Our Lady of the Islands (29 page)

Arian shook her head. “Staying here through dinner has already pushed credible convention much too far. We cannot risk more such attention.”

Maronne looked up suddenly, the light of an idea in her eyes. “He clearly intends to send us something unusual for dinner. Did you see him take our lady’s bait?
Sandwiches
, indeed.” She shot Sian another appreciative smile. “A second brilliant stroke, my lady. Escotte Alkattha’s pride would never allow a supper of sandwiches to be served in his house, even delivered to a room of working women. Which means that there will surely be something in tonight’s meal which poor Assidua’s tender stomach has never encountered and cannot begin to handle.”

“Oh! I am surrounded by genius,” Arian crowed. “We would have to cut our labors short then, wouldn’t we? Sian will order me to accompany poor, sick Assidua home just as soon as I have asked Sergeant Ennias to call the runner-cart for us — and tucked my exhausted mistress into bed early for the night, of course. We will make our escape all the sooner!”

“I doubt my cousin will even wish to say goodnight to her if she is ill,” Sian said. “When the butler informed him of Cleone’s illness, he just seemed terrified that she might have been contagious. This could work very well indeed.”

“As soon as they have brought up dinner,” Arian said, “we must close the door and begin work on the exchange.”

Maronne had not guessed wrong. The meal they received was as exotic as it was sumptuous. Cockles and trumpet snails in a spicy sauce of coconut, curry and powdered firefruit. Spade fish poached in curdled cream with tarragon and leeks. Saubot root mashed with truffle oil and honey imported from the continent … The list ran on for half a dozen courses, accompanied by three different wines, one spiced, and one almost too sweet to drink without pinched noses. Who could have sampled all these dishes and not risked growing ill?

Sadly, the women had little time to do much more than nibble at the feast as all three worked to darken and straighten Maronne’s hair while curling and streaking Sian’s with gray. Paints and creams Sian had never even heard of made Maronne’s complexion darker while engorging whatever skin it touched to make all but the deepest wrinkles disappear. Sian’s face, neck and hands, which were all Assidua’s concealing silk ensemble revealed, were swabbed with some astringent rinse that made her skin dry and pucker, wrinkling like leather, before being painted in a clinging cream to lighten her tone.

“I hope this is reversible,” she murmured as Maronne and Arian applied their wicked magic to her wrists and fingers.

“It washes off far more easily than it goes on,” said Arian. “Regrettably, in my case. What I wouldn’t give to be free of the ordeal I must go through every morning.”

By the time their meal might reasonably have been finished, Sian could well believe that anyone might mistake Maronne for her, or vice versa, as long as they didn’t look too closely. Assidua would be bent over in illness as well, clutching at the veil across her face in distress and embarrassment as any common woman might, leaving a grand house in such condition after so fine a meal. It should work, Sian assured herself again. It really should.

As soon as Maronne had been tucked in bed, the lights turned low, and everyone felt satisfied that the two women should pass reasonable inspection, even if Escotte came up himself, Arian went down to inform the butler of the seamstress’s distress, and Sian’s wishes in the matter.

Not long later, she was back. Alone this time, to everyone’s relief. “Quatama has assured me that Sergeant Ennias will be sent to engage a two-man runner-cart,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I saw no sign of Escotte down there. So, hopefully, he really was required elsewhere tonight and will not hear of any of this until it’s long over.”

Sian crouched in one of the room’s more shadowed corners, clutching her silk robes around her, waiting breathlessly for Escotte to show up, demanding explanations. Maronne’s dress fit her a bit loosely, and her sandals too tightly, but nearly all of her was covered, which was what mattered most. Eventually, they heard footsteps coming down the hall, followed by a knock at the door. “Come in,” Sian said. It was important that whoever was outside the door hear
her
voice.

