“I don’t suppose she’s given you something to hold for her. A book, perhaps?”
Jeanne saw Margerit’s face turn pale and snapped her fan open to keep the man’s eyes on herself. Feed him a crumb to distract him, she thought. “A book? Mercy no, only some jewel—jewelry. The merest trinkets, really, hardly worth melting down for the value.” The gems themselves might be too close to his interest. She frantically invented a plausible trail to throw him off. “I suppose her good pieces were all sold long ago, but she asked me to see if I could find a buyer for these. It’s a sad thing when a woman is reduced to selling her last brooch and ring.” She was suddenly aware of the band with the carnelian displayed on her finger. Would he recognize it as one of Antuniet’s creations? Too late to conceal it now without drawing more attention. “If I’d known how many visits it would take to settle the matter I would have refused. My maid quakes in her shoes every time we go down there. She thinks alchemy is only a step from summoning demons! But Maisetra Chazillen asked and I agreed out of pity and so I must see it through.” She was too accustomed to social lies to feel more than a twinge of guilt. And the guilt was for maligning the friendship, not for the falsehood.
Margerit had yet to compose herself fully. Really, she must learn a little acting! Jeanne reached her hand out to Kreiser and said, “If you want to know all the Rotenek gossip, I demand a dance in exchange. Will you oblige me?”
There was nothing he could do except smile and accept.
Chapter Twelve
Barbara
The stone bench down at the bottom of the garden by the small private dock had long been Barbara’s favorite spot to contemplate problems. But on a day like this, sharp and cold with the clouds alternately threatening snow or rain, she settled instead for staring down at the scene from the shelter of the back parlor. The library would have been too comfortable for the topic that gnawed at her and she hated to disturb Margerit’s work with her pacing. Her steps tapped on the polished floor as she turned on her heel once again. It was one thing, Barbara thought, to see a runaway horse galloping down a crowded street and another thing entirely to be in the right place with the strength and skill to stop it.
So Antuniet’s book belonged to Emperor Franz. Or at least he claimed it did. Or at least Kreiser claimed it did. Was Kreiser’s position at Annek’s court entirely a blind to pursue the book? Had he learned of it only after being posted in Rotenek? Or was something more complicated than that in play? If it were truly a simple question of theft, the matter would have been settled long ago. At least it explained whose men had been playing cat and mouse with her own hired shadows in the streets around Antuniet’s workshop. But why hadn’t Kreiser simply demanded that Annek take action to retrieve his master’s property? Barbara had seen enough of the book’s contents to guess the answer to that. If it were more than the scribblings of a charlatan, it was a valuable tool indeed, in skilled hands. Too valuable to risk being brought to the attention of a rival. Not that Alpennia was in any way a rival to Austria, but on such small turns of cards lay the fate of empires. Antuniet’s interest could rule out the possibility that the book’s author had been a fraud. So many alchemy texts were nothing but empty boasting and clever allegories, but she was no fool to be taken in.
Antuniet—now there was the problem. The runaway horse was barreling down on her full speed with little room to dodge away. Or—to change images—she thought to draw off the pursuing wolves by throwing the bait in Margerit’s direction. There might be no malice behind it at all, only desperation, but the danger might be just as real if they weren’t careful. Her concern was the danger to Margerit, of course; Antuniet had brought her troubles on herself.
But even if she wanted to move on her cousin’s behalf, what could be done? Very little indeed unless Antuniet wanted her help. And if she wanted it, why hadn’t she asked? The city guard…There was nothing they could do unless Kreiser’s men acted first. The palace had more latitude, but they would do nothing unless it touched directly on the House of Atilliet. It was no small matter to interfere with an embassy.
Yes, what could be done? If it weren’t that Margerit had asked, she’d be content to watch and wait. But Margerit had asked and so at least she would talk to Antuniet. She could take the carriage down to Trez Cherfis and be back long before dinner. It was too cold and wet to make the prospect enticing. A gust whistled past outside and rattled the windows, briefly obscuring her view of the river with a flood of rain against the panes.
