Kittins set his bottle down, flexed his fingers, appeared to think about it. “Coin or Courage?”
“Shit!” Wrensl scoffed, “You ain’t got no money, you’re a guard! Let’s go with Courage.”
“Courage it is.”
A sly, cunning look came into Wrensl’s eyes. “Right: I come up with a little tidbit surprises you, you gotta…get friendly with one o’ them Svarren. And you know what I mean by ‘friendly,’ right?”
“You’re a sick bastard, you know that, Deda?”
Wrensl cackled with glee. “So, you got the courage?”
Kittins nodded, took another prodigious gulp of wine. “I’ve got it. What’s the tidbit?”
“Them two guards bunk on either side o’ me? They’re doing it.”
“That’s nothing. I’ve seen that kind of thing in the army.”
Wrensl’s eyes grew wide. “Truth?”
“Truth. I won’t say it was an everyday thing, but I’ve seen a lot of it. What else have you got?”
The other man swiveled his head to and fro, making sure no one he couldn’t see was listening. His voice got quiet. “They say Darley killed one o’ his mistresses and her babe a while back.”
Kittins yawned. “So I’ve heard.”
“Where?” Wrensl demanded, sounding offended.
“I swore I wouldn’t say.”
Wrensl looked crestfallen.
“That the best you’ve got, then?” Kittins asked.
“You got any better?” the other man asked, somewhat belligerently.
“Might be I do.” Kittins considered his surroundings, felt a sudden urge to hurt someone. He scanned the Grotto, picked a random target. “You see that fellow over at the card table? Man going bald on top?”
“Who, Buke?”
“That his name? Buke?”
Wrensl nodded. “That’s the balding fella.”
“Right, well, I saw that bastard commanding a squad on the other side of the line,” Kittins lied. There was no question what line Kittins was referring to; virtually everyone knew it to be the line between the End-of-All-Things’ horde and the Queen’s army.
“Son of a whore!” Wrensl said. “I knew there was somethin’ dodgy about that jackanapes.”
“Don’t let on I recognized him,” Kittins warned. “I need time to figure what I’m going to do about it.”
Wresnl beamed and slapped his companion on the shoulder. “Janks, old pal, I’d be happy to take care o’ this for you.”
It was amazing how quickly Deda had taken the bait, how eager he’d been to accept and act upon the lie. Kittins shook his head. “No, this is something I’ve got to do myself. I appreciate the offer, though.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” the other man exclaimed.
“Think I’ll go get some sleep before my next watch,” Kittins said as he stood up.
“In your new room, eh?” Wrensl asked, a touch of envy evident in his voice.
“I had to move,” Kittins explained, “The smell of your feet was killing me!”
He moved off towards the entrance to the Grotto, with Deda’s laughter ringing in his ears. If he was right about the man, Deda would obsess about this Buke fellow until he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, at which point, there’d be blood. Kittins reckoned Deda could hold his tongue for three days, maybe five, before enlisting a few buddies to help him teach Buke a lesson. So, that was how long Kittins had to come up with some way to exonerate himself in the event it all came back to his doorstep.
He was both uneasy and excited with anticipation. He’d set something in motion tonight, and there was no telling where it would go from here.
*****
Rem, House Hawsey
The Entirely True Account of the Mighty Reaper’s Heroic Victory Over the Heinous Tyrant, The-End-of-All-Things was a huge success, if the private audience’s reaction was any gauge. Curiously, though, each time Rem caught a glimpse of Henton in his private box, the man seemed to be frowning. Whether in concentration, consternation or constipation, Rem couldn’t begin to guess. With Lord Hawsey, any or all of those options might be in play. Still, it was not a good sign, and Rem was a believer in signs. While Henton’s guests mingled with his actors in the rush of excitement after a successful performance, Rem pulled one of his oldest, most trusted mates aside.
“Keez,” he whispered, “Meet me backstage, if you would – and be discrete as possible.”
Two minutes later, both men reconvened in the appointed spot.
“Keez, old friend, did you mark His Lordship during our performance?”
“I’m an actor. How could I fail to notice our patron’s demeanor?”
“And what did you make of it?”
“Something displeased or displeases him.”
Rem bobbed his head in agreement. “That was my impression, as well. This does not bode well for continued stay at House Hawsey.”
“It may not bode well for our continued stay in the world, either.”
That was further than Rem was willing to go, but he could not discount it, either. “As quietly as you can, secure our most valuable properties and prepare for a precipitous departure. It may not come to that, but…”
“I’ll make ready,” Keez answered and walked off without another word.
Rem sauntered back onstage and grabbed a cup of wine from a nearby server. Best to play innocent. In seconds, he was surrounded by members of the Hawsey family and household and their invited guests. Notable for his absence was His Lordship. Rem decided to stick to one cup of wine, in order to keep his thoughts clear, in the event his fears – nebulous though they were – became reality. Patiently, Rem greeted everyone who pushed forward to congratulate, or, in some cases, fawn upon him. At last, a stern-looking messenger approached. And Rem gracefully detached himself from his fans.
