by Tim Stretton
‘I care nothing for Brissio’s feelings towards me. Since he is neither able nor willing to help me I will not pursue the matter further.’
‘There is also the point that I am unwilling to help you.’
Beauceron smiled. ‘If I ever needed your help, Cosetta, I am confident that one way or another I would be able to secure it.’
Cosetta narrowed her eyes. ‘I think, Beauceron, that we shall never know.’
6
Beauceron left Cosetta’s apartment and immediately saw the man who had been following him, standing on the frozen aquavia pretending to read a religious tract. Beauceron walked slowly but purposefully out on the Grand Aquavia and thence to the frozen lagoon. A walk of forty-five minutes or so brought him to the nondescript waterside tavern where Monetto was to be found in the afternoons.
‘You are early today,’ said Monetto. ‘Will you take beer?’
‘On this occasion, no,’ said Beauceron. ‘I am weary of being followed. I think we shall take some more deliberate action.’
Monetto nodded, draining his mug as he rose. ‘My rooms are nearby. They will do as well as anywhere.’
‘You know what he looks like?’
‘Of course. I have seen him too.’
Beauceron stepped back out into the street, pulling his cloak around him, for the wind was now in his face. He walked back in the direction he had come, past the man who had been following him. Once he had got far enough to be sure that his pursuer would be in motion, he turned and walked back towards the tavern. The man had nowhere else to go and looked around in confusion. Before he could reach any conclusion, he found his way blocked by Monetto.
‘Come, friend,’ said Monetto. ‘You have been keen to make Beauceron’s acquaintance, if a little shy. I will introduce you.’
‘Ah – you – you mistake me, sir. I merely take the air on this glorious afternoon.’
Monetto stepped closer and leaned into the man. ‘Do you feel my knife?’
‘Ah – yes. There is no cause—’
‘There will not be if you do as I say. Follow me – don’t tell me you don’t know how. Beauceron will be behind us to make sure you do not try to slip off. Then the three of us will become better acquainted. What is there to worry about?’
In a few minutes they were in a lodging house in a low part of town. Monetto led them up a narrow twisting flight of stairs to the garret where he made his home.
‘Is this really where you live?’ asked Beauceron, for the room was cramped and the light indifferent under the midwinter sky.
Monetto shrugged. ‘I have no taste for luxury,’ he said, ‘and I can keep an eye on the men. They are less inclined to dissipation if they know I am on hand.’
The third man stood smirking in the doorway. The room was not large enough to accommodate three in comfort.
‘You, inside,’ said Beauceron. ‘Who are you?’
The man sat down in the least worn of the three chairs.
‘My name is Nissac,’ he said. ‘I would have volunteered as much without this charade.’
‘I intend some more searching questions,’ said Beauceron. ‘Monetto, do you keep rope?’
‘Enough,’ replied Monetto.
‘Whatever purpose you have for rope, it will not be necessary,’ said Nissac. ‘I merely wish to make a proposition.’
Monetto added a log to the fire. ‘You have an unconventional way of transacting your business,’ he said.
Nissac crossed his legs. ‘I felt it necessary to understand the circumstances, given the delicate nature of my commission,’ he said. ‘Rash conduct impresses no one.’
‘You have not begun well,’ said Beauceron, leaning against the wall. ‘Already I am unfavourably impressed with your pertness and your smart manners.’
‘Maybe you will be more impressed when you hear what I have to offer,’ he said. ‘You, Monetto, do you keep beer? I am somewhat thirsty.’
Beauceron stepped forward and smacked Nissac around the ears. ‘Monetto, bind this insolent clown.’
Monetto made rapid work of the knots. Nissac struggled against the ropes and let out an oath.
‘Now,’ said Beauceron, ‘we shall hear your “proposition”.’
‘You treat me with little dignity. I am attached to the court of King Tardolio,’ he said, ‘although like yourself I hail from Emmen.’
‘You know nothing of my origins, poltroon.’
‘Very well,’ said Nissac. ‘I will be blunt, since it seems questions of etiquette are wasted on you. His Puissance King Tardolio is interested in your planned assault on Croad. He wishes to discuss the matter with you.’
