by Neil McGarry
No one knew how to fleece an aristocrat like Lysander, Duchess reflected fondly. She wished she could deal with her own problems so neatly. “And the dealer’s working out?”
Lysander shrugged, stacking more coins. “He’s as happy as anyone that Julius is gone, particularly since we offered him a larger share of the take. He knows who butters his bread.”
Out of nowhere, Aaron spoke up. “Julius is already in a weakened position given what you did to him. If one of his games is doing this well—”
“—why not take a few more from him?” Lysander shook his head and tried to keep from smiling. “Poor Julius.”
“Poor Julius? A man who tries to have me killed gets sympathy from you?” She no longer suspected that had been Julius’ intent when he sent the Brutes along on the Levering job, but she was still haunted by the memory of the bloodshed that had resulted. “The only price he paid was a reduction in his profits. He’s lucky to be breathing, and for a half-penny I’d put a stop to that, as well.” She paused as she realized that Lysander had just tricked her into making his argument for him. When she looked up into his eyes, he laughed.
Aaron looked between them again, as anxious to please as a puppy. “So—can we try it?”
She threw up her hands. “It’s Lysander’s game and Lysander’s call. If he says yes, then I say yes.”
After a moment, Lysander nodded assent, and Aaron grinned broadly. “You won’t regret this,” he said to both of them. “I’ll...I’ll get planning right now—” He was out the door before either of them could say a word.
She chuckled. “You two are getting along better than I ever expected.”
Lysander shrugged. “He’s changed since we were kids.”
“We all have,” she replied, then got up to fetch some wine. “We’re going to need this,” she said pouring for them both. Then she told him about her meeting with Amabilis.
“So now the preceptor is scheming to kill a little boy?” Lysander shook his head in disgust. “I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the same man who protected Adam Whitehall.” From the bitterness in his eyes, Duchess knew he was thinking of Manly Pete, the last of Whitehall’s victims. There was guilt there as well. Pete had always been one of the lesser ganymedes, a lover of women who dallied with men only for pay. He’d thought himself above the likes of Deneys and Brenn, and Lysander had resented that and had often treated Pete poorly.
“Now it seems I have one imperial heir to protect and another to ruin,” she muttered, rubbing at her temples.
“You’re scared,” Lysander said. It was not a challenge.
“Mayu’s mercy, yes!” She threw up her hands. “If I don’t give Preceptor Amabilis what he wants, he’ll tell Attys where to find Far, and then—” She left the rest unsaid.
“Far is Castor’s family, not yours,” Lysander pointed out. Again, it was not a challenge.
She’d thought of this, when Amabilis had made his offer. “But isn’t Castor family now? Aren’t you and Jana, and Mikkos?” Lysander did not argue. “Besides, do you think Attys will stop at murdering a little boy? He’ll wipe out anyone he thinks knows Far’s secret, which includes the lot of us. I can’t let that happen, but I don’t know how to stop it.” The tears that had been threatening all day finally spilled out, and she buried her face in her hands. “Ever since I showed that coin to Hector, my life’s been one mad risk after another. Steal from a baron, fight the risen dead, rescue fallen Whites from prison, ruin the Fall of Ventaris.” She looked at him nakedly. “It all made some kind of sense at the time, but now it just seems crazy.”
He smiled without mockery. “So would you have rather stayed the bread girl?”
She tried wiping away her tears, but they kept coming. “It would have been safer, and now I wouldn’t have the life of a little boy in my hands.”
He leaned across the desk and took her hands. “But it wouldn’t have been you. When I think of that girl I met in the alley, long ago, of how she caught a cat on her first try, everything that’s happened since then makes sense to me. It’s who you are, and it’s what you do.”
She thought of Jana’s cards. So many leaps from so many cliffs and Lysander calling her fool the whole way down. She sighed shakily. “I don’t know what to do now, Lysander. I really don’t.”
