by Rob J. Hayes
Isabel could already see Baroness la’Tet had noticed the interaction, now all she needed to do was disengage and approach the woman and her group with a kind word and a subservient attitude.
“I completely agree,” Isabel continued in a quieter voice. “I much prefer to have something with an ease of movement about it.” She gave a little wriggle to make her point. “But please, don’t let me keep you.”
“Have we met before?” the Lady Ermine asked.
Isabel silently cursed her bad luck. It was far too early to come to the attention of any of the Valettes. Still, there was no backing out now. She curtsied again. “Lady Jacqueline Duval. We met a few years ago, I believe it was also a winter solstice.”
The Lady Ermine nodded in agreement. Isabel had chosen the Duval family as her cover for a reason. The current Marquis Duval was known for three things; his sour face, his refusal to attend any and all social functions, and his ability to produce only daughters. The Marquis had, to date, four wives (three now long since dead) and thirteen daughters who were also known for their social abstinence, and so Isabel was fairly certain no one in attendance would recognise them all.
The Lady Ermine smiled and touched Isabel’s arm. “You must convince your father to come next year, Lady Jacqueline, and some more of your sisters also. I know the Duc would be most thrilled to see more of his old friend.”
Isabel almost laughed. Duc Valette and Marquis Duval were just short of enemies. It would take nothing less than a marriage to mend that bridge.
“I will be certain to pass on your father’s wishes, my lady,” Isabel said with all courtesy.
The Lady Ermine said a graceful goodbye and with one last smile walked away. Isabel noticed with more than a little pride that the entire encounter had been watched by Baroness la’Tet. She glided over to the ageing socialite, introduced herself and made a sparkling comment about the Baroness’ latest grandchild. Within moments she had been accepted into the group.
“Our covers are perfect,” Isabel said with more than a little pride.
Jacques shook his head. “There’s no such thing as perfection, my lady, though it is true I do come very close.”
Isabel snorted. “The perfect fool maybe.”
“I’ll ignore that one, Lady Jacqueline Duval. Eighth daughter of Marquis Duval and heiress of approximately nothing. One of the prettier Duval’s without a doubt, but a little out of touch with current fashion trends, at least around the border towns. A sparkling conversationalist but with a nasty habit of drinking a little more than she should,” he paused and grinned. “A habit so many of the well-to-dos share.”
Isabel curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lord Francis Faveu. Second son of a second son with no land, no real title and nothing to his name other than his blood and a small alchemy shop in Saris, struggling to stay afloat without regular hand-outs from a doting father.”
“Why Lady Duval, you know me so well,” Jacques said with a mock smile.
“Not at all, Lord Faveu, I assure you we have never met,” Isabel replied with an equally fake grin.
It was a game they played often; both would assume their characters (usually fictional creations but they had, on occasion, impersonated real people) and act as though they had never met but had heard of the other. They would, in great and sometimes painful detail, describe the other’s persona until they were both satisfied that they knew the characters inside and out.
“I think,” Jacques said slipping out of character, “Lord Faveu should be a gambler.” He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind Isabel’s ear and his hand came back with a card, a blind deuce. “We could make a little bit of extra money if I can rustle up a game.”
Isabel took the opportunity to rid herself of her own character; sometimes it was a relief just to be herself for a change. She stepped closer to Jacques and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
“No gambling,” she said stepping away and waving the blind deuce at him.
He gasped. “When did you? Oh, misdirection. Very clever, Bel.”
For Jacques, inserting himself into groups and their conversations had always been the easiest part of a job. He simply turned on the charm and made certain he never aimed too high; a simple Lord, second son of a second son would never have occasion to talk to a Duc or even a Marquis. No the best he should aim for would be a Vicomte but more likely a Baron, and there were plenty of those at the Valette estate this night.
He spotted a likely group and moved in with his best winning smile. It was always good to have an opener when approaching a new group and for that very reason (and his own fascination) Jacques had long ago studied the basics of alchemy; while he didn’t know how to create the more complex formulae such as Black Powder or Fire Oil or Weather Bane he knew the names of all the apparatus and many of the more common creations. His limited knowledge would also lead credence to his chosen cover this night.
The insertion point was always the most vital and, for some, nerve-wracking. “Baron Leylard,” Jacques started. “My name is Francis Faveu…”
“Ha!” the old Baron barked, his fleshy jowls wobbling with the motion. “One of Comte Faveu’s gets are you?”
The venom with which the old Baron spat the Faveu name gave Jacques some pause, it was possible his research may have been lacking.
Jacques smiled. “Ah, no, most assuredly not. I am, however, one of Baron Faveu’s gets.”
Baron Leylard had to think about that, he quickly covered his confusion with a large swig from his wine glass. “The second son?”
“Indeed.”
“That would make you…”
“No more than an Écuyer,”
Baron Leylard grunted and gave Jacques a piercing look full of unconcealed disdain. In the eyes of the titled nobility Écuyers were little more than commoners. “Useless bunch of fools the Faveus. Never met a more pampered group of King’s yes men.”
Jacques cleared his throat. “I completely agree, Baron Leylard. In truth I myself have never met a more insipidly dull person than my father, with the single possibility of my grandfather. I have personally distanced myself from them for just that reason.”
