As day gave way to day and reports from the Burley Men brought them no closer to finding the fugitive, his lordship’s temper darkened the more. He was angry at everyone and everything: angry at being lied to-though the Burley Men denied this vehemently-angry at the lack of results, angry that his plans were being stymied by a mere know-nothing nobody, angry at his own failure to get his hands on the one piece of the Skin Map he knew where to find. None of this was Haven’s fault, a fact she was not hesitant to point out. She most strenuously distanced herself from the current disaster, hoping to remain aloof from the steadily mounting storm of his lordship’s wrath.
“There is some deception here that I have yet to penetrate,” Burleigh declared on his return to the inn. It was the evening of the fifth night of the futile search, and his mood was toxic. “Livingstone has been aided and abetted in his escape. That is the only explanation-at least, it is the only explanation that makes sense.”
The weather had turned cold and wet with a foretaste of the winter to come; Lady Fayth was sewing new buttons onto a coat she had bought in the market, replacing the wooden ones with silver. Lord Burleigh sank into a chair by the fireplace and summoned one of the inn’s serving boys to come and remove his muddy boots.
“Clean them and bring them back when you are finished,” he commanded, his German lumpy but understandable. “Have the landlord fetch me something to drink-a jar of mulled ale will suffice for now. Get on with you. And be quick about it!”
The lad scurried off. He had learned to obey swiftly and without question when the earl spoke.
“You say Kit is a know-nothing,” Haven ventured, “and by all indications it would seem that you are correct in your assessment. If that be so, then what can it possibly matter that he has escaped?”
“Because he is a thorn in the flesh,” snarled Burleigh. “He is an increasingly troublesome obstruction to the ongoing search for the map. He is a rival and a threat.”
Haven did not raise her eyes from her work. “Hardly that, I think.”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I doubt it very much indeed, sir,” she replied. “He is as you have painted him-a nothing, a nobody. His only attachment to this enterprise was through his great-grandfather, Cosimo. That tether has been severed, and Kit has no idea what to do or where to go next. In the brief time I was with him he showed no volition and demonstrated no extraordinary understanding of the enterprise in which he was involved.”
“My impression too,” affirmed Burleigh. “Entirely.”
“Why not simply put him out of your mind? Kit Livingstone is of no consequence. Whatever his understanding may be, it can have no bearing on your designs.”
“How is his presence in Prague to be explained?”
“Just coincidence, surely,” she suggested, passing the needle through the button and into the cloth in a single smooth stroke. “Everyone must be somewhere, after all.”
“But why here?” Burleigh growled, watching her. “I think he was here for a reason, and I want to know what it was. That woman at the coffeehouse is mixed up in this-I know it.”
“Who?” Haven raised an eyebrow. “One of the serving girls?”
“No-not a servant, blind you. The other one.”
Haven stared at him blankly. “I cannot for the life of me think who you must mean.”
“The tall one,” he snarled. “The English manageress or owner or whatever-I’m telling you she knows more than she lets on.”
“You are chary by nature,” Lady Fayth suggested, returning to her work. “It does you no good. Here we are, flailing about uselessly when we could be getting on with the hunt. That is surely more important than running down Kit Livingstone.”
“She was poking around the palace, trying to ingratiate herself at court. That’s where I met her, you know-the first time I came here. A right Miss Busybody.”
Haven drew the needle up through the button. “Are we talking about the woman from the coffeehouse again?”
“She implied she knew about my travels, or something of the sort,” Burleigh continued. “I warned the wench in no uncertain terms to keep her nose out of my affairs.”
“Then I am certain she has taken your good advice to heart,” concluded Haven sweetly. “Anyway, she can have no idea about any of this. Living here in Prague and running a coffeehouse-one is hardly liable to stumble across anything of value to our cause.”
“Perhaps we should go talk to her,” he said. “Find out what she knows.”
Haven lowered her work into her lap and gave the exhausted earl a look of sharp appraisal. “The woman is hardly going to cooperate after your heavy-handed intimidation. If she does know anything, you would be the last person in whom she would confide.”
Burleigh frowned, then brightened as a new thought came to him. “ You could go.”
“Me?” Lady Fayth feigned disapproval. “I cannot see what good that would do. I can think of nothing worthwhile to say to her.”
“You could come alongside her-woman-to-woman, be her friend, gain her confidence.”
“Do you honestly imagine that will achieve some positive result?” Haven asked, still shaking her head.
“She would talk to you,” insisted Burleigh. “Get her to confide in you.”
“A manageress?” Haven made a wry face. “What could she possibly know that would be of the most remote interest to us, or to the success of our venture?”
“ That,” declared Burleigh decisively, “is what you must discover.” He thought for a moment. “No… no,” he said slowly. “Better still, gain her confidence and invite her to dinner tomorrow. Lure her here, and I will take care of the rest. Once we get her upstairs, alone, we’ll find out what she knows soon enough.”
Lady Fayth, having given an entirely believable performance of the Reluctant Accomplice, agreed to take on the chore and took herself to the Grand Imperial the next afternoon. She was there, waiting, when Wilhelmina returned from another unsuccessful attempt to locate Kit. The two exchanged a knowing glance and Wilhelmina, after greeting Etzel, filled a pot with fresh coffee and sat down with her ally to share information on the state of the game so far.
“I cannot understand the Black Earl’s interest in Kit,” Lady Fayth mused. “On the one hand he insists that Kit knows nothing useful to the quest. On the other hand he refuses to simply let him go. We have already stayed in Prague far longer than originally intended, and there are no plans at present to leave.”
“Burleigh is not being entirely truthful,” observed Mina. “No doubt the shock of seeing Kit here in Prague, when he thought him dead and buried in Egypt, revived his interest-at least insofar as he assumes Kit must have had help to escape the tomb.” She thought for a moment. “Has he said anything about this?”
“He has vouchsafed nothing specific or germane to the issue at hand. His lordship’s hirelings have borne the brunt of his anger on that account, and they have paid dearly for their lapse.” Her lips curled in a conspiratorial smile. “Nevertheless, they have helped our cause-unwittingly, it must be said-by maintaining the fiction that the prisoners were in the tomb when the wadi was abandoned. To admit anything more would merely bring even greater approbation down upon their sorry heads.”
“Poor things,” Wilhelmina said without the least shred of pity.
“As it stands, Kit is the object of the earl’s present obsession. The quest, I suspect, will not go forward until Kit is found. As to that, our nemesis intends on casting the net wider. He intends to find out what you know about this affair.” Lady Fayth sipped her coffee and watched Wilhelmina for a response.
Mina took this information in stride. “He is grasping at straws.” She thought for a moment. “What form would this interrogation take?”
“You might well ask. He has prevailed upon me to be the agent of his inquiry.” She offered a cheerful smile. “I am to gain your trust and induce you to confide in me. Under the guise of a dinner invitation, he would lure you to the inn, take you prisoner, and menace you into revealing your secrets.”