Fennington tossed off the last of his second glass. "And yet, nor is he unknown. Quite half the people I spoke to—among those who make it their business to know things—were fully aware of the 'Wind's Lapdog', as they call him." He smiled at Rian's helpless snort. "Yes, it's a marvellous name. Brings to mind the Heriath of the Melanian rule, without the teeth. Surely a marvellous little titbit to share, yet no-one does. Those who know simply don't talk about the man, as if he was completely uninteresting."
The Amon-Re line can control minds. To the extent that dozens, even hundreds, unconsciously chose not to discuss Makepeace?
"You're talking about him," Rian pointed out.
"I am! It's not as if people don't answer questions when asked. Young Lynsey Blair explained how you came to encounter him, and I found him entirely unexceptional to talk to. And yet I am fascinated! He is like the word on the tip of one's tongue, out of reach and ever so tantalising.
"To talk to?" Rian blinked, then decided it wasn't worth anger, that she should have expected it. "You've met him then?"
"Oh, yes, a few days ago, quite as if he'd heard I'd been asking about him. We chatted about the Sheerside attack, and the Huntresses, but he managed to tell me nothing at all."
"The main thing I know about him is that he dislikes blood service. And seems determined to annoy me." Makepeace had evidently found nothing to pursue after vetting Fennington, but Rian decided to press on anyway. "To be fair, he did put me forward for the Keeper's role once he'd made it impossible for me to serve as Lord Msrah's Bound. Forest House will give the children the stability they've lacked since Eiliff and Aedric's deaths."
"Then I hope that Tangleways will aid in that goal," Lord Fennington said, with not the slightest hint that the names meant anything to him.
"I saw that you had an excellent workshop," Rian continued doggedly. "Eleri's the only one who has followed her parents into automaton work, but she's certainly inherited the Tenning flair."
"If ever there was a school suited to a budding—why, Matthiel. Are you ill?"
Rian turned, and hid a tiny sigh, for on the face of Fennington's handsome assistant was all the recognition that his lord had lacked.
"Do you—forgive me Dama Seaforth," the man said. "But do you mean to say that Eiliff Tenning is dead?"
"She and Aedric died toward the end of spring," Rian said, keeping her voice neutral while she strained to gauge his feelings. "In an odd accident, after the theft of an automaton." She allowed a trace of suspicion to leak through. "Did you know Eiliff?"
"What is this, Matthiel?" Lord Fennington asked.
"The—the self-determination experiment, my lord. Eiliff Tenning was the independent commissioned." The golden young man stared at Rian. "I—I am sorry, did you say an automaton was stolen?"
Lord Fennington puffed out his cheeks, cheer fading into bewilderment, and then his skin mottled red briefly before he shook his head. "I am at a loss. Rian, could you please explain what it is that has happened?"
She told them an edited version of the truth, leaving out Monsieur Doré, and any suggestion that she had been investigating anything.
"The children insist that the house had been searched, and an automaton was missing from the workshop, but I've not been able to find any trace of it, or who it was intended for. This was you, then, Folly?"
"So it seems," Lord Fennington said. "Matthiel, why have I not heard of this theft until now?"
"The arrangement was for Dama Tenning to report at the beginning of autumn, unless a breakthrough was made." The man blinked rapidly, though Rian realised this was due not to fear of his master, but simple distress. "You believe the accident was staged, Dama Seaforth?"
"The children were convinced of it," Rian said. "I could find no proof, though I did try to push the authorities into looking deeper. I don't understand—Fennington Industries runs several workshops. Why would you need to commission Eiliff and Aedric at all? What was the need for secrecy?"
"For that investigation? Every need." Lord Fennington rose and placed a hand on his assistant's shoulder. "Sit," he said. "No arguments, please." He waited until the man obeyed, and then poured him a generous shot of brandy.
Offering Rian one before he sat back down, he tugged at his lower lip briefly, then said:
"Haunted automatons. There have always been stories, guesses as to what could cause such movement. Angry spirits who have escaped Arawn, or lesser godlings finding strange new homes or...oh, any of a dozen explanations. They make a fine tale, but there is a fear that underlies them. Automatons are tools that should only ever dance to their master's tune. An automaton that acts on its own—that could replace people—well, fear of that's what the automaton riots were about. Any research that moves to create such a thing must be done on terms of utmost secrecy."
