by RW Krpoun
“My, you have an exotic wife, Master Dorfeller, and a lovely one.”
Elonia obediently parroted a brief explanation of the Harthrell-Human liaison that was her parentage.
“How fascinating. You said you have something of mine?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” The historian drew a small white velvet pouch from a pocket. “My wife and I are gem traders and jewelry dealers. If I could have a few minutes to explain?”
“Have a seat,” the Duchess waved to the bottle. “Brandy? No? This is Leopold Rall, my very good friend and companion.” Leopold gave them a nod of exactly one inch and stared disinterestedly off at the rock garden.
“We met a friend of yours some weeks ago while travelling to the west, Erbert Priller,” Maxmillian seated Elonia and took a chair for himself. “He mentioned that you were affiliated with all the best people in Teasau, and a good friend and patroness of his. He commissioned us to find a stone for a custom piece of jewelry he intended to give to you, paid in advance for it in fact. We located such a stone and came here to make delivery only to discover his untimely death. Since we were paid in advance, we felt we should bring you the stone.” Maxmillian extracted a twelve-carat step-cut peridot from the bag, the pale green gem standing out sharply against the white velvet. “I’m afraid I cannot say what sort of mounting the stone was intended for; Erbert didn’t mention what his plans were in that regard, other than he had a local jeweler in mind.”
The Duchess took the stone and bag casually enough, but both Badgers could see the naked greed in her eyes; even Leopold sat up and took notice. “Dear Erbert...I had no idea that he was planning such a wonderful surprise for me. I’ll cherish this stone in his memory.” The blue eyes locked on Maxmillian. “Are these the sort of stone s you normally handle?”
“Yes, the larger, better cut gems, either loose or in first-rate mountings,” the Badger smiled. “But I’m afraid my wife and I have never done business in Teasau before. Erbert had promised us that you could help us with establishing contacts with the better people in this city.”
The Duchess tossed off a strong shot of brandy, eyeing the gem with real pleasure. “I know the ones who can have a good time at least, and all of them wear fine stones. Erbert used to have a way about him, pleasant company that lad. I imagine I could help you a bit.”
“We would greatly appreciate any assistance you could offer,” Maxmillian met the oddly shining gaze.
“There’s going to be a party here, I’m throwing a party here two days from today, the evening of the eighteenth, isn’t it, Leopold? Should be any number of the type people you’re looking to meet. Now, I don’t allow business to be transacted at my parties, but you should make plenty of contacts with people whose purses are wide enough for what you sell.”
“You’re too kind,” Maxmillian purred. “Could we help with the party in some fashion to show our gratitude? Provide a few cases of good wine, or pay for some of the catering? It seems boorish to intrude on your hospitality without making some sort of amends.”
The blue eyes whose dilated pupils denied the brightness of the spring day swung briefly to Elonia. “Oh, it won’t be an intrusion, I like to see new faces at my gatherings, but you can send around a case or three of brandy if it would make you more comfortable.”
“It would be the right thing to do,” Maxmillian smiled.
“What do you think, cultist or no?” Maxmillian murmured when they put a couple city blocks between themselves and the Duchess’ crumbling mansion.
“Impossible for the Sight to prove,” Elonia shrugged. “But I would guess that she could be a useful tool for the Gate, her parties acting as a place for cult recruiters and new people to meet. You note she said there was going to be a party, and then corrected herself and said she was hosting it. On the other hand, she could be just an old degenerate.”
“Erbert had met the Butler before, and he was getting some new insights into sex,” Maxmillian pinched his lip. “If we assume that the Butler is part of the Gate, then one of his friends or contacts put him in a position to meet a Gate recruiter. Good thing Keela did such thorough digging into the Butler before she got herself killed.”
“And a better thing they just chopped her up without asking any questions.” Janna had managed to get a look at the Brotherhood’s reports on the multiple murder through a Temple contact before they were ejected from Teasau. “I would imagine that the whore who gave her Erbert’s name is keeping very quiet about all this. So long as they aren't aware that Priller is a weak point, we may have a chance here.”
