Swordpoint (19 page)

But Horn barely had a glance to spare for it. Nervously twisting the ivory wand in his palm, he seemed to be looking about the garden for a means of escape; or perhaps he saw swordsmen lurking in the shrubbery.

Ferris released him, saying, 'Go on. Make a few enquiries. Perhaps he's just trying to scare you.'

'He killed de Maris...."

'And Lynch. You'd better get three. Good thing you can afford it. Good luck, my dear!'

When Horn had vanished down the path Ferris swore, and kicked the statue's base. He felt silly immediately, but better. Did Diane know about this? St Vier was about to become a difficult man to do business with. If the swordsman was to kill Halliday, he must do it before he murdered Horn and became a wanted man. To his regret, Ferris decided it would be best to leave the party at once, to return home and begin setting things in motion.

Chapter XX

'I hear', Alec said, 'that you've been conducting a few small murders.'

It was two days since his bout with Delight. Neither he nor Richard had spoken of it since. Today was an unusually warm spring afternoon. On the Hill, the Duchess Tremontaine was giving a garden party.

Richard said, 'A few.'

'Those two were rotten fighters, even I could see that. Everyone's very excited about it.'

'They should be.'

'You're a hero. Small children will press bunches of flowers into your hands as you pass by. Old women will fling themselves weeping into your arms. Don't stand too still; pigeons will think you're a commemorative statue and crap on you.'

'Ginnie thinks I'm buying trouble.'

Alec shrugged. 'She just doesn't want you to have a good time. She doesn't understand the fighting spirit. When there's no one left to kill in Riverside, you have to expand.'

Richard wanted to touch the hard edges of his lips. But outside of bed, they didn't do that. The swordsman said, 'There's always someone to kill in Riverside. That reminds me: I'm going out tonight, as soon as it gets dark.'

'Again? Are you going to kill someone?'

'I'm going to the city.'

'Not to see Ferris - ' Alec demanded.

'No; I still haven't heard from him. Don't worry about that. You'll read me the letter when it comes.'

'Who read you the last one, the one from our friend?'

'Ginnie did.' Alec hissed.

'You can go where you like, now,' Richard said; 'no one's going to give you any trouble. Where will I find you tonight?' 'That depends on how long you're out. Home; Rosalie's; maybe Martha's if there's a game going there....' 'I'll try home first. Don't wait up for me; I'll wake you when I come in.'

The woman twisted in the nobleman's grasp, making him hurt her with his refusal to let go of her arms. Her hair was in his mouth, and across her eyes; but there was a purpose to her twisting, as he found when her heel hit the back of his knee and he stumbled against the bed.

'Y' little street-fighter!' Lord Ferris grunted, hauling her in half by her hair. 'You've nothing to fear down there!'

'You promised!' she cried, a vanquished wail despite the ferocity of her fighting. 'You said I'd never have to go down there again!'

He turned her, so that her naked breasts were crushed against his throat. 'Don't be a fool, Katherine. What's the harm in it? I'll buy you a lovely dress, I'm sorry for this one....' The top of it straggled in pieces over her thighs. 'Just this once..."

She was crying. 'Why can't you send a note?'

'You know why. I need someone I can trust, to find him tonight.' He eased her onto his lap, nuzzling her throat. 'Little whore,' he said fondly; 'I'll send you down to the kitchens again... I'll have you turned out for stealing___'

'I never-'

'Shh!' Gently, Lord Ferris kissed his mistress. 'I don't want your temper now, Kathy. Just do as you're told...."

In the darkest corner of Rosalie's she waited, a shawl covering her head, a dagger naked on the table in front of her to discourage conversation. She had slipped past Marie, but there was no one at home in St Vier's rooms. On the stairs, her heart had thundered like a drum in a too-small space, in the terrible closeness of the limitless dark. She'd listened outside the door, trying to silence her body's noisy breath and pulse of panic. Riverside was a sector of ghosts for her now; everywhere she looked she saw the past. If she opened his door there might be dawn light and a dead woman on the floor, with Richard St Vier looking at her in perplexity saying, 'She was screaming at me.'

