Eadit cleared his throat nervously. “I came to tell you Fenn Queal was visited yesterday morning by a valet recently dismissed by Tor Bezaemar. That valet’s been seen drinking with one Malafy Skern, a pensioner from Tor Bezaemar’s service. That’s all I know.”
Camarl spoke up at once. “I passed on Esquire D’Alsennin’s concerns to the Sieur yesterday.” His intent look forbade me to pursue the matter in Eadit’s hearing. “Advocate, Master Eadit, you have our thanks.”
Messire dismissed both with a gesture and Mistal hustled Eadit out of the room.
“More conjecture and gossip,” scowled Ustian.
“We can’t set any of this before the court,” Fresil agreed.
“You cannot in all conscience ignore this,” said Avila with rising ire. “In the Old Empire such weight of suspicion would have been enough to call out your Cohorts against Tor Bezaemar!”
“We have different fields of combat in this day and age,” Fresil said sharply. “Never fear, Demoiselle, we’ll set as much before Imperial justice as we can when the sessions resume after Festival. In the meantime we can take other steps against Tor Bezaemar, and who knows, sufficient provocation may prompt them to betray themselves.
“That would lend weight to our arguments,” agreed Leishal to general approval.
“If your Emperor declares against them in this court?” Temar folded his arms abruptly. “Will that curb their malice?”
“We’ll have won a significant battle,” said Ustian with a smile of amusement.
“Not the war?” persisted Temar.
“That will take a little longer.” But Leishal’s dour words made it clear the outcome wasn’t in question.
“That’s our concern, not yours, D’Alsennin.” The Sieur spoke for the first time. “You’re to be congratulated on recovering your artefacts.”
“I could not have done so without Ryshad,” Temar said pointedly.
“Quite so.” The Sieur’s bland face was unreadable. “And now you can prepare to celebrate your good fortune at the Emperor’s dance.” He smiled at Avila, who raised a sceptical eyebrow. “My lady Channis will run through the etiquette.” Courteous as it was, Messire’s dismissal was unmistakable.
“I must secure that bag first,” said Avila. “If you are finally letting your tenantry inside your walls, Ostrin knows who might slip in unnoticed with theft on their minds.”
“As you see fit. Channis awaits your convenience.” Messire’s face showed none of the indignation darkening Fresil’s face beside him.
Camarl rang the bell to summon the doorkeeper. I moved to follow Temar.
“Where are you going, Ryshad?” barked Ustian.
I turned back, opting for silence as the safest response.
“Sit down, Ryshad,” Messire invited. I took a chair by the table as the door closed behind me.
“If you recovered D’Alsennin’s spoils for him, you must know who stole them.” Camarl leaned forward. “Why isn’t he chained in the gatehouse?”
“His name is Jacot, and if I’d been able I’d have dragged him here by his heels,” I answered readily. “But Temar and I would’ve had to fight through twice our number to do that. I’d have risked it with another sworn or chosen, but I wasn’t about to chance D’Alsennin.”
“So he escapes to boast he robbed D’Olbriot and lived to tell the tale,” snapped Ustian.
“Why didn’t you take enough men to capture this thief?” the Sieur asked mildly.
“I thought discretion more important than a show of strength,” I replied steadily.
“There’s blood on your boots, Ryshad,” Messire pointed out. “Someone spilled it. Granted I don’t see you or Temar wounded, but you’d have been safer with sworn swords around you.”
“I didn’t want to risk the safety of the person who betrayed the thief to me,” I said, shutting my mouth on further explanation.
“Who seems remarkably well informed as to the vermin crawling round this city’s underbelly,” Messire observed. “I take it we’re talking about that Lescari lad’s employer?
I nodded.
“Will you tell me who this is, if I ask?” the Sieur enquired casually.
“I will but I would ask you not to ask.” I looked straight at him. “If we compromise that person’s safety, we can’t expect help from that quarter again. We recovered the Kellarin artefacts, Messire. I judged that more important than bringing the thief before your justice.”
“Did you?” Fresil plainly disagreed. “Young Temar holds your oath now, does he?”
I kept my eyes on the Sieur. “I serve D’Olbriot in serving D’Alsennin.”
The Sieur’s smile came and went. “I don’t want to curb your initiative, Ryshad, but I said you were to inform myself or Camarl of such plans. I’m surprised I failed to make myself clear.”
I looked at the expensive carpet. “I’m sorry, Messire.”
“I also thought I’d made it plain D’Alsennin was to fulfil the obligations of the rank he assumes.” Messire’s voice got colder. “You knew he was dining with Den Castevin.”
I stared at the Sieur’s diamond-studded shoe buckles.
“Enough of this,” snorted Leishal crossly. “What are we going to do about Tor Bezaemar?”
“We buy their timber for props and for charcoal for the Layne mines,” said Ustian promptly. “Den Ferrand has land over that way that could supply us instead.”
“Tor Bezaemar hides keep our tanneries in Moretayne supplied,” Fresil mused. “Could Den Cascadet pick up that trade without too much loss to ourselves?”
“We could split it between them and Den Gaerit,” suggested Ustian.
“What about closer to home?” Leishal demanded. “Where are Tor Bezaemar holdings in Toremal in relation to our own?”
“Myred, the city plans.” The Sieur snapped his fingers at his son before glancing at me. “What are you waiting for?”
“Your orders, Messire,” I said politely.
“Would you take them, if I gave them?” he asked lightly. “I’m sorry, that was unworthy of us both.” He sighed. “Finish this Festival as you started it, Ryshad, watching over D’Alsennin. You’d better attend him to the Emperor’s dance. Irianne will be there to distract Camarl, so we want someone watching Temar’s back.”
Camarl looked up, startled, as he unrolled a detailed plan of the northern side of the bay.
“Never mind that.” Leishal was bending over the parchment. “Look here, we own the road that gives access to all these Tor Bezaemar holdings.”
“So we do.” Fresil smiled with happy malevolence. “I’m sure it’s time we levied a toll thereabouts to pay for remaking the roadbed?”
“Those are mostly tapestry weavers in that district?” The Sieur stood and turned his back on me, taking a ledger from a shelf and leafing through it. “Camarl, make sure none of our spinning mills deliver yarn to any Tor Bezaemar addresses from now on.”
I left, closing the door softly behind me.
“So they didn’t skin you for a hearth rug, then?” The footman waiting in the corridor gave me a nod.
“Not this time.” I walked swiftly away. If the inner house servants knew I was in trouble, I’d really fouled my own nest. Where would Temar be, I wondered, dutifully learning etiquette from Lady Channis or intent on his own concerns? Heading for the library, I heard him in heated discussion with Avila from the turn of the corridor. At least I’d won that wager with myself. I knocked.
“Enter,” Avila snapped. She sat at the table, artefacts spread out before her, running a pointed fingernail down her list.
“What did the Sieur want with you?” asked Temar.
“To remind me where my oath rests.” I looked at Avila. “Is everything there?”
“Thus far.” She looked up at me. “What plot is Guliel hatching with those brothers of his?”
I rubbed a hand over my face and wished for a shave. “As close to outright war with Tor Bezaemar as he can manage, without actually calling out the barracks.”
“On Temar’s unsupported word?” Avila hushed his indignation with a curt word.
“The Sieur and Esquires must have their own reasons for suspecting Tor Bezaemar’s ill faith,” I told her. “I can’t imagine they’d be doing this otherwise.” I wondered what the Sieur knew that the rest of us didn’t.