“So what exactly do we look for at the party?”
“The recruiter or recruiters; we need a name, best of all an invitation to a livelier gathering, one where they start to draw newcomers in. If we can identify a couple of cultists, we can stalk them and unravel the entire group.”
“Meanwhile we had better find four cases of good brandy and get it sent to the Duchess’ tomorrow; I hope this isn’t going to turn out to be an exercise in spending. We had better sell a few gems, too, while we’re at it in case they’re suspicious of outsiders and check on us. Leopold there didn’t seem to care much for us.”
“Leopold has his own agenda, I would imagine: Duchess is just a stepping stone for him, and both of them know it. I imagine they have an intricate little dance going between them as each tries to extract the maximum amount of gain from the other.”
“At least we fooled her.”
“Yes, we seem to have, although don’t under estimate her; beneath the brandy and whatever made her eyes look like that is a woman who’s been manipulating people for decades.”
“I’m really wishing we were with the main body this summer; the Purple Spider won’t be anything compared to what we’re going to have to deal with.”
“In that I’m sure you’re completely correct.”
“The carriage is here,” Maxmillian announced, stepping into the bedroom from their small parlor. “Aren’t you beautiful enough yet?”
“As much as I’m going to be,” Elonia murmured, absently sifting through the jewelry in a stout leather-covered wood case.
“Hmmm, I’ve never seen those before, although I haven't seen you wear much jewelry. Nor makeup, for that matter, although it suits you.”
“I’m trying to tone down my non-Humanness. With the makeup and the hair over my ears I should pass for a Human. It doesn’t pay to be too exotic in the job we’re doing.”
“Difficult for you. Of course, all the gemstones you’ll be wearing will help, you’re a walking shop case.” Stones sparkled at her neck, both wrists, and from a large broach.” The scholar studied the contents of the trays in the box. “Nice work, but all unmounted pieces, no gems. From your poorer days?”
“Actually, these would fetch more than all the stones we’re carrying.” The Seeress held up a gold band with a thick, flat facing with two thin strips of jet inset. “See.”
He turned it over, looking closely. “Unless its enchanted or an antique, I could find you twenty for the price of the stone we gave the Duchess,” he observed, proud of his newly-learned skill at the jeweler’s art.
She slipped it on her finger and squeezed her fist with the ring-finger slightly higher than the rest; a thin, razor-sharp blade a quarter-inch long slid out from one side of the ring’s face. “Now how much is it worth?”
Maxmillian lifted her hand to examine the device. “Amazing. For cutting ropes or cords on your wrists, I take it?”
“Exactly. These are all formerly Pargaie property,” she waved a hand at the box. “No magic, but every piece is Black Dwarven made, exacting craftsmanship in every inch. Everything has a purpose, usually lethal, and every item is elegant but not eye-catching.”
The scholar shook his head. “Who would think of such a thing? Wait, yes, the Pargaie would. Have you ever used any of it?”
“No, I never worked that angle, but I’ve always hung on to them, you never know when it could be useful, and in any c
ase some are very nice pieces. Since gem sellers’ wives do not hide daggers upon their person when going to parties, I thought they would be reassuring, at least. Come to think of it, I gave one piece to Starr, and she said she had used it somewhere. She has no idea where it came from, of course.”
“Of course. I’ve got the dagger on my belt, and two more hidden in my boots, but that wouldn’t be too suspicious for a man carrying valuable stones.” Maxmillian tugged at his embroidered waistcoat. “Still, I can’t imagine we’ll run into too much violence at this party.”
“I would think not.” Elonia added two gold necklaces, a bracelet, and a large decorative hairpin, the latter unnecessary as fine black velvet ties already held her hair in place. She stood, smoothing her clothing, a deep blue chemise underdress worn with a ruby red brocade surcote, or open-sided overdress; adding a white lace shawl with blue fringe which matched her underdress, the Seeress pronounced herself ready.