The sound muffled a distant pounding on the door. The pounding only impinged on her attention when it was answered with a burst of shouting voices. Old instincts were stronger than new ones and Barbara hitched up her skirts and met the footman running to fetch her before he’d gone three steps.
“What is it?” she barked at the chaos in the entry hall. Ponivin had arrived at the same moment she had, but the butler—exchanging quick glances with her—deferred to her command. Bertrut was near to hysterics in the doorway from the front parlor. The servants were alternating between outrage and terror. The new arrivals were two of her hired shadows, dripping rain all over the carpets and laying down a large burden that looked terrifyingly like a body. “Report!” Barbara barked again, this time directed at them. Behind her, Barbara could hear Margerit gasping in fear.
“They broke into the workshop—staged a carriage accident to cover the noise and came in through the back, I think. We didn’t know until we heard the screaming.”
“Antuniet!” Margerit cried and dodged around Barbara to kneel by the motionless bundle and peel back the cloak wrapped around the bloodied figure. But the face revealed was younger and unfamiliar.
“The apprentice girl,” he continued. “There was also a serving man. He’s dead. We saw no sign of Maisetra Chazillen. Either they carried her off or she wasn’t there.” He looked guiltily at his fellow. “I never saw her leave but there was some time—”
Barbara cut him off and joined Margerit at the girl’s side long enough to determine that the need was for a surgeon, not an undertaker. “Send for Muller. No, not you.” She turned and pointed at the man she most trusted for the job. “You, quick as you can. And Iannik,” she continued, turning to the waiting shadows, “back to your post and find Maisetra Chazillen. Call in anyone else you need. I want her found and I want her safe.”
She turned her attention back to the girl. “Any bones broken?” she asked to the air, then shrugged. “Well, we can’t do any more damage getting her someplace warm than has already been done.” She stepped back and let Ponivin direct several of the footmen to lift her gently, using the cloak as a litter, and carry her into the back parlor that had been filled with contemplation only moments before.
* * *
For an hour, the household was a stirred-up anthill. Was it like this the time I was attacked? Barbara wondered. It had been pouring rain that night too when she was ambushed in pursuit of her father’s debts—not her true father, but the man she had then believed to have sired her. She remembered far more of the sword fight on the bridge than its aftermath. Now only the scar remained. She rubbed her fingers absently over the mark on her forehead, just hidden under her hair. She had been a less cooperative patient than Antuniet’s apprentice was.
Anna—it was a good sign that, when she roused briefly, she had been able to tell them her name—lay quietly under Muller’s no-nonsense ministrations. He’d been an army surgeon in the French wars and had an excellent reputation among the armins, but he made no allowances for a young girl’s delicacy and modesty. There were bruises and possibly a cracked skull, though he thought it unlikely. Worst of all, a long deep cut, deliberately sliced across one cheek. In her lucid moments, her first words had been, “I didn’t tell them, Maisetra. I didn’t tell them anything.” Barbara tamped down her rage at hearing that. Someone would pay.
Margerit had stayed by the girl’s side through it all, even holding her hands tightly while Muller took tiny, even stitches through the wound
until the girl surrendered to a swoon. Margerit herself looked pale enough to faint as well. Through the haze of memory, Barbara remembered Margerit holding her own hand through the surgeon’s ministrations and declined to send her away.
The afternoon had passed and it was growing dark before Muller left to let them wash the girl gently and dress her in one of Margerit’s own shifts and make her more comfortable on a cot brought down from one of the servants’ rooms. Mesner Pertinek had come by to say that his cousin had sent over a woman who was skilled at sick-nursing and they were welcome to keep her as long as needed, which told Barbara that the uproar would soon be known all up and down the Vezenaf.
