“. . . No.” Jester began to eat. The food, although warm, had very little taste at the moment.
“If you manage to leave your rooms today, you will no doubt hear every possible rumor.”
“How true are the rumors?”
Haval didn’t answer.
Fine, Jester thought. He was not in a mood to play games with the tailor. He was no longer in a mood to eat breakfast, but again, mood was seldom a deterrent. “Ruby ATerafin wasn’t surprised—at all—by Finch’s message. She wasn’t happy, but she expected trouble.” He grimaced. “She expected a lot more trouble from Finch than anyone reasonable has a right to expect.”
“Ruby ATerafin is known for her cunning, not her dispassionate view of life.”
Jester’s brows rose as he examined Haval’s face for some spark that implied deliberate humor. If it was there, the humor was dry enough to catch fire.
“Ludgar mentioned Verdian.”
“As?”
“As someone whose suspicion of Finch was correct.”
Haval nodded. “You are not suspicious of Ludgar.”
“Oh, I am. Ludgar would have no issues attempting to have Finch removed if he thought it would benefit him. But he can’t see Finch as a threat—and he’s not fool enough to attempt to kill Jarven, more’s the pity.”
“Is Verdian playing Ludgar?”
Jester shrugged. “He would be easy for Verdian to play, up to a point. I’d worry more about the possible influence she has on Ruby.”
“Ruby is not known to be fond of Verdian.”
“No—but Ruby’s not fond of anyone. Ludgar is Haerrad’s man, at the moment.”
“And Ruby?”
“Uncertain. She has feelers in at least three camps.”
“Three?”
“If you’re playing at ignorance, stop. It’s spoiling breakfast.”
Haval did smile, then, the bastard. “You are not concerned with either Ruby or Ludgar.”
“I am. They’re just a fair ways down the list at the moment. James Varson is not, in any way, in the running as a possible suspect in the attempt on Finch’s life.”
“I have not had the pleasure of making James Varson’s direct acquaintance. His name and his position are known to me; he himself is not. You do not consider him a possible antagonist.”
“No. I consider him a bit of a dupe, if we’re being frank.”
Haval raised a brow.
Jester found this more amusing when it was aimed at Jay. “I’m not certain what position Varson holds in the Merchant Authority offices as of yesterday; for the sake of his family, I hope he hasn’t been promoted.”
“Finch’s message to Varson?”
“I believe it was a penned warning of possible danger to the Authority itself, given Varson’s reaction.”
“From Finch.”
“Yes.”
“Not Jarven.”
“Not apparently, no. Jarven knows, of course. I don’t think anything happens in that office without his knowledge.” He exhaled. “Are you aware that Finch is now sharing office space with Jarven?”
Haval actually frowned. “I assume you mean, by this, that there is a change in her position.”
“There is. She is literally sharing an office with Jarven. She has a desk of her own in the office he’s occupied for decades. She takes her appointments in that room. I doubt he even sends her out to fetch and carry tea anymore.”
“I don’t,” was the somewhat more acid reply. “Were the messages she sent meant to convey her change in status?”
“Oh, they were certainly meant to convey that. They were not, however, otherwise empty. She’s threatening both Ludgar and Ruby.”
“You are certain?”
“I don’t know what she wrote to Ruby; I do know what she wrote to Ludgar.” He dropped his chin to his arms. “But I’m not sure either of the two—or Verdian or Haerrad or Rymark—are the biggest danger at the moment.”
“You are, in my opinion, correct, but they are not a danger to be dismissed out of hand. Let me tell you what I have gleaned about the events in the guildhall. I would send you there myself, but you are unlikely to gain access.”
“I’ve been on the inside of the Merchants’ guildhall before.”
“I am not at all surprised. The building, however—what remains of it—is under heavy Imperial quarantine. The magi and the mages of the Mysterium have closed its doors to even its members. Those members,” he added, “who survived. You will find that two very junior members of House Terafin perished last night. Two more escaped; I believe they are expected in the office of the right-kin this morning.”
“You believe?”
“They are currently resident within the Order of Knowledge. They will be questioned there, along with any of the other merchants who survived.”
Jester rose, frustrated. He considered the possibility that Haval was lying, and discarded it; the old man wasn’t fond of wasting his own time. “Tell me what the rumors are.”
“They are of strong concern to my wife.”
Jester actually liked Hannerle. He understood that she was deeply attached to her husband—and frequently disappointed in him. He was less certain that the attachment in the other direction was as reliable, but Jay believed it was. “Hannerle’s always been sensible. What rumors concern her?”
“Ah. The most disturbing of the rumors? That a demon—that several demons—attacked the Merchants’ guildhall in the middle of an emergency meeting last evening. The meeting itself was extremely well attended because of the attacks that had taken place in the Merchant Authority in the morning.
“Very few merchants of note who have been granted membership in the guild were absent—and of those, most were not resident within Averalaan at the time the call went out.”
“You mean all of the merchants who have membership were there.”
“To my knowledge—which is not complete—yes.”
Jester sat down again. “How accurate is this knowledge?”