He squeezed her hands. “Then let me tell you. You’re going to come up with some wild, brilliant scheme to save the day, I’m going to say you’re completely mad, and then I’m going to help you pull it off. So get scheming.”
She laughed despite herself. “You almost make me believe it’s possible,” she admitted, “but I don’t see how. I’ve got no leverage with House Davari. I could spend a lifetime on the Grey and not have leverage. It can’t be done, or at least not by me.”
Lysander refilled their cups. “It’s a shame, really. From what I’ve heard, Old Man Davari wasn’t the kind to throw in with Attys. If he’d held out a few more months things might be different, but the Mask has passed and that’s that.”
A thought struck her, and she sat back in her seat to consider. She suddenly saw Philemon, his lifelike figure on the gray stone wall of the Scriptorium, the Ruling Mask in his hands.
“It’s a strange custom, isn’t it?” she said after a moment. “The Mask. Whoever has it rules the House.”
“Whichever Davari has it, yes,” Lysander pointed out. “Anyone else who tries to hold it gets a withered hand for his troubles. Remember the underbutler.”
She did remember, but her thoughts were moving again, faster than rats through a root cellar. She saw herself in the Halls of Dawn, unable to perform the steps in a ritual that all others seemed to know. She thought of the shard hidden under the floorboards, of the dagger she’d stolen from House Eusbius. She thought of Jadis choosing her to face Morel on his behalf, both of them unable to hear the voice of her heart. She thought of the facet who’d spoken with her sister’s voice at the Fall of Ventaris.
We saw nothing, and knew a pattern by the absence.
Her brother Justin had not left her empty-handed before he’d fled into the Westerlands. Justin was not there. You were. He gifted you with what he once received.
She looked at Lysander, feeling light-headed but determined. “You’re right, as usual,” she said at last, “I am completely mad. Because I’m going to steal the Ruling Mask of House Davari.”
* * *
Regardless of how much her lot had improved, she still thought it best to enter the Vermillion by the back door. Lorelei’s sad smile when she saw Duchess told her that it had been the right decision. The girl gave her a hug with the arm that wasn’t full of the bedding she’d been carrying down the stairs.
“She’s been in her office for hours,” Lorelei whispered into her ear. “Can’t say as to her mood, but I’d knock before going in.” Lorelei made as if to leave, then turned back. “We’ve missed you around here.” Then she was off, leaving Duchess to face the mistress of the Vermillion alone. Still, it was a good sign that Lorelei hadn’t simply escorted her back out onto the street.
She took Lorelei’s advice and had to admit to a certain relief when Minette replied to her knocking with a “Come!” The office was bathed in the soft, dim light of a winter’s late afternoon, picking out the lavender settee and thick rugs of purple and light blue; here, the red of the Vermillion made no appearance. Minette herself was ensconced behind the walnut desk, a quill in one hand, a stack of blank parchments before her. She was gloveless for the first time that Duchess could remember, but she supposed it was to be expected; Minette never risked getting ink on good silk. She spared Duchess a single glance, which Duchess took as permission to enter, then went back to her writing.
Hoping to stay in Minette’s so-far good graces, Duchess carefully slipped off her shoes and into the seat on the other side of the desk. Minette, for her part, seemed to have forgotten she was there. She continued writing, pausing from time to time to glance at the other papers on her desk. At one point she lifted a
scroll from the floor, compared it to what was before her, and then went back to her writing.
Duchess understood she was being made to wait, though she also understood there was little she could do about it. She felt her left foot idly swinging and stopped before Minette took notice. Minette glanced over her parchment one final time, then sprinkled it with a handful of sand from a small bowl on the corner of her desk. When the ink was blotted she shook the excess sand into another bowl sitting beside the first, glancing at Duchess as she did so. Those dark eyes daunted, and Duchess found herself wondering again if Minette had given her up to Preceptor Amabilis.
