The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  Mongrissore raised his eyebrows. ‘You were – and indeed are – not in the power of Beauceron, but of the King and Davanzato?’

  Isola’s face fell again. ‘If you wish to think of it in those terms.’

  ‘We have established that you lived for a while at Beauceron’s expense. I understand that arrangement ceased with his arrest. Who pays your lodgings?’

  ‘The crown, sir.’

  Mongrissore shook his head and gave an avuncular smile. ‘That is not strictly accurate, is it, my lady? Davanzato, as your ransom agent, bears the costs of your bed and board.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I did not hear your answer, my lady. You must speak more distinctly.’

  ‘You know full well that Davanzato pays my expenses!’ she thundered.

  Mongrissore put his hands over his ears. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said. ‘I have established, I think, that Davanzato, who in somewhat irregular fashion is prosecuting the case, exerts a potentially undue influence over you. Now, will you tell me of your feelings towards Beauceron?’

  ‘I have already told Davanzato.’

  ‘Frankly, I did not believe your account. You would have us believe that your anger with Beauceron was spent, and that you felt gratitude and even friendship at his generosity.’

  Isola dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. ‘You emphasize the matter strangely. Beauceron was more generous than he needed to be, but he remains my abductor.’

  ‘I have several witnesses – we shall hear from them later – that you had promised to see Beauceron hanged in the market square at Croad.’

  ‘I may have said something to that effect.’

  Mongrissore raised his hands. ‘Perfectly understandable, my lady. I doubt that I would view kidnap favourably. It does create a problem with your evidence, however. You can see that?’

  ‘I am not clear as to your meaning, sir.’

  ‘You have exhibited a justifiable desire to be revenged on the man who kidnapped you. You would have every motivation to testify as to his treasonous activities whether that testimony were true or not.’

  Tears again rolled down her cheeks. ‘I have spoken the truth, sir.’

  ‘Has Davanzato promised you any reward for your testimony, my lady?’ Mongrissore continued with iron in his voice. ‘Or was the simple matter of revenge enough to persuade you to betray a man who was attempting to make amends to you?’

  ‘There – there was no – inducement but truth.’

  ‘My lady, you are a liar and a dupe. Your only consolation is that you lie badly, the sign of a Harmonic soul, they say. I know Davanzato’s methods well. He has threatened that your captivity will be less pleasant if you do not cooperate with his schemes. No doubt he has also promised you a share of the attainder on Beauceron’s conviction: enough, perhaps, to pay your own ransom. That will never happen: can you imagine Davanzato parting with coin in that way? You must now tell the truth. It will not free your person, but it will free your soul.’

  Isola sank to the ground.

  ‘Clear the court!’ called Davanzato. ‘Can you not see the lady is faint?’

  ‘No,’ said Isola weakly. ‘I must speak.’

  There was silence. Beauceron was willing to guess nobody knew what she was going to say.

  She rose unsteadily and turned to face King Fanrolio. ‘My apologies, Your Puissance. I have perjured myself today. Davanzato said to me that he did not have enough evidence to be certain of convicting Beauceron, who was surely guilty. I knew that he would do anything to raise an army against Croad, so I was not lying; I was telling a truth which I had not heard.’

  Beauceron prepared to interject but Mongrissore silenced him with a gesture.

  ‘I know that this was wrong,’ she said. ‘I wished to see Beauceron punished for his acts, and I also wish to see my home again. Davanzato assured me that my testimony would secure both ends.’

  She sat down. Beauceron said nothing but looked across at her. This time she looked up and met his eyes. He nodded at her and for a brief instant his expression could have been interpreted as a smile.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Mongrissore, springing once more to his feet. ‘There is clearly no more to be said, unless we want to consider laying charges against Davanzato today.’

  ‘A moment,’ said Davanzato languidly. ‘Lady Isola is much distraught, and who can blame her? She has said to me throughout the proceedings that she was aware of his guilt. Imagine my shock at learning now that her “knowledge” was mere hearsay! I admit I should have probed her more deeply before bringing her before the court, but any man would have hesitated before tyrannizing such a lovely and unfortunate lady.

  ‘The fact remains that the court has heard testimony not only from Sir Goccio but also from fourteen of his associates. The case against Beauceron remains strong.’