"You—you think that the automaton was stolen by anti-technologists?"
"Upon my soul, I have no idea. But that movement is why, when some particularly odd fulgite fell into my hands, I had Matthiel send most of it to a skilled independent. There is no way to keep such a thing secret in a workshop."
"Particularly odd?" Rian said.
"Round! And practically unbreakable! I hit one with a hammer, and didn't even chip it. I bought them from Jilly Eyleson, who races, you know. Ridiculous engines, and a need for more than the fingernail-sized shards that is all you seem to be able to get of fulgite these days. She rather lost her enthusiasm when her latest toy kept taking off without her, finally touring half Tollesby Falt with her youngest in the passenger seat, and no driver. Ended in a mill race, and the lad left with a broken arm. Between that and all the attempted thefts, she's gone back to horses, with a sideline of one of the new motopetrol things.
"Fulgite is becoming unsustainable," he continued. "Fennington Industries lost a dozen pieces in a most curious accident last month, and we switched to wiring the workshops rather than try to replace it. Why, Jilly was telling me that even her own source was trying to buy back the pieces she sold me."
"I suppose it's possible that a large piece of fulgite itself may have been the target," Rian said. "Simply for its value. But, no. Why take the automaton, if that was the case? It's so strange, though, since even Aedric's apprentice had no idea there was anything unusual about the commission."
"If the arrangements I made were kept, then I should have been the only person who knew that the Tennings had that fulgite," said Matthiel.
"How did you find Eiliff in the first place?" Rian asked.
"We had a list of exceptional independents prepared when looking for teachers for the school," Lord Fennington said. "A useful smokescreen."
Matthiel said. "Actually, my lord, Dama Tenning came on personal recommendation from Dama Blair."
"Young Lynsey? Well, we won't find the source of the leak there. A most close-mouthed child. Still, I will ask her if she mentioned it." Lord Fennington held out his hands to Rian and gripped hers warmly. "I hate, I simply hate the thought that my commission brought this upon your family, but I'd be a fool to ignore the possibility. If there is anything you need, please, please do not hesitate to tell me."
He wasn't telling her the whole truth, but there was no outright lie behind the gust of sincerity that washed over her. Rian thought rapidly, balancing her decision to pretend there had been no direct investigation with a need for further details, then said:
"Did you say someone tried to buy the fulgite back?"
Nineteen
The fencing school recommended by Lynsey Blair proved to be a nest of United Albion sympathisers. This did not surprise Rian in the least, and she danced around their avid interest in dragons while learning all she could about their former Alban instructor.
This was little enough. Lynsey was twenty-two, and had been born in Craigneith. She had taken a first in mathematics from Argynion, but had followed her interest into practical combat, and made it a career. Her family had suffered a slide in fortune, thanks to some complication of an entailed propert
y, but were otherwise unremarkable.
Since casual gossip did not produce any revelations, Rian abandoned this particular rabbit to concentrate on lessons. Her instructor, Dem Tilit—a short, scarred man originally from Wabanaki—outlined the stages of her training, then taught her how to grip a wooden practice sword, and began on foot placement and movement.
"Do not concern yourself too much with the weapon, just yet," he said, as she attempted to keep her knees slightly bent and her feet facing in different directions. "Until this is second nature to you, your drill will be entirely stance and movement. No, keep your back straight. And forward. Retreat. Yes. Practice that for the next week, at least an hour each day."
With thigh muscles screaming after even a short lesson, Rian did not regard this command with any enthusiasm, but thanked her teacher and took her time in the changing room, thinking over protective clothing and practice rooms. The school would rent her equipment, such as the wooden practice weapon she was taking home today, but obtaining her own would be necessary. Strange not to have to budget for the cost, let alone the time involved.
"Arianne!"
"Lyle." Rian thought he looked particularly well that evening, dressed more casually than usual, but very handsome. "Come to watch me sweat?"
