The question came haltingly. “Mesnera, have you ever thought…have you ever wished you had been born a man?”
Barbara turned the idea over in her mind. She was accustomed to the awkwardness that came with playing a man’s role as often as she did. So many things would have been easier, so many paths smoother, and yet…
She cast her mind back even further. If her father’s bastard had been a son, would he have thought it worth the cost to acknowledge him and regularize his position? How would all their lives have changed if she had been raised as heir-default to Saveze? And yet…then there would have been no reason for the old baron to bring Margerit into his plans. They never would have met. Even as an unacknowledged son, their lives might have run more like that wretched novel that had stirred so much gossip. The lost heir of Lautencourt, indeed! What if her rise in society had given her the chance to offer Margerit, not this private promise and the risk of scandal, but marriage and the rank of baroness? And yet…
They had met and loved as women. That much was certain. Who could say what else would have changed, what would have remained?
“Forgive me, Mesnera. I should not have asked,” Tavit said quietly.
Barbara shook her head. “I think…I am more than content—no, I am joyful—to be in the place I find myself. And I don’t think I could have come to this place by any road but the one I’ve traveled. If there are limits to what this body can do—” She gestured to take it in. “—they are limits made by others, not my limits. No, I wouldn’t choose to be other than what I am.”
Tavit seemed disquieted by her answer, but how could he understand? It would be a strange man indeed who could accept that one might prefer to be female despite those limitations.
* * *
The doorman at Sainkall’s was sufficiently overawed by her title and manner to stand aside, but the attendant who stood at the entrance to the main salle seemed ready to expect more than a vague mention of visiting a guest. Barbara hadn’t wanted to offer Kreiser’s name in particular for she could hardly claim that he would be expecting her.
Salvation came in an unexpected form. One of a pair of men standing by the ornate marble mantelpiece called out, “Ha! Saveze! I’ve been hoping to speak to you.”
Baron Mazuk’s greeting was the entrée needed. Barbara nodded at the attendant and passed in.
“Have you returned late to Rotenek?” Barbara asked. “I don’t recall seeing you around town.” Their lives fell in different orbits; it wouldn’t have been odd to miss each other.
“Too much damned business back home.”
Barbara counted it a victory for her stratagem that he neglected to soften his speech as he would for a lady. “Ah yes, your canal. Surely it’s complete by now?”
He shook his head and descended into a torrent of complaints about delays and overruns. “The digging—that’s only the first part. There’s locks and bridges and all manner of things. Until that’s done I can’t bring in the coal, and without the coal I can’t expand the ironworks. It will all pay for itself in no time once I get to that point. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in investing?”
It was clear from Mazuk’s hungry look that this was the matter he’d hoped to bring to her.
“Invest in your canal or your ironworks?” Barbara asked, postponing the moment of refusal.
“Comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?”
Barbara shrugged. If income were all that mattered… But the canal would benefit Turinz as well, the ironworks would not. “I don’t have the funds for investing at the moment. Turinz has been badly neglected and that’s where every spare teneir is going.”
“But Maisetra Sovitre—”
“I don’t advise Margerit Sovitre on her investments. If you have a proposal to make, speak to her man of business.” And if it were promising, LeFevre might even recommend it. It was tiresome that one of the few times people pointedly acknowledged her bond with Margerit was when money was involved. To soften the refusal, she added, “You might remember LeFevre from your visit in June. He’s quite familiar with your projects.”
“I just may do that,” Mazuk said impatiently. “She owes me at least a hearing.”
“Indeed?” Barbara put enough of a chill in that one word to send a warning but Mazuk failed to take the hint.
“We all know that earthquake wasn’t natural. All this poking around at the mysteries. Don’t think people can’t tell what comes of it. The guildmasters need to take her in hand.”
