They say a lot of things , I thought, as I remembered my duties. And how many of those things are lies ?
I couldn’t help feeling a hint of bitterness as the Griffins joined the growing cluster of aristocrats on the floor. No one seemed inclined to deny them a chance to join their circles, or to shut them out. Instead, they were welcomed. The exotic features that marked me as something different, something outcast, worked in their favour. I looked around, seeing hundreds of white and black and brown faces on the dance floor, but only one set of aristocrats with half-caste features. Sandra Griffin was already surrounded by a small horde of young men, quarrelling over who would have the pleasure of marking her dance card. Her younger sister was talking to a handful of other underage girls and boys. I spotted Clarian and Cyanine Bolingbroke amongst them and felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t been able to think of a way to help Cyanine either.
She might be able to help me , I thought, if I could find a way to help her .
“My Lords and Ladies,” Staunton boomed, once again. “The Honourable Lady Caitlyn Aguirre.”
I stared as Caitlyn Aguirre slowly descended the stairs. She was shorter than I’d expected, for someone who’d turned the world upside down; she wore a long white dress that contrasted sharply with her black skin and hair. Her face was tightly composed - it occurred to me that she disliked the ball as much as I did - and her dark hair hung in long braids, a reminder that she too was underage. I wondered, as a pale-skinned boy greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, just how she’d managed to change the world. The details had been sparse, when they hadn’t been contradictory.
“Clarian will be pleased,” Jill said, from behind me. I jumped, almost spilling my tray of drinks. “She managed to convince Caitlyn to come as her guest, rather than as the family’s guest.”
“Good for her,” I said. “What ...”
“Get over to the side of the room,” Jill warned. “It’s time.”
I hurried over to the wall as Staunton’s voice boomed out, once again. “My Lords and Ladies,” he said. “I present to you the Honourable Lord and Lady Bolingbroke.”
Jill nudged me. “Our lord and lady are here,” she whispered. “And now the party can really begin.”
I hoped no one could hear her as Lord and Lady Bolingbroke descended the stairs to vast cheers and claps. Lord Bolingbroke looked old, older than his bedridden mother; his face was pinched and wan, suggesting that he was worn down by worry and care. Beside him, his wife was decked out in so many diamonds that she practically sparkled. I had to smile at my conceit. I’d worried about outshining the guests, but that wasn’t going to happen. Even the youngest person on the dance floor - there were kids who couldn’t be older than five or six trailing their parents around the hall - was wearing finer clothes than us. And all the older girls were wearing fancy jewels. I wondered, morbidly, just how many families could be fed for a week if just one of those jewels were to be sold. Hundreds, I was sure.
The long night ground on. Sweat trickled down my back as I worked the crowds, trying to avoid the handful of noblemen who looked at me with hungry eyes. A handful of men pinched my backside as I walked past them, but there was nothing I could do about it. I would be fired on the spot, I was sure, if I tried to hex them ... or merely dumped the remaining glasses over their heads. I kept a faint smile plastered on my face as I walked past yet another group of women, listening to their wittering. Zadornov was going to be disappointed. Very little of it was actually interesting ...
“... She sent all the way to Tintagel for her dress,” one old woman said, “and it’s tacky as tacky can be ...”
“... And she’s wearing a simple blue dress,” another said, as she put an empty glass on my tray. She sounded so snooty that I hated her on general principles. “Doesn’t she have any pride?”
I knew the question hadn’t been addressed to me, but I followed her gaze anyway. A young girl, only a few years older than me, was wearing a very simple blue dress indeed. There was nothing special about it, save for the sparkling silver necklace she wore around her neck. She looked nice, I thought. She certainly hadn’t overdone it, unlike most of the other women. I wondered if she was a mistress, rather than a noblewoman in her own right. Or maybe she was wealthy enough to wear whatever she wanted. I almost envied her.
“I keep being asked when the marriage is going to take place,” Lady Jeannine Rubén said, to a dark-skinned woman I realised had to be Caitlyn’s mother. “Everyone wants to know.”
Caitlyn’s mother thinned her lips in disapproval. I realised she wasn’t too happy about the betrothal. It was an old tradition, from what little I’d gathered, but one that had fallen into disuse over the past few decades. Certainly, they rarely had quite so much riding on them. I made a mental note to look up the details, if only to prove to Zadornov that I had done something with my time. Perhaps he could find a way to exploit it.
“They’ll find out in due course,” Caitlyn’s mother said. She took a glass from me without looking at my face. “And I won’t let them be rushed into anything.”
