The Sieur raised sceptical eyebrows. “Then you will be hanged and your head displayed on my gatehouse.”
A frisson ran through the room and the gallery above. The prisoner’s chains rattled as he jerked upright.
“Can he do that?” gasped Casuel in a strangled whisper.
“He can if he wants to. He’s the Sieur.” But I was as startled as the rest. I’d have to ask Mistal the last time any Head of a House used his ancient rights of life and death without deferring to the Convocation’s privilege of ratifying such sentences.
“We will not pollute the sanctity of Festival. You will be hanged on the first day of For-Summer. This audience is concluded.” The Sieur nodded and Stolley and Naer seized the prisoner by the elbows. As they hustled the man to the door, all three with equally startled expressions, the onlookers parted to let them through. As the doors closed behind them, we heard chains rattling as the shock of condemnation wore off and the prisoner fought against his fate.
The sworn and chosen took themselves briskly off to their duties and the Esquires of the Name hurried away, avid to debate this unexpected turn of events. I stood, waiting, Esquire Camarl looking at me, displeasure mixed with disappointment in his eyes. He pointed silently at me and at Casuel before following the Sieur through a discreet door hidden in the panelling beyond the fireplace. Fresil ushered Avila through with stately courtesy and Myred did the same for Temar.
“Come on, mage,” I said grimly. “We’re wanted for a private reaming.”
The door led into the Sieur’s sitting room where comfortably upholstered chairs were set out around a writing desk.
“Please sit, all of you. Where were you, Ryshad?” Messire asked without preamble. He didn’t sound cross but then he seldom did.
“I know someone who might help us find the other thief,” I explained politely. “I went to explain the little we know and to ask for help.”
The Sieur looked at me steadily. “It really is time you reacquainted yourself with life in Toremal, Ryshad. By all means use your initiative to make suggestions, but when we’re in a mire like this clear any such plan with myself or Camarl before acting upon it. A chosen man is far more visible than one from the nameless ranks of the sworn and his actions will be noted. Do you understand?”
“I apologise, Messire.” I dropped my gaze obediently.
“We need to keep a tight rein on who knows what, until this business before the courts is settled,” growled Esquire Fresil. “We can’t give anyone the means to make mischief.”
“Which is why the man will be hanged?” Esquire Myred just failed to stop his words turning into hopeful question rather than firm statement.
“I see two possibilities here.” The Sieur caressed the patina on a bronze paperweight securing a sheaf of letters. It was shaped like a sleeping cat. “The man was either put up to the theft by someone hostile to us and to Kellarin, or the criminally inclined think this House is somehow weakened by all these recent assaults. Either way, the thief’s death will send a clear message.”
I saw Temar and Avila exchange an uncertain glance. “What of the stolen artefacts?” the Demoiselle asked carefully.
The Sieur shrugged. “He has, what, nearly two days and two nights. He may yet decide to tell us what he knows.”
“Will you release him, if he does?” Temar was looking concerned.
“Hardly,” scoffed Fresil. “The man must die and that’s an end to it.”
“Then what reason has he to cooperate?” demanded Temar. “You think he will tell all in the hope of Saedrin’s clemency?”
Myred opened his mouth to laugh, thinking Temar had made a joke. He hurriedly covered a feigned cough with one hand.
The Sieur spared his younger son a faintly reproving look before turning to Temar. “We can’t show any weakness, D’Alsennin. We must appear confident in the exercise of every right we hold. I don’t think you quite realise the seriousness of our situation.” He invited his brother to speak with a courteous gesture.
Fresil scowled. “Every third man coming up to me yesterday was a tenant working on our lands or a merchant contracted to our mines or shipping. All of them wanted to know if our patronage was still secure. I had to smile down men who’ve been buying from our estates for half a generation, who were worried about continued supply and quality. I had creditors politely hinting they’d appreciate early settlement of our accounts.”
“What did you say?” Esquire Camarl asked, voice tight with emotion.