  He turned to the Lords of Equity. ‘What do you say, my lords?’

  Lord Ulrado shook his head in disgust. ‘You are no efficient prosecutor, Davanzato, but there remains a case to answer.’

  Lord Gionardo nodded. ‘Only a fool fails to prepare a witness, but the King must have the chance to decide on Beauceron’s guilt. We shall reconvene tomorrow, His Puissance willing, and set the farrago of today behind us.’

  Fanrolio raised a liver-spotted hand. ‘So shall it be. The trial continues tomorrow.’

  Beauceron sat waiting for the guards to take him back to his cell; he looked across to Isola and tried to attract her attention, but she rushed sobbing from the chamber, alone with her shame.

  10

  Glount

  1

  Arren awoke the next morning with a sore head and a foul taste in his mouth. None of the pleasures of Glount, it seemed, were without cost.

  Duke Panarre and Lord Thaume were closeted away with whatever business occupied them. Since Master Coppercake was also involved, Arren surmised it concerned either Panarre’s share of the Mettingloom ransoms or, more alarmingly, betrothals and dowries.

  Oricien and Guigot decided to spend the morning in the tilt-ring, where they could impress Lady Helisette and Lady Genevieva with their martial prowess. Arren could sense that their incipient rivalry would be certain to be piqued as they vied to impress the ladies, and was not sorry when Lady Cerisa arrived to ask him to escort her and Siedra into the city for their visit to the Molo.

  The Molo was a tall lighthouse on the end of the spit which marked one boundary of the Bay of Glount. It was from here that Eleanora had cast herself into the waves at the end of The Masque of Louison and Eleanora, on learning that her father had treacherously slain her lover.

  ‘Imagine!’ cried Lady Cerisa as they climbed aboard the cariolo which was to take them to the esplanade. ‘We shall see the very spot where the tragedy occurred! We shall all sense the emanations, the very presence of doom – even you, Arren, although by and large you are insensitive to such matters.’

  ‘I was under the impression, my lady, that The Masque was a work of fiction.’

  ‘Arren, you are so literal-minded,’ said Cerisa with that air of disappointed melancholy she had made her own. ‘The bard Noevart has invested the tale with his own imaginings, adding his own exquisite sensibility to events, but who can doubt the eternal verities of his tale?’

  Arren was little the wiser. Was the story true or not? Lady Cerisa had been teaching them history and literature for the past three years, but at times her grasp of the distinction between the two seemed imperfect.

  ‘What Lady Cerisa means,’ said Siedra, ‘is that in seeing the Molo we will gain a greater appreciation of the story Noevart has given us.’

  Arren felt that they were likely to see little more than a lighthouse, but decided it was best to keep his own counsel.

  The Molo lay outside the city walls and the cariolo deposited them some way from their destination, still inside the town.

  ‘We are not yet at the Molo,’ said Lady Cerisa.

  ‘This is as close as a cariolo wi
ll take you, my lady,’ said the coachman. ‘You would not thank me for juddering your arses over the track between here and the Molo.’

  Siedra sniggered as Cerisa drew back from the affront. ‘Come, Cerisa, it will be an adventure. Surely Eleanora herself walked to the Molo.’

  Cerisa assented with poor grace and the trio alighted from the cariolo. The esplanade was crowded by the wall-gate. Evidently some kind of market was in progress. Arren was mindful of Coppercake’s strictures and resolved to keep the ladies away from the depredations of grasping merchants.

  The inhabitants of Glount, with their olive skins and grey eyes, would have been pleasing to look on were it not for a certain superciliousness in their bearing. They carried themselves with a fastidious sense of their own worth, in garments which tended towards the luxurious. From a fried food stall came the smell of sausages, reminding Arren that he had skimped breakfast. Lady Cerisa would clearly regard sausages as beneath her dignity, and since he was in any event disinclined to haggle with the merchants, Arren resolved to go hungry.

  Once they left the city through the gate the crowds thinned. The wind whipped in off the sea, leaving perky white wavelets in its train, and finding a route under Arren’s cloak and shirt to the skin beneath. Siedra shivered and leaned into him a little.

  The road down the spit towards the Molo became increasingly rutted. Neither Siedra nor Cerisa had appropriate footwear, and Siedra began to grow fretful.

