Temar sat back, not knowing what to say. Would Camarl believe any of this? What did it mean for Kel Ar’Ayen? Did this bring them any closer to recovering the stolen artefacts?
The D’Olbriot Residence Gatehouse,
Summer Solstice Festival, Fourth Day, Evening
Ryshad!”
I turned to see Dalmit hailing me, Tor Kanselin’s man.
“You look like a watchdog on a short chain!” he joked, squinting into the sinking sun.
I smiled without replying. It was fair comment though; I’d been pacing up and down in front of the residence since the bell tower had struck nine chimes and a running stationer who’d tried to interest me in his quills, inks and papers had certainly been mercilessly snapped at. The sworn men were studiously avoiding my eye, and given the way I’d drilled their duty into them through the heat of the day I couldn’t blame them. Stoll was sitting inside the watch room, drawing up a roster with a fine display of attention to detail and disdain for my style of bucking up the recognised. I ignored him; it wasn’t my fault the Sieur’s orders had put his nose out of joint. I’d obeyed those orders, to the full, and now I was waiting for the ten chimes that would see me off watch. Then I’d have to decide whether or not to risk Charoleia’s invitation.
“You’ve slipped your leash, have you?” I walked to meet Dalmit beneath a tall tree. “Have you got time for a glass?”
“I’m on guard tonight.” He shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I’ll be getting back.”
“What did you find out?” I got straight to the point. “And what do I owe you?”
“A Crown or so should cover it,” he shrugged. “Turns out Tor Bezaemar men passed on that bill of challenge to Jord and Lovis both. Different men, one of the sworn and a proven in from Bremilayne, but they were both spinning the same yarn about knowing for certain you weren’t fit, saying you’re carrying some injury from being taken for a slave last year.”
“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.”