The Mirador (32 page)

“Speaking of pigs, you mean?”

“All right. Fair enough. But what’s gotten into him about Gordeny?”

“Drin’s from Breadoven,” Corinna said with a shrug.

“So?”

“So he thinks everyone from the Lower City—and that
doesn’t
include Breadoven on Drin’s map—must be some kind of hardened criminal. Don’t you remember . . . oh. No, you weren’t here then.”

“What?”

“The second principal we had before Bartholmew was a boy named Camillo Dean. He was from Lyonesse. Drin never let up on him. Every time he misplaced something, he was sure Camillo had stolen it. It’s just the way he is, and I’ve told Gordeny not to mind him.”

"He’s such a pain.”

“It’s his gift.”

“Every troupe has one,” I agreed, sliding my last hairpin into place. “Now go on and take yourself off to get dressed. Things to do today, you know.”

“Give me a yell when you’re ready to go.”

“Sure thing,” I said, and she collected the tea cups and went.

After court, Felix said, “You’ll have to go talk to this tiresome sergeant on your own. I can’t wiggle out of my afternoon’s agenda.”

I went hollow. “But I can’t—”

“You said you weren’t going to lie to him. You certainly don’t need me to hold your hand while you tell him the truth. And Gideon will be there.”

“But—”

“He seems a perfectly nice and innocuous sergeant. I doubt he’ll bite you.” But his eyes were worried.

“Can’t you put him off again?”

“He’s got the trump card. Stephen will
not
find this amusing. And I don’t want him—the sergeant, I mean—to get the idea I’m toying with him. Go on, Mildmay. It’ll be fine.” He walked off before I could think of something else to say that might convince him.

What could I do? I went back to the suite.

Sergeant Morny hadn’t shown up yet, but Gideon was there, looking extremely well-dressed and well-groomed, which I figured to mean he didn’t like this no better than I did. He was wearing his best brown coat, and he’d tied his hair back with a wide brown ribbon. He looked absolutely respectable, and the thought got across my mind before I could stop it, that I wished his tongue hadn’t been cut out so
he
could talk to the sergeant instead of me. Nice, Milly-Fox. Real fucking classy.

“Hey,” I said and sat down.

He nodded back, and we waited together. I used the time to rebraid my hair, pretending hard that if I looked like a cit, the Dogs would treat me like one. Gideon got up and came around behind me and retied the ribbon. He went back to his seat and smiled at me in a way that said he knew as well as I did that we were being stupid.

By the sitting room clock, it was ten minutes past the hour when somebody knocked on the door. I said, “Come in,” because there was nobody else to say it. Rollo repeated his morning’s performance, but this time the sergeant had somebody with him, a skinny little rat of a guy who screamed
DOG
all over himself the same way the sergeant did. I can’t tell you what it was exactly, but anybody who’s lived in the Lower City for any amount of time has a good nose for Dog.

Sergeant Morny looked around. He seemed surprised not to see Felix anywhere. The little rat of a constable was trying to look everywhere at once, like he thought I had five more of me hiding in the corners.

There was a pause while Morny rearranged his thinking. He said, “So I’m guessing I can talk to you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Mr. Thraxios is just gonna watch.”

“That’ll do nicely,” he said. “This is Constable Waterman.”

He was Constable Waterman the same way I was Mr. Foxe, but it was none of my business. The rat bobbed his head and tried to look as polite as Morny, but he wasn’t set up for it.

“All right,” I said. “What d’you want to know?” I felt like I was asking some guy to knife me, yeah, right here in the stomach.

“The boy you threw through that window is named Jadis,” Morny said. “He’s got two septads and two. Now, I don’t think much of his truthfulness, but there’s no denying he went through that window, and not of his own accord.” He smiled at me. It didn’t make me feel better. “I want to know why.”

“’Cause I didn’t have nowhere else to put him,” I said.

“Don’t you give the sergeant none of your lip!” said the constable. He had a great big bullfrog voice in his little ratty body.