Beauceron laughed. ‘Tardolio has failed once in such an undertaking. I hear nothing to suggest he intends to repeat the attempt.’
‘If you will forgive me, you are a peerless commander in the field, but a plain man. The workings of the royal mind must always be mysterious to you.’
‘I understand that Tardolio no longer wishes to take Croad. The business of garrisoning it bores him, and he does not wish to defend a siege of Mettingloom should Enguerran venture north. Do you tell me this has changed?’
Nissac’s eyes gleamed. ‘Exactly so. His defeat last time he ventured south still rankles. It is well for the Winter King to sit within his walls and look to defence of the city, but the Sun King needs to display boldness and enterprise. He thinks Lord Oricien weak, and wishes to try him in the field. Can you not see yourself as one of King Tardolio’s mighty war captains, leading a company of proud knights? Will you not at least talk to King Tardolio?’
Beauceron paused. ‘I am always at liberty to attend to His Puissance’s pleasure. However, I would not wish to waste his time or mine discussing the topic you suggest. I am King Fanrolio’s bannerman, and such a discussion would be in contravention of my allegiance.’
Nissac swallowed. ‘Will you not at least consider it? Think of the advantages of starting your assault in the summer and interdicting Oricien’s harvest. How much more convenient than leaving before the flowers bloom to avoid Tardolio’s ban – and that is in the unlikely event that Fanrolio allows the invasion to proceed.’
Beauceron stepped away from the wall and stood to his full height. He looked down into Nissac’s face.
‘Monetto, untie Nissac. He is free to return to Tardolio’s palace.’
Nissac rubbed at his wrists after Monetto had untied him. He stood to face Beauceron. ‘What am I to say to King Tar-dolio?’
Beauceron smiled. ‘What you always intended to say: nothing. You may proceed directly to Davanzato and tell him I am insulted by this farce. Did he think to convince me with a reed such as you?’
Nissac coloured. ‘You – things are not as you suggest. I am Tardolio’s man. I have never met Under-Chamberlain Davanzato.’
‘Since you believe me a fellow countryman, take my advice. A career as an intelligencer is not for you. If Tardolio finds out your game, you will not outlive the night: and I intend to write to Tardolio this evening, unless you have anything to say which will change my mind.’
Nissac drooped. ‘Matters are as you suggest,’ he said. ‘Davanzato approached me through an intermediary, offering a good sum of money to establish whether you would consider treating with Tardolio.’
‘A vindictive man would tell not only Tardolio but Davanzato of your duplicity and ineptitude: it would be interesting to see which of them dealt with you first. Despite popular belief, I am no such man. Make your report to Davanzato in whatever way you see fit, but be sure never to cross my path again. I will not be so forbearing next time.’
7
Beauceron sat with Monetto nursing a mug of indifferent beer in a shabby tavern near Monetto’s lodgings. A few poxed doxies sat around in the shadows where their imperfections would be less manifest. Beauceron ignored any attempt to catch his eye.
‘Events are not going to plan,’ he said. ‘Essentially I have made no progress since we returned.’
Monetto stared into his mug. ‘Did
you expect facile success? We might have expected Davanzato to be implacable.’
‘Davanzato is a pragmatist, and avaricious. It is a question of balancing his advantages and helping him to see that the invasion is in his interests. His opposition is factitious.’
‘You think he is not opposed to the invasion?’ asked Monetto.
‘He would prefer it not to happen, since it can only upset the equilibrium from which he profits; but it is a front to induce me to offer him a larger bribe.’
‘It was perhaps a mistake to give him the ladies so early.’
Beauceron shrugged and drained his mug. ‘More beer!’ he called. ‘The strategy was not flawed,’ he said. ‘A rapid and unexpected access of cash could only have ensured his good will, and maintaining the ladies at my expense was something I wished to avoid. I could not have foreseen that neither Sprang nor Oricien would pay Isola’s ransom.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘I cannot say,’ said Beauceron. ‘Cosetta is proving resourceful. She seems to be planning to stay here.’
