A Hazardous Engagement

by Gaie Sebold

  “Can’t wait,” she said, though her expression remained calm.

  Madis shrugged mentally. She had never attended the Darnor court; such restraint might be their style. Besides, marriage was a mystery, and among this class, little more than a trade contract as often as not. Perhaps the runaway romance was no more than a marketplace rumour. Perhaps the timing of the wedding was carefully chosen to prevent having to find accommodation for a horde of northern relatives, courtiers and hangers-on.

  None of it mattered. Only the belt, somewhere under all that silk. At least, Madis hoped it was there.

  Otherwise, all this effort was going to be of very little point.

  On the other side of Baridine sat an austerely handsome young man in robes of cerulean blue and a white and grey stole. The Sky God priest, who would preside over the wedding.

  That gave Madis pause. According to her researches, the Sky God priest attached to Baridine Castle was an elderly man, who had served the family since the Glass Wars. Had he died in the meantime? But she had been keeping a very careful ear for any news that came out of Brute Rock, in case it impacted their plans, and had heard nothing of such a death. Perhaps the old fellow was training a successor? There was no sign of him on the dais, but at his age, he might have cried off from a late night and a heavy meal.

  Still, it troubled her that she had heard nothing of a new priest. She made a note to speak to Alina.

  Luncheon was long and elaborate. Madis enjoyed every mouthful she allowed herself – too hearty an appetite might arouse suspicion – and occasionally patted her brow with a silk kerchief. She had employed paint with care, to suggest an older woman still trying to look youthful, but with a slightly-too-fervent flush to her cheeks and shadows under her eyes.

  She caught sight of Milandree, on guard at one of the doors, every inch the strapping young soldier. Madis wondered how many propositions she would be turning down this evening as drink nibbled away at the guests’ sense of propriety, and how Alina was getting on, down in the servants’ quarters.

  She hoped Orrie and Pettigis had arrived by now. She had seen no sign of them, but then, being artisans, they wouldn’t be permitted to mingle with the noble guests until the gift was put on display.

  The cream of the local nobility, or, at least, that substance that had floated to the top of it, were gossiping happily. Madis’ lefthand neighbour, Baron Guland, a beaky fellow who had called for more wine before the second course, peered up at the dais. “Hmm. Seems fairly well behaved, for a Northerner. Thought she’d be drinking the gravy, what?” He grasped his goblet and waved it in the air. “More wine, here!” A fat ruby on his forefinger caught the light.

  “She’s hardly eating at all,” the Baroness, on the other side, waved a fork laden with plump partridge breast and dripped sauce onto the table. “Afraid to let him see her appetite, I’ll be bound. It’ll all be different once she’s caught him, you mark my words.” She dabbed at her chin, beneath which glimmered a set of emeralds, which would have looked much better had they not also been accompanied by a double rope of pearls and several ostentatious brooches placed apparently at random about the bodice of her shocking pink gown. “Vulgarity will out, you know.”

  “I’ve been somewhat secluded of late,” Madis said. “I’ve heard very little of her.”

  The Baroness’s eyes glittered with the potential for gossip. “My dear, she’s a hoyden. Travels with hardly any servants, with whom, I hear, she’s excessively familiar.” She leant close, and whispered, “rides in breeches. It’s quite true, I had it from my cousin, who had it from someone who saw her.”

  The Baron snorted. “Wonder what’s under ’em, eh? Bet Baridine might be in for a bit of a shock tomorrow night, eh?”

  “My Lord!” The Baroness gasped, snickering.

  “Did she not bring servants with her?” Madis said.

  “You didn’t hear? Got separated from them, such as they were,” the Baron said. “Don’t know where they disappeared off to, ran off as soon as her eye was off them, no doubt. That’s what happens if you don’t maintain proper distance, servants think they can get away with anything. Suppose Baridine will have provided her with some from his household.”

  “It doesn’t look as though he troubled to provide her with someone who can dress hair,” the Baroness said, peering up at the bride-to-be. “That’s barely a style at all!”

  “It probably is in the North,” the Baron said.

