Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence)

by W. R. Gingell

  “The office one,” Vadim said, clearing her throat. “Only, lady, he didn’t have any traps set. There was nothing on the dynamo, and no wards on his doors.”

  “Lord Pecus undoubtedly has other methods of securing his privacy,” I told her dryly, remembering a little ruefully the early days after Trenthams. Papa and I had travelled quite extensively in the name of New Civet and Annabel; and many of the further countries we had visited had not yet discovered magic and its many uses. Consequently I had become versed in many of the alternate methods of security: some of which I still implemented after my own fashion.

  “In fact, I’m quite certain that any door in Pecus Manor that is heavily enough warded to attract attention will not prove to be worth the bother of unwarding.”

  Keenan blinked a few times and then stared ferociously at a bedpost, his chin tucked in one palm, lost in thought. At length a grin crept subtly over his narrow little face, and he rubbed his hands together.

  “Ooh, that’s good, that is!” he said, in admiration. “Wot’s ’e use, then?”

  “You can ask him when you take the dynamo back,” I said firmly, motioning him off the bed and toward the door.

  Keenan stopped short at the door, looking doubtful. “Wot if ’e eats me?”

  “Then he’ll still be hungry for dinner,” muttered Vadim caustically. “You’re no more than a mouthful. Do what you’re told, you nasty little boy.”

  “I’m more’n a mouthful!” objected Keenan, deeply offended. “I’m tough!”

  I ignored Vadim’s aside of: ‘Stringy, more like’ to inquire somewhat sardonically if Keenan was so anxious to be eaten. Upon his wide-eyed, gulping shake of the head, I said calmly: “Then it is a moot point. I will accompany you, if only to make sure that your sticky fingers don’t attach themselves to anything else.”

  Keenan was subdued as we strolled through the labyrinth of corridors. I could have reassured him, I suppose, but I didn’t think it was a bad idea for him to live in fear for a few moments. He was becoming a little too cheeky for his own good. I was rueful but resigned to the idea of Lord Pecus finding out the profligate habits of my servants: that he found out from my own lips was essential. I didn’t want him to think for a moment that I had encouraged my servants to pry about his private quarters. Of course, I had encouraged them to pry around the house in general, but that was another matter, and quite acceptable etiquette for a house prisoner.

  Still, I wasn’t entirely calm as we approached Lord Pecus’ office. I wasn’t sure if my unease related to the fact that Keenan had been looking around his personal office, or if it was because of that kiss. It was a lowering thought, but I was beginning to think it was the kiss. Ridiculous! He had kissed my hand, and if that kiss had lasted a little longer than it should, what of it? There was nothing in it to make me lose my reason.

  I gave myself a mental shake, and pinned a glare on Keenan, who squirmed and offered a glum: “Sorry, lady.”

  “Not as sorry as I, believe me, Keenan. You are a hopeless case.”

  He seemed to take this as encouragement, for he beamed, and said in a satisfied manner: “Yes, lady!” as I raised my hand to knock at the office door. It was sturdy Glausian oak, perhaps several inches thick, and my bold knock was swallowed up and regurgitated into an unimpressive tapping.

  Despite the softness of the sound, Lord Pecus’ voice called immediately: “Enter!”

  He was leaning back in a massive leather chair by a garden-facing window, maskless and with a small sheaf of papers held casually in one hand, but when we entered he put them on the arm of his chair and observed our approach, one eyebrow raised. He couldn’t have missed the dynamo in Keenan’s grubby hand, but it didn’t seem as if his eyes left my face.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t. But I am.”

  Keenan’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise at the first sight of Lord Pecus’ dual faces. He managed to say: “Oi! Your face is all-” before I curled a swift hand around his mouth and jerked him back admonishingly. Lord Pecus’ amused eyes travelled from me to Keenan and back again, and he tilted his head, inviting explanation.

  “Keenan seems to have wrangled one of my prohibitions into an invitation,” I informed him, responding automatically to the smile in his eyes with one of my own. Keenan mutely held out the dynamo, his eyes very wide over the gag of my hand. “I do apologise, Alexander. It won’t happen again.”

