“You did answer a question, after a fashion, so I owe you something. Call it a show of good faith.”
Marcus wanted to slam the door in his face and keep walking, but the nagging at the back of his mind wouldn’t let him.
“What?” he said, through clenched teeth.
“Have you been back to your old estate? Since. . well, you know.”
“No,” Marcus said.
“It might be worth your time to have a look. Just for nostalgia’s sake.”
Marcus paused, deliberately, then stepped through the door and slammed it behind him. The Armsman outside saluted nervously.
“No one is to speak to him without my permission,” Marcus growled. “Not Giforte, no one. Understood?”
“Ah, yessir.”
“Good.”
PART TWO
ORLANKO
Duke Orlanko tossed the broadsheet onto his desk, where it bumped a stack of paper and sent the crisp white sheets sliding a few inches across the wood. To those who knew him, the gesture was as emphatic as if he’d put his fist through a window in a rage.
“‘One Eagle,’” the Last Duke read, “‘and the Deputies-General.’”
Andreas stood, in his long black coat, as impassive as ever.
Orlanko tapped his finger on the paper, smearing the ink slightly. It was still warm from the printer’s. “As though the two were somehow connected.”
“Nonsense,” Andreas offered.
“It’s brilliant nonsense,” Orlanko snapped. “The poor of this city are cynical enough not to trust someone who promises nothing but cheap bread and times of plenty. But toss in a bit of mumbo jumbo about politics, just enough to sound confusing, and the rabble will believe anything. Most of them wouldn’t know the Deputies-General if it convened in their outhouse, but they’ll shout for it in the streets because it means bread at an eagle a loaf.”
“Yes, sir,” Andreas said.
“What do we know about this Danton?”
“Almost nothing.”
“‘Almost’ nothing?” Orlanko controlled his temper with an effort. “The man must have come from somewhere.”
“Of course,” Andreas said. “But nobody knows where. We got a few bits and pieces about some kind of adopted brother named Jack, but he seems to have left the city. As far as anyone knows, Danton appeared out of thin air that day in front of the cathedral.”
“And since then?”
“He stays at the Hotel Royal, near the Exchange. Keeps to his rooms and only comes out to give speeches. The staff brings him his meals.”
“Who visits him?”
“Only couriers.”
“You’ve followed them, I assume?”
Andreas nodded. “He receives a great many every day. They all come and go from the Exchange Central courier office.”
“Have you traced the messages back from there?”
“We don’t have the men. That office handles ten thousand messages a day.”
Orlanko drummed his fingers on the broadsheet, heedless of the ink smearing under his palm. “Someone is trying to hide from us, Andreas. Like a snake in the long grass.”
“Yes, sir. But I can’t set a man on every trader in the Exchange.”
“Even if we could, it would be a bit obvious.”
This attempt at humor, feeble as it was, went completely past Andreas’ head. “Yes, sir.” He paused. “May I offer a suggestion?”
Orlanko cocked his head. This was unusual, coming from Andreas. “Speak.”
“This business with the couriers, sir. It reminds me of the Gray Rose.”
“She had contacts at the Exchange Central?”
“No, sir. But it’s the kind of trick she liked. Hiding a tree in a forest, if you like.”
Orlanko considered. If the Gray Rose was involved, that meant the matter went a great deal deeper than he’d thought. On the other hand, Andreas had been working on the Gray Rose case so long he was developing an unhealthy obsession with her, and had a tendency to see her fingerprints on anything mysterious. He was a fine operative, diligent and extremely persistent, but analysis was not his strong point.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Orlanko said. “For the moment, focus on Danton’s backers.”
“Backers, sir?”
“Staying at the Hotel Royal costs money. Couriers cost money. Printing these”-he tapped the broadsheet again-“costs money. He must be getting it from somewhere. Find out where. If it’s his own, find out where it comes from. If someone is bankrolling him, I want to know who. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir. I may need to borrow some clerks from the finance section.”
Orlanko waved a hand and settled back in his chair with a chorus of squeaking springs. “Take whoever you need.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I received your report on that other matter, incidentally.”
“Vhalnich, sir?”
“Yes, our friend Count Mieran. It seemed. . thin.”
“All the relevant information was included, sir.”
“Unfortunate that the accounts are so contradictory.”
Andreas shrugged. “Matters in Khandar were apparently quite confused.”
“You say that Vhalnich brought two officers back with him aboard the fast packet, Captain d’Ivoire and a Lieutenant Ihernglass. I’ve met the captain. What’s happened to this lieutenant?”
“It’s not quite clear, sir. Vhalnich hasn’t given him any official orders, but he hasn’t been seen for several days.”
“Away without leave, perhaps?”
“If so, no one has reported it to the Minister of War.”
“An oddity.” Orlanko frowned down at his hand and wiped it on his sleeve. “But we have too many oddities lately, and the situation is approaching a crisis. See what you can find out.”
“Of course, sir.”
The Last Duke took a large gold watch from his pocket and snapped it open. He liked clocks and watches. There was something about the sight of all those little wheels, rushing around and around in perfect order, that made him feel. . peaceful.
“And now, Andreas, you must excuse me,” he said, and snapped the watch closed. He levered himself out of the chair with another chorus of squeaks. “I have an appointment.”
Even here, deep beneath the Ministry where only a few were permitted to tread, the halls were clean and free from damp or pests. They were not well lit, but that was unavoidable, since candles or torches required menials to tend to them, and no menials were trusted enough to work down here. He’d considered having gas laid on, but the main city lines were still miles from Ohnlei, and the expense would be colossal.
Perhaps, he thought, after the coronation, the Crown might be persuaded to bear the expense.
For now he carried his own lantern. He opened an ornate wrought-iron grate with a black iron key from a pocket on the inside of his shirt. The lantern made the shadows of the bars stripe the corridor beyond, canting back and forth as it swayed in his hand. The grate opened with the squeak of well-oiled hinges, and Orlanko continued down the hall, his padded shoes shuffling on the flagstones.
He didn’t like this place, or the alliance it represented. It represented a certain untidiness in the nature of the world. Only weakness had forced him to resort to it. But the Last Duke was nothing if not pragmatic, and he had long ago committed himself to using whatever tools were necessary.
Nine hundred years ago, when Elleusis Ligamenti had laid down the foundation stones of the Elysian Church, he had ordained that it would be ruled by a council of three, each the head of an order with distinct responsibilities. The Pontifex of the White concerned himself exclusively with spiritual matters, the relationship of Man to God, and the moral well-being of the Church’s flock. The Pontifex of the Red was responsible for the physical maintenance and upkeep of temporal Church power and authority, and its relations with the secular world and its rulers. And the Pontifex of the Black’s remit was the endless quest against the demons of the world, as enjoined by the Savior Karis’ Wisdoms.