But no one answered her knock. With relief she gave up and went to the tavern, remembering how to hide in a crowd. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by asking if Richard had been there. There were people who would recognise her if she spoke, or if she uncovered her hair. Rosalie's had the same wet smell as ever; it was one of her earliest memories, her mother taking her down there, giving her to some old woman to hold who'd give her a bite of cake if she was good and sometimes braid her hair to make it pretty, while her mother talked with her friends and argued with dealers.

She'd met Richard there, when he was not much more than a new boy come from the country who'd found his way to Riverside because he'd heard the rents were cheap. She'd liked him because of the way he laughed, softly and privately, even then. She watched him fight his early duels, become a fad on the Hill, and finally take up with Jessamyn, a woman who had always scared her a little. But the three of them had sat at one of these tables, laughing together one night until their eyes ran; now she couldn't even remember what it had been about.

She heard echoing laughter across the tavern and lifted her head. The crowded knot of interest looked almost like a fight, but only one man seemed angry; everyone else was laughing. A tall man in black blocked her view. A couple of women were high-talking the tall man, flirting, teasing; and the angry man was turning away from the group in disgust, trying to ignore their mockery. Katherine realised who the tall one must be.

'Alec,' she said, when she got close enough for him to hear her. He turned sharply; she guessed people didn't use his name much. 'I'll buy you a drink,' she said.

He asked, 'Do you gamble? Max has given up on me - I can think faster than he can cheat.'

She drew her breath in softly. She knew the voice. She couldn't place it, but somewhere on the Hill she'd heard it before. She couldn't picture him well dressed, though, hair cut and ruffles ironed. And with his height she'd remember having met him. Still, she knew it, somehow: lazy, cool and self-assured. Richard said he tried to kill himself. He must be crazy. He couldn't be stupid: Richard wouldn't like that.

'I'll dice,' she said, 'if you want.'

They had to wait for a table to come free again. 'Who sent you?' Alec asked.

'What do you mean, who sent me?'

'Oh', he said after a moment. 'You want Richard. Have you got a bribe?'

'I don't need one. He's already doing business with us.'

'Oh.' He looked her up and down. 'I hope you're armed. It's nasty down here.'

'I know.'

It went beyond aristocracy, his arrogance. Now she wasn't sure she had heard him before. She didn't remember anyone who spoke without care for effect, without courtesy or irony, as though his words were dropping into darkness and it didn't matter who heard them. No wonder Richard wanted him. He wasn't safe.

They found a seat against the wall.

'Are you the one who gave him the ruby?' Alec asked.

'Yes, the ring.'

He put his hand flat on the table. The token glittered there on his finger. 'Can you accept for him,' she asked tartly, 'or does he just like to decorate you?'

'Very good,' said Alec with lazy amusement. 'He just likes to decorate me. Who are you, anyway?'

'My name is Katherine Blount. I work on the Hill.'

'For Lord Ferris?'

Nervously she looked around for listeners, then bypassed the question. 'If Richard accepts the job, I can give him the money.'

'Where is it, sewn into your petticoats? he enquired politely. 'Interesting to watch him get it out.'

Despite her annoyance, she laughed. 'Tell me where I can find him, and I'll let you watch.'

A look of distaste crossed his face. No wonder the whores liked to tease him. It was a striking face, too bony for handsomeness, but beautiful in its way, sharp and fine as the quills of a feather.

He fished in his purse, picking out a few coins of silver that he shifted from hand to hand. 'Do you know Tremontaine?' he asked.

He wanted to bribe her for information. She kept her face

straight. She wasn't going to refuse the money; not straight off, anyway. 'The duchess, you mean?'

'Tremontaine.'

'She's a lady.'

'God, you can't be that stupid!' he said irritatedly.