The mansion was well-lit, with lanterns hanging on the battered outer wall flanking the opened gateway and music carrying into the street on the cool evening air. A servant in velvet livery helped them out of the carriage and indicated that they should go to the gardens in back. There they found the place transformed: strips of brightly colored cotton gauze were strung overhead in a tent-like fashion and woven in dizzying profusion through the branches of the stately oaks and hung from the willow; the same taut cables that supported the stripes overhead were hung with small colored lanterns so that the garden was a place of dim lights and shifting shadows, cool and mysterious. Sixty or so guests circulated in this playground of light and darkness, moving from three tables groaning under the weight of a buffet, to a drinks table, and on to scattered tables and chairs set here and there with what at first seemed random placement but after a moment’s careful study showed to be a very tasteful arrangement vis a vis the garden’s beauty and the variable lighting. Four musicians were seated near the rock garden playing soothing background music.
The Duchess glided over, a wine glass in hand, her hair and makeup struggling hard to make her look much younger (with some success), wearing a Navian gown of pale green silk that was, in Maxmillian’s opinion, cut far too low for the figure it encased. “My darling Dorfellers, how wonderful that you could come,” she kissed Elonia’s cheek, rather closer to the mouth than the ear, and made full contact, unusual in the Empire where one normally pecked the air relatively close to the face and went on. “What lovely jewelry my dear; I would suppose everything is available?”
“Nearly all,” The Seeress kept her voice easy, her features unchanged, and her eyes slightly downcast. Such a pose made one seem calm and unhurried, and let them keep an eye on their surroundings without giving their interest away.
“Maxim, why don’t you get your lovely wife a drink while I introduce her to someone who would think her necklace simply amazing.”
Maxmillian got a glass of white wine for Elonia and a small beaker of ale for himself; in the time it took to bring it to her the Duchess had Elonia fully integrated into a circle of women, one hand resting lightly yet possessively upon the Badger’s arm. The historian gave her the glass and headed over to the buffet to load up a plate.
The food was first-rate he found, and prepared to eat heavily; he could spy on a full stomach as easily as he could on an empty one. He had to wait a moment while a tall, portly man whose face above his graying mustache and neatly pointed beard showed the effects of considerable amounts of time spent in the sun used the tongs to take a second helping of bull-fingers, thinly-sliced roast beef wrapped around sticks of cheese. “Quite a spread, isn’t it?” he ventured as the man passed the tongs to him.
“Damn well is,” the stranger agreed loudly, lifting the cover of a tureen to inspect the surface of the soup it contained. “Ansel Pogot, by the by, trade in horses, matched teams for carriages by preference, although I’ll sell you a saddle horse of the first order if I must.”
“Maxim Dorfeller, gems and jewelry, travelling mostly, usually in the central region around the capitol.”
“You’re a long ways from home, Maxim, a long way indeed. What brings you to Teasau?” Ansel filled a china bowl with beef onion soup.
“Fleeing from competition, mostly: there’s a glut in unmounted stones going on to the west you would not believe, and the price of gold wire...don’t get me started. Rather than spending the summer giving last year’s profits away, I thought I would take a stab further east and see what sort of opportunities there are out here.”
“Quite a place, Teasau, what with the Ward shifting north and all the new lands to the center being settled, there’s lots of opportunity for a clever man with the nerve to ride his luck,” Ansel slurped soup directly from the bowl as they moved away from the table towards a nearly-empty circle of chairs. “Me, I trade in the best horseflesh you’ll see for two hundred miles, just started up my own breeding farms a few miles to the north...” he explained his new holdings in considerable detail; Maxmillian, a veteran of boring parties at the University, dug into his plate, expertly making the appropriate noises while studying the other party-goers.