And Isola?’
Beauceron shook his head. ‘She is not dealing with captivity well. If I am honest, I have come to regret kidnapping her. It has brought me no benefit and undeserved woe on the lady.’
Monetto grinned. ‘Does your regret extend to furnishing her ransom yourself? The figure is set at 45,000 florins, and no doubt Fanrolio is open to offers.’
Beauceron sipped at his beer. ‘My regret is perhaps more abstract than you suggest. After my expenses, I cleared only 50,000 florins from the summer’s campaigning, and I need that to finance Croad. The quixotic gesture you propose is impractical.’
‘I merely outlined a possibility,’ said Monetto. ‘I wished to test the tenor of your “regret”.’
Beauceron laughed. ‘You have done so with skill and economy.’
‘As much as anything, you are punishing her for not being Siedra.’
Beauceron was silent for a moment. ‘I admit when we captured the stout-coach, it seemed it could only have been Siedra inside: the Croad standard flying above it, our intelligence that she was travelling back to the city. It all added up.’
‘The evidence was only circumstantial,’ said Monetto. ‘You allowed your emotions to colour your judgement. It is not Isola’s fault she was not Siedra.’
With a grimace, Beauceron said: ‘You are right, of course. But she represented ready money, both in her person and her dowry. Next time, it will be Siedra. When we take Croad, she will be there along with Oricien. It will be sweeter to encounter them together as Oricien makes his surrender.’
‘That is some way in the future. We are not yet sure of leaving Mettingloom at all.’
‘Virnesto suggested that the way to deal with Davanzato is to play on his fear. That strategy I have not yet explored, but he is not as invulnerable as he likes to think.’
Monetto sat back in his seat and swallowed the last of his beer. ‘You need to consider why you are doing this, and whether you still need to.’
Beauceron did not move, but his eyes swung to Monetto’s face. ‘Are you suggesting I give up the assault on Croad?’
‘I am suggesting that you ask yourself whether you will benefit from it.’
‘That you of all people should ask it . . . you were there. You know why I have to do this.’
‘No. I know why you want to. The only compulsion comes from within you.’
‘Think of it as seeking Harmony.’
‘I cannot imagine that you do. And even if you do, the obvious path is not always the Way. Consider, you are a wealthy man: there can be few wealthier captains in Mettingloom than you. You could buy an estate shoreside if you wished. You could even go to Garganet or Gammerling if you chose not to stay here.’
Beauceron shook his head. ‘I thought you understood. How can there be rest for me, knowing that I have left undone my duty of vengeance? They took everything from me.’
‘Did they? You have more now, however you measure it, than you could have expected if you had stayed where you were.’
Beauceron looked into Monetto’s face. ‘They took much which was mine by right. I will not rest until I have restitution or vengeance.’
‘Restitution is hardly possible.’
‘Then vengeance it must be.’
8
During the winter, Davanzato lived at the Occonero, and he had little occasion to venture out from its comfort and security. Nonetheless, he sometimes found it necessary to transact business he did not care to delegate, and it was at such a moment that Beauceron intercepted him. The afternoon was chill and Davanzato picked his way along the aquavia with care. Beauceron moved with a silkier precision.
‘Good afternoon, Davanzato! A pleasant surprise.’
Davanzato looked out from under his muffler. ‘Beauceron,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Pressing matters of state do not allow me to dally, if you will excuse me.’
‘Step in out of the cold a moment. The wind is icy today – it is whipping down from Niente and unless we run to the extravagance of battlecat cloaks nothing will keep it out. Look, here is an inn.’
Davanzato scowled at Beauceron. ‘I do not have time for your nonsense. No doubt you wish me to update you on your audience with Fanrolio. I will save you the inconvenience: there is no progress to date. If you wish to discuss the matter further, make an appointment to see me as anyone else would.’
Beauceron raised his hands in denial. ‘I was not intending so crude an inquiry. I merely wished a few moments of your time, and ideally not in the street. By the way, your friend Nissac sends his regards.’