“I told them they could have their money and be done with us,” rasped Fresil. “If our word has no value, we’ll take our business elsewhere. Most were only too happy to assure me they meant no insult, protesting every confidence in the House, but who knows who they met after me, Den Rannion, Den Thasnet or Den Muret? All doubtless undermining our House with Saedrin knows what lies!”
“Confidence is everything in Toremal.” The Sieur looked straight at Temar. “If we show any lack of assurance, all those people who depend on us, whom we depend on in turn, they’ll start to believe these lies. Our lands may be as fertile as ever, our ships as seaworthy, our mines as productive, but if the trust that shores up this House starts to crumble we’ll be crippled like a penniless beggar.”
“But people will be outraged by this death,” Casuel interrupted with sudden consternation. “What about the Rationalists? They always oppose the waste of a life and plenty of the Names approve of Rational philosophy. Oh, but maybe that’s the point. Do you think the man meant to be taken? To test the Sieur like this?”
“I think we’re hedged about with quite enough problems without seeing conspiracy under every bush, Master Devoir.” The Sieur smiled to soften his rebuke.
“What of the artefacts?” demanded Avila with rising colour. “How do you propose to recover them?”
“Perhaps the thief could escape?” Casuel suggested with inspiration. “He could be followed, back to his partner, back to wherever they’ve hidden the spoils!”
“Are you a complete fool, wizard?” Fresil’s tone was scathing. “What would that say for the House if we can’t even keep one sneak thief securely locked away?”
“We’ve already had that lately come Den Turquand trying to get a hand in our strongboxes in return for whatever valuables he holds.” Messire D’Olbriot was still talking to Avila. “While I don’t think this conspiracy reaches as far as Master`Devoir might believe, I’d say it’s a safe wager some other House put these men up to this theft. I think we wait for our unknown enemy’s next move. With luck, they’ll offer us the artefacts and we’ll be able to agree a price. The worst that can happen is Den Whoever-It-Is locking the things away, to keep them from being used to help Kellarin rebuild. I’m sure they’ll stay safe until we can tie someone’s Name to this crime. Once we do that, the return of the artefacts will be the price of our silence.”
“So much for honour in this era,” said Avila with contempt.
“If we’re dealing with dishonourable men, Demoiselle, the best we can hope for is pragmatism,” replied the Sieur steadily.
“So you will do nothing?” There was no mistaking Temar’s anger.
Messire met his challenge head on. “What would you have me do? Paste bills all over the city asking for the return of the artefacts? What measure of weakness would that show? Have you the means to pay five times their worth to whatever gutter thief manages to get his filthy hands on one?”
“Is it a question of coin?” Avila snapped. “Like so much in this day of yours? What amount can weigh in the scales against the value of a life, a future?”
“What future will Kellarin have for anyone if the House of D’Olbriot falls?” retorted the Sieur. “Without us to aid and defend it, your colony will be cast adrift across the ocean at the mercy of any looking to plunder it.”
Avila had no answer to that. She simply glared at the Sieur, lips tight, outrage hooding her eyes.
I stared fixedly at the carpet, hoping no one was going to ask m
e just what I’d said to Charoleia.
“But if we can’t be seen to be searching for these artefacts, that doesn’t mean others can’t act for us.” Messire clasped his hands in front of him. “Master Mage, Planir’s been searching out these artefacts for years now. Surely he has some magical means of tracing them?”
Fresil snorted with contempt, Esquires Camarl and Myred exchanging sceptical glances as the wizard struggled for a reply. “We have some techniques, some scholarship in Hadrumal—”
“Is there nothing you can do yourself, man?” demanded Fresil.
Casuel smiled weakly. “I wasn’t the mage who brought the things here. The girl Allin, she might have had some hope of finding the coffer, if the whole thing had been taken, but since it was emptied—”
“Is there any Artifice you can use?” Temar turned a beseeching face to Avila, who was studying her hands.
“Perhaps.” She looked up. “I will send word to Guinalle and see what she advises. At least, I find no hint of Artifice being worked in the city, so I do not think we need fear Elietimm connivance in the theft.”