The old Baron grunted.
“I own a small alchemy shop,” he continued, “and I hear you are fairly well acquainted with the science yourself. I was hoping we might share some formulae. I myself have discovered a wonderful substance just recently that bonds as strong as stone in minutes when exposed to air.”
“Ha!” the Baron barked again. “Sounds like Quick Steel to me.”
From there it was easy. The rest of the small group introduced themselves; lesser Lords and Chevaliers all, the old Baron and Jacques exchanged a handful of popular well-known formulae and the night passed quickly. Right up until the point where Jacques was caught stealing from the Baron.
“My watch is missing,” the Baron said with a wobble of his jowls. He was, of course, referring to his pocket watch which, unbeknown to the Baron, was not missing but was in fact sat in Jacques’ right hand trouser pocket, a place it needed quickly moving from before he was accused, quite rightly, of stealing.
Some of the other members of the party began asking the most inane of questions.
“Where did you have it last?”
“Are you certain you had it with you?”
One of the fools even went so far as to say. “It’s always in the last place you look.”
Jacques let out a mental sigh at the sheer non-impact of the statement. He needed to distract the others and quickly and in his experience there were two options. He could point and say ‘Look over there’ but he had long ago discovered the most successful way to distract a group of people was to simply stare.
Jacques picked a spot, over by the garden windows, and gave it a thorough staring complete with a frown. It didn’t take long before the Baron noticed and proceeded to join in, from there it was easy. The others in the group, not wanting to be left out also joined in the group staring. Jacq
ues quickly fished into his pocket, pulled out the watch and dropped it, catching it expertly on his foot and then nudging it silently onto the floor behind the Baron.
Eventually the Baron quit his stare and looked at Jacques. “What are you looking at?”
Jacques startled, as if noticing the Baron for the first time. “I’m sorry, I thought I saw… It really doesn’t matter.”
“Your watch!” chimed in one of the other members of the group, a chinless Chevalier whose name Jacques didn’t feel the need to remember. “On the floor behind you.”
The Baron turned and cursed. “Second damned chain I’ve managed to break this year.”
From there the conversation steered onto safer topics. Jacques had successfully managed to steal the watch and give it back without any suspicion and, hopefully, without Isabel noticing.
“Lockpicks,” Isabel said reading from the list.
“Check,” Jacques said and laid the set of picks on the mat. They were the same set Isabel had been using for nearly six years now and they were also the best set she’d ever owned. Perfectly sized and weighted and made from the strongest treated steel so they would never snap or bend.
“Alcohol strips.”
“Check,” Jacques passed the two strips to Isabel who quickly wrapped them around her wrists. They were translucent double-sided strips of an alchemical substance she neither understood nor wanted to. At present the strips were inert but when the top layer was peeled away they would emit a strong scent of alcohol, not enough to be overpowering or offensive, but certainly enough to convince anyone nearby that Isabel had been drinking heavily.
“Neutralising agent.”
“Check,” Jacques held up the small vial of clear liquid and gave it a shake before wrapping it carefully in cloth and placing it on the mat. The neutraliser would once again render the alcohol strips inert and, dabbed in the right places, would completely mask her perfume.
“Liquid Ice-Fire,” Isabel said with a sidelong glance at her partner.
“Check,” he held up the vial of two-tone liquid, blue on the bottom and orange on the top. With a shake the liquid inside the vial mixed and turned a vivid lavender colour. Given a few hours it would once again settle into its two components.
Jacques sighed. “This tiny vial is quite possibly the most expensive thing I have ever purchased.”
Isabel nodded. “But the money we’ll make from this job covers it ten times over.”
“I know… I’d just really like to see it work instead of standing outside a window all night.”
“Would you like to take my place?” she asked with a mocking smile. “Perhaps you can convince Bruno Valette you’re a gentleman in distress.”
“If only,” Jacques said with another sigh. “I do believe social protocol dictates gentlemen in distress are ejected from the premises with a ‘never return’ policy.”
“Well you may not get to see the stuff work but neither do you have to risk it burning your face off!” Isabel said with a smile, though in truth it was only half a joke. Ice-Fire had the dubious privilege of being the second most dangerous substance alchemy could create, and she was not entirely confident the application of the stuff wouldn’t somehow go wrong and kill her.
“I do hope that doesn’t happen,” Jacques said. “I like your face.”
“I’m quite fond of it myself.”
Jacques wrapped the vial very carefully in its own bundle of cloth and placed it on the mat next to the neutraliser.
“Fire Oil.”
“Check.”
“Two sachets of Sleep,” Isabel finished the list.
“Check. Do try not to use them.”
Isabel shrugged. “I’ve a talent for putting men to sleep.”
Jacques snorted. “You’ve a talent for keeping me awake.”
As the evening wound on, more and more of the attendees became more and more inebriated, Isabel couldn’t have hoped for a better setup. Eventually Comte Bruno Valette made an appearance, looking every bit the regal Lord in his fine black suit and artfully arranged hair. He soon found his sister, the Lady Ermine and again Isabel rejoiced; having already engaged the Lady earlier in the night she now had an opening to approach the Comte.
