The Northern Sunrise

by Rob J. Hayes

  Chapter 14 – Night-Time Liaisons

  Jacques hurried through the front door of the Bonvillain mansion silently cursing the length of time it took to open the Lindle lock. The idea of standing with his back to the grounds while people were watching him was distasteful at best. He almost dropped his façade once he was inside but one of the house staff was there waiting for him. There were times when the act of Bastien Bonvillain was truly stifling, never before had Jacques gone for so long under the guise of just one character.

  “Is there anything you need, Baron?” asked the woman. Jacques searched his mind for the woman’s name and came up with Sarah.

  “Sarah, where’s Trim?” Bastien asked in a voice as stern as a back-alley beating.

  “It’s Susan, sir,” said the maid in a quiet voice. “Monsieur Trim isn’t here, it’s his night off.”

  “He has a night off?”

  “Yes, Baron. Monsieur Trim has every eight day off on personal leave.”

  Bastien frowned. “Do all the staff get days off?”

  “Yes, sir. My own day off is…”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to that in your contracts.”

  The maid looked down at her feet. “You never signed the contracts yourself personally, Baron.”

  “Of course, Sasha,” Bastien said purposefully getting the maid’s name wrong. “I believe I may be tired. It has been a trying day.” Indeed night had fallen while Jacques had been roaming Rares and dark had well and truly claimed the city.

  “Can I get you anything, Baron?” she asked again.

  “No, I think not. I will be going straight to bed, make certain I am not disturbed by anyone until morning.”

  “Not even the Baroness?”

  Bastien thought about this for a moment. “If the Baroness is set on disturbing me, my dear, I very much doubt you will be much of an obstacle.” With that Bastien stormed towards the staircase leaving a very confused and scared maid in his wake.

  Through the door to the Baron’s study Jacques stopped, locked the door and pocketed the key before beginning a vigorous round of pacing that threatened to wear holes in the rug. He wasn’t used to being followed, in fact it was most often him doing the following as he collected information prior to a job, and he now realised just how creepy it was to feel eyes on your back at every moment. He imagined some men, such as the King, learned to ignore the itchy feeling those eyes left on his back but Jacques was certainly no King and he was also not the type of man to leave an itch unscratched.

  Stopping by the Baron’s desk Jacques opened the top drawer and pulled out a small metal case no larger than a woman’s jewellery box. The box had a notable seam that connected lid to bottom and even two hinges that facilitated its opening but it was locked and had no distinguishable keyhole. Jacques pressed in three hidden buttons on the box, one of the left side, one on the lid and one on the underside and heard the corresponding click as the latch that secured the lock slid open. He proceeded to open up the lid on his disguise kit.

  The box was not secured so tightly unreasonably. The contents of the kit ranged from alchemical, to biological, to synthetic and had a combined worth of over five hundred gold ducats which was more than most working men or women would see in a lifetime. The box was air tight and padded and Jacques kept it in meticulous order.

  He retrieved a small vial of velvet ash, only a small pinch of powder applied liberally to his skin would darken his complexion noticeably until washed off. Next he picked up a selection of bound hairs that could be affixed to his face with a non-caustic glue and would significantly change his facial hair. He had worn one such piece in his first few weeks as the Baron until his natural hair had grown through. He selected a piece that turned his horseshoe moustache into a full beard and set about applying the glue.

  Next came the uncomfortable part of wearing a disguise. Jacques knew of a particular alchemical compound that could dry onto skin and harden to stop the skin from moving. He applied a small measure of the compound to his nose and then pushed at the bridge so his nose was slightly askance to the left. He held his nose there for two minutes and then removed his hand, his nose stayed where he had held it giving the impression it was recently broken.

  Jacques packed his disguise kit away and closed the lid, replacing the box in the top drawer of his desk before turning his attention to clothing. He was aiming for an appearance that looked out of place in the section of Rares where nobles made their home but no so out of place that would warrant particular attention from the constables. He selected a mismatched trouser and jacket combo from his own collection; the trousers were well-worn and faded and the jacket was mud stained in places and had a ripped pocket. Last of all he selected a grey flat cap that had seen better days.

