A footman entered and handed Edgar a note. He excused himself and withdrew. Cecy watched after him, looking flustered. She was only a shadow of Edgar; she had no ability to entertain the guests. A few moments later, the footman returned and approached Marten.
“Captain Thorpe, sir. The master asks you to join him,” he said, bowing.
Curious, Marten rose stiffly, excusing himself from the table. Edgar was in the small salon, leaning on the mantel, turning a parchment absently between his fingers. Beside his elbow was a packet of papers tied with a yellow ribbon.
“Is something wrong?”
Edgar turned around, giving his brother a measuring look. “You’re a bit stiff.”
Marten winced. He should have known he couldn’t fool Edgar. “Aye, so I am.”
“Your gambling is going to be the death of you.”
“It might well be.”
“I always figured you’d die at sea. A proud, brave death.” Edgar shook his head. “How deep are you?”
“Nothing to worry about. Winning this bet will take care of the worst of it.”
“So much? And if you don’t win?”
“I will.” Marten hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
Edgar sighed, looking down at the fire. “I may have raised you, but I am not your father. I cannot force you to stop gambling. Nor can I protect you from the consequences. I can’t and I won’t. I’ll regret what happens, but you are a man and free to choose your own path, no matter how stupid it is.” He paused, then turned back to Marten.
“I have here some information concerning Miss Trenton. It should help you. But it has its cost. The thing is, as you’ve correctly pointed out, I made a bet against you. And I’ve taken other markers on your failure. I cannot help you without undermining the trust of my other clients and compromising my own reputation. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Marten nodded slowly, frowning, his mind racing with sudden eagerness. “What do you have in mind?”
“Double the bet. That should settle any ruffled feathers.”
A hot shiver of fear and anticipation ran down Marten’s spine. It would be almost enough to get him entirely out of debt. He didn’t think. “Yes.”
Edgar’s brows flicked up. “Be sure, Marten. You will certainly be donning an iron collar if you lose. I love you, but I will not save you.”
Edgar couldn’t say it more clearly. Fear twisted in Marten’s gut. He ignored it. “I’m in.”
“Very well. I will make your excuses to my other guests. You’re welcome to stay and peruse the materials. There is an invitation to the Summerland’s ball this evening. Miss Trenton will be in attendance. When you are ready, I’ve put a carriage at your disposal.” He went to the door, pausing just inside. “Good luck, brother. And good hunting.”
Marten’s hand shook as he scooped up the packet and parchment and retreated to an armchair.
A half glass later, he wrapped them up again, his heart thumping. It was a thorough accounting of Lucy’s habits, her routines, her favorite haunts, her favorite foods, her friends, even her latest clothing purchases. There was no portion of her life that wasn’t dissected and exposed. Marten tucked the packet inside his breast pocket, smiling. Time to go to the Summerland’s. This time, Lucy would not put him off.
Chapter 10
The day improved only slightly after the inquisition in Alistair’s office. Hig had recruited the necessary extra team members, bringing the complement up to thirty, including the majicar, with whom Lucy had not worked before.
The Reval’s Hunt had been in port for nearly a sennight. None of the crew had been permitted to disembark and they were fuming. Lucy was glad of the two burly Hornets that accompanied her as she inspected the sailors’ personal belongings. Of the twenty-two-member company, she found five who were smuggling items in hidden pockets in their duffels and clothing. It was past the eleventh glass before Lucy finished with the crew and began the ship inspection. The rest of the day was spent running up and down ladders as the box knockers opened up casks and crates on deck and in the hold, making use of any available space to conduct inspections, while the stevedores loaded what they could into lighterboats, which were rowed to the customs warehouses on the dirtside docks. Those goods would be inspected later. But despite the frantic pace Lucy set, only a small portion of cargo had been off-loaded when the sundown horn sounded.