Myred looked as if he were about to speak but evidently remembered that Avila could use Artifice to send Guinalle her message rather than have to rely on a ship taking half a season to cross the ocean.
“If you’re bespeaking the Archmage, ask if Livak’s found any old lore that might help,” I suggested. Casuel looked as if he’d bitten into a quince.
“A good notion, Ryshad.” Messire looked thoughtful. He’d backed Livak’s journey with coin and a measure of the House’s prestige to secure a claim on anything she learned. That was primarily to give him the right to demand recompense for sharing the lore with Planir, be it coin or wizardly violence against any Elietimm landing on Tormalin shores. Now he might just get an earlier return on his investment. He smiled reassurance at Avila. “Another resource we can call on.”
“Meantime, we simply do nothing?” Temar’s frustration was building and I felt my own neck tense in sympathy. “We allow all these enemies to ring us round? Can we never strike back?”
“It’s clear enough Den Thasnet’s deeply mired in all this.” Myred looked hopefully at his father.
The Sieur shared a look of silent understanding with Fresil. Both faces were hard with ominous determination. “We’ll see to Den Thasnet, never fear, and all the others snapping at our heels from the safety of the court. But we need time to get all our pieces in play, so your task is to show how confident we are by enjoying this Festival along with all the other youth of the House. You all have invitations for today, so I suggest you go and make merry, as if you haven’t a care in the world.”
Camarl and Myred obediently rose to their feet but Temar’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “I will be needed to help Demoiselle Tor Arrial.”
“She can have the wizard,” said the Sieur with the first hint of irritation he’d shown. “Think about those you have living and breathing in Kellarin, Temar, not merely the ones who still sleep. This Festival is the only opportunity you’ll have this side of winter to meet the people you need to keep your colony afloat. So far you’ve attended one reception, got yourself stabbed and spent an illuminating evening drinking wine at a sword school. Making useful acquaintance must be your main concern today and tomorrow if you’re to have any hope of raising your House again.”
“We’re going to a garden lunch with Den Murivance,” said Camarl, looking first to placate his uncle and immediately after to suppress Temar.
“Perhaps I could—” The Sieur silenced me with a look.
“You’re going nowhere beyond barracks and gatehouse, Ryshad. For one thing, whoever wanted to stick a sword in you yesterday might send someone for a second try. More importantly, the House opens to the commonalty tomorrow, had you forgotten? Imagine the opportunity for mischief that offers. After last night’s disgraceful exhibition, I want you putting the fear of flogging into every man-at-arms who’ll be on duty.”
“Stolley and Naer—”
“You’ve rank to equal theirs now, and in any case neither’s shown himself to advantage over these last few days.” The Sieur smiled thinly. “You’re known but you’re just unfamiliar enough to keep sworn and recognised on their toes. I want every man wearing my badge alert for the least thing out of the ordinary tomorrow. You’re the man to make that happen.”
This was part compliment and part order. I bowed my head. “Yes, Messire.”
“When does Ustian arrive?” Fresil turned from staring pensively out of the window to bark his question.
“Some time this afternoon,” said Myred hastily. “And Uncle Leishal should be here later this morning.”
“Your brothers?” Avila looked to Messire for confirmation.
“Indeed, and we’d better have a plan to show them we’re meeting this challenge to the House.” The Sieur looked at the rest of us with unmistakable dismissal as Fresil loosened the collar of his shirt, faded eyes distant with malice as he took a seat beside the Sieur.
Camarl led us out into a corridor. “Are you coming to Den Murivance?” he asked Myred.
The younger man shook his head. “I’m promised to a musical morning with Den Castevin—and I’m already late, so I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Camarl nodded. “Temar, I’ll see you in my chamber.” He walked away without further ado.
Avila watched him go, thin lips pressed together. “The library, now.”
She stalked off, skirts swishing angrily. Temar and I followed, Casuel catching up after hovering indecisive for a moment.
Dolsan Kuse, busy shelving books, was surprised to see Avila sweeping into his library as if she owned it. “Leave us,” she commanded with scant courtesy. “I need privacy to work Artifice.”
