The Duchess of the Shallows

by Neil McGarry

  "It's so beautiful, isn't it? I wish we could stay later and see the dancers," said a tall, willowy girl a bit younger than Duchess. She looked faintly familiar, and Duchess recognized her as the daughter of the butcher who sometimes drank with Noam. It was unlikely the girl would recognize her, but Duchess kept her head down just in case.

  "They'll never allow it, I'm certain," replied her companion, freckly with bushy red hair. "Not with the empress coming." Duchess nearly dropped the tray.

  "The empress is coming?"

  "Isn't she? There's a throne set up in the ballroom and everything."

  "Oh, that. I heard one of the gardeners say something about the baron fancying himself above his station." Duchess missed the rest, hurrying back to the kitchen. The empress in attendance meant the White, and that meant trouble beyond her worst nightmares. The White were by all accounts well trained, well armed, and poorly disposed towards thieves and other miscreants. If one of them even thought she was up to no good…but no, Eusbius was too low-ranked to merit an imperial visit, and in any case if the empress meant to attend Lysander would have heard about it. The second girl had the right of it, she told herself. The baron had either built the throne out of arrogance or as some accessory to his costume.

  Still, she wondered and worried even as she put the loaves in the oven and turned to the apple tarts Malia had ordered. She ought to take some look at the rest of the house, but she needed an excuse to get out of the kitchen. Spying a near-empty sack of flour, she saw her opportunity. It might earn her a crack from Malia's spoon, but a bruise would be worth it. Feigning carelessness, she knocked the sack to the floor, and flour puffed out in a white cloud. Tanee gasped and Kenna smirked, eager to see Duchess beaten. Malia, however, was relatively complaisant; evidently Duchess' work on the tarts had pleased her. "Get a broom from the hall and clean that up sharp. You have more tarts to make," she grumbled. "Kenna, stop grinning and get back to that broth or you'll feel my spoon again."

  Resisting the urge to wink at Kenna, Duchess ducked into the wide, paneled hall where she found the two girls who'd been gossiping, now standing on stools dusting portraits of what she assumed were past members of House Eusbius. "Are there brooms out here?" she asked.

  "They're probably in the ballroom," the redhead replied, pointing with her dust cloth. "But don't ask me to get it; I'm busy here." She rolled her eyes at the willowy girl and they both laughed, but Duchess had what she needed from them. She hurried in the direction the girl had pointed.

  She'd been ready for almost anything regarding the interior décor of the manor house. Between Brenn's description and what she'd already seen outside, she knew the ballroom would be anything but understated, and she was not disappointed. The room was enormous, clearly the largest in the house, and could have accommodated Noam's shop five times over with room for his market stall besides. Gold seemed everywhere. The ceiling, which rose nearly thirty feet above her, was covered with whorls of gold in religious patterns. The windows, more than twelve feet tall, were framed with rich, gold-threaded drapes. The marble floor was inlaid with swirls and lines of gold. Gilded mirrors glinted from walls, gold knobs and hinges gleamed on oaken doors, and cloth-of-gold covered the long tables set up for the food Malia and her crew had labored all day to produce. Gold leaf graced the banister and newel posts of a wide staircase that swept grandly up to the second floor and gave access to balconies that overlooked the ballroom. A golden chandelier hung above it all, outfitted with fresh, pearly white candles for the evening. Opposite the stairs stood a dais of three steps, on which sat the throne the red-haired girl had mentioned, also gold-inlaid and sparkling in the late afternoon sun that slanted through the windows. Duchess gawked like a child at the size, scope and luxury of the ballroom, until she remembered that, not three streets away, the Old Mater and whatever ragged child she had adopted this week begged passersby for alms. At sundown they would return to a life of squalor in the Deeps while the baron and his guests spent the evening in obscene splendor. It was the kind of thought her father might have had, she reflected with a pang.

  A small army of servants was at work here as well, putting the finishing touches on the party preparations. Four boys around Duchess' age had just finished setting up the tables, and were now bringing in chairs and benches. Some of Ahmed's girls were mopping the floor, and others were polishing the wood until doors, banisters and lintels glowed magnificently. The enormous hearth had been stacked with fresh wood, drapes had been washed, ironed and hung, and scented candles had been lit, filling the air with a sharp, fresh smell. No one paid Duchess any attention as she found a broom and headed back to the kitchen.