Morny said, like neither of us had spoken, “His lordship said as how you’d be happy to help.”

There was his trump card, like Felix had said, the threat that he didn’t need to say out loud—if I didn’t cooperate, he’d go to His
other
Lordship, and at that point, both Lord Stephen
and
Felix would be pissed at me.

I glanced at Gideon—I don’t know why—and said, “Okay. I was in Gilgamesh, and these three or four guys decided they didn’t like my face. Things got ugly. This Jadis kid went through the window. I didn’t mean to put him there.”

“Hmmph,” said Morny, not like he didn’t believe me or anything, just to show that he’d heard me. Constable Waterman made painstaking notes on a little tablet. “Jadis says you attacked him unprovoked.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Morny and Waterman both looked at me like I ought to know better than to ask that question. I suppose I did, but it made me mad anyway.

“You seen me walk, sergeant,” I said. “Sure, I was hot once, but I’m a crip now, and I ain’t
that
dumb.” And then I shut my mouth and sat there, hating myself and hating Morny and Waterman and hating Gideon—me for saying what was no more than the truth, and them for hearing it.

Morny said, “I have to admit, I couldn’t see a reason why Mildmay the Fox would be bothering with that boy either. And looking at you, I have a hard time believing that our friend Jadis could have done all that damage by himself. Does the rest of you match your face?”

“You wanna see?” I said.

“Evidence would be helpful,” Morny said. “Looks good in the report and all.”

“Felix said cooperate, so watch me fucking cooperate.” I stood up, shrugged out of my coat, unbuttoned my waistcoat, pulled off my cravat, unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. The bruises on my chest and belly and back were in their full rainbow glory, and it was worth it to see Waterman’s face when he realized I couldn’t possibly be lying. I didn’t look at Gideon.

“Thank you,” said Morny, still perfectly polite. “I don’t suppose you got a good look at any of the others?”

“One of ’em’s missing a couple fingers as of Deuxième,” I said. I put my shirt back on, but it didn’t seem worth bothering with the rest of it. “But I didn’t see any of ’em so as to recognize ’em again.” I’d been too fucking mad, but I wasn’t going to tell Morny that.

“Do you think they were part of a pack?”

That was exactly what I thought, but I shrugged. “No reason they’d have to be. Is your Jadis a pack-rat?”

“He’d like to be,” Waterman said, in his ridiculous deep voice.

“Now, constable,” Morny said. “We don’t know. It ain—it isn’t like they come and give us full rosters, now is it?”

“I was never a pack-rat,” I said. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Hmmph,” Morny said again.

And then I thought of something I actually wanted to know, “Hey, I heard y’all’re holding a gal named Jenny Dawnlight. That true?”

Morny’s eyebrows went up, and he traded a look with Waterman. But he said, “Charges of grave-robbing. Yes.”

“Why ain’t you let her go?” Because, I mean, grave-robbing ain’t a nice thing, but it ain’t hardly the worst kind of crime the Dogs get handed.

“Because the silly bitch won’t talk,” Waterman said and then shriveled up under the glare Morny gave him.

The sergeant sighed. “It’s true, anyway. She won’t say why she was there, and she won’t say who the corpse is or why she was digging him out of the oldest part of the oldest cemetery in the city. And, well, it makes us twitchy, as I’m sure you can understand. ”

“Yeah,” I said. I could get behind that.

“Are you a friend of Miss Dawnlight’s?” Morny said, almost like he was hoping I was and maybe could explain her to him.

“I used to know her,” I said and shrugged.

Morny gave me the hairy eyeball, but I wasn’t telling him nothing I didn’t have to. And anyway, what he’d wanted me for was whatever trap they were rigging for that Jadis-kid. Who I would almost have been sorry for except for the part where I wasn’t and wasn’t going to be.

Morny was polite, though. He thanked me for my time before him and Waterman left.

