“And I,” Veterixi said, “heard that you’ve been relegated to hotel security for Demir Grappo.” Veterixi’s tone made it clear what she thought of that. A step down, even after falling out of favor.
“It’s a very nice hotel and I’m not going to have to launder blood out of my tunics for a while.”
“Breenen is a colleague,” Veterixi admitted, “and I admire him. I hope the hotel doesn’t go to shit now that Demir is back.” She sighed, ordering one of the porters to send a bottle of wine to the table of Marnish merchants who were losing a lot of money. “What favors do you need of me, Kissandra?”
Kizzie resisted the urge to defend Demir and stepped up to the one-way mirror to search the club. She spotted Sibrial immediately – wide shoulders, light skin, and long blond hair that favored his mother. He was thick without being fat, big-boned and broad-shouldered, laughing like a braying donkey at something one of his mistresses said. Just the sight of him turned Kizzie’s stomach. At a nearby table was Capric, his eyes closed, a piece of dazeglass in his ear, snoozing while conversation continued around him. There were nine full-blood Vorcien children, and it wasn’t uncommon to find most of them here on any given night. Sibrial and Capric were the only two she could spot.
But they weren’t her target. Kizzie moved on, searching the crowd until her eyes landed on the prize. Glissandi Magna was middle-aged with short hair, wearing a fine, dark blue tunic, lounging in a booth not far from the mirror. She smoked a thick cigar while she watched one of her cousins – third in line among the Magna heirs – play cards with several other guild-family scions.
“I want to know about Glissandi Magna.”
Veterixi snapped her fingers, and the remaining few porters standing at attention in the gallery vacated the area. Within moments they were alone, interrupted only by the muted sounds of the club from the other side of the mirror. “Now why would you want to know about Glissandi Magna?”
“She’s messing with some of Demir’s hotel suppliers. Demir has asked me to look into it.” One of the benefits of having a reputation for personal integrity was that most people assumed she never lied. It was a stupid assumption, of course, doubly so because it was held by otherwise intelligent people. Kizzie’s personal code was quite specific: she always kept her word, and she rarely lied to public authorities. White lies that were unlikely to be verified were a common part of her enforcer’s toolbox.
Veterixi took her gaze away from the club to glance sidelong at Kizzie. Kizzie pretended not to notice. Finally, Veterixi said, “She’s a firebrand. Opinionated, intelligent, ruthless. If she’s made a decision there’s no swaying her. If I were you, I’d go back to Demir and tell him to find new suppliers.”
“You think a Grappo glassdancer is intimidated by a Magna cousin?”
Veterixi shrugged. “I don’t really know what intimidates Demir. No one knows a damned thing about him, other than the fact he broke at Holikan. Even so, Glissandi is not one to cross.”
“The suppliers are clients,” Kizzie lied.
“Ah. Certainly makes it more complicated.”
“I’d like to talk to her alone.”
“Can’t help you with that,” Veterixi said. “She’s got a couple of hulking Purnian bodyguards that go everywhere with her. Outside of this club or her own home, you won’t have the chance to chat in private.”
“You think she’d take an appointment?” Kizzie asked. It wasn’t really an option anyway – Kizzie didn’t want any record that the two of them had ever spoken – but she might as well ask.
“Maybe if you’re willing to wait six months. More likely, she’ll have her bodyguards beat you within an inch of your life just for the audacity of asking.”
Kizzie watched Glissandi smoke her cigar, trying to get inside that head of hers. “Any vices? Peace offerings that might put me in her good graces?” A sordid vice made for either bribery or blackmail material.
“Nothing,” Veterixi said with a sympathetic frown. “She loves money and herself. She’s not scared of anyone, even glassdancers, and Demir isn’t rich enough to bribe her.”
It seemed, at least on the surface, that Glissandi was impenetrable. Kizzie went through her list of options. Demir wanted this done in a timely manner, and digging around Glissandi’s businesses, family, and friends for something Kizzie could use would take time. It would also be dangerous. If the Magna found out what Kizzie was up to, she could expect a visit from more than just a pair of Purnian bodyguards.
An idea occurred to her. Perhaps, she considered, it didn’t have to be that difficult. “How’s her reputation?” she asked.
“Impeccable. I hear a lot of secrets in this place, and absolutely nothing juicy has come to my ears.”
“Is she that clean?”
“More like she’s that fastidious about cleaning up after herself.”
That might work. Kizzie chewed on her lip, her new idea slowly taking form in the back of her head. “If you think of anything else,” she said, “let me know.”
Veterixi pretended to tip a hat toward her. “My pleasure. Was that it?”
Kizzie nodded to the corner booth at the far end of the club, where Sibrial was still playing cards. “If you can think of anything to get me on his good side, let me know.”
“I’m a club concierge, not an omnipotent being,” Veterixi replied.
“Is it that bad? I didn’t know it would matter so much. The fines were a pittance for him.”
Veterixi made a sound in the back of her throat. “It wasn’t about the fines he had to pay, it’s about the fact he had to pay them at all. You humiliated him when all you had to do was give the magistrate an alibi.”
“He ran over a little boy with his damned carriage. Broke the kid’s leg and could have killed him.”
“And even if he did kill the kid, Sibrial is the Vorcien heir. You still should have lied to the magistrate.”
Veterixi was right, of course. Guild-family heirs were almost entirely above the law – if not in theory, then in practice. Having the most honest Vorcien enforcer give an alibi was meant to get Sibrial off completely. Instead, Kizzie had told the truth just so she could watch the magistrate yell at her idiot half brother. It was, in retrospect, a moment of vindictive foolishness she should never have indulged. She’d expected Sibrial’s ire over the whole affair. She had not expected to lose favor with Father Vorcien.
“Well, I’d still like to make it up to him.”
“Good luck with that.” Veterixi sounded sincere, but not hopeful. Her eyes suddenly narrowed, and Kizzie followed her gaze back to Sibrial’s table, where one of the porters was leaning over and whispering in Sibrial’s ear. Sibrial’s head came around and he glared directly at the one-way mirror Kizzie was standing behind. Veterixi swore. “That little prick just sold you out to your brother. Glassdamnit, I don’t want to deal with this tonight. I’ll slow him down, you get out of here.”
Kizzie didn’t have to be told twice. Sibrial was already getting up from his table as she bolted for the exit, hurrying as quickly as she could down the winding back passages, past the private rooms, and through the kitchens. She’d almost reached the rear exit when her flight was arrested by a familiar voice barking her name.
“Kizzie!”
Kizzie froze. She fixed a demure look on her face and turned to find Sibrial standing in the hallway behind her. Sibrial was said to look much like their father had at that age, aside from his hair color: barrel-chested with thick arms; a clean-shaven square jaw. He had a cane in one hand and his face was flushed from drink.