“His Lordship would like to speak with you in the Blue Room, as soon as possible, by which he means now,” the messenger said.
Under other circumstances, Rem might’ve chuckled at the strange pronouncement. He found he could not this time. “I’m on my way,” he said at the back of the already-departed messenger. With a deep sigh, he set down his cup, tugged on his doublet to remove any wrinkles and headed off to the Blue Room.
Which, of course, was not blue, but rust-colored. In the course of his stay at House Hawsey, he’d learned the room had once been blue, and the name had stuck, even after the décor had changed. Strange, how set folks could be in their ways. Upon arriving, he found His Lordship pacing back and forth. Out of the corner of his eye, Rem saw that guards had materialized at the far door and the one he’d just entered.
“Ah, you’re here,” Henton said flatly.
“Of course,” Rem replied, putting on his best smile. “I am your servant.”
Henton pursed his lips at this and pinned his chin to his chest. “I hope you are,” he said.
“Have I given you any cause to doubt me, your Lordship?”
Henton’s response, when it came, was utterly bewildering. “How much of Gelter Radcliffthz diary did you read?”
There was no point in pretending ignorance, Rem decided. “I was only able to read the first few pages, before you appeared and I handed it over.”
“Only a few?” Henton asked gravely.
“Five or six, at the utmost, your Lordship. That handwriting was so small and crabbed, you know.”
For several seconds, Rem heard nothing at all, save the ticking of an unseen clock he dared not search for at the moment. Instead, he did his best to keep an open and honest expression on his face as he continued to maintain eye contact with His Lordship. After what seemed an eternity, Henton finally spoke.
“Allth well, then,” he said in a manner that suggested it wasn’t.
“Yes, indeed. Happy I could be of service,” Rem replied.
Henton seemed to relax just the tiniest amount. “You may go,” he said.
That their relationship had changed, Rem saw clearly. What he d
id not know was the extent of the damage or whether it might be reversed. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to Lord Hawsey and asked, “What did you think of the play, your Lordship?”
“The play?” Henton repeated, as if he’d never heard the word before. “It wath fine. Good, even. And, you weren’t half-bad, either. Your dicthion could yooth a little more work, but otherwithz it wath quite thatithfactory.”
His diction? His diction? Satisfactory? Rem smiled wanly, bowed, and left the room before he decided to smash something of irreplaceable value.
*****
“What’s the plan?” Keez wanted to know when he saw Rem again.
“We’re staying. For the nonce. Can you find Aadie for me?”
“The props master? I expect he’s locking up the props.”
“Yes,” Rem agreed. “Well, help him finish up and send him along, will you? I’ll be in my room.”
“As you say,” Keez answered.
Rem spent the walk to his room plotting and scheming. Obviously, there was something in Gelter’s diary that reflected poorly on Lord Hawsey, something His Lordship could not simply laugh off or attribute to the mean-spiritedness of a rival. And this mysterious something might be the very information he’d been sent by Colonel Bailis to find, and, if not, might still have monetary or political value to someone else. There were so many possibilities that Rem gave up even trying to imagine what had so sobered His Lordship. Back in the Blue Room, Rem had unexpectedly arrived at the precipice of disaster. His apparent ignorance had saved him, but, going forward, he felt certain knowledge would serve him better.
Rem’s room was actually a suite, large and spacious, offering many hiding places for things he didn’t want found. As he retrieved a special dagger he had secreted in one of these locations, he realized His Lordship’s staff might likewise have hidden things from him within his chambers, and he felt a surge of paranoia coming on, the like of which he’d never before experienced. His room, he determined, was no place for a private conversation with the prop master. Slipping his dagger into his doublet, he stepped outside the door and waited for his friend to arrive. He didn’t have long to wait.
“Good show tonight!” Aadie called out.
“Seemed a bit slow in the last two acts, but perhaps that’s just a reflection of my eagerness to get to the banquet,” Rem replied. In fact, he’d completely forgotten the banquet.
“So,” the Props Master said.
“So…let’s take a stroll, shall we?”
Aadie was no rube; he knew something was afoot from the second he’d been summoned. “Where d’you fancy?”
“Safest place of all: through the banquet room.”
Made sense to the Props Master. Rem and he could play drunken celebrants about as well as any, especially if they were drunken celebrants.
Entering the banquet room, Rem was hailed by a number of folks who were already well into their cups. The actor offered a wave in return and began talking to Aadie in a voice intended to be overheard.
“Vykers’ sword needs to be, how shall I say it, more magnificent. After so many performances, it’s looking rather pathetic, I’m afraid.”