‘Very well, if I must,’ said Davanzato after a pause. ‘I hope you will not detain me too long. I have more business to attend to.’
‘Let us hope that Chamberlain Osvergario is back on his feet soon,’ said Beauceron.
They stepped inside the inn – a gloomy space where both furniture and clientele mouldered the winter away – to be met by a fug of heat from the hearth. Beauceron held up his hand for two glasses of langensnap.
‘How are Isola and Cosetta?’ asked Beauceron as they waited for the drinks to arrive.
‘I cannot imagine this is why you diverted me from state business.’
‘It takes time to savour a glass of langensnap. A little conversation avoids awkward silences.’
‘Frankly, the ladies are the bane of my existence. Cosetta has moved out of the Occonero altogether, taking expensive apartments on the Metropolia. Isola plagues me every day for news of her ransom, and holds me responsible for its delay – as if I could influence her father. You may have observed that for all her graceful carriage she nurtures a shrewish disposition.’
‘Cosetta’s apartment is no burden to you; I understand Prince Brissio pays the lease.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘She told me herself. Do not try to invoke sympathy for your expenses, at least as far as Cosetta goes.’
Davanzato said, ‘I may inadvertently have misled you. My real vexation is that Brissio becomes involved in my affairs at all, since he now takes an interest in Cosetta. I would not have expected a lady of Sey to be such a trollop.’
‘Cosetta assures me nothing improper has occurred.’
‘And you believe her?’ said Davanzato with a raised eyebrow. ‘I took you for a man of sceptical temperament.’
‘I found her reasoning compelling, although I will not share it with you, since you are so oppressed by business. I have more sympathy with you in the matter of Lady Isola.’
‘I begin to doubt that her ransom will be forthcoming. Fanrolio will not lower himself to bargain with Sprang or Oricien, so she remains in my charge, at my expense, indefinitely. This gift from you has not proved bountiful.’
A surly pot-girl appeared and set the crude glasses down with a thud. Beauceron sent her away with a scowl and no gratuity.
‘It was well-intentioned,’ said Beauceron. However, since the favour I expected has
not been forthcoming, I see a certain justice in the situation.’
Davanzato said nothing as he sipped his langensnap. ‘I thought you were not going to press me for news of my progress. It is not simply a matter of arranging an audience with His Puissance, which would be the work of minutes. The delicacy lies in ensuring the King takes an appropriate view of your proposals,’ he said. ‘There is little point in an audience which leads to the rejection of your schemes.’
‘I do not intend to press you,’ said Beauceron cheerfully. ‘You will tell me whatever you see fit. I will merely outline my views. I spent an afternoon with Nissac yesterday, for reasons you understand. I was inconvenienced and irritated by the matter; and the episode justifiably led me to question your motives and intentions. When I consider that no audience, nor even a hint of one, with King Fanrolio has been forthcoming, can you wonder why I question whether my approach has been the correct one? I have treated you with good faith and generosity, but my seeds have not borne fruit. Perhaps it is time for me to consider another method.’
‘You interest me. Perhaps you intend to storm the Occonero with your band of brigands; maybe you will make smoke signals from a wherry; conceivably you will take the risk of approaching King Tardolio. Maybe you will even set up an outcry at the Midwinter Ball. Please keep me apprised of any progress you may make.’
‘None of these tactics was in my mind. I thought rather to convince you that the balance of advantage to yourself lay in facilitating the audience. The farmer who owns a stubborn gallumpher first tries to persuade it with a carrot; if the beast is still intractable, he belabours it with a stick. Both farmer and gallumpher prefer the carrot, but on occasion the stick remains necessary.’
‘I hope you are not characterizing me as a farm gallumpher.’
‘I merely used a metaphor which from a certain angle bears some resemblance to our own transaction. You are no more a farm animal than I am a farmer.’
‘In that case your meaning escapes me.’
‘It is simply this. I have expended effort and money in securing your good will. To date both appear to have been wasted. I am known as the Dog of the North for a reason: I have a justified reputation for harsh and bloody violence. I would not wish you to learn why, but equally I do not wish to forgo my audience with the King.’