  ‘How much longer?’ she complained. ‘The Masque did not mention this infernal wind, and neither did Eleanora appear to risk turning her ankle with every stride.’

  Lady Cerisa beamed. ‘Does this not add to your conception of her tragic destiny? Can you not imagine her rushing to the Molo, desperate to warn Louison he has been betrayed, only to be slowed by the couch grass, grasping with its envious strands?’

  ‘Louison could look to his own rescue were it down to me,’ grumbled Siedra. ‘She would have been better advised not to have trusted her father in the first place. It should have been obvious to a child that he would kill Louison.’

  ‘You have no poetry,’ said Lady Cerisa. ‘Come, step out now! Ouch! Oh! Arren, my ankle is broken!’

  Arren slowed his pace and looked to where Lady Cerisa had fallen to the ground amidst the tussocks. He doubted that her injury was serious.

  ‘Oh!’ she wailed. ‘Oh, what misfortune! The pain!’

  Arren had no desire to examine her thick ankles at close quarters but saw no other way of assessing her injury. ‘Lie back,’ he said. ‘I will need to scrutinize for myself.’

  ‘Siedra! Hold my hand, dear Siedra!’

  Siedra removed her look of bored disdain and limply gave her hand to Cerisa as Arren palpated the ankle to cries of dismay. He rapidly concluded there was no serious damage, although convincing Lady Cerisa might not be straightforward.

  He stood up. ‘You must wait here a while, my lady. I will take Siedra with me to fetch help.’

  ‘No! Siedra must remain with me! What if ruffians approach? Those fishermen look coarse fellows.’

  ‘My lady, if ruffians are intent upon mischief, Siedra will not be the most effectual protector. She is Lord Thaume’s daughter, and I must protect her at all costs, even at a theoretical risk to your own dignity.’

  ‘Siedra! Do not leave me amidst the dunes!’

  ‘Come now,’ said Arren. ‘Stout heart is called for. We shall only be an hour, or at most two. Say three to be absolutely safe. In such a romantic locale the time will surely pass quickly.’

  ‘I find the pain is beginning to pass,’ said Cerisa with a doleful wince. ‘Help me up, and I think I may be able to hobble.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ muttered Siedra.

  ‘If you are truly sure, my lady,’ said Arren, and with some difficulty levered her to her feet.

  From the quay wandered one of the ‘coarse fellows’ Lady Cerisa had so abominated.

  ‘Sir, Mesdames, may I be of assistance? I am Delippe.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lady Cerisa, bridling. ‘I stumbled but am now recovered.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Delippe with a smile. ‘The accents of Croad! You are perhaps visiting the Molo?’

  Lady Cerisa looked carefully at the man. Tall and slender, with a twinkle in his eye, Delippe wore his shabby pantaloons and patched shirt with an insouciant swagger.

  ‘Yes, indeed we are,’ she said. ‘How much further?’

  Delippe shrugged. ‘A few hundred yards only, but the ground is uneven . . .’

  Lady Cerisa looked downcast; Arren felt rather more hopeful.

  ‘What if I were to take you on the Glauticus, my boat?’ asked Delippe. ‘Even with my crewmen aboard, there would be room for us all to sail out into the bay. You would see the Molo from a most unusual angle, and have a day to remember.’

  ‘You are too kind!’ exclaimed Lady Cerisa. ‘Siedra, we are in luck!’

  Siedra smiled weakly.

  A moment, sir,’ said Arren. ‘What would your tariff be?’ He was mindful of Coppercake’s warnings.

  Delippe raised his hands. ‘The amount would be nominal. I lose a certain amount of fishing time; shall we say a silver florin?’

  Do not part with coin under any circumstances. Arren remembered Coppercake’s injunction. Delippe seemed to sense his hesitation.

  ‘The folk of Glount have an undeserved reputation for avarice,’ he said with a wide smile. ‘Shall we say that you pay nothing in advance? We will complete our tour on the Glauticus. If you are satisfied you will pay me a silver florin – and maybe a small gratuity! – but if you are unmoved you need pay nothing. I leave the matter to your own honour. What do you say, sir? I see from your cloak and sword that despite your youth you are a seasoned man of good judgement. Will you not climb aboard?’