"Should I admit to it?" he asked. "My excuse is making good on my invitation to dinner. I know the area thanks to Lynsey, and there's an excellent place down the street that's used to the students and their weapons."
"That sounds ideal," Rian said, hefting her cloth-wrapped stick-with-a-hilt, and followed him down the stairs from the fencing studio. "You seem to be spending more time in Prytennia than Alba at the moment."
"Or my mornings in one and evenings in the other," he agreed. "Alba initially escaped most of the scouring, but as it's grown worse, Prince Gustav's become less inclined to leave Prytennia to solve this herself. Not least because if he should happen to ride in heroically and fix things, there's every chance the vote to extend the Protectorate will pass. I am, incidentally, under orders to cultivate you. I expect you understand why."
"Shattered dragon, etcetera etcetera," Rian said. "I am very bored with being asked."
"Playing witness to that foreseeing won me no end of approval, however. It was very obliging timing." He led her to an unprepossessing door that opened on to a gust of spicy scents, and a busy interior, worn but clean.
"Do you find all the conflicting loyalties difficult to manage?" Rian asked, as she glanced over the menu tacked by the door. "Alba first, and Gustav second, and with a sister who is a Unionist? Doesn't that make the prince suspicious?"
"Gustav trusts me to be Alban," Lyle said, with a satiric tilt to his brows. "He has other aides for matters where it's necessary to be Swedish. Lynsey…well, Gustav admires Lynsey very much and she wisely avoids him. Probably the best thing about her deciding to work for Folly is it'll keep her safely out of Gustav's path."
Rian considered this while Lyle ordered and then led them to a table. Gustav would make a political marriage eventually, and—from what she'd seen of the man—probably keep several mistresses. She doubted Lynsey had the temperament for that: both the Swedish Empire and Alba allowed women to own property and seek careers and education, but they had the same confusing divide between 'proper' and 'improper' women that Rian had struggled to adjust to when she'd first started travelling. It was little wonder so many of the United Albion League happened to be female—particularly since Alba's inheritance laws favoured sons over daughters.
"And where do you stand on union?" she asked.
"My ideal would be for one of Alba's own gods to Answer," he said. "But I'm resigned to it not happening. We barely know their names, after so many centuries of the Duodecim, the Cour d'Lune, the Aesir and the Green Aesir. There is so little of the true Alba remaining: our days are Swedish, our months Roman and our years Egyptian."
"So are Prytennia's," Rian pointed out.
"But you at least have Sulis. For all the gods whose conquerors have trampled Alba's fields, not one could establish territorial allegiance. We thought it a triumph once, proof that we had our own Otherworld, that there was a place where Albans truly belonged. Now all I want is certainty."
"And you think Sweden will bring that?"
"They managed it with Greenland, and Highfall. It's one of the biggest advantages of the Protectorates—the Swedes are able to systematically bring about territorial allegiance with the Aesir through the simple choice of the people, and so I'm willing to encourage Alba to make that choice. Anything to end this eternal disadvantage to Alban souls, this uphill struggle to gain an Otherworld, or face unlife. To which point, I'm happy enough for a united Albion if you—or anyone—should happen to find the Dragon of the North, since Sulis and Arawn's territory is tied together. But enough of the Union—I'm sure you've had your fill of the subject. What did you think of Folly's collection of follies?"
"I liked it. But I'm afraid the children have ruled Tangleways out on account of animals and exercise. It's such an unusual array of classes—I would never have thought of teaching animal care in an academically-focused school."
Lyle laughed. "Folly met some precocious brat who didn't know where milk came from. That's what started him off on the whole thing. It's unfortunate: his heart's in the right place, and he's found some excellent teachers, but it's looking like the whole thing will flop badly."
"And then Lynsey will be back in Gustav's path?"
"Well, she'll be disappointed." His face grew solemn. "And is already dismayed, having learned who it is your family have recently lost. She looked up to Eiliff Tenning, and feels responsible for suggesting her for Folly's commission."
"How did Lynsey know Eiliff?" Rian asked, pleased not to have had to raise the subject herself.
