The Duchess of the Shallows (27 page)

"How should I know? They never asked and I didn't offer. Antony, that big oaf with the chin scar, was less interested in questions than in wrecking my shop. And my face." He wiped blood from his lip. "I should have known this was too easy," he muttered to himself as he looked around the room, surveying the damage.

"So they broke in here and did...this, all for nothing?"

Lysander laid a hand on her wrist and turned to Hector. "Eusbius...he has some connection to the Red, doesn't he? One you forgot to mention the last time we were here." He turned excitedly to Duchess. "I knew those patrols last night seemed false. I think the Uncle's doing what Ophion did last night: making a show to satisfy Eusbius, stirring up the Shallows and beating up Hector."

"So Eusbius is on the Red?" she asked.

Lysander shrugged. "Either on it or closely allied to it. I'm not sure there's a difference. Eusbius is angry and the Uncle is giving him the show he needs to feel important." He regarded Hector warily. "Antony never asked you anything about Duchess? The truth now, old man, or I'll beat you myself."

Hector snorted, wincing at the pain from his bruised face. "I was just thrashed by the Red, you little fool. Do you think I fear
you
?"

Lysander looked almost ready to lay into the man when Duchess laid a hand on his shoulder. "What was your grudge with Eusbius?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Still, her life might depend on some small detail either she or Zachary had missed. "Why did you want him ruined?"

"Maybe because he ruined me first," the old man spat. "Maybe because he put the knife
in my back ages before I'd thought to stick one in his." He spat a mixture of blood and phlegm on the floor and grimaced. "It doesn't matter now."

"Like hell it doesn't," she replied, but in truth she felt a bit relieved. If Lysander were right, if the Uncle were simply going through the motions... "So Uncle Cornelius may not even care who actually took the dagger or if the baron ever sees it again."
Hector managed a pained shrug. "Perhaps. After all, if he were really angry, I would be floating face-down in the harbor and not having this pleasant conversation." He sketched a mocking half-bow in Duchess' direction.

Lysander was not satisfied, however. "The real question," he said, "is how the Uncle knew
you
were involved."

Hector snorted. "Anyone who's on the Grey knows Eusbius and I are old enemies; doesn't take a scholar to
frune
that. And you can believe the Uncle has his own informants." He sighed and slumped back into the chair. "Plus, he's smart enough not to ignore the most obvious suspect. I'd spent months thinking of a way to get even with that lowborn bastard, and when this one" – he gestured at Duchess with his broken right hand – "appeared on my doorstep it was if the gods had sent me a gift. I even went to the Godswalk to seek guidance." He delicately fingered his wounded face, wincing. "So much for prophecy."

In her mind's eye Duchess saw a woman wearing a mask of a thousand eyes, raising a glass in mocking salute. She thought of unsolicited advice and a conveniently open window. She thought of Lady Agalia atop the steps of the temple of Anassa, first one eye touched, then the other. That had been the day after she'd seen Hector. One day after he himself had been to the temple to receive a "prophecy" from the goddess. She'd asked the mysterious facet at the party whose idea all this had been, and now she found herself wanting to ask the same of Hector. Had the facets hatched this scheme when Hector came to them for help? Or when Agalia had done the same? Maybe the facets were better manipulators than anyone had guessed. "I don't care about the gods or prophecy; I want what was promised me. What
you
promised me."

"Don't worry," he muttered, "you'll get your damned reward. Come back after dark, and assuming I'm not dead, you'll be on the Grey. For whatever that's worth."

She considered him a moment, then nodded. "I'll be back after sundown." She reached into her pocket and dangled the medallion before his battered
face. "But right now I'll be needing another of your services."

Hector held the jewelry to his good eye, more comfortable on the familiar territory of appraising stolen goods. "Good workmanship. I'll give you ten florin."

She snorted. "Antony bruised more than your face if you think I'll settle for that. Seventy."

It was Hector's turn to laugh, which made him clutch at his bruised ribs. "Is there a sign above my shop that reads 'Idiot Here'?" He shook his head. "I was being generous. Now I'm thinking more like eight. That thing is easily recognizable and hard to get rid of. Remember, what I buy from you now I'm going to eventually have to sell to someone else."