“There is some margin for error; it is, in my opinion, small.” He paused and then added, “Jarven is a member of the guild in good standing.”
Jester frowned. “Have you spoken with Finch?”
“No. I was with my wife. By the time I arrived at the Terafin manse, she had departed for the day; she is no doubt ensconced in the Terafin Merchant Authority offices as we speak.”
“Jarven’s a member of the Merchants’ Guild.”
“He is.”
“Was Jarven present in the guildhall last night?”
“A very good question.” Haval glanced at the half-empty breakfast plates. “I have an appointment—on short notice—with Jarven ATerafin. We have an hour before it is scheduled to start.”
“You have an appointment. With Jarven.”
“Indeed. Appointment in this case is an inaccurate choice of wording; I have been summoned.”
“Jarven summoned you.”
“Technically, the summons came from Lucille ATerafin. I chose to ignore the summons; my wife did not feel this was the appropriate course of action.”
“She doesn’t care for Jarven.”
“She is barely aware of his existence. She is, however, aware that Finch is his direct subordinate, and that Finch is valued by Jarven. I am, therefore, to attend Jarven ATerafin.”
This made no sense to Jester.
“You are to speak with Teller,” Haval continued. “He may have more information about the events at the Merchants’ guildhall—but I believe the salient points for our purposes are now known.” He turned toward the door, but turned back.
“The Master of the Household Staff is not, perhaps, in the most pleasant of moods.”
Jester didn’t even ask the clothier how he’d come by this information.
• • •
&nbs
p; Teller’s office was preternaturally silent when Jester entered. Barston was, as ever, behind his desk; he glanced up and the frown etched into his face by constant use deepened. “ATerafin.” He was so starched, he could never quite bring himself to use Jester’s name.
“Barston.”
“You have an appointment?”
“You already know I don’t. I’d like to make one, if the right-kin has the time.”
Barston glanced at Teller’s doors. To Jester’s surprise, he rose. He approached the closed doors, knocked, and waited. At some inaudible signal, he opened the doors and entered the room, closing them behind his back.
Whatever reports had filtered back to House Terafin from the Merchants’ Guild were bad, Jester thought. Very bad. He had not thought to ask Haval how many men and women had died in total; his own fault. Haval was not a man given to dramatics that served no purpose; information didn’t require it.
But Barston’s color, Barston’s expression, made clear that the answer was not a small number. And it made clear, as well, that rumors of demonic involvement were almost certainly based in fact. The shadow of the Henden of 410 had fallen over the secretary’s face.
The door opened.
The Master of the Household Staff exited the right-kin’s office, looking as pleased as she usually did. If there was any sign of fear in the pinched, narrow line of her mouth, displeasure swamped it. She glanced at Jester, her eyes narrowing to edges. She was, on the other hand, a woman composed entirely of edges; if looks could kill, Jester would no doubt be bleeding—but Barston would be dead.
Neither the secretary nor the Master of the Household Staff said a word to each other. Jester remembered that discretion was the better part of valor. If he was occasionally bold enough to tweak the tiger’s whiskers, he was smart enough to know that now was not the time.
Only when the Master of the Household Staff had left the office did he turn to face Barston.
“The Terafin did warn us that her absence would not please the Master of the Household Staff.”
Barston offered a clipped nod in response. “The right-kin will see you now.”
• • •
“You have no idea,” Teller said, pacing the length of the large area rug in front of his desk, “how glad I am to see you.”
“Given the expression on the Master of the Household Staff’s face? Believe I do. I don’t think I’ve seen her that angry since—” He stopped. “It’s not about Jay and The Terafin’s rooms, is it?”
Teller shook his head.
“It’s not about demons and the Merchants’ Guild, either.”
“No. At this point, I’m not sure which terrifies me more.”
“I am. Her.”
Teller walked over to the bookshelves and fiddled with the books there, rearranging them with deliberate care. Jester folded his arms and waited; Teller wasn’t prone to needless, nervous fuss.
“I had breakfast with Haval,” Jester told him, glancing around the otherwise empty office. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Oh?”
“I was the only one eating, and by the end, food seemed kind of pointless. You spoke to our junior merchants.”
“I spoke to Guillarne. Call him junior in his hearing and you’ll be picking yourself up at the bottom of a long, steep set of stairs.”
“Which might be preferable to having to listen to him. He was one of the merchants at the guildhall last night?”
Teller nodded as he returned, finally, to his desk. To Jester’s mild surprise, he sat behind it, planted his elbows on desk surface, and leaned his forehead, briefly, into his hands. Jester understood why.
Jay was gone.
“What did Guillarne say? Don’t make me talk to him in person; it’ll end badly.”
“That kind of squabble would be exactly the right sort of distraction,” Teller replied. “Who do you think Guillarne is going to support?”
“I didn’t know his support was up for grabs.”
“It probably wasn’t. It will be, now.”
Ah. “Word of Finch’s promotion has reached his ears?”
Teller nodded.
“And after the events at the guildhall, that’s what he’s angry about?”
That tugged an answering smile from Teller, although as smiles went it was anemic. “He is not particularly pleased with the events at the Merchants’ Guild, if that helps.”