  “They’ve put her in the old West Wing,” the Baroness said, smirking. “Which was last refurbished before the Glass Wars. The Lady Dowager’s doing, I’ll be bound. Her nose has been put properly out of joint.”

  The Lady Dowager was, indeed, looking frosty, but it was hard to imagine her looking anything else.

  Madis glanced at the door, where new guards were taking the place of the old. Shift change. Madis pressed a hand to her brow. “Oh, dear, I don’t feel quite... Do excuse me.”

  She made her way out of the dining room and moved through the corridors, weaving slightly and tugging the neck of her gown lower, a tipsy – or sickly – guest feeling the heat, stopping occasionally to press a hand to her stomach.

  She had in fact visited the solar several times already, making sure that she was seen every time, and each time leaving looking a little greyer and walking a little more slowly.

  The timing had to be right. The characteristic purplish rash of Thunder Plague could not appear too soon.

  She crossed the courtyard, and stopped as a tall figure emerged. “These are the guards’ quarters, madam. Permit me to escort you where you wish to go?” Milandree looked positively sinister, her eyes gleaming in the shade of her helmet.

  “Oh! Oh, you startled me.”

  “My apologies, madam.”

  “I seem to have got myself quite turned about,” Madis said. “The castle is so very large!”

  “Indeed. Loar!”

  Another guard appeared, glanced at Madis’ cleavage and hurriedly away. “Mil?”

  “Lady’s got herself lost. Just going to... ah... escort her back to her friends.”

  Madis giggled and clutched at Milandree’s arm. The other guard failed to conceal a smirk. “Take your time, mate, take your time.”

  They moved away, Madis allowing more giggles and a squeak to trail behind her as she went.

  “Very nice,” Milandree said as they entered Madis’ room. Alina was already there, mixing up a powder.

  “The fireplace smokes like a smithy and they seem to have stuffed this bed with cabbages,” Madis said. “I don’t think Lady Tanisal is a terribly honoured guest. Still, I’m shortly to die on this mattress, so with any luck they’ll throw it out and the next person will have a better night. Either of you seen Orrie? Please tell me they’ve arrived.”

  “I saw them unloading this afternoon,” Alina said. “And that will be the last boat to the island until after the wedding.”

  “So what have you found out?” Madis said.

  “There’s two guards on Lady Casillienne’s bedroom at all times,” Milandree said. “The room has a lock. On the outside. Seems it was kept for a relative who went a bit touched and started wandering about without his breeches. Funny thing, though... Relative died ten years back. Lock looks brand new, to me.”

  “Odd,” Madis said.

  “Very,” Alina said. “And I’ll tell you what else – Lady Casillienne doesn’t have a maid assigned to her, it’s anyone who can be spared. And no one wants to do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “They say she doesn’t even speak, stares right through them. And never gives presents. Creepy and mean. I don’t know about you, Madis, but this is beginning to feel a little... off, to me.”

  Madis rubbed at her mouth. “Well, it makes our lives easier. If she doesn’t have her own maid, there’s no one keeping an eye on her. What about the wards?”

  “I had a good look,” Alina said. “Mid-level adept stuff, nothing I can’t handle. It’s mostly around the
dining hall and her Ladyship’s chamber – a lot around the chamber.”

  “Any god-related stuff?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. Why?”

  “Because the Castle’s Sky-God priest seems to have been unexpectedly replaced with a younger version. Hear anything downstairs?”

  “One old biddy did mention something about the old Father being put to pasture, but like you said the house servants mostly aren’t Sky God followers, so they didn’t pay much attention.”

  “Well, keep your eyes open. Now, the guards. Milandree?”

  “Got myself on the late shift,” Milandree said, “but there’s an extra guard. So three of us.”

  “You can handle two, with one hand behind your back,” Milandree said.

  “Maybe. But.” Milandree’s coppery brows drew down over her bright hazel eyes, giving her the look of an angry hawk. “No one allowed in or out. Not even a maid. Not even her. She tries, we’re to – politely – stop her. Captain says she sleepwalks.”

  “Three guards to stop someone sleepwalking?”