  As she was sweeping up the flour, Ahmed entered. "Malia, her ladyship will not put in an appearance at the party this evening. She'll take supper in her day room." Malia rounded on him and the girls flinched, but it seemed that a day of work and worry had made Ahmed bold. "And don't tell me that's not your job. You don't bring in flowers, and I don't serve supper." Malia glanced darkly at the still-bloody meat cleaver and Ahmed scuttled quickly away. Duchess felt a stab of sympathy, for Agalia, not Ahmed; if she'd been forced to sell herself like a horse to a merchant of questionable background…well, she didn't blame the lady one whit for not wanting to attend this farce of a party.

  "How would you like to make another sou?" Startled out of her thoughts, Duchess jumped, turning to find Malia close behind her wearing a strange expression. It took Duchess a moment to realize she was smiling. "If I have to take the lady her supper, I could be up there half the night, getting her more of this, or reheating that, and I don't have the time." She lowered her voice. "You seem smarter than most of what Ahmed brought me, so if you want the extra coin…" She lifted her eyebrows. Duchess was elated; taking the lady her supper was the perfect excuse for getting upstairs without attracting undue notice. She nodded, but she felt a needle of guilt. Malia was trying in her way to be generous – a sou was extravagant pay for such a small job – and Duchess was taking advantage of her. Would Malia get in trouble when the baron's dagger went missing? Duchess put that thought aside. The work in the kitchens might bring her coin for a few days, but no closer to the Grey, or answers to her endless questions. Naria of the Dark would not have wasted time on useless sympathy, she was certain.

  Malia looked relieved. "Lady Agalia doesn't usually require much, and she won't want you in the room while she's eating, that’s for certain. Just put the tray in the study, wait outside by the door, and do whatever she tells you." Malia regarded her critically. "But she can't see you in that," she said, indicating Duchess' floured and food-stained clothing. "Go out to the baths in back, past the cold house, and I'll have Marta bring hot water, soap, and something clean to wear. Nothing fancy, but it'll do for tonight."

  Duchess got moving. As she headed to the baths, she realized it was already early evening. The guests would be arriving shortly, which meant that Lysander was on his way. The thought that she would have a friend at hand was comforting. Marta arrived and soon enough Duchess was bathed, brushed, dressed, and as presentable as she was likely to get. Malia had provided a simple linen dress, dark green and more flattering than Duchess would have expected. She almost regretted throwing away the green ribbon, which had been nearly the same shade as the dress. Marta, who was quiet but seemed nice enough, helped get her hair into some semblance of order.

  By the time they got back to the kitchen, Malia was marshaling a group of boys, some of whom Duchess had seen in the ballroom, although now they too were scrubbed and more neatly dressed. They had either used a different bath than Duchess, or they'd bathed before she arrived. Tanee, Kenna, and the other girls were gone, having already been paid and dismissed, so it fell to Duchess and Marta to help arrange the trays of food the boys carried into the ballroom. There were more trays than boys, however, so Duchess and Marta hoisted a heavy platter of roasted meat between them and followed the parade of servants down the hall. Pipes sounded, harps sang, and costumed figures were a
lready streaming into the ballroom, gathering at the tables, eating and drinking. Baron Eusbius' party had finally begun.

  Chapter Eleven:

  A fox and a rabbit

  She immediately recognized Eusbius both by the ostentation of his outfit and his position on the dais. Lysander hadn't been certain of the season's fashion in costumes, but looking around the room Duchess saw that the theme was gods, goddesses, and sundry spirits. Eusbius himself was clearly Ventaris, and like the ballroom itself he was covered with gold. He wore a circular golden mask with rays emerging from all sides, and voluminous robes of gold with long, dagged sleeves and embroidery at the hem. Duchess thought he would have made a more impressive sight without the enormous belly that pushed at the front of his costume. He arose from his throne to greet the guests who had queued up in an impromptu reception line, and she saw that two other, smaller chairs had been placed on the dais. One was empty, and clearly meant for Lady Agalia, but the other was occupied by a slender young man wearing a domino mask and the ears of a fox spirit. Unlike the baron, his long blond hair was the only golden thing about him; his doublet and tight satin breeches were red, black and white. The man seemed utterly disinterested and only nodded at the guests as they filed by.

