I glance at Sef Kama.
‘What?’ she asks, seeing me look.
‘Nothing.’ The fact she hasn’t tried escaping through the skylight tells me all I need about how much use she’s going to be. ‘How often do you get fed?’
Her mouth is open, but it’s not saying anything.
‘You got fed this afternoon?’
‘Pancakes.’
‘Last night?’
She shakes her head. ‘I wasn’t . . . I only . . .’
OK, she’s only been here for a day, and hasn’t yet got her head round the fact she might be here some time. Except, she won’t be. Because Anton is telling her she’ll be all right now he’s here.
He shuts up when I glare at him.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Sef says.
Anton wastes a couple of minutes coaxing out what she can’t believe. Apparently she’s been locked in by Paulo. She breaks off telling him this to ask why Paulo would do such a thing. Since Anton doesn’t know who Paulo is, it’s a pointless question.
When asked, she says Paulo designs dresses.
Doesn’t sound that dangerous to me.
Lady Serafina is only here because her aunt insisted more lace was needed for the dress.
‘What dress?’ Sergeant Leona demands.
Sef’s glance is cold. ‘I’m getting married.’ You can see she thinks talking to Leona is beneath her. ‘In the cathedral.’
‘Who’s the lucky man?’
‘Vijay Jaxx. You wouldn’t know him.’
Anton grabs me before I can finish wrapping my fingers round her throat. And then he’s on the floor, clutching his gut, and Sef is wailing and Leona is trying very hard not to show any expression at all.
‘How long have you known him?’ I demand.
‘All my life. We’ve been engaged since childhood.’
‘We’re talking about Vijay? Been away recently? Only just come back?’
‘Landed this morning,’ she says. ‘Why?’
Because, I’m going to kill the little shit. And a Jaxx or not, I’m going to cut off his tackle and fuck him with his own bits first. Don’t realize I’ve said it aloud, until Leona grins and Sef starts wailing.
‘What’s he ever done to you?’
It’s what he’s done to Aptitude that pisses me off.
Anton’s dragging himself to his feet. He looks sick, but not upset enough for someone who’s just discovered his daughter’s fiance is cheating. I’m getting ready to call him on it, when Leona grabs Sef and chokes off her wails.
‘Sir . . .’
We hear footsteps on the stairs.
‘We’ll be in there,’ she tells Sef, pointing at the bathroom. ‘With the door slightly open. Betray us and it won’t just be Paulo’s throat we cut . . .’
She really is a girl after my own heart.
Chapter 22
A key turns and the door opens. The man who enters is balding, middle-aged, and slightly thick about the waist. He wears small spectacles, a flowery shirt and carries a bottle of water and a glass.
Not my idea of a kidnapper.
‘My lady,’ he says. ‘I heard you moving around.’
Not sure what Paulo sees in Sef’s face, but his voice falters. Putting down his offering, he begins to back towards the door. He’s not doing this because he thinks Sef might attack. It’s embarrassment that keeps him bent double.
‘Try to get some sleep,’ he suggests.
‘What?’
‘It’s for the best.’
‘Paulo,’ Sef says. ‘You locked me in.’
‘Lady Isadora said-’
Shouts from General Luc’s house stop anyone finding out what Sef’s Aunt Isadora said. Scurrying to the window, Paulo slides it up and throws back its shutters. A street door opposite opens hard enough to hit the wall. The Wolf has returned to find us gone.
At a sound of feet on his stairs, Paulo freezes.
No chance it’s General Luc. He’s still busy issuing orders on the street below, his voice tight and angry. He sounds a bad man to have as a CO.
Had a few like that in my time.
‘Serafina . . . my dear.’
Treacle sliding down razor blades. Maybe Sef feels the same, because her face tightens. Although she forces a smile, and turns from watching the street to face her visitor.
‘You have no idea how hard it was to track you down.’ Both Serafina and the newcomer are young, both blonde, both blue-eyed. There the likeness ends. Although they’re obviously twins, the newcomer got the brains.
Behind Sef and her reflection stands a man, looking concerned.
‘You’ve come to take me home?’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘We’ve been looking all day. Vijay must be worried sick. As for you . . .’ Her gaze hits Paulo. ‘You’ll be dealt with later.’
The man behind the newcomer interests me.
He’s U/Free, dressed in elegant robes.
Some kind of smart silk that swirls through carefully chosen colours. His hand on the newcomer’s hip says he’s already had her. And his smile as he examines Sef says he’ll be happy to have her as well.
‘So,’ he says. ‘This is your sister?’
The reflection nods.
‘Ladies Simone and Serafina Rivabella y Kama.’ Although he sweeps them a low bow, there is something predatory in his gesture. And his grin is mocking as he strips Sef with his eyes.
‘Sir,’ Leona whispers.
I’m gripping the door frame tight enough to crush wood.
Morgan Trefoil is married to Paper Osamu. We have history. He cost me a corporal who could skewer an abseiling spider across a crowded bar with a single throw. We were lovers, Franc and I. She still throws that knife some nights in my dreams.
I’ve killed Morgan once already.
Unfortunately, he’s U/Free. So he had a back-up.
You can tell he’s U/Free from his smug little face. The puffy cheeks, the arrogant sneer. His type might preach equality, but only because they can afford to. They control the richest civilization the galaxy has ever seen. We’re the ones still scrabbling our way out of ditches.
You’ve probably worked it out.
I want him dead.
Again.
‘Time to go home,’ he tells Lady Serafina.
As Sef nods, something strange happens. Although Paulo’s obviously terrified of Morgan, he thrusts himself between the U/Free and the open doorway. Men like Paulo don’t do well in Farlight. It’s probably only his ability to dress the high clans that keeps him safe. Now, he’s risking it all. And for what?
‘Please,’ he begs. ‘Lady Isadora said-’
Morgan’s face tightens. ‘Stay out of this,’ he snaps. ‘You’re meddling in matters far above you.’
That’s Morgan all over. Patronizing bastard.
‘My lord,’ Paulo says.
A scowl floods Morgan’s face.
‘The U/Free don’t recognize titles,’ he says. ‘We certainly don’t use them ourselves. All people are equal in our eyes.’
Self-righteous, as well as patronizing.
‘But Lady Isadora insists-’
‘I don’t give a fuck what Lady Isadora insists.’
‘My lord . . .’
One second the dressmaker is standing there, the next he’s against a wall and his feet dangle six inches above the floor. Morgan has him by the throat. The U/Free’s muscles are augmented. Nothing else explains the speed at which he reacts.
Never seen Morgan lose it before.
Pretty impressive, if you take it at face value. I don’t . . . Taking things at face value gets you killed, according to my old lieutenant. Mind you, he read meanings into the number of vultures at the water hole, how many flies swam in his brandy and what time of day he first farted. Took bets on it too.
U/Free aren’t supposed to lose it. That’s for barbarians like us. So if Morgan is going apeshit he’s pretending or he’s scared. And why would a man like Morgan be scared?
Paulo’s eyes are popping.
The way they do when pressure builds behind them. Much more of this, and it’ll be a dead tailor Morgan holds.