  “Yes.”

  “And no one allowed in? What if she needs something?”

  Milandree shrugged. “She’s not known for wanting much. Doesn’t make demands. Hardly speaks.”

  Madis chewed her lip. “You’re right, Alina, this is definitely beginning to sound a little odd.” There was a splashing sound. “Is there a leak in here? It’s started raining.”

  “No,” Alina said, pointing at the battered dresser. “Look.”

  The jar with the little god in it was rocking as its occupant thrashed about inside. “I’d better top it up again,” Alina said. “It seems to keep it quiet.”

  “You remembered to use fresh water?” Madis said.

  “Of course I did. You’re not telling me how to deal with a god, are you?”

  “No, Alina, I’m not. But have you? Have you found out anything about it yet? Because you said...”

  “What with running around being your maid, your ladyship, trying to find out more about the setup here, and practicing the release spell for the belt, I’ve hardly had time! You’re the one who insisted on buying it, you find out!”

  “I’m not the expert, as you just reminded me!”

  “Shut it.” They both turned to look at Milandree, who was glowering. “We’re in enemy territory with insufficient intelligence,” she said. “Which is bad enough. Don’t break the line.”

  Madis sighed. “Sorry. Sorry, Alina. My nerves are all in a twist.”

  “All right,” Alina said. “You’re right, Milandree. Look, something’s bothering our little friend in the jar, but it’ll have to wait. I was hoping I’d get into Her Ladyship’s room ahead of time, but it looks as if you’re going to have to get me in with Orrie.”

  “Where is she?” Madis said.

  At that moment there was a knock. Milandree stepped behind the curtains, Alina flung a cloth over the jar and began folding petticoats.

  “Who is it?” Madis called.

  “Who d’you think?” Orrie growled. “Bloody let me in.”

  Madis leapt up and did so. “Thank the little gods, I was wondering what had happened.”

  Orrie was flushed and sweating, her clothes stained with oil, her spectacles smeared and her curls apparently having a competition to see how far they could stand out from her head.

  “Pettigis happened, that’s what. We almost missed the boat. I’ve spent the time since we arrived persuading him that he needs to concentrate on his appearance, and leave the actual work to me, which was surprisingly difficult. Also, this place is a bollocking maze and I didn’t dare ask directions, because why would an artisan be looking for Lady Tanisal’s room? How long have we got?

  “It’ll be tight,” Milandree said. “Shift change every two hours. They’re twitchy.”

  “Let’s hope Her Ladyship decides to retire before midnight,” Madis said. “That gives us an hour to deal with the guards, get in, work the spell and the lock, get out, and for Alina to come and find me dead, raise the alarm and you two to get my corpse on the boat. Orrie, is your distraction all set?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain they’re going to let me go?” Alina said.

  “You’ve been nursing a Thunder Fever victim. They’ll practically throw you in the sea themselves. They’re almost certainly going to come after you once the alarm’s raised, though, so you’d better poke it. How fast can you sail?”

  “Oh please,” Alina grinned. “I’m a smuggler’s daughter. I’ve outrun the coastguard in a boat that was little more than a barrel with a sail on it. Only problem will be if it stays a flat calm, I might have to help things along a bit, and the weather gods really don’t like that.” The jar sloshed harder, and Alina jumped to her feet, grabbed the ewer on the chest of drawers, took off the lid and poured a little water in. “There. Happy now?” The water darkened as though the little god were bleeding thick black smoke, and the sloshing stilled. Alina frowned at it, put the lid back on, and sat down again.

  “Right, supper’s in less than two hours. Everyone ready?”

  Alina entered the castle’s vast kitchen and immediately prickled with sweat. Both its huge hearths and all of its ovens were aroar. In one hearth a glistening beef carcass turned slowly on the spit as a pair of kitchen brats heaved on the handles, in the other bubbled a series of cauldrons, hanging at different heights. The air was full of greasy steam smelling of baking, gravy, sweat and spilled wine. The head cook, a tall, skinny man, his hair bound in a red scarf and his deep brown skin gleaming, directed scurrying minions, using a ladle like a general’s baton and swearing in at least three languages and one he might have made up.