Aadie played his part. “Pathetic? I keep my props in the best working order. The problem’s not my props, it’s your actors. They don’t know how to take care of anything!”
The two men went back and forth like this long enough to down several cups of wine and a capon leg or three. When at last the rest of the chamber’s revelers seemed to lose interest in their presence, Rem lowered his voice somewhat and continued. “I need you to teach me how to make a book.”
“Teach you? Why don’t I just make it for you?”
“But Keez is one of our best actors!” Rem burst out, before quickly fading his voice back to normal. “Because it’s going to be the twin of another book only two people on this estate have ever seen. I cannot describe it in sufficient detail to ensure the copy’s perfection; therefore, I must make it myself.
Aadie looked perplexed. “But how can I instruct you in this without drawing suspicion?”
“A codpiece?” Rem blurted out. And then, more silently, “We’ll insert our conversation into a rehearsal of The Milkmaid’s Tragedy. His Lordship’s spies will be none the wiser.”
Oh, he was clever, that Remuel Wratch. The question was whether he was clever enough.
*****
Long & Mardine’s Farm
The girl was a decent enough cook, Mardine allowed, which was especially surprising, given the ordeal she’d been through with the End-of-All-Things. And Esmine seemed to like her well enough. Still, the giantess had her doubts. It was hard to trust anyone else with her daughter, much less a former thrall. Mardine looked up from her work on the orchard’s accounts and peeked over at Nelby, who was busy tending an iron pot over the fire.
“Smells good,” Mardine said. “What is it?”
“It’s an old family recipe,” Nelby answered shyly. “A stew of pork, apples, raisins and other things.”
“Apples, eh? You’re using some o’ last season’s dried, then?”
“I am, yes. You’ll see, though, they’ll go well with the meat.”
“I’m sure,” Mardine replied. “Ask you a question, Nelby?”
“Yes, mum.”
“Your family still alive somewhere?”
Nelby looked down into the pot, stirred it. “I…I don’t rightly know.” And then she began to weep. She made a heroic effort to hide her tears from Mardine, but the giant saw them anyhow.
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, Nelby,” Mardine offered. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress. I was only wondering…”
“As am I,” the thrall girl replied. “Only, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look. I…I can’t recall…where I came from.”
“You can’t recall?”
“No, mum. My memories are as mixed up as, well, this here stew. Sometimes things are as clear as daylight; others, well…” And again she wept.
As quietly as she could, Mardine closed her book and crossed over to Nelby’s side. She put an arm around the girl and held her for a good while.
*****
A fine, welcome drizzle fell on the orchard. Long had never complained about spring rains, and Mardine shared his view: what was good for the trees was good for the family, no matter that her clothes were soaked through by the time she’d finished her daily inspections. The blossoms on each branch had long since turned into tiny apples – not much to look at now, but promising a magnificent bounty when they ripened to full size in a few months’ time.
The giantess stepped away from the branch she’d been examining, took a deep breath. Of a sudden, she felt lightheaded. She must not have eaten enough for breakfast, she assumed. But as she returned her attention to the tree, her dizziness grew. Must be the onset of a flu or some such, she mused unhappily. Nelby would have to watch Esmine at night, too, if…The orchard spun around Mardine, and she became afraid. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She looked through the trees towards her cottage, thought briefly of yelling for help.
And hit the ground with a tremendous thud.
*****
It was the cold and damp that brought her back around. She had a skull-splitting headache and was shivering violently when she opened her eyes and discovered night had fallen. In fact, as she climbed to her feet, she could see the barest glimmer of light in the eastern sky. Night had not only fallen, it seemed, but almost passed. Without warning, Mardine vomited onto the grass. And vomited onto the grass again. Carefully, she sat back down and rolled over onto her side. What in the infinite hells was happening to her?
*****
She heard a knocking sound; someone was at the door and would not be deterred by her refusal to answer. Mardine opened her eyes. She was outside. Gradually, her head cleared enough for her to recall what had happened to her. This time, she took a long moment to consider her condition before attempting to rise. The knocking sound came again. A woodpecker worke
d away on a nearby tree. Let him alone long enough, and that tree would die. Mardine cast about for a stone, located one, and tossed it at the bird. Her throw went wide of the mark, but its ensuing impact on a neighboring tree was enough to chase the woodpecker away. Mardine did not bask in her victory long, however, as the odor of something foul came to her, and she realized she’d fallen asleep near the puddle of sick she’d created during the night. Still too weak to stand, she crawled away to fresher – and sunnier – surroundings. Between the rows of trees, mid-afternoon sun lanced down and warmed the grass most pleasantly. The giantess was terribly tempted to lie down again and sleep off whatever it was that ailed her, but she knew she’d left Esmine and Nelby without company or attention all night. They must be as worried about her as she was about them.
As Flies to Wanton Boys (Immortal Treachery Book 2) Page 17
