by Tim Stretton
Davanzato’s black eyes gleamed. ‘I can overlook your misdemeanour on this occasion. This is a delightful piece, and genuine Sey workmanship. There is none of the heaviness in the filigree one finds in the Emmen copies. This is a valuable and beautiful piece: I thank you.’
‘Think nothing of it. I am always conscious of the great service you render to the Winter King, and show my appreciation accordingly.’
Davanzato inclined his head. ‘Service is its own reward. If I might perform any small convenience for you, I should be glad to.’
Beauceron raised his hands in denial. ‘I would not wish to impose upon your time or regard for me. Naturally I would like to see my prizes expedited by the Pellagiers, and my men and guests cleared to enter the Metropolia as soon as possible, but in this I wait my turn along with everyone else.’
‘Nonsense, Beauceron! By lunchtime all will have leave to enter the city, and your prize will be cleared by sundown tomorrow. It is unthinkable that such a renowned commander must wait in line with the merchants of the Briggantia.’
‘I am grateful for your attention to such a trivial matter,’ said Beauceron. ‘I trust that His Puissance remains in good health.’
Davanzato nodded. ‘His physician has prescribed a new regimen: he thrives. Indeed, I have not seen him so well for years.’
‘Good! Perhaps the physician will have time to spare for Chamberlain Osvergario.’
‘Ah,’ said Davanzato softly. ‘There the omens are not so favourable. He rarely leaves his bed, and if anything his condition worsens. I may be conducting his duties only temporarily, but there seems no end in sight to my labours.’
‘Four years, I believe,’ said Beauceron. ‘A long time to toil at “temporary” duties.’
‘Not quite four,’ said Davanzato with a frown. ‘Still, we must sacrifice ourselves where we must. What of your own plans?’
Beauceron sat back. ‘My goals remain unaltered. I intend to advocate to His Puissance the wisdom of an assault upon Croad.’
‘My dear Beauceron! King Fanrolio has considered this proposal in the past. He views it as a concept of valour and merit but alas impractical.’
‘I believe that circumstances may have changed since last year. Perhaps you could arrange an audience.’
Davanzato smilingly shook his head. ‘You will remember that his Council debated the matter last year. The Winter King is in no position to launch such a raid upon the territory of Emmen. Even General Virnesto considered the venture unwise. You will remember that, as a friend, I suggested you approach the Sun King.’
Beauceron chuckled. ‘Davanzato! I hope you understand me better than that. I wear the snowdrop badge, and I am Fanrolio’s man. I would never approach King Tardolio.’
‘The fact remains that the Summer King is better placed to put an army in the field. How much easier is campaigning in the summer. You cannot blame good King Fanrolio for husbanding our resources during the long dark winter months!’
‘The situation has changed materially,’ said Beauceron, setting his glass on the table and leaning forward. ‘You can be assured that I will never desert my allegiance by offering my services to Tardolio. And this year I am in a position to finance the assault on Croad myself. I need only King Fanrolio’s assent, and I will recruit, pay and lead the army. On securing the city, I will raise His Puissance’s banner high over the marketplace. He will have secured a valuable prize at no cost to himself.’
Davanzato rubbed his chin. ‘Finance the raid yourself? In the circumstances, your gift to me is perhaps not as princely as I had imagined – although still, of course, greatly appreciated.’
Beauceron bit back a smile as Davanzato took the bait. ‘I have several similar items, which I might submit for your approval.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Davanzato, ‘Mettingloom is not at war with Emmen. Our relations with Lord Oricien, while not cordial, cause neither of us inconvenience, and to assault Croad must necessarily bring forth a reprisal from Duke Trevarre or even King Enguerran.’
‘Let them try,’ said Beauceron. ‘If we hold Croad, we interdict passage to Jehan’s Steppe. Enguerran could not supply an army along the eastern approach, and Trevarre’s galleys would not get past Khadaspia. Take Croad, and we lock the door from the South.’
Davanzato shook his head. ‘There are matters of policy you do not understand. It is all very well to saddle up your gallumphers and ride south every summer to wreak whatever havoc you choose. King Fanrolio must deal not only with the princes of Emmen but the sordid manoeuvrings of the Sun King. Tardolio would look to turn such an event to his advantage.’
