“To us, yes,” I admitted. “To whoever stole them, well, they may have no idea what they’ve got. The man we’re holding doesn’t seem to know much beyond Master Knife paying him enough gold to outweigh the risks.”
Charoleia laughed. “Master Knife? Who might he be in his own coat? Come to that, who’s pulling his strings? Do you think this was just theft for profit or another move to embarrass your Sieur?”
“All good questions and I want answers,” I said bluntly.
“Without Livak to turn over the stones where these people hide, you’re my best hope.”
Charoleia frowned, a delicate cleft appearing between finely plucked brows. “What’s more important? Catching the thief or recovering the spoils?”
I chewed my lip. “I’ll trade the thief’s neck for the artefacts if I have to. We must get them back. I’d certainly like to get a line on this Master Knife, but I don’t suppose he’ll have left any loose threads.”
“If I help, I want your word you’ll keep my name out of this.” Charoleia sounded dubious. “I mean it, Ryshad. I can’t have your Sieurs or Esquires even knowing I exist, let alone anything more about me.”
“On my oath,” I promised.
“Are you prepared to pay?” Charoleia was all business now. “To ransom the goods?”
“If we must,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll stand surety for anything you spend.” Gold won from my slavery would be well spent securing others’ freedom.
“It all depends who’s got the goods.” Charoleia pursed inviting cherry red lips. “They may have already sold on the decent pieces, to be broken up or melted.”
“Saedrin save us.” Cold knives between my shoulder blades made me shiver with revulsion. What would happen if an artefact were destroyed? Would the hapless sleeper simply fall oblivious into the shades? Would they feel the furnace consuming their mind?
“Are you all right?” Charoleia was looking at me with concern. “You’ve gone very pale.”
“It was a late night,” I offered lamely.
Charoleia pulled at her cloak falling away from one shoulder. “What else do you know?”
“This Master Knife, he recruited our man Drosel and whoever his partner was, in a tavern called the Valiant Flag.” I grimaced. “That’s all. Naer took a troop down there last night and turned the place inside out but all he got was lice for his trouble.”
“Hardly surprising,” commented Charoleia with disdain. “All right, I’ll ask a few questions in the right quarters. I might hear something.”
“Send word to the gatehouse as soon as you do,” I urged her. “Tell them to get a message to me at once.”
She was looking thoughtful. “I’ve heard plenty of murmurs about D’Olbriot and D’Alsennin this Festival. What’re they worth to you?”
I turned to face her. “What have you heard?”
“In a moment.” Charoleia raised a perfectly manicured hand. “I’ll catch you up.”
She released my arm, giving me a gentle push, so I went to pretend an interest in a plaque on a crenellation. It celebrated the life of some D’Istrac long since ashes in an urn, who’d managed to kill himself falling off his horse.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a thin-faced youth approach Charoleia. Glancing furtively around, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d been carrying a scarlet pennant. Charoleia looked unconcerned, walking slowly with the boy, her elegant curls close to his cropped scalp. Charoleia reached beneath her cloak and passed the boy some coin. As he scurried off, still looking in all directions, she tucked a tightly folded bundle of letters securely within her cloak and came to join me looking out towards the sea.
“What was that?” I asked as she took my arm with easy familiarity.
“Information.” She smiled serenely.
“So you do have some game in play?” Had she been lying to me?
“Not as such.” Charoleia shook her head airily. “I always walk here first thing in the morning, two full circuits of the walls. I wouldn’t stay trim enough for close-cut gowns if I didn’t.” She flashed a mischievous periwinkle glance at me and I tried not to think of the slender figure beneath her cloak. “Servants with something to sell soon learn I’ll be interested and this is the time and place to find me.”
“So what’s worth your coin this morning?” I demanded. “Anything to do with D’Olbriot?”
“No.” She took a step and I had to go with her or look churlish. “At the moment it’s nothing of any importance. But I’ll keep this little bird in my coop, and when the time is right I’ll send it flying out. One way or another, gold comes winging back.”
I decided that was best left unchallenged, like so many aspects of Livak’s life. “So what have you heard about D’Olbriot or D’Alsennin?”
“That the Name D’Alsennin will soon be as dead as ashes. That this colony over the ocean is a fool’s smoke dream. But there’s a hint of something more than gossip and spite.” Charoleia chose her words carefully. “If I can find the right threads to pull, I might get a tug back from someone with word about that attack on your Esquire.”
“It’ll be gold in your purse if you do,” I assured her.
She smiled. “As for D’Olbriot, the chimney corner gossip says take his silver before you give him credit, because however high his flag flies at present, it’ll be struck before long.”
“How?” I demanded.
Charoleia shook her head. “That’s where people get vague, which often means there’s no substance to a rumour. Then again, there’s this business with the courts fascinating everyone. There’s gossip that the Sieur’s fallen out of favour with Tadriol, that Lady Channis has returned to Den Veneta, that Tor Kanselin have broken Camarl’s betrothal because D’Olbriot won’t confirm him as Designate.” Charoleia’s face was serious and all the more captivating for that. “Which could all be the usual scum on a boiling pot, but someone’s stoking the fire beneath it. I’ll stake my stockings on that.”
“Can you find out who?” Dastennin save me, but she was beautiful.
She gazed at me with those entrancing eyes. “If you make it worth my while. If you get me a card to the Emperor’s dance tomorrow.”
I let slip a grunt of frustration. “I told you before, I can’t promise that.”
“Not even to save your Sieur’s skin?” She held my hand tight.
I winced and shook her off. “Dast’s teeth!” I tried to flex my injured fingers and hissed with the pain.
“What have you done here?” Charoleia began undoing the bandage, ignoring my protests.
“I took a bad blow but I had to keep on using it,” I explained curtly. “I’ve had worse.”
“I’ve no doubt, but this doesn’t hurt any less, does it?” She sniffed in delicate reproof at the mottled bruising patterned by the pressure of the bandage. “Halice and Livak are the ones used to patching up mercenaries; I prefer to stay within call of a decent dressmaker. But I’ve learned a few of their salves and tinctures. Come and have breakfast with me and I’ll see what I can do to ease this.”
I was tempted, no question. “I can’t,” I said with real regret. “The Sieur will pass judgement on that thief this morning and I have to be there.”
“Why don’t you call on me this evening?” Charoleia’s mouth curved in an engaging smile as she competently rebound my wrist. She stroked one finger across the hairs on my arm beside the tender line of the stitches. “I can tell you if I’ve any news and you could stay for supper.”
“Some time around dusk?” I stood there awkwardly as she rebuttoned my shirt cuff.
“I look forward to it.” She tilted her head on one side, but just as it occurred to me to kiss her she turned swiftly, walking away, cloak floating lightly round her in the summer breeze.
I shoved my hands in my pockets as I headed for the nearest stair down by the Handsel Gate. Dastennin drown me but Charoleia was a piece of perfection. A man might do something really stupid in the face of such loveliness if he wasn’t careful.