And then it was just me and Gideon, and Gideon was giving me this bright-eyed
I’ll get it out of you if I have to ask Felix
look, and fuck, I had to kill
that
before it spread.

I knew right how to do it though. Said, “Hey, you want to come visit the resurrectionists’ guildhall with me and Simon?”

And it worked. Like fucking magic.

I was getting used to finding letters from the Lord Protector in my pigeonhole. Gordeny had escaped from Jean-Soleil’s hectoring voice and spotted the new one first, and she was loitering obtrusively when Corinna and I came out.

“You have a letter,” she said.

“Mmm,” I said. “So I do.” I took it and tucked it into my skirt pocket.

Gordeny and Corinna looked at me imploringly, and I laughed. “I’m not going to stage a public reading.”

“A public reading of what?” Drin said behind me; he was much too close, and I knew he was within a single inch of encouragement of putting his hands on my shoulders or my waist. I stepped away from him and turned so that I could see him.

Corinna said, “Mehitabel’s getting letters from the Lord Protector.”

I watched his face shift as he took that in.

“The Lord Protector, eh?” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. “I wish you much joy of him, Tabby.” He stalked off, the living image of Morthenar in
Brannell Heath
.

“And that does for His Lordship,” Corinna said under her breath.

“Corinna,” I said, “I will thank you
not
to chase off my beaux unless I ask you to.”

“What on earth do you want Drin on your string for?”

“I don’t. It’s the principle of the thing.” We grinned at each other. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to read.”

As soon as I was out of sight, I let the mantle of vivacity drop. I knew what this letter was, knew what my answer to it had to be, and there was no joy in it, no triumph. Just the memory of Hallam weeping in a dream. I resented the knowledge that I would, in fact, do anything to protect him. How trite, how banal. How utterly fucking useless. But hate myself though I might, I couldn’t change it. If there was anything I could do that would keep him from pain, I’d do it. I’d slept with worse men than Lord Stephen Teverius, that was for sure.

I closed my dressing room door behind me, passionately grateful that for once Vulpes was not waiting for me. The letter was exactly what I thought it was: an invitation to the soirée on Mercredy and a further invitation to “a private dinner party that same evening at six o’clock,” with arrangements carefully provided to ensure Stephen’s receipt of my reply.

And the unwritten message was just as clear. If I accepted, he would be moving his plans forward, presenting me to all and sundry (“sundry” in this case most definitely being Lady Victoria) as his new lover.

If
I accepted? I snorted. The conditional wasn’t fooling anyone. “All right,” I said to my somber, sallow reflection in the mirror. “I guess I’m going to a party.”

In truth I was glad, however guiltily, that Mildmay would not be at my heels this afternoon. The delegation from Vusantine neither liked nor trusted me, and Mildmay did not help matters by staring the secretaries out of countenance, as he invariably did.

It irritated me greatly that I still had to placate the Tibernians, nearly two full years after I had mended the Virtu. But we needed the Coeurterre’s help in rebuilding the thaumaturgy that had been broken along with the Virtu, and in Malkar’s subsequent attack; I had also been informed, in plain terms, that if I alienated the High King’s Treasury, Stephen would have me sold into slavery in the Imari to make up the loss. Thus, twice a month Giancarlo and I met with the Tibernian envoys and described to them the progress being made both here in Mélusine and in the tower of Hermione so that Mortimer Clef, the senior envoy, could in his turn write a report for the High King’s ministers in Vusantine. I reminded myself, also twice a month, that this was preferable to the original arrangement, which had the envoys attending Curia meetings. That scheme had proved untenable very quickly.

Clef said very little; he was annemer, and although he had a remarkable grasp of thaumaturgic theory, having served as the liaison between the High King and the Seigneur de la Coeurterre for over twenty years, he was quiet by nature, preferring rather to observe than to perform. When he asked a question, it was almost always of Giancarlo, who had been saddled with the logistical nightmare of herding wizards in three different cities.