Lucy took refuge in the work, banishing the incidents of the morning to the back of her mind. But she couldn’t help wondering how Alistair would account for his missing door handle. She dreaded Moonday, when she’d have to turn her report in and find out. Then again, there was always a chance the cipher would kill her before then. The thought was almost comforting.
At sundown, she left Hornets guarding the ship from entry or exit and returned home. She went directly to her office to lock up her seal and the inspections paperwork for the Reval’s Hunt. She stopped cold, the day’s correspondence taunting her from the middle of her desk. Almost violently, she dug through the stack. She found the letter she feared near the top, with the same bold, black script, the same unrevealing seal.
Her chest constricting, Lucy broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
What did Sarah say when you visited her yesterday? Did she cut your anchor chain and set you adrift? Maybe not. You spent so much time together. But then she prefers women. Perhaps you do as well? Did you pass the morning sipping each other’s cream? How I’d like to have a taste. But I digress, my little eel. Have you realized yet you are well and truly netted? There’s no escape. My instructions will arrive soon. I suggest you obey them. I imagine your family would suffer dreadfully.
As before, there was no signature.
Lucy read the missive three times, a bitter taste filling her mouth. His lewd insinuations only inflamed her loathing. But she didn’t dare indulge herself; she had to put a good face on the evening. She wasn’t going to give the blackmailing bastard the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. She put the letter in the office vault with the first two and went to bathe, finding herself mordantly hoping the cipher on her arm would kill her soon and put her out of her misery.
It took all her concentration and a quarter of a decanter of brandy to put aside her black mood and welcome her brother Jack with a semblance of cheerfulness. He hugged her, standing back to admire her. Lucy found herself blushing as his brows rose. It was a beautiful gown, made of sapphire silk taffeta. Her breasts were pushed up and nearly out of the neckline. A gossamer net covered her exposed flesh, lending a false air of primness to the otherwise outrageous decolletage.
“Trying to catch a cold?” Jack asked. His face was ruddy and freckled. He had ginger hair, with a goatee and mustache. He wore a fashionably cut cashmere suit with a long coat and polished boots. His waistcoat and turned-back cuffs were finely embroidered with gold thread. Lucy didn’t have to examine it to know that their mother had done the work herself. She was the most sought-after embroiderer in Sylmont, reserving her talents for members of the royal family.
“To catch a husband, actually,” Lucy said sardonically, turning in a circle. “What do you think—will I have men crawling after me with rings?” She fluttered her lashes and breathed deeply so that her breasts rose and fell.
“Until you open your mouth, maybe,” he said, offering Lucy his arm. “Mother’s idea?”
“Who else?”
At the Summerland’s, Jack danced twice with her before abandoning her to her fate.
“I am under orders to find a wife as well,” he explained, uncowed by Lucy’s withering look. “I should mingle.”
“And taste?” Sarah asked archly as she joined them.
“Oh, most definitely,” Jack said with a wink. He glanced at the crush of bodies filling the ballroom. “Such a lovely banquet, too.” With that, he disappeared.
“You’re looking peevish tonight.”
Lucy glanced sidelong at Sarah. “Am I?”
Sarah brushed a strand of white hair
away from her cheek. “Mmmhmm. You look like you want to bite someone.”
“Maybe I do,” Lucy said darkly, taking a glass of bubbling pink wine from a servant.
She looked around at the crush of people, most of whom she either didn’t know or didn’t want to know. Her eyes were gritty and her back and feet hurt from standing most of the day. Worse was the constant brush of majick, like the scrape of needles against the under-side of her skin. It made her shiver with pain and sent a hot thrill down her nerves at the same time. Too many people with too many ciphers.
“I heard from my friend again.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He mentioned you. Apparently he has some idea that we are lovers.”
“Ah. He doesn’t know you very well, does he?”
“On the contrary. If anything, he knows me too well.”
“Do you think he’s here?” Sarah asked, turning to survey the crowd.
Lucy snarled. “Him or a minion. Coward.”
“Thinking twice about a nice warm fire, are you?”