  Jacques spent a few moments regarding himself in the full body mirror. He looked just like a man who might work for a noble carrying out the shadier aspects that came along with a high position in court. In short, he looked just like he belonged on the streets of Rares. A thought occurred to him, a weapon might be in order but not one that drew too much attention. A knife rather than a pistol then. He pulled a boot knife from the Baron’s own selection and added it to his disguise.

  “Why Jacques, you almost look dangerous,” he said to his reflection. “However, I think we both know better.”

  He sauntered over to the window, already falling into character he walked with a nonchalant self-assuredness that said he knew how to handle himself. Jacques opened the window, jumped out onto the outside ledge and lowered it back down so it was open just a jar, just enough to get back in. Then he stepped off the window ledge and fell. Ten feet down he pushed off the wall of the mansion with his feet turning as much of his vertical force into the less deadly horizontal variety. Upon hitting the floor he turned that force into a dramatic roll across the soft grass and then sprang back to his feet, brushing himself off and congratulating himself on what must have looked very spectacular. Unfortunately no one was around to see his stunt but then Jacques was well capable of appreciating himself.

  Jacques ran over to the metal fence that guarded the Bonvillain grounds. Ten feet tall iron bars spaced just a hand’s span apart and each topped with razor-sharp spikes; enough to stop all but the most determined of intruders. Of course Jacques wasn’t so much intruding as escaping. He clambered up one of the bars with the sort of agility that only comes from years of practice at an early age and performed a picture-perfect handstand over the top, with his hands placed precisely between two spikes, before dropping over the other side into a conveniently placed bush.

  Rolling free of the bush Jacques found he had completed the entire escape with only a slightly throbbing bruise on his left buttock and tiny graze on his right hand from a thorn on the bush. With a grin he scampered off into the awaiting darkness.

  The night was almost full dark. Intermittent street lamps bathed the path in a patchy alchemical glow and the moon was barely more than a slither. The occasional airship lit the air with bright lights like patterns of slow-moving stars but for the most part the night was dark. It was, Isabel decided, the perfect night for elicit affairs.

  “What are we doing here?” Amaury asked huddling himself a little further into his jacket against the chill.

  Isabel, for her part, had dressed warmly in close-fitting clothing with a heavy, brown woollen jacket over the top and a scarf of treated otter fur, an expensive garment to be sure but one the Baroness Bonvillain could easily afford. Isabel may not be out as the Baroness on this specific night but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take full advantage of her alter-ego’s choice in clothing. She felt positively toasty in her outfit and could happily lounge all night in the cool air. Not that she intended much lounging.

  “I’m here to meet with an old friend,” Isabel said with a warm smile to Amaury. “I’m not certain why you’re here, unless it’s merely to keep me company while I wait in which case I must give you my most heartfelt thanks.”

  “Well
I…”

  “After all a woman of my eligibility should not be out alone on a night such as this in this particular area of the city,” Isabel made a show of looking around the deserted park as though a monster from a child’s story could be lurking behind every tree. “I must also therefore thank you for your vigilant protection, Amaury.”

  “It’s, uh, the least I could do,” the big man said nodding to himself and making a show of looking very tough and ready for a fight.

  Isabel might have laughed but she felt warm gratification would serve her better in the situation. “Not so confrontational, dear. We don’t want to scare off my friend and she is the jittery sort. Why she once poisoned an entire dinner party to escape simply because she felt one of the Great Danes looked at her funny.”

  “Sorry,” Amaury said and found a pleasant-looking tree to lean against. “Did it?”

  “What?”

  “Look at her funny?”

  “Oh, I suppose it probably did,” Isabel admitted. “However I would expect it was more likely due to the Foxfire she was smuggling underneath her corset.”

  “Foxfire?” Amaury asked.

