‘I think it might be useful if, when they arrive … you were to play the villain?’
Pike subjected Orso to that withering stare. ‘Because of my hideous burns?’
‘That and all the black.’
The faint twisting of Pike’s face might almost have been a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Your Highness, I have had some practice in the role. Feel free to slap me down if I become too dastardly. I look forward to seeing you as the hero of our little piece.’
‘I hope I can convince,’ murmured Orso, tugging his jacket smooth yet again. ‘I fear I missed all the rehearsals.’
The double doors swung open and the Breakers strode in. Orso’s ever-fertile imagination had built them up into red-handed zealots. In the flesh, they were a slightly disappointingly, then perhaps a rather reassuringly, ordinary group.
In the lead came a weighty old man: brawny shoulders, broad hands, heavy-lidded eyes that settled on Orso and stayed there, immovable. Next came a fellow with a scarred face whose eyes settled on nothing, darting twitchily around the room to windows, doors, the half-dozen guards about the panelled walls, meeting no one’s eye. Finally, there was a woman with a stained coat and an unkempt shag of lank hair, one of the hardest frowns Orso ever saw showing beneath. The look of implacable scorn in her blue eyes actually reminded him more than a little of his mother.
‘Welcome!’ He aimed at a balance between warm indulgence and effortless authority, but no doubt ended up with prickly weakness. ‘I am Crown Prince Orso, this is Colonel Forest, commander of the four regiments currently encircling Valbeck, and this—’
‘We’ve all heard of Superior Pike,’ said the old man, dropping heavily into the middle chair and frowning across the table.
‘Only good things, I hope,’ whispered Pike, oozing menace. Orso felt the hairs on his neck bristling even though he sat on the same side. When it came to playing the villain, he was clearly in the presence of a virtuoso.
‘My name is Malmer.’ The old Breaker’s voice was as weighty as his frame, each word placed as carefully as a master mason fits his stones. ‘This is Brother Heron, fought a dozen years in your father’s armies.’ He nodded towards the scar-faced man, then to the hard-faced woman, who appeared to be reaching greater heights of epic contempt with every breath Orso took. ‘This is Sister Teufel, spent a dozen years in your father’s prison camps.’
‘Charmed?’ ventured Orso, more in hope than expectation, but Pike was already sitting forward, lips curling back.
‘You will address the Crown Prince of the Union as your—’
‘Please!’ Orso held up a calming hand and made Pike sit back like a hound called off. ‘No one will die because of a defect of etiquette. It is my ardent hope that no one will die at all. I understand … hostages have been taken?’
‘Five hundred and forty-eight at the last count,’ grated out the woman, Teufel, as if delivering a mortal insult to a lifelong enemy.
‘But we’d like nothing better than to see ’em released,’ said Malmer.
Orso burned to ask whether Savine was among them but, incompetent negotiator though he was, even he saw that could only put her in more danger. He had to bite down on it. Had to stop following his cock from one disaster to another and use his head for once. ‘In which case you could simply release them?’ he ventured.
Malmer gave a sad smile, leathery skin creasing about his eyes. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some demands first.’
‘The Crown does not negotiate with traitors,’ grated out Pike.
‘Please, gentlemen, please.’ Orso held up that calming hand again. ‘Let us set the blame aside and concentrate on a resolution that gives everyone some of what they want.’ He was surprised by how well that came out. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad at this after all. ‘By all means, present your demands—’
His satisfaction was quickly cut off as Teufel flung a folded paper so it spun across the polished table and into his lap. He winced as he unfolded it, expecting insults scrawled in blood.
But there was only small, neat writing in a tightly controlled hand.
Show no surprise. Pretend you are looking at a list of demands. In spite of appearances, I am your friend.
Caught off guard, Orso glanced up at the woman. She glared back at him even more angrily than before, hard lines forming between her brows.
‘You can read, can’t you, Your Highness?’ she sneered.
‘I must have worn out a dozen tutors, but my mother was most insistent that I learn.’ Orso frowned down at the paper, trying to look like a man baffled by what he saw there. It required no great effort of acting on his part.
Superior Risinau was the prime instigator of the uprising but fled the city before you arrived, along with the Burners, who caused most of the death and damage. Malmer is in charge now, if anyone is. He is not a bad man. He does not wish to see the hostages hurt. His main concern is for the safety of civilians, and for the Breakers and their families. He has demands but he is becoming desperate. Food is scarce and order is collapsing.
This information was, to say the least, as useful as it was unexpected, but Orso kept his face carefully blank. He acted as if he had drawn a winning hand at the gaming table, and now had only to drag the biggest bets possible from the other players.
Malmer knows he has little left to bargain with. Offer him too much and he will become suspicious. He feared you would attack at once. Now he fears you will surround the city and starve the Breakers out. He expects you to be an arrogant liar. My advice is to treat him with honesty and respect. To seek a peaceful solution and avoid bluster. But to firmly refuse any demands and make him aware that you know time is on your side. If you were to offer amnesty for the Breakers, I believe he could be persuaded to surrender. He knows that is more than he could hope for.
The Breakers’ demands were laid out next: changes to labour laws, controls on wages and the price of bread, sanitation and housing, things Orso scarcely understood, let alone could grant.
Superior Pike held out his melted glove of a hand. ‘May I, Your—’
‘You may not.’ Orso folded the paper, sharpened the crease in it with his thumbnail and slipped it inside his jacket.
Then he smiled – always begin with a smile – and he leaned towards Malmer as though sharing a confidence with an old friend. As though the fates of thousands in no way hinged on their coming to an agreement.
‘Master Malmer, I judge you to be an honest man, and I want to be honest in return. It would be easy for me to offer you the world, but I do not wish to insult you. The truth is, the Closed Council is in no mood to negotiate and, even if I agreed to all your demands …’ He spread his hands in the same gesture of cavalier helplessness he used with jilted lovers, frustrated creditors and outraged officers of the law. ‘I’m the crown prince. There would be nothing to stop my father or his advisors refusing to honour my promises. I suspect, frankly, that’s the very reason they sent me. And I suspect, frankly … you’re well aware of that.’
‘Then why are we even here?’ snapped Heron.
Forest had managed to crank his scarred face a notch graver. ‘Troops stand ready to move into the city at your order, Your Highness—’
‘The very last thing we want is further bloodshed, Colonel Forest,’ said Orso, giving him the calming palm now. He had enough calming palm for everyone. ‘We are all citizens of the Union. We are all subjects of my father. I refuse to believe we cannot find a peaceful solution.’
He might not have spent much time negotiating for hostages, but at convincing people he could be trusted, whether in a gaming hall, a lady’s bedroom or a moneylender’s shop, he had almost bottomless experience to draw on. He softened his voice, he softened his face, he softened everything. He held Malmer’s eye and made himself all syrupy sympathy.