She cocked her head to one side, hands on her hips. "For a man who might be dead by nightfall, you're certainly taking a long view of things. Sixty-five." And so they went. Hector knew more about the market value of gold, it was true, but Duchess was an experienced haggler from her days on the bread cart. There were some who would try to negotiate the price of even a heel of stale bread, so Duchess had learned early to distinguish a genuine final offer from a mere negotiating tactic. They finally settled at twenty-five, far closer to Hector's initial price than hers, but he would go no higher. Matters were made worse when he refused to buy the dagger at all. "But you promised you'd pay for it!" she protested.

"I remember what I promised," Hector replied waspishly. "But that was before I knew Uncle Cornelius was involved. So sad, but then life is full of these little disappointments. You can sell that dagger to someone else, eat it, or throw it in the harbor for all I care; I won't have it in my shop." She thought about another place she'd like to leave that dagger as she watched Hector fumble about in a drawer for her twenty-five.

Lysander laid a hand on her arm. "Hector's just trying to get you angry," he whispered, "and to recover whatever's left of his pride. There are other fences; we'll use one of them." Duchess nodded, unappeased, and she took the coins from Hector and slipped them into her belt pouch. She turned to leave, Lysander at her heels, but at the door she stopped and turned around,
feet crunching on broken glass.

"Oh, and Hector?" She looked at him levelly, unsmiling. "When I come back tonight, I'd better not hear any more sad stories about disappointment. I'll leave tonight with what you owe me, or your future will be too short for even Anassa to read." The look on Hector’s face almost made up for the paltry deal she’d gotten on the medallion. Almost.

Chapter
Sixteen:
Minette locks a door

"Did you just threaten to kill Hector?" Lysander asked as they made their way back towards the Shallows. "You were so grim in there that for a moment even
I
believed you."

Duchess shrugged. "Let's hope Hector did as well. We went through too much last night to put up with the likes of him." She rested a hand on her purse; she'd never before carried so much money, and was a bit paranoid about thievery. Lysander was likely to spot any cutpurses before they could get in range, but you could never be too careful. Twenty-five gold florin was a fortune for someone like her, but in truth she was less pleased with the day's take than she would have expected. Evidently, the woman in the gallery had not been in costume at all; she was a genuine facet of Anassa, perhaps the same one who'd sold Hector his prophecy and set these wheels in motion. And how on earth did someone like Hector get a prophecy from the facets? Was he more influential than she guessed, or were the facets themselves up to some manipulation? But whom was the cult manipulating: Baron Eusbius, Hector, or Duchess herself? And who was manipulating
them
?

It was too much, and she shook her head as if to clear it. The only certainty was that the dagger was now her problem and her danger. She couldn't very well give it back, and approaching other fences, even if she knew their names, might spawn rumors that would eventually lead back to her. She couldn't take that risk, not with both the baron and Uncle Cornelius looking high and low. Maybe Minette would have an idea; if not, she might well take Hector's advice and send the dagger to the bottom of the harbor.

For the thousandth time she fingered the brass mark in her pocket, the one that, so far, had brought her nothing but trouble.

The Vermillion was, as always, quiet at this time of day, but Lorelei seemed out of sorts, greeting them without any offer or request for gossip and waving them towards Minette's office. Lysander and Duchess exchanged a glance. Perhaps Minette was in a foul mood, which happened occasionally and always made the staff nervous. They went down the hall, knocked, and entered. Minette was at her desk, fiddling with her gloves, but when they appeared she placed them aside and motioned Duchess and Lysander to chairs. The wine glass before her was empty; another ominous sign.

She folded her hands neatly and regarded them, saying nothing for a long moment. "I hear you had a busy night," she said finally. "So did I, as it happens." To their surprise she did not offer them refreshment, nor did she ring for Lorelei. She merely sat and watched them both with her dark, dark eyes, and Duchess got the uncomfortable feeling that Minette was looking for something in her and had found it. "Before I ask about your visit to House Eusbius," she said, finally, "I should like to tell you about a visitor of my own, a lieutenant of the Red – Antony - who is upstairs right now with Daphne, although she's not the girl he was looking for."