  “I did wonder exactly what you wanted with it,” he admitted, still with that lurking smile. “And why you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

  “I wonder why you thought I would do such a thing,” I retorted. “No, don’t answer that question; I don’t want to know. No, Keenan, I have not forgotten you.”

  Keenan made another muffled noise, and then, disgustingly, licked my hand. I wiped the defiled member pointedly in his hair.

  “Yes, Keenan? Do you have a question?”

  “Couldn’t breeve!” he protested sulkily. “Wotcher do that for?”

  “Keenan, have I ever given you any indication that my actions are open for questioning? No? Then I will trouble you to keep silent.”

  He subsided, shoulders hunched, and looked so crushed that I found it necessary to lay my hand on his head again briefly.

  “Keenan apologises most humbly,” I said to Lord Pecus.

  “Yes, I can see that. I think you said something about my face?”

  Keenan threw a cautious look up at me, and said judiciously: “Well, it’s a bit ugly, innit?”

  I choked, and Lord Pecus’ grin widened.

  “So I’m told. Your mistress thinks otherwise, don’t you, Isabella?”

  Keenan shrugged, indicating the unreliability of females in the matter of judging looks. “Well, she’s a girl, though.”

  “I believe I said that I had seen uglier,” I told Lord Pecus reprovingly.

  “Mm.” Lord Pecus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Comparing me with Lord Morston, if I remember rightly. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  “Favourably,” I reminded him, with a touch of amusement. “Come, Keenan. Now that you’ve apologised,” -here I had to ignore Lord Pecus’ one pointedly raised eyebrow- “We can be going. I shall turn you over to Lord Pecus’ mercy if it happens again.”

  Lord Pecus was still grinning, suggesting that his mercies were nothing to be feared, but Keenan didn’t notice and was suitably subdued as we left the study: a state of mind that was not, alas, likely to last long.

  By the time we regained my suite he had already begun bouncing impatiently along the hall, and when I sent both he and Vadim off to bed, it was with a distinct feeling of relief. I had forgotten the unpleasant habit children have of sweeping the rug out from under one, and Vadim was looking a little pinched and quiet, reminding me that I had been rather quiet with her myself since the picnic. I simply couldn’t help feeling a little cautious, and poor Vadim was going to have to suffer for it.

  Fortunately she didn’t raise the issue, retiring to bed quietly while I settled myself in my most comfortable chair for the purpose of a quick conversation with Annabel via my inkless scroll. It would only have been for the dubious pleasure of laughing at my own discomfiture, however, and I instead found myself meditating quietly on the events of the day. I had the niggling idea that I’d missed something important.

  The idea grew on me, and I unaccountably called to mind the remembrance of Keenan, spinning the Earl of Horn’s dynamo above him. I followed the thought, and found myself wondering just what this particular dynamo powered. The countess had warbled about boxes with moving pictures and commlinks without magic, and I wondered if it had been powering something like a commlink. Someone in the earl’s business (which I firmly suspected to be treason) would find it excessively useful to have a communications device that was unable to be eavesdropped upon magically. With all that falling water in the room, it would be next to impossible to maintain any kind of espionage magic. No doubt that ex
plained the one quiet point in the room: the waterfall room was the earl’s council-of-war chamber.

  I thought about this for some minutes, regretting the unlikelihood of finding any Interesting Excerpts on treasonous conversations that would likely not be referenced in any other way than verbally, until it occurred to me that it was very remiss of the king not to be up to every discovery of the day, magical or otherwise.

  No, the king was not remiss. Could it be possible, I wondered, in kindling excitement, that some of the king’s agents had managed to use the earl’s own inventions against him? An open commlink that wouldn’t show up on a magical scan was rather a double-edged sword, in fact: the earl would most likely never have known it was there.

  I bounced out of my chair and dashed to fetch the Book of Interesting Excerpts. And, do you know, there were surveillance reports from the earl’s waterfall room. I gave a naughty chuckle as I made myself comfortable for a long evening in my chair, wondering if Lord Pecus had known about these reports and shrewdly suspecting not. The king did tend to keep his own council.