He wasn’t speaking of the social guilds, the ones that sponsored the public celebrations. Everyone knew there were more quiet organizations that never advertised their activities. The old baron had belonged to one or two of those, though of course she’d never been a witness to their ceremonies. It was in those ranks that a thaumaturgist found training—if he were a man. Barbara had sometimes wondered what they thought of Margerit’s success. Was Mazuk…? No, if he had influence in such circles he wouldn’t be boasting of it here.
“If you have concerns about the activities of the Royal Guild,” she said evenly, “you should take them to Her Grace.”
It had been a bluff. He backed down quickly and suggested they fetch a bottle of wine to smooth over the misunderstanding. The invitation provided the opportunity to work her way unobtrusively through the public rooms. Barbara found Kreiser intently watching a game of cards. Watching seemed to be his favorite sport. He showed the slightest flicker of surprise at seeing her and then moved casually to join her and accept a glass from Mazuk.
“To what do we owe this honor?” Kreiser asked.
“In fact, I was hoping to have a word with you,” she replied.
As by a conjurer’s sleight of hand, Barbara found herself in a private alcove off one of the smaller salles. Mazuk had been diplomatically disposed of.
Kreiser seated himself in a facing chair and said, “I wondered when we might have this chat.” There was little of the verbal fencing in his voice this time.
Barbara, too, left off her games, though not her caution. “You’ve been hinting about the odd weather in the mountains. And something associated with the mountains has interfered with the Mystery of Saint Mauriz, and again at the All Saints’ Castellum. What do you know about it?”
His interest sharpened. “Interfered? How?”
“We may come to details later,” Barbara said. “You’ve been teasing at me with hints for the last year. Why?”
Kreiser steepled his fingers and considered before answering, “What do you know of affairs in Spain?”
Was this more game playing or was he coming unexpectedly to the point? “What has Spain to do with Alpennia?”
He gave her the pitying look a schoolmaster bestows on a slow-witted pupil. “Everywhere has to do with everywhere. Did you learn nothing from the French Wars? I can’t explain anything to you if you haven’t been paying attention. If you want to know why the passes are blocked at midsummer, I suggest you look to Spain.”
Now he was toying with her. “I fail to see how Spanish politics are relevant to heavy snows in the Alps that fail to thaw. Or is that not what we’re speaking of?”
“Snow prevents movement, movement brings influence, influence must be balanced. Every government has reasons to want certain movements to be harder than others. The spine of Europe is currently a locked gate to anyone traveling between north and south. Had you noticed that? Or are you still thinking only of the revenues of the innkeeper at Atefels? My own government is not entirely unhappy with the current state of things, but they are suspicious of the means. You’re still fumbling at why when you should be asking how. Alpennia stands at the edge of the effect and Alpennia has a long tradition of powerful thaumaturgy. Are you so certain that the strange behavior of your mysteries is an effect and not a cause?”
The accusation under his words sank in. “You think…” Barbara felt out of her depth. Had Alpennia had a hand in the matter? The Royal Guild was only the public face of Alpennian thaumaturgy. There
were those other guilds…
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Kreiser said mildly. “There are those who do. The Swiss might be suspect if anyone thought them capable of it. The French—well, the French would be the obvious answer, wouldn’t they? But I’ve never heard of anyone working at that distance in unfamiliar territory. They say there are a few people in England who might be capable of such a thing, but they’re even more secretive than the Venetians. Blocking travel is only a small part of the matter. What else have your fraying mysteries revealed?”
“Nothing we can interpret. Maisetra Talarico says—” She stopped. Kreiser had told her nothing yet. Nothing of real value. Why should she give him that for free? “What exactly is your position with the Austrian embassy? I know you first came to Alpennia on the track of my cousin’s alchemy, but I can’t believe you stayed only to meddle in marriage alliances.”
Kreiser gave a little half salute to acknowledge the substance of it. “One must keep busy, after all.”
Barbara ventured a direct feint. “Was this your assignment from the beginning? To investigate the source of this unusual weather? Or is that only one more way to keep busy?”