He had the money; she kept her temper in check. It wasn't his fault he didn't know what he was doing. She imagined Richard liked him that way. 'What do you want to know?'

'What does Tremontaine have to do with all this?'

She shrugged. 'I couldn't say.'

'She didn't give you the ring?'

'No, sir.'

He didn't even notice the sudden servility. 'Then who did?'

'My master, sir.'

He let one coin fall to the table. 'Where the hell did he get it?'

'I didn't ask,' she said tartly, dropping the demureness. 'If it's hers, then she gave it to him.'

Another coin fell. 'Is that likely?'

'Very likely.'

He spilled the rest of the coins in front of her, and pressed a fist into his palm; but not before she saw how his hands were shaking. His voice, though, was careless: 'Now give me a chance to win them back from you.'

'Unless I cheat faster than you can think? You don't know how to cheat, do you, Alec?'

'I don't need to.'

‘Where can I find Richard?'

'Nowhere. You can't. He doesn't want the job.'

'Why don't you want him to take it?'

He looked down at her. 'Whatever makes you think I have anything to say about it?'

There it was again, the evasion cloaked in rudeness. She put her chin in her hands, and looked into his haughty, stubborn face. 'You know, he's told me about you,' she said, putting into her voice all she knew of them both. 'He's not going to kill you, don't pin your hopes on that. He tried it once before, and he didn't like it.'

'That's odd,' he mused; 'he didn't tell me about you. I expect he thought I wouldn't be interested.'

She stood up. 'Tell him I was here,' she rapped out, the flat rapid patter of Riverside back in her voice. 'Tell him I need to see him.'

'Oh?' he said. 'Is it a personal matter, then? Or is it just that your master will beat you ?'

He would say anything to get a reaction, she told herself; all the same, she found herself leaning over him, saying into his face, 'You don't belong here. Richard knows that. You can't keep this up forever.'

'You belong here,' he answered coolly, real pleasure in his voice because at last he had pierced her. 'Stay with us. Don't go back to the Hill. They don't let you have any fun there.'

She looked at him, and saw in the disdainful face just how badly he wanted to be attacked. And she straightened up, picked up her cloak. 'I'll be at the Old Bell tomorrow night with the advance money. Tell him.'

Alec sat where he was, watching her leave. Then, since he'd given her all the money he had, he went home.

She thought about checking a couple of other haunts. The streets were so terribly dark, outside the circle of torchlight that marked the tavern's door. She'd grown unused to not being able to see at night, not knowing what her hand would next encounter, what her feet would find beneath them, what sounds would come lurching out of the hollow silence. Her own fear made her afraid. People could tell from how you walked how well you could handle it. Here there was no attempt made to light the entries of houses, no Watch treading the mud and cobbles on their regular route. She stood outside Rosalie's in the circle of torchlight. Richard could be anywhere. She wasn't going to search all of Riverside for him, she'd done what she could. For all she knew, he could be on the Hill. She'd delivered her message to his usual place, and that was that.

A child came by, carrying a bundle of torches. Only children and cripples were torchbearers here; no strong man wanted to earn his money guarding those who couldn't take care of themselves.

'Lightcha, lady?'

'Yes. To the Bridge.'

'That's extra, to cross it.'

'I know that. Hurry up,' she said, and drew her cloak around her like a blanket.

Chapter XXI

It was Richard's second night of watching Horn's house, and already it was paying off. The guards seemed to be concentrated at the front: apparently Horn was expecting a formal challenge, and wanted to be sure of not meeting it himself.

Richard was standing outside the back garden wall, among the leafless branches of an old lilac bush. He would never understand why these people left such good camouflage so near the entrances to their houses, when the whole purpose of walls was to keep people out. Braced halfway up it, between the bush and wall, he'd been able to see all he needed to of the back of the house. When he heard the approach of the guard who occasionally patrolled the back garden, he'd dropped back to the ground. Now he listened to the receding footsteps rounding the far corner of the house. He waited in the darkness listening, for one minute, two, timing by his own breathing to make sure that excitement didn't betray him into moving too soon. A carriage clattered by in the street, the torches of its outriders throwing a streak of shadow against the wall, himself entangled in the lilac branches.

