Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (9 page)

“But you
do
have the antidote, Mum?” Elspeth asked, desperately.

“I do, Kitten.  But he will
never
see it.”

That afternoon, a second gentleman arrived.  This one wore a fashionable southern-style aristocratic long coat over his doublet and hose, not a surcoat and mantle in the local style.  But though his fashion was impeccable, denoting just the right amount of class and sophistication, the man within the clothes was every bit as vile as the Constable.  Worse.

“Baroness,” he said, giving a curt nod.  “I have heard you plan to open a brothel, here.”

“I am considering many business opportunities,” she countered, reasonably.  “You are, Sir?”

“I am . . . you may call me Master Luthar.  I am well-known in the precinct.”

“Ah, yes, your reputation precedes you,” smiled Lady Pleasure.  He was the leader of the local thugs.  “Tea?”

“No, thank you.  You said you were open to business opportunities.  I might have one for you.”

“Really?  Do tell, Master Luthar.”

“I am a member of a society who wishes to see the folk of Vorone prosper, with good security for their business.  For a modest contribution, you can help ensure the security of your Hall and all of its clients.”

“I have guards already,” Lady Pleasure demurred.  “Fine, strapping fellows.  And I can procure more.  Certainly they are enough to contend with a simple drunk or madman.”

“The dangers
I
could protect you from are more insidious, Excellency.”

She looked confused.  “Do you specialize in vermin?” she asked, at a loss for what other dangers she might be exposed to.

He chuckled, an unpleasant sound.  “As fair as Vorone might be, Excellency, it is subject to the same mischance as any other town.  All sorts of misfortune can befall even the most magnificent enterprises.”

“I tend to have
very
good luck, Master Luthar.  And I am familiar with the kind of ‘luck’
your
society proposes: I’ve seen the vicious gambling parlors, the hidden fights for sport and wagering, the awful loans you force the merchants of this quarter to pay just to stay in business, the fixed games you use to offer the impoverished false hope and real debt slavery.  I see
no
business advantage in contributing to that.  No, the Hall of Flowers will stand unprotected from the likes of you.”

“Such a
pretty
bunch of flowers,” the man said with mock sadness as he watched the girls practicing the Holly Dance in the hall below.  “So nubile, and ready to be . . .
plucked
.”

“The incautious finger will discover that those roses have
thorns
, Master Luthar.  And sometimes things more dangerous than thorns.”

“They are but girls,” he dismissed arrogantly.  That irritated Lady Pleasure.

“You see those girls, and you see
things
to be exploited, used . . . ‘plucked’.  And when they are no longer pretty, you throw them into the gutter.  I see them as young ladies to be tended, nurtured,
trained
.  They are here to be developed, not used up.  That is the difference between you and I, Master Luthar, between all who would profit from the act of love without understanding it, and those who appreciate its subtle nuances.  Your own desire for fat
little boys
, for example . . .”

“I . . .
Madame!
  That is a
bold
accusation!” the man blustered, his face colored.  “I’ll have you know I am
married!”

“And l also know that you go after your stableboys after a good ride to get your blood up, don’t you?” she followed.  “On that little country manor outside of town?  I wonder what your wife would say, if she knew of such proclivities.  Especially the
unwilling
nature of the lads.  I believe you had to thrash the last one when he rejected your advances?  For shame.  There’s nothing admirable about
that.”

“You . . . you can prove
nothing!
” the criminal boss sputtered.

“I don’t need to,” Lady Pleasure smiled.  “All I need do is drop the suggestion of it into local society.  Like a pebble in a pond it will ripple larger and larger, until your wife’s ears hear them – likely from her
dearest
friend.  By then the anxiety will have built up in you, and the pressure will be nearly unbearable.  The first mention of it, the first accusation will be enough.  Proof won’t matter to her, you see, for she shall see the truth on your face and in your eyes.  That will be enough, Master Luthar, to blacken you in her eyes forever.  And when your own wife turns against you—”

“I believe we have concluded our business for today!” the dandy said, gathering his hat and sword.  “I wish you the best in your endeavors, my lady, and I will be sure to take an active interest in your affairs.”