“You still think this is about snow. And here I thought we might have useful information to exchange. I gave you the mountain passes over a year ago. Have you gone no further than that?”
He eyed her expectantly, but Barbara had fallen into confused caution again. Was he, too, thinking of matters such as Mazuk’s earthquake? Was everything deeper than she thought or was this only his counter-feint? She rose. “This has been a fascinating conversation. I regret that there’s nothing further I can tell you.”
Kreiser smiled. “Oh, you’ve told me a great deal already.”
* * *
Barbara knew better than to think that there was anything Kreiser had said that was not already well known at the palace. But the conversation itself—that was something she didn’t care to keep to herself. Reporting it didn’t seem crucial enough for haste, and this time of the year was busy for both high and low. A delay meant that Margerit could add her own theories and conclusions. Even so it was nearly the end of November before she could make arrangements for an appointment. She usually dealt with Albori himself but he was off to Paris, and not until packets had been sent there and back was an assistant minister instructed to take her report.
“And you think this…this storm is interfering with the mysteries?” the man asked.
“I’m not sure,” Margerit said carefully. “The flaws in the Mauriz existed well before this past winter and we know their sources.”
He waved his hand to dismiss that point. Princess Annek had chosen not to challenge Archbishop Fereir over the revisions to the ceremony. The tutela belonged to the church’s mysteries, not those of state. It was outside his remit.
“If someone has been dabbling in weather mysteries, we don’t know when it began,” Barbara added. “Nothing this powerful could be achieved at the first attempt. Except for strength and duration, one winter storm looks much like another. The Austrians seem to be convinced this disturbance isn’t natural. Kreiser hinted it had something to do with Spain.”
The assistant minister shifted uncomfortably. Barbara suspected that he was unaccustomed to discussing politics with women. With the sole exception of Princess Annek, of course.
“That’s nothing to concern you,” he concluded. “The matter of the Spanish succession is long settled. We’ve had some difficulties with trade but I think we can weather a few hard snows.” He laughed at his own joke. “Saveze, if you want to help this fellow poke around after secret thaumaturgists, you have Her Grace’s leave. I’ll file your report. Just let me know before you start naming names.”
“He’s as bad as the archbishop,” Margerit grumbled afterward as their little company navigated through the maze of palace corridors. “Sometimes I don’t think any of them believe in miracles.”
Barbara squeezed her hand. “Sometimes I think we need a different word than ‘miracle.’ Unless you want to call Kreiser’s blizzard a miracle. You can’t blame a bureaucrat for concentrating on the problems he can touch. How does it change the tariffs on cheese or the peace with France if you see some strange lights when you’re praying in the cathedral?”
“Don’t you start—” Margerit began.
“You know I’m not mocking! But people believe in little miracles—the ones that touch them directly.” She waved her hand to take in the city at large. “They don’t believe in the Great Mysteries the same way as they do if their child is cured of the pox or their son comes safe home from war. It’s what Gaudericus says: how can truth prevail when a charlatan’s trick is more often believed than a true miracle? But I wish we could have talked to Albori directly. He of all people should know better. He wears one of Antuniet’s alchemical gems.”
A slight cough from Margerit’s armin, Marken, drew their attention to an approaching figure.
“Who…?” Margerit whispered, frowning.
Barbara took on the introductions. “Maistir Chautovil, I hope you are well? And that your pupil is the same? Margerit, this is Aukustin’s tutor. Chautovil, you know Maisetra Sovitre?”
“Of course,” he replied, greeting them with a bow. He was young for the position of tutoring one of the potential heirs to the throne. His haphazard brown curls made him look more the student than the teacher, but the dowager princess had preferred a more sympathetic figure to the dry old schoolmaster who had been his predecessor. “Indeed,” Chautovil continued, “it was seeing Maisetra Sovitre that reminded me of an errand I’d like your help with. I believe you know the scholar, Akezze Mainus?”
“Very well,” Margerit said warmly, always eager to promote her friends.