  ‘Come, Arren,’ said Lady Cerisa. ‘The fellow clearly means well, and we need pay nothing if we are not content; and once again I feel my ankle begin to throb.’

  Arren was mistrustful but could see no dignified escape. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let us travel on the Glauticus for one silver florin.’

  Delippe’s crewmates helped Lady Cerisa aboard with efficiency if little ceremony; Siedra was treated with a more ostentatious consideration, while Arren was left to clamber over the boards as he might.

  ‘Cast off!’ called Delippe. ‘Let us make for the Molo!’

  To Arren’s eye, the Molo seemed no more than a few hundred yards distant, but Delippe’s helmsman set off at a seemingly indirect angle and the destination loomed further away before it hove back into view.

  ‘Must we take such a circuitous route?’ he asked.

  Delippe dismissed the objection with an easy gesture. ‘The currents of the bay are perplexing to the tyro,’ he said. ‘Lubo has sailed these waters for twenty years; he can sniff the ebbs and flows as one tomcat sniffs the spray of another. You must all sit back and enjoy the view of Glount from the sea.’

  Arren had to admit that the city, rising up towards the hills, was a spectacular sight. On top of the walls he could pick out the patrols of the Cavalieres. Lady Cerisa appeared to be enjoying the ride less; to a close scrutiny her complexion revealed a greenish tint. Siedra, meanwhile, showed every sign of relishing the experience.

  Eventually Lubo turned the Glauticus back towards the Molo, which was certainly an impressive structure, reaching tall and spare into the sky, delineating the location of the city for sailors approaching.

  Lady Cerisa struggled to her feet. ‘Look, Siedra! You can scarcely see to the top, but that is where Eleanora cast herself down onto the rocks below. How cruel, how envious they are! Can you not hear them calling out to her?’

  Arren could hear no such thing; he was more concerned that the envious rocks would take a dislike to Glauticus’s hull, although Lubo appeared competent in the management of the boat. Siedra, too, evinced little interest in the matter.

  ‘Can we not go closer, good Delippe?’ asked Lady Cerisa. ‘I would see better the balc
ony from where Eleanora fell.’

  Delippe jerked his head towards Lubo, who ostentatiously swung the tiller, although Glauticus appeared to move no closer to the rocks. The third crewman pulled on a rope controlling the sail; Glauticus lurched to the side, and Lady Cerisa sprawled into Siedra with little dignity.

  ‘Tasolle!’ called Delippe. ‘Work the sail with more finesse!’

  Tasolle gave no visible acknowledgement. Lady Cerisa said: ‘I think we have seen enough. Those of us with sympathetic dispositions will have absorbed the essence of the place. Delippe, kindly return us to the shore!’

  Delippe nodded. ‘You have seen the Molo in all the detail you require,’ he said. ‘I feel sure that we have earned our fee.’

  Arren nodded and reached into his pouch and brought forth a silver florin. ‘Thank you, Delippe. It seems I was wrong to suspect all the folk of Glount of avarice.’

  Delippe looked at the florin with a chagrined expression. ‘Be that as it may, your humour is poorly defined.’

  ‘Humour?’

  You appear to be presenting this single florin as our fee. As a jest it is misconceived.’

  ‘That was our arrangement,’ said Arren with a flush. ‘One florin. Lady Cerisa, Siedra: you will confirm this.’

  ‘Young sir, do not try to make liars of the ladies! Let me present my reckoning: one silver florin each for use of the boat, making three florins. A further florin each for the expert commentary—’

  ‘What “commentary”?—’

  ‘—bringing the grand total to six florins. Let us add a further three florins hazard money as a result of Lady Cerisa’s demand to bring the Glauticus imprudently close to the rocks: nine florins. Add in a single florin as a gratuity and we arrive at a round ten florins.’

  ‘Monstrous!’ stormed Lady Cerisa. ‘No such sum will be payable: in fact, no sum at all will be payable. You may return us to the shore on the instant!’

  ‘There is much you fail to understand, my lady,’ said Delippe with a bland smile. ‘There is a concept known as “bargaining position”: essentially it states that in any transaction, one party will hold the other at a disadvantage. In this situation, you are on a boat which I control. Your return to the land, put bluntly, is entirely at my whim.’