“Not really. It does elevate Guillarne in my opinion. I thought he was merely a pretentious, ambitious bore. Now I realize he’s also an idiot.”
“He is an ambitious, clever, talented bore.”
“Did Finch send him a missive similar to the ones she sent me to deliver?”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but Finch and I are not operating in lockstep.”
Jester was silent for a long moment. “Actually, it does. Come as a surprise, I mean.” He glanced at the closed doors. “I see you’re not availing yourself of the Chosen.”
“Not for you. Not—in general—for the Master of the Household Staff, either. Torvan’s been here. We’re currently in discussions about the particulars of his guard detail. Finch is not yet ready to retain the Chosen in her duties at the Authority.”
“I bet Torvan was thrilled.”
“I would have bet the same. None of the Chosen are happy that Jay’s gone; she took none of them with her. I don’t want to antagonize them while they’re still smarting. I thought there was a chance she’d at least take Torvan.”
Jester understood what that meant. “Finch really is worried about you, then.”
“So I gathered. Torvan is, however, more willing to see Finch head to the Authority without the Chosen than he is to let me continue my own duties without escort. I’m not certain I understand why.”
Jester snorted. “Two words. Jarven ATerafin.”
“Jarven’s an old man. He’s unlikely to be much use in a fight—”
Jester pinched the bridge of his nose in an exact mimicry of Haval at his most condescendingly frustrated. Teller surprised them both by laughing.
“You don’t think he’s helpless.”
“You can’t honestly believe that he is?”
“He’s an old man, Jester. He’s—”
“He’s probably the most terrifying thing the Merchant Authority contains—and I’m including explosive magical traps in that. Torvan is less worried about Finch because she’s sitting in Jarven’s office. I’d feel more comfortable if Jarven wasn’t sitting in it with her. Do you have any idea how often assassination attempts have been made against him in the past five years?”
“Between three and five.”
Jester sat down. He made a show of it, but that didn’t take any great effort; he was surprised. “Can I ask exactly how you know this? Because if you’re accepting the facts from Jarven—”
“I’m not. Look, I know you don’t like him much.”
Jester didn’t bother to disagree.
“And I know Jay doesn’t trust him, either. But at the moment, given the events in both the Authority and the Merchants’ Guild, we need him to be where he is. If we’d had any idea beforehand, I don’t think Finch would have accepted the promotion—it’s too much change.
“We didn’t.”
“We.”
Teller nodded.
“Does Finch know about the attempts on Jarven’s life?”
“She may suspect.”
“The information came from a source you trust?”
Teller hesitated.
Jester’s fingers danced in the air.
“I’m willing to trust him,” Teller replied.
Jester picked imaginary lint off his trousers. “It’s Devon, isn’t it?”
“Well, it wasn’t Jarven.”
“No, I imagine not. That might actual
ly be helpful.”
Teller, ever politic, said nothing. He knew how Jester felt about Devon. “Do you think he’s lying?”
Jester shook his head. “Duvari can’t be Jarven’s biggest fan.”
“He’s not particularly enamored of Jay, either.”
Jester shrugged. “He’s Duvari. Duvari’s consistent. Humorless, dangerous, and incredibly dull, but consistent.” He rose and began to pace, something he only did around his den-kin. “If Jarven wanted Finch dead, she’d be dead. She’s not. For the moment, she’s probably safer than she’s ever been.” He paused and turned to face Teller. “Take the Chosen.”
“I’m not without resources of my own.”
“In this office, no.”
“I’m not in danger in the West Wing.”
“You’ll stay in the wing, then?”
Teller inspected his hands. “Yes.”
“Barston’s not happy about it.”
“You noticed?”
“Actually, no. Barston is incapable of looking cheerful about anything. I guessed. He’s always had a stick up his—”
Teller coughed. “He does care about proper form and hierarchy, yes. Torvan considers the move inadvisable at this time.”
“Really?”
“Finch can’t move in with me. She’ll be in the West Wing, and when she’s in the manse, she is under the protection of the Chosen. But they’re far fewer in number than they were when Amarais was alive.”
Amarais. Jester couldn’t recall Teller ever using The Terafin’s given name before.
“Jay hasn’t added to their number, and the captains can’t without her approval. Arann’s combed the list of the House Guard for men we might be able to trust in future—but the House Guards haven’t settled into uniform service. Not yet. Things are too unstable.”
“Is Jarven taking the seat on the House Council?”
“Yes. Before you argue, I think that’s where we want him.”
“I don’t.”
“He’s sharing his position at the Merchant Authority with Finch. Everything that enters his office will pass beneath her eyes. Guillarne is on the warpath, and he won’t be the only one; I expect Ruby ATerafin to descend on my office sometime in the next three days. Should I expect Ludgar?”
“No. I mean, yes—he’ll visit. But Jay’s on the road and the House Council knows it. His performance will be pro forma; a matter of appearance. He may try to rid us all of Jarven, but at this point that won’t break my heart.”
Oracle: The House War: Book Six Page 19