Beauceron crossed his legs. ‘I yield to no one in my admiration for your command of the currents of policy,’ he said. ‘I simply ask the opportunity to petition His Puissance on the subject, if necessary before his Council. From simple regard for an old friend, I am sure you would want to raise the matter with him.’
‘I make no promises,’ said Davanzato. ‘His Puissance’s time is as precious and rare as any Sey jewel. You must display patience: in particular, you must avoid overt lobbying. Outside of this room, it will only hurt your cause. I still do not understand your lust to humble Croad.’
‘That must remain my own affair,’ said Beauceron. ‘The King need only look to his own advantage.’
Davanzato made an emollient gesture. ‘As you wish. The inscrutability of the Dog of the North is part of your mystique, I suppose. Is there any other way I can assist you?’
‘There is one matter,’ said Beauceron, pulling a paper from his breast pocket. ‘I am glad to say it will profit both King Fanrolio and yourself.’
‘Theria! More langensnap!’
‘You may be aware that I have brought two guests back with me from Lynnoc’
‘I would be negligent to have overlooked the matter. Ladies of the Sey nobility, I believe.’
‘Just so: Lady Isola, on her way to marry Lord Oricien, and her companion, Lady Cosetta.’
‘The dowry you intend to use to finance your assault on Croad?’
‘Just so.’
‘Continue.’
‘I believe a ransom of 45,000 florins for Lady Isola and 10,000 florins for Lady Cosetta is not unreasonable. Monetto has drawn up papers to that effect,’ said Beauceron, passing them across to Davanzato.
‘I wish you much happiness in your good fortune.’
‘Ah no!’ said Beauceron. ‘These papers assign the ransom to King Fanrolio. I have also taken the liberty of appointing you the ransom agent.’
‘Fifty-five thousand florins times fifteen per cent – over 8,000 florins. You have my full attention.’
‘I feel sure that His Puissance will relish the chance to accept the parole of two such lovely ladies – and believe me, they are both lovely. Lady Isola is of spirited temperament, but she carries herself like a Sey battlecat. Lady Cosetta is fair and delicate. Both will be ornaments to His Puissance’s court. And if I have been able to arrange matters in such a way that you profit too, well – all should share in good fortune, should they not?’
‘Indeed they should, my dear Beauceron, indeed they should. I cannot, of course, make any promises as to the King’s view of an assault on Croad, but you can be sure I will exert myself to the maximum practical extent.’
‘I am glad to see your friendship take such concrete form. So often gratitude is expressed in fine words only, and when actions are looked for, they are not forthcoming. Your assurances are to be welcomed!’
Davanzato looked at Beauceron for a second. ‘I have much to occupy the morning. I am sure you too have important affairs in hand.’
Beauceron rose and bowed. ‘Let me know when you have arranged suitable accommodation for the ladies. For now, good day.’
A wherry loomed into a view. A matron was in the queue before him, but Beauceron had no time for niceties. He stepped across her and spoke briskly to the wherryman. ‘Ruglatto, at your best speed!’
6
Beauceron took the wherry
back to his apartments. He was pleased to see that they had been kept clean during his summer’s absence, and he found that Isola and Cosetta had established themselves in the guest suite. Beauceron felt a twinge of disquiet at the interviews to come. He presented himself at their suite. The walls were plastered in a rich ochre, and softened with burgundy hangings. The Occonero could be seen in the distance from the large window.
‘Good morning, my ladies. I trust you have been well cared for.’
Cosetta responded before Isola. ‘Thank you, we have. Kainera has seen to our comfort, and our suite is very much to our liking.’
Beauceron was encouraged that Cosetta showed such good humour. Maybe the magic of Mettingloom was beginning to work its effect.
‘I never imagined a brigand to command such an imposing residence,’ said Isola. ‘The rooms are airy and spacious, and the rugs and hangings show some taste.’
Beauceron smiled as he sat on the couch. ‘I am only a brigand abroad, my lady. Mettingloom is my home, and I am a respectable man here. Brigandage is a prestigious calling in the city, and I am one of the best. But in Mettingloom I am Beauceron; only in Emmen am I the Dog of the North.’