“He certainly left in a hurry,” grunted Elspeth, as the man nearly ran from the hall.  “What did you say to him, Mum?”

“I confronted him with his worst fear.  Not death, nor disgrace, but dishonor in his wife’s eyes.  Not every man has that weakness, but those who do invariably betray themselves with wickedness of some way or another.  It did not take much to reveal his secret.  A man such as he has many.  It was just a matter of figuring out which one he feared the most, and employing it against him.”

“You do know he was of the . . . Rat Crew, Mum?” Elspeth added, hesitantly.

“Of course I do, Kitten!” Ishi smiled.  “They own controlling interests in most of the squalid brothels in town.  But their idea of a pleasure house and mine are as far apart as wood and wave.  Oh, he thinks he can scare me with threats of violence, and the menace of his notorious organization, but the truth is he is but a man, and therefore weak.  Such men invite wickedness and guilt into their souls like it could sustain them.  Such men have no future in Vorone.”

“He wouldn’t drink the tea, though,” Elspeth observed, gloomily.  She had come to terms with her mistress’ pragmatic approach to administrative oversight.  Assassination was, she was starting to admit, a quite efficient method of removing commercial and bureaucratic obstacles.

“He is different than that awful Constable, Kitten.  An official can be replaced by any other kind of man, but there is only one kind who seeks the kind of work Master Luthar does.  Kill him, and two more will come in his place.  I thwarted him by humiliating him, telling him his own secrets.  That will only work for a short time, but help is on the way.  These . . . rats may be a problem for others, but not for us.  They will leave us alone, for now.  And they will be too hard pressed, come spring, to pay us much mind.”

“You do like to speak in riddles, Mum,” Elspeth said, shaking her head.

“Enough of this,” Lady Pleasure sighed as she watched the criminal lord hurry away.  “Back to the dance practice.  A week to go, and they
still
look like scarecrows blowing in the winds!” 

There was just a trace of Baroness Amandice’s up-country accent in the exclamation.  It was enough like one of Baroness Amandice’s old whines to make bucktoothed Elspeth grin.

*

*

*

“Tomorrow we will begin where the story should
properly
begin,” Antimei finished, with a sigh.  “With the Restoration of Alshar.  I will tell you of the daring return of a long-lost heir to his legacy . . . and the powerful heroine he brings with him in his retinue.”

“Who?”
asked Alurra, intrigued.  She really did love stories. 

“Tomorrow, Sweeting!” Antimei begged, giggling at her enthusiasm. 

“Antimei!” Alurra whined.  “Just the beginning?  Who is the heir?  Who is the heroine?”

“Well, he is known as the Orphan Duke,” Antimei said, settling more comfortably into her chair, resigned to talk all night long.  “He is Anguin II, son of Lenguin II, and he has returned in secret from a long exile to the last outpost of his realm he can claim as his own.  With him are a band of heroes and adventurers, stalwarts who risk their lives and their honor supporting his claim.  They have travelled for days across the frozen roads to arrive at the gates of fair Vorone, the summer palace locked in snow, and held by an evil man.”

“Oh!  This sounds
good!
” praised Alurra, leaning forward on her fist.  “I was getting bored with the, you know,
sex
stuff.”

“It will be . . . when it isn’t terribly sad,” promised the witch.  “And there is some ‘sex stuff’ in this tale as well.  Pour the tea, if you would, and I will tell you about the night that the Orphan Duke will come to Vorone, and bring his new Court Wizard with him: a Remeran mage of great power,” supplied Antimei. “Lady Pentandra anna Benurvial . . . and upon her, child, not only does the story depend . . . but upon her depends
all
of our hopes.  Luckily, Yule is the feast of Hope, and that snowy, moonless evening is the night that the Duke and his gentlemen will appear at the gates of Vorone . . . and that is where our
real
story begins . . .”.