That uproar was now muted but continued on. Hard on Pertinek’s heels came Ponivin with the message that a Jewish gentleman named Monterrez was at the door asking for Baroness Saveze and that he would not be put off. After a brief moment’s confusion, Barbara looked more closely at the sleeping girl, and light dawned. She hurried to the entryway, now cleaned of all traces of the chaotic invasion. The bleak expression on the man’s face confirmed her guess.
“Mesnera—” He faltered and started again. “Mesnera, they tell me my daughter was brought here…”
“She lives,” Barbara assured him quickly. “She lives and, God willing, will continue to do so.”
His face crumpled and he buried it in his hands, murmuring something she could not follow but could easily guess at.
“Come,” Barbara said softly and led him back to where the girl lay. In a few brief sentences she explained what she knew and some of what she guessed about what had happened.
He knelt beside his daughter and took her hand, murmuring, “My poor child, my precious girl.” The bandages obscured the worst of the damage for now. At last he looked up in confusion, asking, “But how do you come into this, Mesnera? Why was she brought here?”
Barbara wondered how much he’d known of Antuniet’s doings. “Maisetra Chazillen is my cousin,” she began.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “And I have guessed you were not close, seeing that she looked elsewhere for a patron. Then why should you come into the matter at all?”
She glanced over at Margerit, warning her to keep some matters yet secret. “I had men set to watch her. Maisetra Chazillen sought to draw us into her intrigues and I wanted to know what those intrigues were. I feel some responsibility here—” she gestured down at the girl “—because I knew there was danger and I hadn’t thought that it might fall on the innocent.”
“You know who did this?” he asked urgently.
Barbara shook her head. “Only the man behind them. I’ll pursue the matter. I can’t promise you justice, but I’ll do what I can. The bullies who attacked are nothing and easily dealt with, but their leader may be difficult to touch. Leave him to me.”
He sighed and folded in on himself a little. “I would like to take my daughter home. When can it be arranged?”
Margerit made a gesture of protest. “She shouldn’t be moved, not for some days yet. The surgeon will be back tomorrow and we have an excellent sick-nurse and—”
“My people have physicians too,” he said, raising his head stiffly.
“Of course,” Margerit answered in some confusion.
“And there is the matter,” Barbara added, “of her safety. If Antuniet’s enemies still think she knows something…” She let the implications sink in and saw the bleak look return to his face. “Better to wait a week or two and see what falls out.”
And then there were further interruptions. with a maid coming in to tend to the fire and Bertrut asking whether the cook should wait dinner and another question from the cook as to what she should prepare for the invalid.
Monterrez answered the last, unexpectedly. “I will send one of my elder daughters to care for her and bring her food. You needn’t trouble yourself over that.”
Margerit began to protest that it was no trouble, but Barbara countered, “An excellent idea. Margerit, she’s his daughter; he has the right to see to her care.” She called out into the hall for the footman on duty there. “Have the town carriage brought out and tell the coachman he’s needed.” When the footman poked his head in to be sure of his instructions, she added, “Maistir Monterrez will be using it for the evening. See that he has every assistance.”
* * *
It was another hour before the searchers came back to report, quietly slipping in through the side entrance this time and insisting that word be sent up directly to the dining room. Barbara excused herself and hurried to meet them, Margerit trailing after anxiously.
“We searched the whole quarter with no sign of her,” came the report. “The others were out there looking too, so I doubt she’s been taken. Either she’s deep in hiding or she’s fled the city. What do you want us to do?”
Barbara frowned in thought. “Tell the men to keep their old schedule. If she turns up it will likely be at the workshop. And get names, if you can, of the other watchers. We may have enough to take to the city guard, and if not there are other means.” And she sent them away, leaving the puzzle: “But where could she be?”
“Jeanne might know,” Margerit ventured.
“Jeanne?”
“Kreiser—he said she’d been visiting Antuniet. Jeanne had some story about being asked to sell some jewelry for her, but I didn’t believe it. I don’t know whether he did.” And then, with sudden fear: “Do you think she’s in danger too?”