‘The light is excellent,’ said Isola. ‘The view over the aquavias and out to sea is most stimulating. Will we be here long?’
Beauceron rubbed his chin. ‘You will shortly be moving to new quarters: possibly as soon as tonight; and the new ones will be even more salubrious.’
Cosetta turned to face Beauceron. ‘I had understood we were to stay with you until our ransoms were received.’
‘It is customary for your sponsor to take responsibility for your bed and board. As of this morning, you have a new sponsor.’
Isola rose from her seat. ‘You dog! One morning in the city and you have sold us!’
‘Is this true?’ cried Cosetta.
‘In the strictest sense, no. I have transferred your custody, but not for any fee.’
‘To whom?’ asked Isola with ominous politeness.
‘As of today, you are wards of King Fanrolio. He will negotiate with your fathers and secure your ransoms. The situation is to your advantage: Lords Sprang and Coceillion will feel no shame in dealing with His Puissance, and your status will be augmented while you are in Mettingloom.’
You had mentioned freedom to move around the city,’ said Cosetta. ‘Does that still apply?’
‘Providing you give your parole to His Puissance, there will be no difficulty. Indeed, I suspect he will be keen to show you off in society.’
Isola sat back on her couch. ‘It is not pleasing to be treated as cattle, passed from sponsor to sponsor. I believe you had estimated our ransoms at 55,000 florins. I cannot believe you would give such a sum away, and can only assume we have been passed on to settle a debt, or for some non-financial consideration.’
‘My motives must remain my own, Lady Isola. The simple truth is that in capturing you, you have become my prisoners, and I may dispose of you without reference to your feelings. In this case I have chosen to do so, although my assurance that the move is to your advantage can be relied upon.’
Isola tilted her head and looked at Beauceron. He could tell from the curl of her mouth that an expostulation was likely to occur.
At this point the maid Kainera interrupted them. ‘Sir, a messenger from Under-Chamberlain Davanzato is here.’
Beauceron scowled. He had hoped to be able to placate the ladies before Davanzato got hold of them. ‘Send him up.’
The messenger was a man of middle age and dignified mien. His doublet was a rich forest green and his white breeches sparkled with fresh laundering. ‘The Under-Chamberlain sends his compliments. Lady Isola, Lady Cosetta.’ He bowed. ‘Under-Chamberlain Davanzato invites you to take supper with him tonight. He also begs that you will pack your belongings during the afternoon, that you may remove to the Winter Palace, Hiverno.’
Cosetta looked across at Beauceron uncertainly. ‘I have not had the pleasure of Under-Chamberlain Davanzato’s acquaintance.’
‘Davanzato acts as the King’s agent in the matter of your ransom,’ said Beauceron. ‘Therefore he takes responsibility for your welfare. Hiverno is the personal residence of King Fanrolio: you cannot help but be comfortable. Even in winter, the palace is warm. The King maintains a dimonetto to ensure the comfort of all.’ He looked at the messenger. ‘Does Davanzato’s supper invitation extend to me?’
‘The Under-Chamberlain considered that, on your first night in Metropolia, there would undoubtedly be matters requiring your attention. He did not wish to burden you further.’
Beauceron grinned. ‘His thoughtfulness, as ever, is an example to all.’
The messenger bowed. ‘I will return with a wherry for the ladies at eight bells.’ He slipped from the room with scarcely a whisper.
‘You will need to pack, my ladies. I will not detain you.’
‘A moment,’ said Isola, with a return of something like the hauteur of a lady of Sey. ‘Our packing will be the work of moments, since you left us with no moveable goods. I would rather hear of Davanzato and your role for the remainder of our stay.’
‘I no longer have a responsibility for you, Lady Isola. You are wards of the King, and Davanzato will look to your day-to-day comfort. I hope that we will meet again, since I find your company agreeable, and to a certain extent we will mix in similar circles.’
‘You acquit yourself of responsibility very easily. The man who took me from my nuptials on a whim cannot then forget about us simply because he no longer anticipates revenues from our captivity.’