The back of the house was silent. He knew Horn was at home this night, and alone, without visitors. He even had a fair idea now of where to find him: the pattern of lights passing behind the windows had indicated hallways and occupied rooms. Richard took off his heavy cloak, which was fine for waiting out of doors but no good for climbing trees; he wrapped it around the light duelling sword he carried - his pride, a new blade of folded steel, light as a kiss and sharp as a surgeon's tool - and tucked the bundle under his arm. With the help of the bush, climbing the outside wall was no great feat. He remembered the drop on the other side as not too far, and made it. Without the snow, the garden looked a little different; but he had in his head the map the Duke of Karleigh had provided of the formal gardens the night he fought Lynch and de Maris here.

Richard stood still, accustoming his feet to the new ground. The air was very chill; without his cloak he felt it, even through the layers of clothing he wore. He heard the Watch pass on the other side of the wall, making their usual racket. He felt his cold lips curve in a smile. There was almost an acre of ground between him and the house, heavily decorated with topiary. By the faint and steady light of stars he picked his way among the carved bushes, stopping to shelter under a yew shaped like a castle, skirting the outside of the boxwood maze whose paths could be glimpsed through gaps in the hedge.

At last the house loomed above him; just another wall to climb to reach the first-storey window he had targeted: a tall window, with a convenient wrought-iron balcony that should hold a man's weight. An immense rose trellis climbed up to it. Very pretty, no doubt, in summer.

He buckled the sword on close to his body, and pinned his cloak at his neck, knotting it into a heavy ball behind him. The rustling of dry branches, the scrape of his toe against stone, sounded loud in his ears; but his world was shrunk to a, tiny point where the least sound and movement were mammoth.

The climb warmed him. He tried to make it quickly, since too much deliberation might expose him like a fly on the wall if anyone looked up; but the strong rose stem was obscured by a tangle of creepers and branches, and he had to feel his way. He found toeholds in the joined stone blocks, and was able to rest his hand against the top of the ground floor window cornice. His own breath rose in front of his face in puffs of vapour. Leather gloves protected his hands, but now and then he felt the piercing of a heavy thorn, and the warm blood flowing down the inside of them.

Finally his hand closed around the metal underside of the balcony. He pulled hard on it. It was firmly bolted to the stone, so he swung himself up onto its ledge.

Richard crouched on the balcony, resting, breathing softly. He took an old knife-blade and a bent piece of wire out of his jacket and unhooked the latch; then he slipped inside, closing the window after him.

He had hoped the window led onto a hallway, but from the sound he seemed to be in a small chamber. He pulled back an edge of curtain to let some of the night's silver glow in. He felt his way carefully around the furniture. The carpet was as thick and soft as a pelt.

A sudden flash of movement in the corner of his eye froze him. Across the room from the window, a streak of black had shot across the grey surface. Now it was still. He stared across the room into the darkness at it, looked sideways to catch it again. It resolved itself into a small square of light; another window, maybe guarded. He raised his arm silently to shield his eyes, and a slash of black ran across it again.

It was a mirror. He wasn't used to them. Alec was always complaining that their palm-sized disk of polished steel was not big enough to shave by. Richard supposed he could afford to buy a mirror the size of a window; but he didn't like the idea of it hanging on his wall.

He was glad to find that the bedroom door wasn't locked from the outside. The hallway was lit with tapers, a forest of them in the dark. He ducked back behind the door to give his eyes time to adjust to the light. Then he followed the hall to the room he'd marked.