  Alina kept out of his way, and approached a grey-haired woman with impressively muscled arms who had paused after lifting a batch of sugar-cakes from the oven to gulp from a tankard of water, and leaned close as though telling a secret. “Please, ma’am, is there something here I could use for a tisane, for fever?”

  “Fever?” The woman swiped at her brow with a limp rag and tucked it back in her apron pocket. She eyed Alina’s upper-servant clothes and decided to be polite. “What sort of fever?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alina said. “It’s for my mistress. She was well enough yesterday, but now she’s proper sickly, been running to the solar all day and now she’s taken to bed.”

  “There’s some herbs in that cupboard over there,” the baker said. “Star of the sea, in the blue jar, and dragonroot, in the wooden box with the dragon carved on the lid. Spoonful of each steeped in a cup of hot water, that’ll take the fever down.” She turned back to her cakes.

  “Thank you.” Alina gathered the herbs and took a cup of water from one of the cauldrons. On the way out, she said, “Let’s hope it takes down the swelling as well. She looks like a frog, poor lady!”

  “Wait. Swelling? In the neck?”

  Alina pretended not to hear and whisked herself out of the kitchen.

  “I’ve cast the net,” Alina said, setting the mug on the chest. “All the gods, woman, you look terrible.” She glanced at the thing on the bed. “You both look terrible. This is really... disturbing.”

  “You find it disturbing?” Madis grimaced. The corpse looked a great deal like her – especially since both their faces were painted to yellowish pallor, both their throats puffed with a judicious application of soft paste, and both their lips an unlovely shade of purplish blue.

  “You’re sure about this.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Your brother...”

  “I said, I’m sure.”

  “All right.” Alina cocked her head. “Wind’s getting up. Hope it doesn’t get much worse.”

  “Me too. Right, they should be finishing dinner about now. Get going. I’m going to let myself be seen like this near Lady Casillienne’s rooms – might help discourage anyone from hanging about – then I’ll get this shit off me and get into my skivvy gear.”

  “Be careful.”


  “Always. You too.”

  They hugged, briefly – and carefully, so as not to dislodge any of Madis’ makeup – and left the room, both determinedly not looking at the corpse on the bed.

  The party, such as it was, was well under way. The guests, having dined (again), had made their way to the main hall of the castle. The current fashions being wide, frilled and furbelowed meant that the paucity of wedding guests was slightly less obvious than it might have been – but only slightly. Lord Baridine seemed to have confined his guest list to those he hoped to impress or to whom he owed money. There were no members of the royal family – the Baridines no longer wielded that kind of influence.

  The absence of anyone from her court or her family seemed not to bother Lady Casillienne – but then, very little seemed to trouble her, or affect her at all. She sat, gazing over the crowd, dressed in yet another extravagant gown, (this one a deep blue that suited her a little better than the previous night’s plum). Brilliants glimmered about her neck and wrists.

  Her husband to be gulped at his wine, his expression flickering between triumph and nerves, his eyes darting around the crowd, glancing frequently at the ancient clock that stood on the black marble mantelpiece at the end of the hall, the sun and moon on its face parading serenely through the hours, its pendulums reflecting gleams from the candles and werelights as they swung.

  Orrie had taken a thorough look at the clock earlier, and dismissed it as adequate but not exceptional.

  Now, dressed inconspicuously in buff wool, she stood behind Pettigis, who was flamboyant in scarlet velvet and ribbons, as he muttered over his introduction. The Whirligigs were in wheeled wooden boxes. Orrie and one of the castle servants stood ready to wheel them into the hall, Pettigis having been too mean to hire his own servants for the purpose.

  The clock chimed eleven.

  “Time to put the bride to be to bed!” Baridine roared.

  “But...” Pettigis sputtered. “The parade... the gifts...”

  The guests too murmured, glancing at each other. Putting the bride to bed before the gifts were paraded was simply not done. “Overeager, isn’t he?” Baron Guland said, in a voice intended to be overheard.