  A number of guests had already gone through the reception line and were making themselves at home, picking at the food, sipping drinks and talking amongst themselves. Marta scuttled off after they had set down the tray, but Duchess lingered, pretending to straighten a tablecloth so she could listen to their talk.

  "Have you seen her, then?" said one woman in a green-and-brown shimmering sheath. Her hair had been dyed black and done up in ropy strands so she resembled a marsh hag, a creature who crept out at night to steal the breath of small children.

  "Lady Agalia?" replied her companion, who was equally hag-like in red, although under that costume she might have been as beautiful as Lorelei. "No, poor dear. I think she must be feeling under the weather."

  "I'm hardly surprised. Her husband's costume is enough to make anyone feel ill. And that throne!" The two women cackled, sounding almost like real marsh hags.

  "This food is gods-sent, though," said the red hag, taking a bite of herbed bread. Duchess smiled. "Speaking of the gods, have you found this Anassa of yours?"

  The green hag lifted a flute of purple wine. "She's hardly mine, dear; in fact, I'm sure I don't know who she is. Curious that she'd dress so close to the real cult style, though. One might have thought she was an actual facet."

  "That comes a bit close to heresy, don't you think?"

  "I suppose. Though it's one thing to be a heretic of Anassa," the green hag replied, pointing with her glass at the baron, "and another to play Ventaris as a pompous, fat fool." They went off into another gale of laughter, and Duchess moved away before they noticed her eavesdropping. The ballroom was filling rapidly, and the costumes were many and varied. Here a wood imp challenged a water fairy to a drinking contest, and there an underdemon watched a ghost and a spirit dragon play some game involving coins flipped from bent elbows. Three goat-headed men were lustily attacking the roast Duchess had carried, while a dancing spider devoured the pear tarts as if they might suddenly vanish.

  Duchess was so distracted by the array of costumes that she didn't notice the god of the moon until she crashed into him. Sar was only a lesser power, but he had enough heft to knock her inelegantly to the floor. Before Duchess could stammer out an apology, he reached out to help her back to her feet, and it was only then that she recognized Lysander. He looked amazing in a silver half-mask and a black robe that revealed more than it hid, but she was careful not to show she recognized him. Behind him was an older gentleman dressed in the pearly white costume of Sar's opposite, Sav. She assumed this was Stephan.

  "My goodness, I'm sorry," Lysander was saying. He began dusting her off. "I'm afraid I've dirtied that lovely little dress, and before I've even had one drink." He turned halfway to Stephan. "If I'm to start knocking over young girls, I'd better get drunk first and have an excuse. Is that brandy over there from the Territories, do you think?" Stephan turned to look in that direction, and just like that Lysander slid his small tool kit into the pocket of her dress. The movement was so smooth Duchess barely felt it. Ventaris only knew how he'd smuggled the thing into the estate; even from here she could see that the door guards were subjecting the guests to careful scrutiny. Still no Brutes, she noticed, but she imagined Eusbius would want to keep them out of view, at least on this night.

  "Pardons, m'lord," she replied. Part of her wanted to slip away to the kitchens before she attracted more attention, but something had hold of her. She placed one hand on Lysander's and the other over her heart. "Perhaps m'lord can make it up to me later." She flicked her eyes towards the staircase and made a wicked smile.

  If Lysander's expression was gold, Stephan's was diamond, and more than worth everything she'd gone through today. She gave him a final wink and returned to the kitchen, where she found Malia just finishing up a tray for Lady Agalia. Marta was nowhere to be seen, and the boys who'd carried the food were still in the ballroom, carrying drinks, straightening costumes, and being ogled by the partnered and unaccompanied alike. For the first time since Duchess had arrived that day, the kitchen was quiet.

  "Shall I take this up to the lady?" Duchess asked, trying not to let her tension show. Now that she had the lock picks, there was no reason to delay. She'd come for a dagger, and it was time to get it.