Chapter One

Return to Vorone

“Halt!” called the sleepy but determined voice of the guard at the great city gate. 

It was near to midnight, and though he was awake – unlike his fellows – he had not spotted the approaching party until they’d been within bowshot.  With a foot of snow on the ground to muffle their hooves, that was somewhat understandable, but even Pentandra, who had only casual experience with warfare, knew that was sloppy. 

The guard stood boldly in front of the great redwood gate, facing the party of two hundred men and horses, their breath steaming in the cold night air, with a single crossbow cradled in his arms.  “The city gates are closed, after sundown.  By order of the Baron,” he added, apologetically.

“Then open them,” came a strong but reedy voice from beneath the fur-trimmed hood of the leading horseman.  “In the name of the Duke.”

The guard chuckled at the unexpected invocation.  “Huin’s tired feet, my lord, but the Duke died more than three years ago.  Four, now.  Begging your pardon, but you won’t get no further than that by mentioning poor Duke Lenguin.”

“I wasn’t,” the reedy voice said, impatiently.  “I am referring to—”

“Enough of this!” One of the heavily-cloaked riders a few rows behind the vanguard of the party urged his mount forward.  “It’s late, we’re cold, we’re tired, and we’re hungry!”  He approached the head of the column, where the leader retreated deferentially.  He threw back his dark blue hood, revealing a youthful face of noble bearing – and a scowl.  “You, Sir!  You are . . . Randaw, are you not?  Corporal of the guard?”

“Ancient of the guard, my lord,” the man corrected, respectfully.  “But I—“

“Hush!” the youth commanded.  “I know that because I remember you.  You have two daughters, and your wife died with the second, am I wrong?”

“My lord!” the man said, his eyes growing wide.  “’Tis true, but—”

“I know this, Randaw, because I recall as a boy watching you play with them after your shift at the palace in late spring,” he said, firmly.  “Your older daughter wore yellow, with a bow in her hair often; and your younger daughter wore white, but it always looked gray, because she could never stay clean.  Further,” he said, smiling at the recollection, “your younger daughter called you ‘Dadums’, for no good reason that you could explain.  You loved them dearly.  So much that not even the approach of a Duke’s son would keep you from tending to them, when the younger one injured her knee,” he finished.

The soldier’s eyes grew even wider, and his jaw went slack with wonder.  “Huin’s holy hoe!  It’s
you!
  Anguin!”

“
Duke
Anguin,” the reedy voice corrected, officiously.  “His Grace, Duke Anguin II of Alshar, to be precise.”

“I . . . Your Grace!” the man exclaimed, his face filled with emotion.  “You’ve . . . you’ve returned? 
Here?”

“Aye,” Anguin nodded.  “This
is
the summer capital, is it not?” he asked, looking around at the large drifts of snow that had piled up outside of the city’s wooden wall. 

“Aye!  Aye, Your Grace, but . . . pardon me for saying it, but is this not the eve of
Yule?”

Anguin smiled at the man.  “Summer is coming, my friend.  For all of the Wilderlands.  Now, in my own name to my own sworn man in my own city, will you
please
open that godsdamn gate and let us in before we freeze on the spot?”

“It would be a genuine pleasure, your Grace!” Randaw nodded, solemnly, and rang a bell in the guard house twice.  He had to wait a few moments, then grinned apologetically and rang it again, twice.  “It’s the eve of Yule,” he explained, sheepishly.  “Most of the men are in their cups or sleeping it off.”  Just then the massive gate creaked and cracked, shuddering open and sending a cloud of freshly fallen snow cascading across the party. 

But the great gate was open.  Anguin, with a bit of ceremony, nudged his horse forward past the threshold of the town.  Randaw followed behind him.