That sent the Archivist on his way with a hasty bow as Avila drummed impatient fingers on a jewelled purse chained at her waist. “The Sieur can manage D’Olbriot’s affairs as he sees fit but we need to discuss our own strategy. Guliel is right in part at least. Temar, you had best spend your day raising D’Alsennin’s standard, for the sake of all in Kel Ar’Ayen. But you can keep your eyes and ears open all the same. Just avoid too many clumsy questions for Raeponin’s sake.”
She turned to me with an irritated shake of her head. “I was hoping to send you to watch Den Thasnet and follow that odious boy Firon for a start.”
“I can talk to the men as well as setting them weapons drills,” I offered. “Someone may recall something from last night, someone might have heard a rumour worth following up.” Going beyond the Sieur’s immediate commands wasn’t the same as breaking them, was it?
“Master Mage.” Avila rounded on Casuel, who was examining the lamentably empty coffer. “You will have to keep watch on Firon Den Thasnet. He is stupid enough to be indiscreet.”
The wizard’s jaw dropped. “Me?”
“Who else?” demanded Avila. “You were put at my disposal and that is what I wish you to do. The Sieur’s orders for everyone else were plain enough and you will have your elemental talents to assist you.”
“You’re the best man for the job, Casuel,” I pointed out. “No one knows your face, unlike me and Temar.”
“But how am I supposed to find him?” protested the mage. “It’s Festival, he could be anywhere in the city!”
“Scry for him,” said Avila briskly. “That is the correct term, I believe. Or do you need me to use my arts?”
“No, no,” said Casuel with ill grace. “I can manage that.”
“But what of the artefacts?” Temar began pacing in front of the fireplace. “You cannot believe that fool of a Den Thasnet will simply lead Casuel straight to the thieves?”
“No,” agreed Avila, unperturbed. “But I want to know to whom he speaks and, if possible, of what. I refuse to believe all this is just happenstance. If we can track some part of this malice back to its source, perhaps we can put a stop to the whole. Your magic enables you to listen from a distance, wizard, does it not?” That wasn’t a
question; Avila had clearly been keeping her eyes open around the mages Planir sent to Kellarin.
Casuel coloured slightly beneath her searching gaze. “Technically, yes, but there are ethical considerations—”
“Take your scruples to Planir, when you ask if he has learned any lore that might help our search. Then apply yourself to Den Thasnet. I will contact Guinalle through Artifice,” she continued, oblivious to Casuel’s outraged expression. “Then, if I can get the Sieur’s permission, I will ask that thief some questions myself. Artifice can loosen an unwilling tongue where threats prove ineffective.”
“No, my lady. That is, Temar—” Nausea thickened in my throat as I recalled the Elietimm enchanter searching my memory, breaking open cherished recollections, scattering hopes and fears to be crushed beneath brutal sorceries. Bluffing a man with fast talking and Temar’s modest skills was one thing, truly setting Artifice on the man was quite another.
“I beg your pardon?” Avila looked at me in astonishment. Behind her I could see Temar looking aghast, frantically signalling me to silence.
“Only if there’s no other way,” I amended my protest hastily. “Word would be bound to get out and with the prejudice there is against magic, the notion that Artifice forced a man to talk—forgive me but most people would find that repellent. If Artifice is to rise above popular prejudice about magic—”
“Ryshad Tathel, let me tell you—”
A knock at the door saved me from the wrath building in Avila’s face. Dolsan Kuse stuck his head into the room and looked at Temar. “Excuse me, but Esquire Camarl’s valet is looking for you and he’s not in the best of tempers.”
“Camarl or the valet?” asked Temar sarcastically, but he was already on his way to the door. I followed him, bowing to Avila but avoiding her eye.
“Very well, go on, all of you,” she said ominously. “Do not come back until you have something of use to report. No, Ryshad, on second thoughts, wait.”
I halted reluctantly. “Demoiselle?”
“I want to see that hand.”
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