“They certainly throw better parties, and with ale; you have no idea how many kegs of third-rate wine I’ve had to discreetly spill over the years because my host was too proper to serve a honest drink.”
“You won’t see many better hostesses than the Duchess,” Ansel kicked a chair around and propped his legs on it. “She’s nowhere near too proper for anything, so far as I can see. How’d you come to meet her?”
“I made the acquaintance of a timber merchant who said she was the one to see for contacts in the city; he also commissioned a stone for her, but died before I could deliver it, suicide, I understand. Tragic.”
“Suicide? Must be Priller you’re talking about, I heard he hung himself some time back, a month or more I’m told. He used to be a regular at these affairs, had been for a year or more. You married?”
“Yes, my wife Ella is over in that circle of women, hopefully showing off some of the pieces she’s wearing. These sort of gatherings are an excellent way to draw attention to one’s wares.”
“For mine as well: half the carriages coming here tonight are pulled by my stock; I ought to pick up lines on a couple more orders, although you’ve got to be careful, the Duchess doesn't care for business transactions at her get-togethers. My wife’s off over there as well, like as not you’ll be getting some of my money before the week is out if your wares are credible.”
“She’s really quite something, the Duchess, sharp as a whip, and so to the point.”
“Yes, she knows her own mind; she strolls through these parties like a ringmaster, controlling events like a centurion drilling a cohort.”
“Being from out of town, I have to ask: what is the guest list like tonight? Everyone obviously is the right sort, good money and knows how to wear it, but I can’t seem to put my finger on the circles she’s travelling in.”
Ansel glanced around as if taking stock before turning his hard gray eyes back to the ‘gem-seller’. “As a point in fact, other than you and a few other newcomers, its her circle. People who know how to have a good time, and aren’t afraid to enjoy themselves.”
He kept his face bland, but Maxmillian was feeling a distinct urge to plant his war hammer (which was secured in a lock box at a reputable money-lender) in Ansel’s skull; something about the horse trader made his skin crawl. “Hopefully also the kind of people who enjoy fine stones in good mountings,” he quipped, and saw Ansel lose interest: he had failed some sort of sounding out, he knew, but Maxmillian was glad; lacking Elonia’s poise and deft wit it was better to be thought a dullard than to make a blunder.
She wet her lips with the wine in the glass and swallowed saliva, giving an expert impression of a woman neatly sipping her drink without consuming it to any degree; from experience she knew that a glass as deep as this one could be nursed all night long while appearing sociable. The Duchess was holding court in th
e circle of wives, as expert in her direction of the topics as a master archer picking her targets. Not that it was difficult for her, she had at least three established helpers, women who spoke up on cue or at nicely planned signals, keeping the conversation flowing in the right direction as neatly as well-trained dogs moving a flock of sheep. The Seeress was convincingly shy, saying little and laughing nervously as needed, careful to ignore the hand the Duchess kept on her left forearm, and the way the fingertips casually brushed her breast whenever the worn noblewoman moved her hand to illustrate some point.
As she watched and listened she separated the group of women into three groups: there was the Duchess’ ‘helpers’, women who obviously were privy to at least part of the noblewoman’s game plan; secondly, and the majority, were women who obviously knew how the parties went and what could be expected, and were either comfortable or resigned to it. The third category was small, and she fell within it: the newcomers. There were three she could see, each carefully isolated from the others by a ‘helper’ and the second class, all pretty, fresh-faced young women of slightly, but noticeably lower financial means.
So far she hadn’t seen or heard anything that suggested that this was more than just a degenerate old woman spinning a web for her own twisted amusement, except that the silk dress the Duchess wore was new, and the makeup costly and professionally applied; it seemed unlikely that a woman who drank cheap brandy during the day could afford the decorations and catering for such an opulent gathering. Of course, she could be an eccentric who spent her money in odd fashions as suited her whims, but Elonia had seen her eyes light up with greed at a stone which, while valuable, was nevertheless less costly than the expense of this party.