Minette folded the paper, then melted a block of wax over a candle to seal the letter. That finished, she very deliberately returned her implements—quill, inkpot, and wax—to their proper places before donning her gloves. “The last I saw you,” she said at last, “I believe we agreed that you would not darken my door until your prospects had improved.” Her words were dark but her tone wasn’t, and the knot in Duchess’ stomach loosened the tiniest bit. “I’m presuming you believe that’s true.”
Tone or no tone, Duchess was going to play this carefully. “What do you think?”
“These sorts of things are so very subjective, aren’t they?” Minette fiddled with her gloves for the best fit. “You seem to have reached some sort of accord with Peter, but what happened out on the Coast Road won’t be quickly forgotten.” Some sort of accord with Peter. She imagined Minette was dying to know the details, but Duchess did not intend to oblige her.
Duchess shrugged. “If you’re no longer interested in holding my mark, I suppose I could buy it back from you.”
Minette met her gaze. “By no means. In life, as in tiles, victory generally goes to she who plays the long game. And speaking of games, I hear you’ve taken over Julius’ most profitable. Nigel speaks well of you—though no one seems to know just why—and the elegance with which you handled those two interlopers hasn’t been ignored.”
If Minette was speaking well of these accomplishments then so was the Highway. Duchess noted that Minette had mentioned neither Jadis nor Amabilis—did that mean she hadn’t heard, or simply wouldn’t say? “Not quite panacea nor quite poison?” she asked, remembering the chartreuse.
Minette rewarded her with a broad smile. “Indeed. I’ve missed your company, and I’m glad that we understand one another.”
Minette’s meaning was clear: she’d help as she could, but she wasn’t about to put her neck out for Duchess. That did not mean things were back to business as usual, but it was a start. Duchess decided to be blunt.
“I was hoping you’d be in the mood to share some advice.” Minette raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue. “I’m about to embark on an undertaking that might go a long way towards restoring my reputation. This will require me to lie repeatedly and convincingly to a good many people who are old hands at dishonesty.” She chose her words with care. “As one with a long and clear history of seeing through such subterfuge, I thought you might be able to help.”
“The ability to sort truth from falsehood is an underestimated skill.” Minette rose and went to the sideboard, where she filled two cups from a flagon. “Have I ever told you about a certain unfortunate named Nereus?" Duchess, accepting a cup, shook her head. The connection was less than clear, but she wasn’t about to stop Minette in the middle of a story. She sipped the wine, tasting orange, and settled in to listen.
Minette resumed her seat. “Nereus himself most certainly existed, that’s a matter of fact. The story I’m about to tell you almost certainly isn’t, but perhaps it will be instructive. We’ve already discussed One-Penny Will, yes?” Duchess nodded. Everyone in Rodaas had heard of the notorious thief who had raided the aviary of House Waverly, tarring its lord with the feathers from his own prize birds. As Will had vanished years ago, it was commonly assumed he was dead. “Will was a private sort, played his tiles close to the vest as it were, and no one knew who he really was or where he’d come from. Some said he hailed from the Territories, others thought him native born, the rest that he was Ahé, but nothing’s really known for certain. As Will’s stock on the Highway rose, so did the determination of some to discover his true identity. He was followed and spied upon, but somehow he managed to stymie every investigation. He began to invest in property, buying this brothel or that alehouse, but he worked always through intermediaries to preserve his privacy.”
Duchess was reminded of what Pete had told her about his mysterious benefactor, who moved the Grey like some unseen puppet master. Again, she wondered if Minette knew the truth behind the Pearl’s success, and if perhaps that was why she was telling this particular story.
Minette sipped her wine. “One of those intermediaries was Nereus, a moneylender's assistant. Nereus quietly handled a thousand small things on Will’s behalf without anyone knowing. Purchases were made, accounts drawn up, debts incurred and repaid, all seemingly on their own. Nereus was a loyal man, though not terribly imaginative, which was precisely what Will needed. Or so it seemed.”
“What do you mean?”