"Through the Mini-T Scholars program—which actively recruits at Alban universities, and causes no end of tension in doing so. Fortunately Folly knows Lynsey well enough to be certain she hasn't gone around babbling about his secret projects to all and sundry."
"Did she tell you?"
"Well, yes." He grimaced. "At least, she mentioned that she'd been able to send a plum commission Eiliff Tenning's way. But I didn't know the details, and certainly haven't mentioned it to anyone. Even so, Lynsey's second-guessing herself, convinced she somehow caused this, so I've strongly hinted to Evelyn that he should go tour Folly's latest extravagance. That's sure to take her mind off blaming herself."
"Because?"
"Oh, Lyn's been in love with Evie since the first time I dragged her down to Sheerside. I pretend not to know. He certainly has never realised—thinks of her as my pig-tailed little sister. It would be unfair to tell him, don't you feel?"
"But you're telling me?"
Lyle's expression turned mischievous. "What's a little light sabotage between friends?" he asked, then leaned back as a server approached with a steaming platter.
Because she wouldn't indulge in an affair with Evelyn if she thought it would hurt Lynsey? Rian decided to take this leap of logic as a compliment, and settled back to enjoy a good meal with an accomplished flirt. The food was an eclectic mix—beginning with a Stomrurian grain dish, then a meat-and-potatoes staple, with a sorbet for afters—but it was all nicely done, though the wine a little heavy for her tastes. She didn't push particularly hard for information relating to Eiliff, and only learned that Lynsey would provide a little mathematical tutoring at Tangleways, along with swordcraft.
"Let me find you a taxicab," Lyle said, as they emerged back on the street.
"No need—that omnibus runs right into Lamhythe. Thank you again Lyle."
She kissed him lightly on the cheek—for they were cheekbones worthy of such a salute—and trotted to catch a passing omnibus. It was a new double-decker model, and yet steam-powered, and as she climbed up to the open top level to enjoy the evening breeze, she reflected on her involvement in matters that might solve the shortage of fulgite, and change how buses were made.
And
then she thought about catching an omnibus, even though she could afford a taxicab easily. Habit dies hard. Still, the view was better, especially now that shadows held no mysteries for her.
And what now for her ponderously slow investigation? It had only taken most of summer, but at last the question of Lynsey was solved. Yet the answer brought her so little. Two weak suspects in Folly Fennington and his Matthiel. She was fairly certain Fennington had held back something about the third piece of unusual fulgite he'd retained—possibly an investigation into whether it had been artificially created—but her unreliable new sense had found a distinct lack of murderous guilt in any of the four who admitted to knowing about Eiliff's commission. If not them, then perhaps an eavesdropper?
The one thing she had gained, as tactfully as she could manage, was the name of the less-than-reputable person who had sold and then tried to buy back several pieces of unusual fulgite. She'd taken a certain pleasure in adding that to the brief report she'd sent on to the palace, and hoped very much that it was something that Makepeace had not already learned, when he'd questioned Folly Fennington before she had the chance.
Undecided on her next step, Rian allowed her thoughts to drift to flirtation. She did not mind that the pursuit had openly become part of Evelyn and Lyle's playful rivalry. No-one was pretending they had fallen in love. But was Lyle right in thinking that long-standing feelings on Lynsey's part would make Rian less inclined to trifle there? And what would it be like to bed anyone when contact would inconsistently tell her exactly what they were feeling? Exciting, or awkward?
A greater complication were her 'niblings', and whether the idea of aunts with lovers would put further strain on them. Particularly with Eleri, who would be raw to all instances of romance.
There was unmissable irony in an aunt and niece meeting the Queen's two daughters and having entirely opposite reactions to overwhelming attraction. Eleri saw Celestine and was convinced she had found the one person she would ever want to marry. Rian's pulse might quicken whenever she let herself think of Aerinndís Gwyn Lynn, but Rian also knew that she had a type—incisive, highly competent, and with a hint not so much of disdain as of being supremely hard to impress. This combination invariably hooked her deeply, and she had learned to recognise when she was being pulled off balance, and avoid the cause.
The Pyramids of London Page 20