“No, he wouldn’t dare threaten anyone with standing. Not directly. But she might know something. Give my apologies to your aunt and uncle; I’m going out.”
Barbara didn’t care to wait for Monterrez to return with the carriage, so she sent word to saddle her horse and went off to change into riding clothes, bracing herself for a damp evening.
Jeanne was out, but her butler allowed himself to be coaxed into revealing that she was dining at the Penilluks’.
Barbara found their staff less sanguine about her sudden arrival. “Are you expected?”
“Oh good heavens, do you think I’ve come to invade their dinner party like this?” Barbara assured the footman at the door. “Please take word in to Vicomtesse de Cherdillac that I need to speak with her urgently, in private.” And she was instantly tucked out of sight in the cold front parlor to wait.
Jeanne came in all haste, her eyes wide with concern. “Whatever brings you out like this?”
“Jeanne, I need you to answer as honestly as you can. Do you know where Antuniet is at this very moment?”
“Antuniet…?” For a moment it looked as if she might faint, and Barbara guided her to one of the chairs. “What’s happened? What have they done?”
So. She knew something. “Her place was broken into. Her apprentice was attacked and badly hurt. Antuniet has disappeared. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
Barbara could see Jeanne's mind racing as she swallowed heavily and fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. “I don’t know,” Jeanne said at last. “There’s nowhere, no one…if she’d had anyplace left…”
“Why didn’t she come to me?” Barbara demanded. “Why didn’t you?”
Jeanne managed a bleak smile. “Because she made me promise not to.”
Barbara stifled an oath that had no place between ladies in a parlor. “I have men out searching for her, watching all the places I think she might show up. If you receive any word from her, any sign at all, tell me. Her enemy thinks she’s alone and friendless—”
“And isn’t she?” Jeanne interrupted.
“Only by her own choice. And she’s dragged me into the mess unwillingly so she’ll have to put up with my interference. Send me word the moment you hear anything.”
Jeanne rose, her composure returning. “If she comes to me, I’ll do as I think best for her safety.” She offered her hand formally in dismissal, adding lightly, “You really are something of a bully, you know.”
Barbara was taken aback and brought her fingertips to her lips in reflex. “Am I?�
��
She would have protested further, but there was truth enough to sting. Yet what was the point of pleasantries when action was needed? Too many lives had been damaged at this point by Antuniet’s games.
Chapter Thirteen
Antuniet
She’d only stepped out of the workshop for a moment. Only a few steps down around the corner to see if the lime had come at the chemist’s. And she’d checked, before slipping out the door, to see who was on the street or loitering at the edge of alleyways. For once, no one seemed to be watching. But that had been the mistake, of course. They hadn’t been waiting for her to leave; they’d expected to find her there.
It seemed the chemist had taken shipment of a small collection of lodestone and wanted to know whether to set some aside for her. So it must be checked and tested and the price haggled over. And then, returning, the commotion in the street. She’d kept to the shadows, fearful of the crowd, and swung several blocks wide to slip in from the back.
That was when she saw the splintered door and heard—
Antuniet crammed her hands over her ears to keep the sound from ringing still in her mind. This was worse than Heidelberg; that only haunted her dreams, not her waking. She’d stood frozen, stabbed through by the screams. She didn’t remember running. But now here she was, crouched in the shallow arch below the back stairs of the old brewery. Every footstep, every shouted voice meant pursuit. The rain muffled those warning sounds. She’d ventured out once and returned, shivering, with heart pounding, when a cart came out of nowhere, driving past the end of the alley. Night. She must wait for dark and then…where?
She should go to Monterrez and tell him…tell him what? She didn’t even know. She quailed at the prospect. Cowardice burned like acid in her belly and she shook in a sudden spasm. She should have been cold, but she only felt numb. At some point in her flight the rain had soaked her coat clear through and the stones where she huddled were icy, but the narrow alley gave some protection from the wind. Was the sky growing darker? How slowly time passed!
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