“Time is fleeting. More so than you think.” Lucy hesitated, not wanting to mention the incident with the door handle. But she’d already kept too much from Sarah. “If anything happens to me, you’ll see the fire’s lit, won’t you?”
Sarah stilled, then slowly lifted her wineglass and drank. She lowered it, tapping a polished red fingernail against the glass.
“If anything happens…,” she repeated. “But something has, hasn’t it?”
“During my debriefing about the salvage this morning—after I was accused of stealing the blood oak find—something happened to the door handle of Alistair’s office. Seemed to melt right off. Disappeared.”
“Did you see who was responsible?”
Lucy shrugged. “Couldn’t see much. I was going through the door at the time.”
“Ah.” Sarah tapped louder. “A rough day, then.”
Lucy smiled crookedly. “I admit, I’d rather be in bed.”
Sarah raised her dark brows. “Oh, really? With whom?”
Lucy choked on her wine, snorting pink bubbles through her nose. “Very funny.”
“Perhaps you’d like that one?” Sarah pointed to a paunchy man with sagging yellow skin. Stretched over his belly was a garish green and purple striped coat piped in gold. He wore a black wig and rings on every finger. “Quite a catch. It’s a wonder he can move with all that metal hanging off him. Of course, I should think you’d want him to be able to move. In bed, I mean. So let’s see. Oh, yes. Over there, just coming in. He’d do nicely. Quick romp under the covers and off he goes across the sea. No messy scenes. Gossip says he’s quite a good lover, and you, my dear, could use a really good lover.”
“Him? Marten Thorpe? You must be joking.”
“Marten, is it? You’re acquainted with him?”
“He’s—” Lucy paused, looking for words. “He helped with the salvage the other night. And he came by the customs docks this morning.”
“And that means what?”
“He’s just…irritating.”
“And apparently interested.”
“No. He helped with the salvage because of Jordan, and this morning’s meeting was mere courtesy. Believe me when I say that he is anything but interested. Which is fine by me.”
“Too bad. He’s quite handsome. If you go in for that sort of thing.” Sarah’s gaze followed a petite chestnut-haired woman weaving gracefully in and out of the dance.
“So he is.”
“Shame. I bet your mother would like him,” Sarah said with a perfectly straight face.
Lucy couldn’t help it. She barked with laughter. The people around her stared curiously. At last she gained control of herself, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes.
“I’d trade a case of Shepet to see you introduce him as your future husband.”
“Mother would faint. Father would not forgive me. At any rate, as I said, he’s not interested.”
“You are of royal blood…. Maybe you can catchhim that way?”
Lucy gave her a withering look, reaching up self-consciously to make sure the necklace with the royal-crest pendant was tucked well out of sight. “A lot of us are royal. We’re rather like locusts. It isn’t the temptation you seem to think it is. And I don’t need to catch anyone, thank you very much. Have you been conniving with Mother as well?”
Sarah smiled. “If he had any taste…All right, I’ll leave it alone,” she said as Lucy drew a breath. “Have you heard about the strike?”
“The lighters. Strike begins at midnight. And I can tell you, it’s going to be a mess.”
Sarah made a face. “I was talking about the stevedores.”
“What?”
“There’s word that the stevedores will join the strike in support of the lighters.”
“It’s all just one damned thing after another.” Then Lucy smiled maliciously. “Alistair is going to have convulsions.” Another thought struck her. “Maybe this will interfere with my new friend’s timetable. This will draw out my inspection of the Reval’s Hunt for at least a few days.”
“If they don’t settle the strike. Given the timing, chances are good they will or there will be riots.”
“I can hope, can’t I? What makes you think the stevedores are going out too?”
Sarah smiled smugly. “I’ve got my sources. They aren’t often wrong.”
And they weren’t. At Faraday, Sarah heard a lot of gossip from well-placed sources in the government and Merchant Ministry. If Sarah said it, then probably it was true.
“What about your family? Have they got cargoes coming in?”