To her deep relief, it was just Quatama. He glanced briefly at the woman lying in Sian’s bed, then looked rapidly away, as if unsure that even one look at a sleeping female guest was not some violation of propriety. Next he peered at Sian, bent over in the corner wearing Assidua’s clothes and coloration now. “I am informed the runner-cart you requested is … pulling through the gate, my ladies,” he intoned uncomfortably. “Do you require my assistance to convey the seamstress downstairs?”

“Thank you, no, Quatama.” Arian offered him a grateful smile. “I can take her. My lady has requested that I escort the woman home, however. So I will be departing a bit earlier than usual. As you see, my lady is abed, and retired for the night. You may send up her guard at any time.”

He glanced again at Maronne, who nodded her dark head without turning to look at him.

“Very well, then,” said Quatama. “I shall go to fetch him now.”

Without further comment, he turned and started back down the hallway, leaving the door open for Arian and Sian.

“Goodnight, dear,” Arian said very softly to Maronne. “Sleep well. We will see you early in the morning. I’m sure Assidua will be quite recovered. And … I will not cease to think of you until then.”

“Thank you, Freda,” said Maronne. “Good luck, Assidua. I can hardly wait to see my new dress.” She gave them a pale smile. “Travel safely.”

Arian led Sian out the door, and turned to close it softly before they started down the hallway toward the first flight of stairs. Sian clutched at her arm, bent in obvious discomfort, face turned toward the floor. Only now did what they were about to do truly reach her. It was suddenly not hard at all to feign weakness and a sour stomach.

They traveled through the house without encountering anyone except a couple stray domestics, none of whom seemed to pay them any attention. As they approached the grand entrance hall, Sian again braced herself to find her cousin waiting with a thousand questions. But no one was there either except Quatama. He stood by the huge front door, watching them come as if they might be ghostly specters rather than women.

“Lord Alkattha bids me extend his apologies for not being here to see you off. He is unavoidably detained, but asked me to assure you that he would still like to discuss those draperies with the seamstress if she is well enough to return as scheduled in the morning.”

Sian could well imagine Escotte quaking in some other room until the contagious seamstress was safely gone. Not that she was anything but grateful for such cowardice just then.

“Thank you, Quatama,” Arian said as they reached the door. “I fear she is too ill to speak just now. But I am sure she will be better before morning, and would be delighted to accept Lord Alkattha’s invitation then. Please thank him for the lovely dinner.”

“Very good … Freda. I will convey that to him.” He pushed one of the two grand doors open for them. “Farewell, then. I wish you both safe journeys home, a pleasant night … and a quick recovery.”

Sian nodded slightly, as if in gratitude, wondering if the man ever smiled.

Then, despite all her fears, they were outside! The Hall’s great forecourt seemed more open space than she had seen in years, though she’d been confined here not even two weeks.

Arian supported her down the steps, then stopped and looked around. “That’s odd. I don’t see the runner-cart. Did Quatama not say it was pulling through the gates some time ago?”

While Arian peered around the forecourt, Sian remained crouched and looking down, in case anyone inside should be observing them.

“Perhaps we took too long to get here,” Arian said. “Could they have left again when we did not appear as soon as they expected?”

What were they to do now? Sian wondered. Not go back inside, surely.

“Well, this is irritating,” Arian said. “Let’s walk down the drive a ways and see if they’ve just gone to wait somewhere else.”

They began to make their slow way across the forecourt, Sian still shuffling at Arian’s side in pretended illness — and because Maronne’s too-small sandals were pinching her feet rather painfully. Even so, she was more than willing to walk all the way to the Factorate House. Just as long as they weren’t forced to go back inside the house behind her. Ever again.

Reikos shoveled the last spoonful of this evening’s ‘dinner’ into his mouth, scorning the sergeant’s empty promises. They’d received the same watery broth and rotten vegetables last night and tonight as they’d been given every other night so far. If there’d been any
improvements
made in their
situation
here, he had yet to detect them. “Probably hasn’t given us a thought since he stepped back into the light,” Reikos muttered to himself.

“What?” asked Pino, finishing his own slops across the room.

Reikos shook his head. “Wasn’t talking to you, lad.”