  I skimmed the reports with both interest and a steely determination not to be distracted by the juicier paragraphs. Good heavens, had the earl really been in contact with persons unknown in both Civet and Broma? I blinked a little and continued to scan. I was more interested in who had been in contact with the earl than the content of the conversations, but unhappily for me they tended to use code names even in conversation – exasperating man, the earl! – and I was only able to make the wildest guesses. The content of the reports, however treasonous, didn’t seem particularly pertinent to my case, however, and by the time I had read to the last report I found myself less inclined than ever to believe that the earl had had any part in Raoul’s murder.

  Sighing, I closed the Book of Interesting Excerpts, and went to bed with only the vaguest feeling of impending unpleasantness on the morrow.

  *

  Goodness knows it hurt to do so, but after Marissa I couldn’t take the chance: the next morning I sent Vadim to Susan with a message to be prepared tomorrow night with the earl. Susan would know it to be false, and if Lord Pecus knew my plans a second time, I would have my leak. I found myself fervently hoping that he did not: I had become quite fond of Vadim and Keenan.

  When they were both gone, I opened a commlink to Susan, who was not at home but had evidently expected my link, for she answered at once.

  “Wotcher, Belle!” Her face was flushed with exercise for all that she was sitting demurely at a café table, and I wondered for a wistful moment what she had been up to. I had been too long out of the action.

  “How’s the merger proceeding?” I asked her. Whether or not my call was simply for the purpose of running tests, there was no reason for it not to be informative. Besides, I wanted to know how Susan had managed with the Mage General.

  She grinned. “Oh, pretty well, pretty well. The General’s going on in great strides, swinging his little swagger stick for all he’s worth and barging along. You were right: he doesn’t seem to care in which direction he goes striding, so long as he’s striding.”

  “What madness did you have him chasing?”

  “He seems to be under the impression that the Civetan Council is trying for small Embassy-like plots through the length and breadth of Glause; you know, Civetan soil and so forth. He got quite testy, actually. I think they might have been a bit embarrassed, Belle; in the end poor little Harroll got very red in the face and told the General to shut up before he embarrassed Glause thoroughly, and while the General was being bemused at that, he accidentally gave his vote for all our measures. We’ve gotten to the second stage at last.”

  “Oh well done!” I told her approvingly. Poor Papa! Whatever had he done to deserve two such conniving females? I could not have done any better had I been there myself. “How is Emmett holding up?”

  Susan tilted her commlink to include Emmett’s large, stoical form, and put an arm chummily through his.

  “What do you think, lummox? Are you managing?”

  Emmett took it with an unmoved demeanour, but unbent enough to grin at me.

  “Hallo, Belle.”

  “You shouldn’t let her get away with it,” I warned him. “She’ll only get worse, you know.”

  “I shudder to think,” he said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “If your mother was anything like the two of you, I’m surprised it was she and not your father who went to an early grave.”

  “So was everyone,” I nodded, causing Susan to grin. “If you become too overwhelmed, just say furlough. Furlough is good for a half-holiday every week, but they don’t accrue, so make sure you take them.”

  Susan laughed. “Oh, I remember that. Whenever we got too much for Mama, she’d claim she had a furlough due, and we all got locked out.”

  Emmett threw her a look that was at once tired and a little bit fond. “Sensible lady.”

  “There you go, lummox; whenever I become too much to handle, just call a furlough.”

  He sat back, folding his arms in an unspoken, definite negative.

  Susan beamed at him. “Lummox! I knew you loved me! Isn’t he sweet, Belle, he doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

  “I’m more worried about the citizenry of Glause,” muttered Emmett.

  “Don’t try denying it, lummox, you’ll only make it worse for yourself. Speaking of lummoxes, how’s the Beast Lord?”

  Emmett choked on a mouthful of ham sandwich, and I chuckled.