“I was hoping you might be willing to put in a word. She’s been praised to the heavens as a teacher of logic and rhetoric, but when I inquired, she returned a note saying she wasn’t taking on more students at the moment. I wouldn’t want her to think it was an official request…”
“Ah, for Aukustin, you mean,” Margerit said. “No, Maisetra Mainus hasn’t much use for rank, I’m afraid. But I could put in a word as a friend.”
“And now you remind me of an unfinished errand,” Barbara said. “Do you recall my cousin? You recommended his last tutor, but the man’s been taken away by family business. I’ve had no luck finding a replacement. I don’t suppose you know anyone?”
A curious look came over Chautovil’s face. “Strange that you should ask. As it happens…hmm. There are inquiries I would need to make first. Might I call in a few days time to discuss the matter?”
* * *
Barbara nearly forgot the appointment with Chautovil that morning in the face of the news brought to the breakfast table.
“It’s from LeFevre,” Margerit said, waving the unfolded note that Ponivin had just presented to her. “Fonten House has sold.”
“So soon?” Barbara said. LeFevre had mentioned interest, but who was in a hurry to purchase a summer property at the beginning of December?
Bertrut gave a quiet sigh. “So it’s done. I know it was for the best, but it was such a lovely place.” She still had strong ties in Chalanz. Stronger than those Margerit had left.
Charul Pertinek reached over to pat his wife’s hand. “We’ll still have our summer visit there. We can rent some rooms and you won’t have all the fuss of a large household.”
The first of the day’s visitors interrupted the making of plans to begin viewing properties. Margerit often found an excuse to avoid the parlor when it was filled with Bertrut’s friends, but Barbara found she had no similar escape while awaiting Chautovil. She perched on a damask-covered chair, summoned up a gracious smile, and pretended interest in what the Chafils planned to serve at their next dinner party. Relief came in the guise of a footman announcing the tutor’s arrival and Barbara met him in the foyer, suggesting that they might talk more easily in the library.
Chautovil glanced into the occupied par
lor uncertainly and said, “Perhaps that might…no, it wouldn’t do, I’m afraid. Mesnera Lumbeirt, forgive me for allowing you no notice, but I’m afraid she insisted on coming personally.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. “I only came ahead to avoid surprising you entirely.”
Barbara’s imagination jumped to the only possible conclusion and went out to meet the carriage that stood waiting in the narrow yard. Chautovil would not have bothered with a carriage if he’d come alone.
A footman handed the stately woman down the carriage steps as Barbara sank into a welcoming curtsey. The Dowager Princess Elisebet still had traces of the famed beauty of her youth. But time had coarsened her features and worry had given her once-sparkling eyes a furtive and haunted look. Less haunted now than a year past when she saw conspiracies against her son in every shadow.
“Mesnera Atilliet,” Barbara said. “This is an unexpected honor. Please, won’t you come in?” And for God’s sake will someone please warn Bertrut! she thought.
Introductions threw a pall of silence over the parlor, leavened only by the hurried appearance of a plate of cakes offered with stiff pleasantries. Bertrut Pertinek had survived the ordeal of being presented at court as the price of having married a man of noble rank, but it was utterly unfair to ask her to entertain royalty in her own parlor. Barbara took pity and reminded her of an entirely fictional appointment.
In the wake of the relieved departures of Bertrut and her friends, Barbara turned to business. “Mesnera Atilliet, your son’s tutor had consented to advise me on a small domestic matter, but I believe you have come on a different errand entirely?” She exchanged quick glances with Chautovil who looked somewhat embarrassed but at ease.
Princess Elisebet leaned back against the settee as if it were a throne. “I should like to meet this cousin of yours.”
“Brandel?” Barbara asked in surprise. He was at home at the moment—or he should be. One could never be entirely certain unless he’d been given specific orders. She rang for a maid and gave hurried instructions.
Mother of Souls: A novel of Alpennia Page 14