During a function such as the Winter Solstice Ball some people would leave early but many would stay right until the end and the Valettes were expected to entertain until then. Isabel chose her timing well, past the strike of new day but long before the festivities started to wind down. With a curtsy and a host of kind words she extricated herself from the Baroness’ group and made her way towards the Lady Ermine and Comte Bruno. She pulled off the outer layers of the alcohol strips as she went and the acrid smell of strong liquor rose to surround her.
The ruse would work better if she was invited to the group so Isabel made to pass the Valettes by. The Lady Ermine noticed her at once and gave a little wave. With a drunken half-smile Isabel ambled over.
“Lady Jacqueline,” said the Lady Ermine, her eyes lighting up and a wide smile spreading across her face. “I do hope you are enjoying yourself.”
“Oh yes,” Isabel said forcing a flush of colour to her cheeks. “A little too much I fear.” The slur was a little forced but it seemed to serve.
“So I see,” the Lady Ermine laughed. “Tell me, have you met my brother, Comte Bruno Valette?”
Isabel turned to the Comte and gave a shaky curtsy. “I, um… No I do not believe so. It is a pleasure,” she slurred.
The Comte took her hand and gave a minute bow of his head but his mouth remained set and his eyes remained cold. “You are drunk, Lady Duval.”
“Bruno,” the Lady Ermine chastised, clearly aghast.
Isabel affected a forced smile, and for the first time noticed the Comte was drinking clear liquid, most likely water. Some people not only eschewed the consumption of alcohol but actually abhorred its effects. If the Comte was such a man, her drunken act was unlikely to illicit a chivalrous response, in fact it would likely be quite the opposite.
“Where are you staying, Lady Duval?” the Comte asked. “We will send you home.”
There was nothing else for it, Isabel couldn’t quit her act now, she would just have to hope it played out. “I, uh, it was… I’m sorry,” she slurred. “I just can’t, um… recall.”
Comte Bruno sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Isabel’s breath caught in her throat, it was all on this. Without the Comte’s chivalrous response to a drunken lady in distress she had no way of gaining access to the upper floors of the Valette household. The job would fail and their last three months of planning would all be for naught.
“I’ll call for a carriage,” the Comte said in a terse voice. “We shall put her in an inn for the night.”
Just like that it was over. It may not be the end of the world but she and Jacques had sunk more than a little time and a fortune of money into the job. It was meant to be their last big score, their retirement maker. Without this they would have to plan another job somewhere else. Something equally ostentatious.
“We can’t do that, Bruno,” the Lady Ermine said. “A pretty thing like Lady Jacqueline in an inn in her state? Who knows what could happen? I’ll take her up stairs. She can sleep it off.” She smiled at Isabel and Isabel smiled back, swaying only a little on her feet.
Comte Bruno stared at his sister for a moment then glanced around the ballroom. People danced, people talked, a few maybe looked over at the Valettes helping out a drunken attendee. “Fine,” the Comte said. “But be discrete, sister.”
The Lady Ermine performed a slight bow, with her figure she would, after all, look out of place in a curtsy. “When have you ever known me not to be discrete, brother? Come with me, Lady Jacqueline, we’ll find you a bed to lie down in.”
The Lady Ermine took Isabel’s hand and she allowed herself to be led across the ballroom. They passed through a large set of doors and the Lady Ermine started up a flight of stairs, passing a couple of uniformed guards as they went. It
may not have been entirely according to plan but Isabel was finally getting where she needed to be.
Isabel memorised the route they took (the Valette mansion was passing large after all). They mounted two sets of stairs and ended on the second floor. A short trip down a corridor and the Lady Ermine opened a door and ushered Isabel through.
The room was beyond extravagant. A grand queen-sized bed occupied the centre and served to draw much of the attention. A large dressing table, complete with oval mirror stood at the far wall and all manner of cosmetics occupied its surface. A double mirror, for checking both the front and rear, stood to the left; and beyond that a wardrobe that could happily serve as a full-sized room for most common folk. A waist high shelf stood against one wall with a vast array of girlish dolls in various poses.
“This room is… beautiful,” Isabel slurred. “Are all your guest rooms so lavish?”
“It isn’t a guest room,” the Lady Ermine said from close by. “It’s my room.”
“Oh, but I coul…” Isabel started turning but before she could finish the protest the Lady Ermine stepped in close and kissed her.
Isabel squeaked in alarm but the Lady Ermine was stronger than her and held her tight, stopping her from pulling away. She had, of course, heard that some women preferred the company of other women, just as some men preferred other men, but she would never have guessed the eldest Valette daughter to be so inclined. It was not entirely unpleasant, the Lady Ermine’s lips were warm and wet and her touch was firm and gentle but she was most certainly not Jacques.
When Ermine pulled away she was smiling, Isabel felt warm breath, spiced with strong spirits on her face. She quickly retreated a couple of steps away from the Lady Valette.
“You were tense,” the Lady Ermine said.
“Was I?” Isabel replied, forgetting to slur her words. Her mind was racing for a way out of the situation. She remembered the two sachets of Sleep sewed into her dress.