He was doing that more often now, talking aloud, but not to Pino. How much longer, he wondered, before he too preferred dying to rotting slowly in the bug-infested dark like this?

“What’s that?” asked Pino.

“I didn’t say anything … Did I?” Reikos turned to find the boy staring through their bars, head cocked uncertainly.

“Listen.” Pino set his trencher down and went to peer through the bars, down the rough-hewn passage toward the staircase. “Someone’s coming. Lots of them, I think.”

Reikos heard it too now. Boots on stone, echoing loudly down the long staircase above them. He went to join the boy. Clearly not just their jailer coming back for some reason. Were they to be hung at last? He dared not hope they might finally be freed. In such hopes lay madness.

The footfalls grew louder, joined by the soft clink of armor — or chains perhaps — and a voice he recalled almost at once, and did not think he wanted to be hearing again now.

“I can still make this easier for you, Sergeant,” came the Census Taker’s foppish whine. “Just tell me who those ladies really are.”

“I’ve already told you, sir. A dressmaker and a maid, as far as I know. If you’ll tell me what makes you think otherwise, perhaps I can be of more help.”

And that was Ennias’s voice. Was he coming to
improve their situation
finally, Reikos wondered, or to bring them some new grief?

“Stop being obstinate,” growled the Census Taker. “I am to believe that Cleone fell ill just in time for you to find such a distinguished and
convenient
replacement for her — and then a wealthy, discreet dressmaker I’ve never heard of either, practically waiting at my gates?”

“Cleone steered me to Freda, sir; and you sent me to get the dressmaker.”

“Who
also
falls suddenly too ill to speak with me before she leaves? And who my cousin, the famous healer, somehow neglects to cure of this affliction? If I were as stupid as you seem to think me, Sergeant, perhaps you would be the Census Taker now, and
I
would be the mercenary soldier on his way into a prison cell.”

“Well I’ll be a little purple sea monkey …” Reikos murmured in astonishment.

Pino turned to him, wide-eyed. “They’re arresting
him
now?”

Reikos shook his head, unsure, as torch-cast shadows filled the staircase landing.

“Do as you feel you must, of course, my lord,” said Ennias. “But when you’ve had a chance to check this out, I believe you’ll find you’ve been mistaken.”

The first person to come into view was Sarit, their jailer, looking even more morose than usual. The second was Sergeant Ennias, now lacking most of his house guard armor, and chained at wrists and ankles. Behind him came two more house guards, herding the sergeant. Last of all came the Census Taker, with a squirrel monkey clinging to his left shoulder.

“I was certainly mistaken when I entrusted this affair to you.” The Census Taker peered past his grim entourage. “Captain Reikos? Ah yes, there you are. And I am sorry, but I have forgotten your name, boy.”

“Pino,” Reikos said, before the rash youngster could say something to get them in even greater trouble. They did not need to be aggravating this man further, now especially, it seemed.

“Pino, yes, of course. Well, I imagine it must get somewhat lonely here, so I have brought you company.” The Census Taker nodded at Sarit, who stepped forward with his ring of keys to open their cell door. “I believe you’ve already had the pleasure of Sergeant Ennias’s acquaintance. Sergeant?” He thrust his double chin at Ennias, who, with a look of stolid resignation, shuffled into the cell. Sarit followed to unchain him, then stepped back outside to close and lock the cell door behind him.

“What have you done with Domina Kattë?” Pino demanded fiercely.

Reikos grimaced, wondering why the gift of youth was wasted on such witless people.

“Why, I have lavished every luxury at my disposal on her, boy.” The Census Taker frowned at Sergeant Ennias for some reason. “And warned her very clearly about the consequences of ingratitude.” He shook his head sadly, then turned to smile at them again. “I wish you all a splendid get-together, gentlemen. May the best man win.” He beckoned his two house guards to follow, and started for the stairs. Just before he turned the corner, he turned back and said, “If you decide to tear each other into pieces, please try not to make too big a mess. I don’t get anyone down here to clean that often.”