Lord Horn sat in a heavy chair, reading in a circle of light. He didn't hear the door open, but when a floorboard creaked he snapped, 'I said knock first, you damned fool.' The lord leaned around the side of the chair to look at the intruder. 'And why have you left your post on the stairs?'

St Vier unsheathed his sword.

Horn started convulsively, like a man touched by lightning. He knocked the chair back, and his mouth flapped with a frozen scream.

'It's no good calling your guards,' Richard lied, 'I've already taken care of them.'

It was the first time he had come face to face with the man. Horn was younger than he'd expected, although his face was now hagged with shock. There was nothing to admire in him: he had bungled everything, and finally knew it; he had misused his power and now he would pay. It was quite clear that he knew what was happening. Richard was glad of that; he didn't like making speeches.

'Please - ' said Horn.

'Please what?' Richard demanded icily. 'Please, you'll never meddle with my affairs again? But you already have.'

'Money - ' the noble gasped.

'I'm not a thief,' said Richard. 'I leave it all for your heirs.'

Lord Horn walked shakily to his desk and picked up a crystal bird. His hand cupped around it protectively, stroking the smooth glass with longing. 'You like a challenge,' he murmured, almost seductive.

'I've got one,' Richard answered softly. 'I want to see how long I can make this last.'

First he silenced him, and then he took, very slowly, the life from the four corners of his body, being careful not to render him unrecognisable. Richard never spoke, although the man's wild eyes begged him for it while they could.

He had planned it carefully, and he stuck to what he planned, except that, in the end, he didn't deliver his characteristic blow to the heart. It was unnecessary: the precision would label his work, and he didn't want it to look as though he had mutilated an already dead body.

He unlocked the study window and left again through the garden. No swordsman could afford to be blackmailed.

Alec was sleeping, diagonal across the whole bed as usual, one arm flung out with fingers loosely curled over his empty palm. The mark the shackles had left on his wrist was a dark streak in the pale light.

Richard meant to go and wash first; but Alec stirred and said sleepily, 'What is it?'

'I'm back.'

Alec rolled over to look at him. The hollows under his cheeks went taut. 'You've killed someone,' he said. 'You should have told me.'

'I had to make sure he was at home first.'

Alec's long white arms reached out to him. 'Tell me now.'

Richard fell onto the bed, letting the tall man gather him in.

He wasn't tired at all. 'You smell strange,' Alec said. 'Is that blood?'

'Probably.'

Alec's tongue touched his ear, like a hunting cat getting the first taste of its prey. 'Who have you gone and killed this time?'

'Lord Horn.'

He hadn't been sure how Alec would take it. With wonder he felt Alec's body arc sharply against his, Alec's breath let out in an intense, vicious sigh.

'Then no one knows,' he said dreamily in his lovely accent. 'Tell me about it. Did he scream?' The pulse was beating hard in the hollow of his throat.

'He wanted to, but he couldn't.'

'Ahhh.' Alec pulled the swordsman's head to him until Richard's mouth lay close by his ear. His hair was warm across Richard's face.

'He begged,' Richard said, to please him. 'He offered me money.'

Alec laughed. 'He hit me,' Alec said; 'and you killed him.'

'I hurt him first.' Alec's head tipped back. The cords of his neck stood out like vaulting. 'I took his hands, then his arms, and his knees-----' The breath hissed through Alec's teeth. 'He won't touch you again.'

'You hurt him___'

Richard kissed the parted lips. Alec's arms bound him like supple iron.

Tell me,' Alec whispered, mouth touching his face; 'tell me about it.'

They slept together until past noon. Then Alec put on some clothes and went downstairs to borrow bread from Marie. In one hand he held a heap of bloody clothes. It was a sunny day, almost as warm as the last one. He found her in the courtyard, skirts hiked up, already begun on the laundry, and held out the clothes to her.

'Burn those,' their landlady said.

'Are you out of your mind?' Alec asked. 'It'll make a horrible smell.'

'It's up to you.' She made no move to take the clothes.