  “As sharp as ever, I’m afraid. I’ve been obliged to send Vadim to you, Su: but I find that I’ve told her the wrong day. So thoughtless of me!”

  She cocked one eyebrow at me. “Careless of you, Belle! What day should I expect her to say?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “I see. Do we make it for tonight?”

  “It’s as good a time as any other,” I said prosaically, and Susan’s grey eyes rested on me for a thoughtful moment. I felt a slight breath of relief: she had understood me. “I don’t suppose there were any leaks on your end?”

  She shook her head, and I shrugged.

  “It was worth the question. I’m a trifle annoyed, Su.”

  “The Beast Lord keeping you on your toes, is he?”

  “Regrettably so. Scintillating though an even match of wits is to me, I find myself wishing he were just a little less perspicacious.”

  “You don’t mean that, Belle, I know you don’t,” Susan said, grinning. “You’d be bored out of your mind in no time. What will you do when it’s all over?”

  I frowned a little, feeling oddly off balance. “What do you mean?”

  “After you catch your murderer. What will you do then?”

  “Go home, I suppose,” I told her, trying to shake off the sudden gloom that had fallen on me. “Now that you’ve got the merger well in hand I can go visit Kit in whichever far-flung corner of the world he’s fetched up. That should provide ample opportunity for excitement, I imagine.”

  “Oh. I thought you were going to marry Lord Pecus.” She elbowed Emmett, and jerked a thumb at me. “Didn’t you think Belle was going to marry Lord Pecus?”

  “Yes,” said Emmett, without quibbling.

  “I don’t know why you should imagine so, since he hasn’t asked me!” I said tartly, but was forced in good conscience to add: “Lately, anyway. I must say that I’ve been tempted to spread rumours.”

  Susan nodded at Emmett. “Told you she’d be thinking about it. I hate to say it, Belle, but I think you’re right at the centre of all this.”

  “Yes, Lord Pecus said the same thing some time ago: hence, my idea of rumours. I wonder if I should be flattered or worried that a bloody and quite probably insane murderer has a fixation on me?”

  “Curran says you’re two of a kind,” said Susan, causing Emmett to smirk.

  “No doubt that accounts for it,” I replied calmly. “Now, if you’re quite finished insulting me, I have a delicate job for you.”

  “Rumours,” n
odded Susan, unsurprised. “I don’t want to be the one to put a kink in your plans, Belle, but it’s not going to be safe.”

  “I believe that’s the point,” I said. “We want the murderer to come and find me.”

  To my surprise, Susan still looked mulish. “Investigating a murder is one thing: luring a deranged killer to come and get you is another. What does Lord Pecus think of it?”

  “Lord Pecus doesn’t know,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her: “Of which you are very well aware. I’ve no intention of drawing the killer after Alexander, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “The Beast Lord can look after himself.” Susan sounded impatient. “He’s a big boy. What will you do?”

  “Try not to die,” I said, and closed the link.

  I would have been annoyed if the unexpected sweetness of Susan’s concern hadn’t tickled my sense of the absurd. I only hoped that she would spread the rumours for me despite her objections: it was time to become proactive in my approach. It is all very well to sit back and wait for your perpetrator to make a wrong move, but so far as I could see, all that approach had achieved was more bodies.

  Shortly after Vadim returned to me from Susan, just a little more silent than last night, Delysia arrived with much pomp and splendour in a simply enormous hat which was plumed so high that it brushed against the ceiling.

  “How very dramatic!” I said admiringly.

  Delysia paused to clasp her hands and cast her eyes heavenward. “Isabella! You’ll never guess! There’s been another murder!”

  “I would have guessed,” I told her dryly, and she abandoned her pose to put a hand on either hip.

  “That’s not the part you’ll never guess, silly! Who do you think it was?”

  “Delysia.”

  Delysia was petulant. “Oh well, if you will look at me like I’m a naughty little girl!”

  “I refuse to guess the identity of a murder victim, Delysia. What has happened?”

  “You’re no fun since you’ve been locked up, Isabella,” pouted Delysia, ignoring my question. “It’s bad for your constitution: you should get out more.”