“One could see in his eyes that he was never really...satisfied...with his position, that he always hungered for more. His opportunity came when he was approached by an agent of a rival member of the Grey who said that in exchange for a lead on Will, Nereus might receive gold, favors, perhaps even initiation into the Highway itself.”
Duchess could see where this was going. “He turned on Will to advance himself.”
Minette smiled. “Well, less has been done in pursuit of a gray cloak, but Nereus wasn’t quite that imaginative. He didn’t betray Will, though there are those that think he might have been better off if he had.” She sipped again. “Instead he feigned acceptance of the offer, and then during a secret meeting at which money would be exchanged for information, he murdered the agent and left his body in a public place, as a sign to that agent’s principle that Will was better left alone.”
Duchess winced; when an outsider killed a member of the Grey, the entire Highway took notice. Worse, such assassinations were the province of the Red, and whoever had been in charge of the redcaps at the time would likely have taken extreme exception. The wrath of the Red was not to be taken lightly. Nereus had been caught between the colors, a situation with which she was personally familiar. “Did this principle get the message?”
“Loud and clear. Unfortunately, so did Will.”
Duchess nodded. “Of course; he was probably hearing complaints from all over the Highway. I’m sure he didn’t appreciate that.” She thought a moment. “And, of course, not being on the Grey, Nereus had no way of knowing what was being said all around him.” Having been in such a position only recently, she could admire the horrible elegance of it. “So when the knives came out—”
“—he never saw them coming. But no one else was surprised when his body was found in a Shallows alley one morning.”
“Who did it? The Red?”
“Of course not. Will himself saw to the matter.” Minette was looking into the depths of her cup, yet she read Duchess' expression nonetheless. "Don't look so surprised. Nereus was a problem, but he was Will’s problem. On the Grey one takes care of one’s own problems, or else one wishes one had." She took another sip of wine. “The Uncle is not the only one who does not brook trouble.”
So even the Grey conducted murder and the Red condoned it—in certain circumstances. “Why did you tell me this story?” she asked, certain that there were at least four answers to that question and that she would be lucky to receive just one.
Instead of answering her question, Minette posed another. “Tell me, what did Nereus crave more than anything in the world?”
Duchess blinked. “Position. He worked for One-Penny Will, but it wasn’t enough for him. If he’d had any sense, he’d have ingratiated himself with his patron, rather than assuming he knew what was best for him.”
“What should he have done?”
“Assuming h
e hadn’t backed himself into a corner already?” Minette nodded. “He might simply have refused to answer and been public about his refusal. His loyalty would be remarked upon, improving his position. He’d go up in the estimation of Will and the Grey without risking his position.”
“And what of Will? Did he do the right thing?”
Oh gods, she didn’t even want to touch that question. “I suppose.” Duchess sighed. “He did what he had to. He couldn’t leave Nereus’ presumption unanswered.” She thought of the Atropi’s attack on Jana’s looms and everything that had led to the Fall of Ventaris. She thought of Amabilis asking for Far’s head on behalf of Attys. “He took care of his own. Letting Nereus live would solve nothing, because either the Grey or the Red would have killed him. He’d have the same result without even the comfort of protecting his position.”
Minette smiled. “There, you just lied to me three times, without even the twitch of an eye to betray you.” At Duchess’ skeptical look, she said, “I told you the story was false, didn’t I? So I lied to you and you to me, and neither one of us ever suspected the other.” She set down her glass and said nothing more.
“But that was just a tale, not a lie,” Duchess started to protest, then hesitated. When she had come to live with Noam, the baker had drilled into her head that her parents had been cobblers who’d died in a fire. He’d done such a good job that she had been able to rattle off that story without hesitation, and still could. In fact, there had been something comforting about the tale, because it allowed her to avoid thinking about all she had lost. Had the lie become real? “The best lies,” she said at last, choosing each word with care, “are the ones you want to be true. You can’t give away a truth you no longer believe.”