  “An alchemical compound of… something or other. It produces a pool of liquid that will burn without heat for hours but more importantly it smells very faintly of bacon. Jacques was obsessed with the stuff for a while.” She let out a content sigh. “For weeks he smelled of cooked pig. You would think that would be unpleasant but strangely it was not.”

  “What do you see in him?” Amaury asked quietly.

  “Who?”

  “Revou.”

  The question fair took Isabel back a step. She had known about Amaury’s attraction to her, it was near impossible not to notice, but she had certainly not expected him to be so blunt about the subject but then she had to admit he had little to no imagination and even less guile. The situation had a chance of becoming poisonous if not handled correctly and Isabel truly wished Amaury had chosen a different time for it, any hint of an argument and her friend would disappear without a trace. She thought about ignoring the question but Amaury was the confrontational type and now he had asked the question he was likely to pursue it like a dog with an itch.

  “He’s a genius,” Isabel said with a faint smile.

  Amaury snorted. “He’s an idiot can’t even figure out how to shoot a pistol straight.”

  Isabel almost bristled at the man’s insult of Jacques but decided calm was better than anger. “He dislikes violence and that abhorrence manifests as his inability to aim. I doubt he realises that himself. But he is a genius. Almost every job we have ever pulled was his idea, his planning and his knowledge. I add the finishing touches from time to time and execute his plans to the letter but the majority of our quite substantial career has been masterminded by Jacques.

  “He has a working knowledge of more subjects than I can remember the names of. From alchemy to automatonty to biology, airship design and maintenance, cartography. He even knows the basic theoretical knowledge behind Elementalistics and Granular Belief.”

  “Granular Belief?” Amaury asked.

  “There are certain sects within the Arkland religion who believe that their fervent faith can actually redesign the physical world around them according to their own beliefs.”

  “Sounds like magic.”

  “It is,” Isabel agreed. “Foolish magic based on their wild religious ravings. There is no proof such a form of magic even exists, which they take to prove that it does exist but the workings of their magic are so subtle that non-believers do not even realise that their world has been altered.”

  Amaury let out a groan. “I thought Revou hated magic. Why would he study it?”

  “It is because of his dislike of magic that he does study it. How better to subvert those that practice it to his own benefit?”

  “Right,” Amaury said in a bitter tone. “So you love him because he’s smart and I’m just not clever enough for you. Never mind that I could kill him with just one hand. I’m twice the man that little thief will ever be!”

  Isabel had to stop herself from pointing out that he was currently acting like twice the child Jacques would ever be. She had to admit to herself it was possible she had played this man completely wrong. She laid a conciliatory hand on his arm and treated him to her most sincere of smiles. “I’m sorry, Amaury.”

  He didn’t flinch away from her touch, nor did he protest against her decision and continue the argument, instead a heavy silence descended between them and settled on the little park. Even the breeze stirring the grass seemed to quiet as if sensing the tension in the air. Isabel took her hand from Amaury’s arm and stepped away, putting a couple of paces between the two of them. Just a few minutes ago the man had seemed predictable but now she was no longer certain how he would act and she was also very aware that he was armed with both sword and pistol and knew how to use them both. Isabel, on the other hand, was currently armed with nothing but her charm and her uncanny ability to run very fast at times when her life was in danger. She truly hoped now was not one of those times.

  A hovering beam of light drifted into the park from an airship high above casting the trees and flowers in a soft grey glow. Isabel saw a dark shape dart behind a tree not too far away. She guessed it was her friend but at times like this one could never be too careful, all sorts of unsavoury characters called the dark of night their home but she hoped the brooding presence of Amaury Roache would scare all but the most desperate of villains away.

  “Bella?” a timid voice drifted out of the dark, one she knew very well. Jennifer wasn’t even attempting to disguise her accent.

  “Jen, is that you?” Isabel asked.