  Malia nodded and handed her the tray. "Go upstairs and take the first door on the right. That's the lady's day room. But keep a civil tongue in your head, and don't stand about while she eats. She hates that. Just wait outside the door. If she's not there," she added, looking more kindly than she had all day, "you can watch the party from the balcony. The dancing will start soon, you'll like that." She shooed Duchess away and moved off to the pantry, muttering something about Ahmed.

  Duchess returned to the ballroom, which was now thronged with costumed nobility and their guests. She craned her neck, looking for Lysander, and spied him on the dance floor. He and Stephan were dancing close together; scandalously close, if the cackling of the hags was any indication. A circle formed to watch them, and when the song ended, one voice soared above the applause and roars of approval.

  "Simply marvelous, Stephan!" rang out a voice in the silence that followed. The speaker was a man dressed in purple, with his face and hands powdered white and his hair teased into a cloud. Duchess imagined he was supposed to be a spirit or revenant of some kind, but the effect made him look rather more like a plum tart topped in whipped cream. "And such a clever costume! Pairs are so hard to do well, aren't they? So difficult to pull off believably." Stephan began some mumbled response, but the man went on as if he'd heard nothing. "I wonder if your companion is as, ah, untouched, as the real Sar?" In the myths, Sar and Sav, though lovers, never fully came together and thus never consummated their affections. They chased each other eternally across the face of the moon, bringing darkness and light each in turn.

  "Your Sar smells of the Shallows to me," tittered the woman on his arm, looking scarcely older than Duchess. She was dressed as a matching ghoul, although her tiara was clearly gold-painted tin and the fabric of her costume was not nearly as fine. "And I doubt he's a virgin." She looked at Lysander disdainfully. "Vir-gin. You do know what a virgin is, don't you sweetie?"

  From the way she said sweetie Duchess sensed she was not as highborn as the man whose arm she held, and Lysander must have guessed the same. "Indeed I do know what a virgin is, my lady," he replied gaily. "And if you find yourself confused, I suggest you look in a mirror in, say … twenty years."

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the gathered crowd, including the revenant, burst into gales of laughter. The ghoul-woman shot Lysander a glare of pure rage, but before she could reply the musicians struck up a tune and the dancing resumed. Duchess marveled at Lysander's cleverness; someone of his station could never openly mock a no
ble, but a common companion was fair game.

  She caught his eye and motioned faintly towards the stairs, but she dared make no clearer signal, uncertain in this crowd who might be watching. In response, Lysander leaned into Stephan's ear and whispered something. Stephan laughed, and they approached a young lady dressed as a minor sea goddess on the edge of the crowd. Each taking one hand, they spun her in a circle, no longer a duo but a trio. They danced for a bit before Lysander slipped away, leaving Stephan and his new partner to continue on their own. Then he threaded his way towards her, snatching a piece of roast from the food tables as he passed. Duchess watched him admiringly; no one would guess he was moving purposefully towards her. It was the first time she'd seen Lysander in a situation like this, and he was better than she'd expected. She had set down the tray and was pretending to arrange the tableware Malia had given her, and Lysander fiddled with his mask. For the moment, they had relative privacy.

  "I'm heading upstairs," she said, not looking at him. "Dinner for the lady. I'm going to try sneaking to where they caught Brenn, near the third floor." She frowned at the tray as if vexed. "I might need a distraction. Meet me upstairs in a few minutes." She broke off as a cat spirit approached, and Lysander turned casually away to pick at the remains of the roast. He gave no sign that he had heard her, but she knew he'd gotten every word. He snatched a bottle of wine from a table and slipped into the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who attended parties for a living.

  * * *

  The stairs were wide and richly carpeted, and she seemed to climb forever to reach the second floor. The whole house seemed centered on the ballroom, and almost the entire second-floor hallway overlooked it. From what Brenn had told Lysander, she'd need to turn right and go all the way around, past two balconies, to reach the stairs that led to the third floor and the baron's gallery. She felt a thrill of fear at the thought of the guards who lurked upstairs. They'd nearly drowned the last trespasser, who was an invited guest; what would they do to a kitchen girl turned thief? She pushed the thoughts from her mind and followed Malia's directions to Agalia's day room, which she would have to pass anyway to get to the third floor. Hopefully, the lady would have no need of her during dinner, which would give Duchess that much more time to steal the dagger and make off before the alarm was raised.