'You look awful,' Alec said cheerfully. 'What's the matter, someone keep you up all night?'

She began a smile, and dropped it. 'This morning. You must have been dead not to hear the racket. I tried to keep 'em quiet, not to let 'em upstairs___'

'You should choose your friends more carefully. What's for breakfast?' He sniffed at her pot of boiling laundry.

'Don't you go putting your stuff in there,' she said automatically, 'that blood'll never come out in hot water.'

'I know, I know.'

'You know..." Marie grumbled. She liked Alec; he teased her and made her laugh. But it wasn't any good now. 'You know what he's done, then?'

Alec shrugged: So what? 'Got blood all over his clothes. Don't worry, we'll pay you for it.'

'With what?' she said darkly. 'You going to turn him in for the price on his head?'

For a moment the long face was still. Then he tilted his chin up, eyebrows cocked audaciously. Is there a price on his head? How much?'

'I don't know. They say there might be.'

'How do they know he wasn't working under contract?'

She looked scornful. 'Down here, they know. Up there, it may take them a little longer to figure it out. But that wasn't any duel. They say that noble was marked up like a shopkeeper's tally, and not with any dagger.'

'Oh, well!' Alec sighed blithely. 'I guess we'll have to leave town for a while until it's blown over. Too bad: the country's such a bore, but what can you do? Keep bees, or something.'

'I suppose...' Marie sounded dubious, but brightened. 'After all, everyone else leaves when things get hot. He might as well too. I'll save your rooms, don't you fear.'

Richard had long ago given up arguing with Alec over the use of his left-hand dagger for cutting bread. Alec claimed it was the only knife they had that cut the pieces fine enough for toasting, and that was that. 'I wish you'd told me', Alec said, slicing Marie's loaf, 'that we were going to be leaving town. I would have had my boots re-heeled.'

'If you're going to toast cheese, look out for the point on that thing.'

'It's not your best knife, what do you care? You haven't answered my question.'

'I didn't know you'd asked one.'

Alec drew a patient breath. 'My dear soul, they're already lining up with banners to see you off, and you're not even packed yet.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

Alec fumbled with the toasting-knife, and swore when he burnt himself. 'I see. They've found Horn, you know.'

'Have they? Good. Let me have the cheese.'

'It's rotten cheese. It tastes like shoeleather. Cheese is much fresher in the country.'

'I don't want to leave. I've got another job coming up.'

'You could become a highway robber. It'd be fun.'

'It's not fun. You lie in the grass and get wet.'

'They've found Horn,' Alec tried again, 'and they're not happy.'

Richard smiled. 'I didn't expect them to be. I'll have to stay here for a while.'

'In the house?'

'In Riverside. They don't trust us down here, so they aren't going to risk sending the Watch, and spies I can handle myself.' It wasn't like Alec to worry about his safety. It made Richard feel warm and content. He was going to curl up in the sun today and let other people worry if they wanted to. After last night he felt secure, better than he had in days. The theatre, Alec's abduction, the unpleasant notes, the strange young nobleman and the killing of the sword-master all faded into a past resolved and dispatched. No one was going to try Horn's little trick again or try to force his hand; and no Riversider who'd heard about it would touch Alec now. And from what Marie was saying, they'd all heard about it. Richard laid precisely the right pattern of pieces of cheese on his bread, and set it on the hearth near enough to the fire so that it would melt without getting brown.

In the long shadows of late afternoon they wandered down to Rosalie's for food and drink. Some little girls were skipping rope in the front yard of the old house. They were dressed, like most Riverside children whose parents acknowledged them, in bright eclectic splendour: scraps of velvet and brocade pieced onto old gowns cut down to size, trimmed with ruffles of varying-coloured lace culled from a multitude of stolen handkerchiefs. The jumper's plaits bounced as she chanted:

Mummy told me to have some fun:

Kick the boys and make them run,

'Charming,' said Alec.

Kick them 'til they run for cover;