  “Who’s the muscle?” Her voice was close by, definitely the shape hiding behind the tree. Isabel glanced at Amaury who was still looking angry. His big square jaw was clenched and his brow was a heavy line.

  “He’s a friend,” Isabel said after a significant pause. Amaury’s face softened just a little.

  “He looks angry.”

  “Oh that’s just his normal countenance. It makes him very good at scaring away unwanted attention but occasionally it works doubly well on the wanted attention. Do come out of the shadows, dear, I hate talking to trees.”

  The plump form of Jennifer Comar stepped out from behind a sturdy tree and into the dull grey light of the airship passing overhead. She wore a figure-hugging suit of cloth that did little to hide her ample curves, and a long black coat over the top. An artfully arranged cap held her long brown hair in place. Isabel couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s appearance, she looked just like a stage thief from one of the gaudier plays such as The Mouse’s Tale.

  “You look radiant, if a little overdressed, Jen,” Isabel said taking a step forward.

  Jennifer closed the rest of the distance between them and they embraced. It had been far too long since she had last seen her old friend and even longer since they had been able to be themselves in the meeting.

  “You look well, Bella,” her friend returned. “I expected you alone or with Jacques. Is he…” she let the question hang.

  “He is well and whole and still with me,” Isabel replied with a smile.

  “Does he still blame me for that whole Baron Laene’s wig thing?” Jen asked in a quiet voice and looked around as though Jacques might pop out of the shadows and shower her with molten hot blame.

  “I believe he refers to it as a fiasco and I’m afraid so,” Isabel said with a reassuring pat on her friend’s arm. “But he is not here today, other pressing matters.”

  Amaury let out a poignant cough.

  “Forgive me, Jen. How terribly rude of me not to introduce my friend. Jennifer Comar, this is Amaury Roache.”

  Jennifer gave a small curtsy and Amaury nodded his head.

  “Jen and I go back about as far as there is to go,” Isabel continued. “We were both children growing up in la troupe de Zelaine…”

  “Bella!” Jen hissed.

  “I
t’s alright, Jen. He already knows. There’s a fair story behind it but suffice to say he knows all about my upbringing, career and much of my sordid past.” Isabel gave Amaury a severe look. “Jen grew up acting with the troupe just as I did but her career after leaving took a slightly different path.”

  “Not a thief then.” The way Amaury spat the word left Isabel in no doubt he was not yet over her rebuff.

  “No. Not a thief,” Jen said indignantly.

  “I play at being nobility,” Isabel continued quickly. “Jen is nobility.”

  “And yet you still play the part so much better than me.”

  “Nonsense,” Isabel said with a wide grin at her friend. “Most of everything I know about faking it in high society comes from you.”

  “You flatter me, Bella. Which leads me to believe we are not here simply to catch up.”

  Isabel grinned. “You have the right of it there, Jen. But that does not mean we should not spend some time catching up. I’m certain I spotted a bench just a little way down the path, we should visit it and rest our legs. Amaury here will keep watch and ensure no harm comes to us, won’t you Amaury?”

  “I’d rather you just said what you needed to so we can get out of the cold.”

  Isabel almost pointed out that she hadn’t asked him to come along and that his acting like a petulant child would not prevent her from catching up with her oldest friend. Instead she took Jennifer’s arm and led her in the direction of the bench knowing full well Amaury would follow.

  They spent a long time catching up there in the dead of night. It had been more than a year since they had last had the chance to meet and even longer since they had been able to do so as themselves, not since Jennifer had taken on the guise of nobility, crafting for herself a history back in Great Turlain and generating paperwork to reinforce it. She had always had an incredible eye for detail and along with a clever forger she had successfully managed to go from out-of-work stage actress to pampered nobility with the ear of the royal court in no more than a couple of years. To say Isabel was impressed would have been an understatement. Jennifer did not simply play a role, she became the character she was pretending to be and in her current situation she had no intention of dropping the act. Most importantly was that she was now married to Marquis Portho and had all the benefits such a marriage brought with it.