‘On the contrary, Lady Isola, that is exactly how things must be. I took you hostage for financial reasons. For reasons that I do not care to explain, I do not expect to realize that investment. The only ties binding us are, potentially, those of friendship; and since I do not expect either of you to entertain any such feelings, our relationship is essentially at an end. I can only wish you good fortune and a swift return to your homes. It would be cant for me to offer my apologies for your abduction, since I cannot sincerely regret it. I wish you good day, my ladies.’
‘Leave us now, dog!’ cried Lady Isola, springing from her seat. ‘You bitch-whelped—’
‘Enough, Isola,’ said Cosetta. ‘He only means to rile us.’
Beauceron forbore from observing first that Lady Isola could not compel him to quit his own apartments, and second that he was in the process of leaving anyway. With a dignified bow he turned and walked for the door. His hand on the knob, he turned back to face the ladies.
‘Given your manifest – and understandable – hostility, I am under no obligation to give you advice, nor you to believe it to be in good faith. Nonetheless: you are to dine with Davanzato tonight. He is a man of high deportment who will no doubt aim to charm. I hope you will not be affronted if I tell you not to trust him for a second. He is a master of subtlety and indirection, and above all things he prizes his own advantage. He will ensure your welfare for his own self-interest, but beyond that he will care nothing for you.’
‘You paint a pithy picture of your own character,’ said Isola. ‘We are swapping one rogue for another. I do not trust you, and neither do I intend to trust Under-Chamberlain Davanzato.’
‘Very well,’ said Beauceron. ‘I merely offer you friendly advice.’
7
King Fanrolio sent Beauceron an invitation to a reception at the Occonero only two nights hence; Beauceron could not be sure if Davanzato’s agency was involved. Beauceron’s apartments in The Gills were nearby, and by stepping across the Emphyrian bridge he was able to walk directly to the palace. He had dressed himself every bit as carefully as he armoured himself before going into battle; which of course he was, in a sense. Black boots and breeches of good cut were paired with a dead-black cloak over a red waistcoat and white shirt. At his breast he wore the snowdrop sigil of the Winter King. A three-cornered hat sat on his head with a wolf’s-head badge at the front; at his waist was a rapier with an ir
on handle wrapped in leather: a weapon of utility rather than decoration.
He looked over his shoulder as he crossed the bridge. A figure ducked into a booth with an alacrity Beauceron found suspicious. He shrugged: a man of note in Mettingloom could expect nothing else. Davanzato would undoubtedly be tracking his movements, although Beauceron doubted that his men were that inept.
Winter was beginning to close in, and despite his cloak Beauceron shivered against the chill. There was a faint crunch of ice underfoot, and he was pleased to reach the warmth of the Occonero. Fanrolio maintained a dimonetto here as at Hiverno.
Beauceron found himself escorted to the Flower Room, so named for the meticulously painted ceiling, covered with a thousand summer roses. It was not a room of high state, but informal, with chairs and couches arranged in pleasant randomness. He recognized most of the thirty or so guests: Davanzato was present, of course, with both Isola and Cosetta, arrayed in notable finery, close by. Neither seemed the worse for their change of abode. Cosetta greeted Beauceron with a half smile; Isola looked away.
He made his way over to the liveried footman standing by the dimonetto dispensing wine.
‘Good evening, Prince Brissio, General Virnesto.’
Brissio, a stocky young man with a florid complexion and incongruous ringlets, took a sip from his goblet before acknowledging Beauceron with a loose nod. Virnesto, a trim figure with an upright martial bearing, briskly shook Beauceron’s hand.
‘I heard you were back,’ he said. ‘With plate and prisoners.’
Beauceron took a goblet with one hand and made a negligent gesture with the other.
‘The “prisoners” strictly belong to King Fanrolio – and since I understand they have given their parole, it is a touch indelicate to use the term at all.’
Brissio set his goblet down with an audible thud. ‘You are a fine fellow, to talk of delicacy when you spend all summer on the back of a gallumpher.’ He turned so that his words were audible to Isola and Cosetta. ‘I think it a poor display for a man who professes the ideals of chivalry to abduct two ladies – two beautiful ladies – from the security of their stout-coach.’