There was a moment's shocked silence, then Duchess leapt from her chair. "He's after me, Minette," she babbled, her heart pounding. "Hector must have sold me out, the rat, no matter what he said." She turned to Lysander. "The Uncle doesn’t know you're part of this, so he won't bother you when I'm gone."

"Gone?" Lysander asked. Minette lifted one carefully cultivated eyebrow but said nothing.

"From the city. While Antony is distracted with Daphne. I'll hide out in the Shallows until I can find a way to sneak out of Trades Gate, maybe in a farmer's wagon or something. I can live on the gold we got from Hector for a long time, and after that…" She ran her hands through her hair, frantic, and Lysander looked desperately to Minette, who was shaking her head.

"My dear, that can't happen-" Minette began, but Duchess cut her off.

"It can Minette, and it will. I won't endanger Lysander or you or anyone else because of what I did." She moved to the door, still talking. "I'll find a way to get in touch, maybe later after-" She pulled the door, which rattled a bit but did not open. Surprised, she tested it again. Locked.

She stood rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes from the whorls and knots in the wooden door that seemed as tangled as her thoughts. Why hadn’t she thought of this? Minette knew
everything;
there wasn’t a whisper in the Shallows that she didn’t hear. She collected secrets like Lysander collected notches on his bedpost. She had even mentioned Hector by name back during that game of tiles. How hard would it have been to do a little asking about his grudge with Eusbius? Assuming she hadn’t already known.

And of course Minette had not been surprised when Duchess had asked for help finding a job at Eusbius’ party. Duchess had known going in that Minette would have an inkling of her general intention if not the specifics. And when the news came of Eusbius’ anger at a certain missing dagger…she looked to Minette. "Hector didn't tell Uncle Cornelius about me, did he?" she asked, feeling stunned and weightless, but certain. "You did."

"I did," Minette agreed. Lysander gaped at them both. "So when I said leaving can't happen, I meant that quite literally. I told Lorelei to lock the door after you entered."

"So you've betrayed me, then," said Duchess, trying to seem more calm than she felt. Minette knew everyone in the Shallows, and nothing that happened there escaped her attention. She could find Duchess in a heartbeat no matter how deep the hole or well covered the trail. Duchess felt the sting of tears in her eyes, to have come so far and lose so unexpectedly, and to betrayal.

Minette sighed. "Oh, do stop being dramatic," she said,
testily. She snatched up her cup, seeming honestly annoyed. "I had a flair for it when I was your age, and I admit I've indulged both of you further than I should, but come now." Minette gestured Duchess to the chair again, but Duchess remained where she was. "No one's betrayed you, Duchess; in fact, I may well have saved the both of you a beating, and probably worse."

Lysander stood, holding his hands spread before him in a calming gesture. "Wait a moment, Duchess," he said. "I don’t think Minette understands exactly what’s going on here." Minette’s face was impassive, but her cheeks had turned a deep shade of crimson so dark as to be visible even under her heavy powder. "We already talked to Hector, and the Uncle doesn’t know anything about Duchess or the–"

In one quick motion, Minette stood up and slammed down her glass. There was a moment of ringing silence. "That’s enough," Minette said calmly. "Now. Sit. Down. "

Duchess was in the seat before she could think about the motion, and Lysander followed suit. She had never seen Minette so angry, and every part of her wanted to knock down the door and run. As if nothing had happened, Minette held her glass up to the light, looking for cracks, and then went smoothly to the sideboard and filled it from a flagon. "I just got in this lovely plum wine. Care for a glass?"

"Yes, please," they replied in unison.

Minette busied herself with pouring. "You see, Uncle Cornelius and the man now known as Baron Eusbius are connected," she said as if the Red and the Grey were simple after-dinner conversation. "You don't need to know how, but suffice it to say the Uncle owes the baron a favor or two. After your little escapade last night, the baron called in that favor and the Uncle turned the Shallows upside down. Not that he ever expected to find this dagger; he was certain one of the highborn guests had stolen it as a joke on Eusbius, and the Uncle very wisely does
not
get involved in the games of the nobility. At least not anymore." She handed each of them a glass, and Duchess sipped without tasting the wine.