta will be sorely exposed in any clash with Tor Bezaemar, I’m sorry to say. That’ll make things very awkward between Guliel and my cousins. But that’s a problem for another day.” She shook her elegantly coiffed head. “We’re here to talk about the Imperial dance. In your day, I understand the last day of Festival was set aside for Imperial decrees? Well, Tadriol will certainly announce new betrothals, any major project a Name might be undertaking, but the emphasis is mostly on pleasure.”

I let her gentle voice fade into the background murmur of the busy residence. People all around were hurrying to ready everything before noon brought the commonalty into the residence and the nobility took their carriages to the Imperial Palace. I ran through the crowded events of the last few days in my mind. How might D’Olbriot’s determination to attack Tor Bezaemar clash with D’Alsennin and Kellarin interests? Was there any way to head off such friction? Hadn’t Temar said something about Artifice being a better means of achieving some aim than brute force?

I looked over to see him paying close attention to Lady Channis.

“It’s been the custom, oh, since the days of Inshol the Curt that all rank is left outside the doors of an Imperial dance, along with hats and swords. No one’s allowed to insist on deference and precedence, that kind of thing. Naturally any Esquire will treat any Sieur with due courtesy, that much distinction must be preserved but the erstwhile Imperial Houses aren’t allowed to look down on lesser Names. You’ll stand or sit as a lady pleases, of course, but there’s none of this nonsense about Houses of lower degree having to wait until a senior Name decides to take the weight off his feet.” Lady Channis smiled as she ticked off points from a mental list on her beautifully manicured fingers.

“Keep your voice to a polite level otherwise the noise gets simply deafening. If you must debate some point or other, do it without anger or passion and naturally, if someone’s boring you senseless, you’ll oblige us all by not letting that show. You’ll also do yourself more credit if you avoid boring anyone else. In general, I’d advise you to guard your own tongue and if you encounter anyone being indiscreet, do them the courtesy of not repeating what you hear, well, not outside the doors of the dance salon.” A fleeting smile softened her words.

“There’ll be plenty to eat and drink but I can’t imagine you need me telling you not to over-indulge.”

“I think I should be able to avoid disgracing myself,” said Temar politely but I could hear irritation beneath his words.

“These may be unwritten rules, Esquire, but there are penalties for infringing them,” Lady Channis told him firmly. “If two or more people accuse you of indecorous behaviour, you’ll be asked to pay a forfeit. It’s quite a game in the normal run of things but with all that’s going on, I’ll wager my tisane spoons some scion of Den Thasnet or Tor Priminale will be only too eager to make you look a fool.”