Lucy shrugged. “Doesn’t everybody?” She groaned. “This sennight is going to be dreadful. Everyone’s going to want their ships inspected yesterday.” She yawned. “I really need to go home and get some sleep.”
Sarah chuckled. “If you’d stop being such a silent partner in Faraday, you could sleep late whenever you wanted.”
Lucy smiled without answering. One day she would take a more active role in running Faraday, but for now, she liked being a customs inspector. She loved the work, loved the thrill of finding smuggled or counterfeit goods, loved the respect the position earned her. She thought of the three shipowners who’d accused her of theft and smuggling. Who were they to accuse her? But the truth burned: She was corrupt. She’d broken the law when she’d hidden away the true ciphers. She remembered what she’d said to Marten Thorpe: I have a deep respect for the law. But you flaunt it. Bitter irony welled up inside her. She was no better than he.
“Why don’t you go home?” Sarah said, interrupting Lucy’s self-castigation. “This ball is a bore. There’s no reason to stay.”
“Mother thinks differently. According to her, I am an elderly twenty-seven years old and about to get shoved to the back of the shelf, where I will soon be covered in dust and spiderwebs. If I don’t net a man soon, I never will. I will have to give her a full report of the ball tomorrow.”
Sarah tried to suppress her smile and failed. “If she wasn’t an invalid, you’d really be in trouble.”
“She was content to ignore me until Stephen had his first child. Now she insists that Jack and I must be conscripted into blissfully happy marriages. She is determined that we will comply as quickly as possible, and—”
“And so she commanded you both to the Summerland’s to choose the man and woman who will make all your dreams come true. Not to mention provide her with more chubby-cheeked grandchildren.”
“In so many words, yes.”
Sarah surveyed the crowd, smirking. “Well then. Since the handsome captain is not to your taste, which choice morsel do you want?”
Lucy shook her head and exchanged her empty glass for a full one. “I don’t believe I am quite the catch Mother seems to think I am.”
“I don’t know. I’ve always thought you were a catch,” Sarah said, winking.
Lucy felt herself blush and looked away. Sarah laughed softly.
<
br /> “I’ll not be trying my wiles on you, sweetheart. But don’t go thinking you aren’t some man’s dream. Because you are lovely, and smart, and oh, my, what a mouth.”
“A smart mouth, I think is what you mean.”
“Exactly so. Who wants a simpering doll when he can have you?”
“Good evening, Miss Nettles. I was hoping you would be in attendance. You are looking more lovely than ever. Would you give me the honor of the next dance?”
Sarah’s admirer was tall with dark, curly hair cropped close to his head. He was dressed in the latest fashion, his face painted more expertly than Lucy’s. He wore a weak cipher. Lucy wondered what it was for. Some sort of protection? A charm to make him captivating or to keep his clothes from wrinkling? Or something more sinister? Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as he bent over Sarah’s hand and kissed it. He didn’t let go as he straightened.
“Minister Brackelar. You flatter me,” Sarah said, dropping her eyelids so he wouldn’t see the mockery in her expression.
“Not at all. You are absolutely the most divine creature in the room. Ask any man here.”
Lucy couldn’t help herself. She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand and looking wide-eyed and innocent when the minister at last deigned to notice her.
“Pardon my manners, Minister Brackelar,” Sarah said, as if she were the one who’d ignored Lucy. “Let me introduce my good friend, Miss Lucy Trenton.”
The appellation of good friend made his indifferent expression shift to calculation. He took her hand and kissed it. The annoying prod of the cipher grew sharper. Lucy’s gaze snagged on his left cuff link. That was it.
“Your servant, Miss Trenton.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lucy said thinly, pulling her hand away.
“I don’t want to be a cad and leave you at loose ends, Miss Trenton. But would you consent to my borrowing Miss Nettles for this waltz?” he asked as the first strains began.
“If Miss Nettles wishes.”
“Shall we?” He held his arm out, never once considering Sarah might not so wish.
The Cipher Page 11
