“And why were they passing this on?” I wondered sarcastically.
“No surprise there.” Dalmit grinned. “Both of them were offering to make a wager if Jord or Lovis would put up half the stake.”
“Going shares in the winnings.” I nodded. We’re not allowed to wager on ourselves in promotion challenges, but there are always ways round such rules.
“So, does that mean anything to you?” Dalmit asked guilelessly.
“Could be something, could be nothing,” I said casually. “It’s worth two Crowns at least, and if anything comes of it I’ll let you know.” I wasn’t going to quibble over coppers and if I could fit this piece into any larger pattern it would do no harm to let Dalmit know which way the wind was veering. “Do you want the coin now?” I gestured up to my window.
Dalmit shook his head. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. I’ve nowhere to spend it tonight, have I?” He waved an informal farewell and began walking back towards Tor Kanselin.
As he did so a coach passed him, D’Olbriot’s insignia on the door panel. I drew myself up smartly with all the other men on watch. The footman jumped down with alacrity but Esquire Camarl was already opening the door, getting down almost before the footman had the step unfolded. The Esquire barely turned his head to address me. “Have my uncles all arrived by now?”
“Yes, Esquire,” I bowed. “They’re with the Sieur.”
Camarl nodded and walked rapidly towards the residence, round face uncharacteristically hard.
I looked at Temar, who was looking a little shame-faced, unbuttoning his formal coat by way of pretext to let Camarl get ahead of him.
“What did you do?” I asked. “Step on some girl’s hem and bring her skirts down round her ankles?”
Temar laughed. “That would not have been so bad.” He looked meaningfully at me. “Shall we take a glass of wine?”
“Upstairs?” I led him through the watch room, ignoring the questioning look Stoll shot me behind Temar’s back.
“Do you really want wine?” I ushered him into the narrow room that was a privilege of my new rank. “I’ll have to send one of the lads if you do.”
Temar shook his head as he sat on the bed. “Not on my account.”
“So what’s so urgent? Why’s Esquire Camarl crosser than an ass with a wasp up his tail?” I took the stool by the window, scratching absently at the pinpricks left by the stitches in my arm.
“I talked Gelaia and some others into going to see some supposed mage doing tricks.” Temar looked unrepentant.
“The Sieur certainly wants you and Gelaia to be friends, if not more.” I frowned. “I don’t necessarily see the harm; plenty of nobles go to see such things.”
“My only interest was meeting Allin there,” Temar explained frankly. “I had an answer from her this morning, saying she and Velindre would be watching this man’s display. I had no chance to tell you before we went to Den Murivance.” Temar scratched his head. “There was more than a little trouble. The man was no mage but some mountebank doing a spectacularly dangerous rope trick. He fell and Master Casuel had to save him.”
“Bad luck follows Cas like the reek on old fish.” I was puzzled. “What was he doing there?”
“In a moment.” Temar sighed. “Casuel plainly used magic to save the fellow from death, but the knaves with him immediately claimed it was Devoir’s wizardry had caused their own man to fail. They began demanding money, nigh on turning the crowd on us.”
“Did they recognise you?” I snorted as Temar nodded. “That kind never miss a trick?”
“Gelaia had to rescue us from the mob.” Temar sighed. “Camarl has been telling me all the way back what a meal the broadsheets and gossips will make of it.”
“D’Alsennin and D’Olbriot publicly tied to arrogant wizards hurling careless magic round the city?” I winced. “Perhaps, for a day or so, but today’s broadsheets are tomorrow’s privy paper, aren’t they? It’s the Emperor’s dance tomorrow, and most of the Houses will be opening their gates to their tenants and the commonalty. Last day of Festival always turns up something to tempt the scandalmongers, so I don’t suppose you’ll be the tastiest tittle-tattle for long.” I tried to sound encouraging.
“I hope so.” Temar sounded glum.
“Was Gelaia cross?” Had that pretty face worked its charm on Temar’s susceptibilities?
“More unnerved than cross.” Temar leaned back against the wall. “I had to use Artifice to make Gelaia hear me and then Velindre used some magic of her own to clear a path through the crowd. I think Gelaia suspects any alliance with D’Alsennin will leave her hemmed in by sorcery on all sides.” He sounded more sarcastic than regretful so at least I didn’t think he’d be breaking his heart over Gelaia.
A question prodded me. “Did you get a chance to ask Allin or Velindre if they could help?”
“It seems not, sadly.” Temar sighed.
As he spoke ten chimes began sounding above us, the signal for the end of the day. I rose to my feet. “Then if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and see this friend of Livak’s, the one with a finger on the darker pulses of our fair city. I might just learn something useful.”
Temar pushed himself up. “Let me get my sword.”
“Oh no,” I disagreed. “You’re committed to dine with Den Castevin.”
“To what purpose?” Temar’s lip curled. “Esquire Camarl will be talking, dealing, explaining. All I will do is to smile, look pleasant and make polite conversation.”
“Which reassures the nobility that they’re being asked to deal with one of their own in Kellarin,” I pointed out. “Proving you’re not some grubby-handed mercenary or worse. Not turning up is an insult you don’t want to give lightly.”
“I would not know any Den Castevin if I tripped over one in the street.” Emotion clipped Temar’s words. “The people whose lives depend on those artefacts are my friends, my tenants, my responsibility.”
“Which means they need you to look after their longer-term interests by not giving unnecessary offence.” I ushered him down the stairs again.
Temar glanced at the steps to the cellars as we walked through the watch room. “Did Avila learn anything more from the thief?”
“She hasn’t had a chance to try. As soon as she came out of the library Lady Channis whisked her away for a full day’s engagements with Tor Arrial.” I tried to hide my relief; I still didn’t think I could stand and watch a man undergoing such assault. “Then they were going on to Tor Bezaemar, for tisanes with the Relict before coming back here to change for dinner.”
“Dirindal?” Temar’s eyes were icily intent.
“You sound like you smell rats in the granary,” I commented quietly.
“What do you know of Tor Bezaemar?” Temar demanded, drawing a little way into the gardens, beyond the curious ears in the gate arch. “Has that House any reason to bear a grudge against D’Olbriot?”
“You want Cas for this, not me.” I rubbed a hand round the back of my neck. “It’s no secret Tor Bezaemar took losing the Imperial throne hard, but that was nigh on a generation ago. Messire backed Tadriol the Prudent from the first, I remember that.” I thought back to my early days in D’Olbriot’s service. “There was some talk about Sarens Tor Bezaemar putting himself forward, but with so many Names following D’Olbriot’s lead it never came to anything.”
“Sarens was the Relict’s husband?”
“The Sieur as was,” I confirmed.
Temar scowled. “The reason Casuel was on hand to save the rope trickster was he had followed Firon Den Thasnet only to see him meet a man whom Gelaia tells me still answers to Dirindal, for all he has been pensioned off. Casuel was following this man who was talking to some of the other nobles come for the spectacle.”
“Anyone in particular?” I asked, my own hackles rising in response to Temar’s tension.
“Den Rannion’s third son, for one.” Temar spat.