“Isabella won’t be home for years,” Jeannine warned. “The King is being a pain about allowing her to leave the estate, let alone come home. And the Heir Primus has to be married.”
I drifted off, my eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Rachel Griffin was talking to Caitlyn Aguirre, who looked torn between fascination and boredom. The boy who’d greeted her - I guessed he was Jeannine’s son, House Rubén’s Heir Primus - was talking to Simon Bolingbroke, gesturing animatedly as he talked about something to do with magic. I understood, just for a moment, why there were so many broadsheets covering the aristocracy and their doings. There was something fascinating about the aristocracy when one wasn’t actually part of them.
And when you’re not at risk from them , I thought, sourly. The last man who’d pinched me had pinched particularly hard. If there hadn’t been a number of possible suspects, I think I would have accidentally tripped and covered his expensive suit in wine. How many servants hate and fear their lords and ladies?
I collected a number of empty glasses and took them back to the antechamber, hoping I’d be able to sit down for a minute. No such luck. Lucinda was already handing out the next set of trays. I took one and headed back to the Great Hall. A number of aristocrats had moved onto the dance floor, where they were swaying gently in time to the music. I caught sight of Sandra Griffin and felt another stab of envy. It must be nice to have your looks considered exotic, rather than a liability. I turned away ...
... And saw Reginald.
He was standing with a handful of other young men, including two I recognised from the raid on the shop. I cursed myself, again, for not having considered the possibility of running into them again too. Reginald hadn’t recognised me, but what about them? I lowered my eyes, wondering if I should take the risk of offering them drinks. I didn't want to draw their attention by not offering them drinks.
Reginald turned and led the way to the stairs leading up to the balcony, then into the hall itself. I watched, unsure what I should do. Jill had told me that balls were more than just eating, drinking and dancing. The Great Houses used them as cover for private discussions and negotiations, relying on their wards to keep eavesdroppers from spying on them. It could be nothing more than a private chat - or, perhaps, a visit to the games room. I had no trouble imagining Reginald and his friends deciding to spend the night gambling rather than dancing or chatting. It wasn’t as if Reginald was going to inherit. He didn’t have to make deals in preparation for the day his father finally joined his ancestors in the grave.
And yet, there was something faintly sinister about the whole gathering. I didn’t like it. And if I found out what he was doing, it might give me an edge. An edge I could use against him ...
I hesitated, then hefted the tray of drinks and followed them up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
I’d half-expected Reginald to lead his friends to his chamber
s, but - instead - he led them along the corridor, up another flight of stairs and into a disused gambling room. I followed, carrying the tray of glasses in one hand and hoping they’d believe me if I told them I’d come to offer drinks. The room had been cleaned, in preparation for the ball, but there was very little in it beyond a handful of chairs and a simple wooden table. I had the feeling that Reginald had more in mind than merely playing cards with his friends.
And if you’re wrong - or even if you’re right - you could be in real trouble , my thoughts reminded me. What will Reginald do if he catches you spying on him?
I heard the door close ahead and hurried around the corner, trying to look innocent. Someone had cast a privacy ward around the door - I was sure it had to be Reginald - but they hadn’t noticed the crack underneath the wood. I leant against the wall, balancing my tray on my palm as I tried to listen. Reginald had ensured that no one could spy on him using magic, at least without giving the game away, but he hadn’t thought of something more mundane. My lips quirked in bitter amusement. Master Travis had always told me that powerful magicians came to rely on magic to the exclusion of all else. They never bothered to look for a simpler way of doing things.
“I must say,” someone said, “that your father is looking very poorly.”
“Indeed he is,” Reginald said. “They say he won’t see out the year.”
“Really,” the same voice said. I tried to put a name to the speaker, but I didn’t think I’d heard him speak before. It wasn’t one of the boys who’d attacked the shop. “And afterwards?”
“That depends, does it not,” Reginald said. He cleared his throat. “Did the old buzzard have anything useful to say?”
“The old buzzard said nothing,” another voice said. I thought it was one of the boys I knew, now. “I tried everything to get him to talk ...”
“Not everything ,” the first voice said.
“Quiet,” Reginald told him, sharply. “If we managed to learn nothing from the old buzzard, as you say, we will have to find some other way to proceed.”
“You said you’d found something,” the first voice said. “Or were you lying?”
“The old master might have been lying,” Reginald said. “He took my money, but he refused to tell me very much. I haven’t been able to get the ritual to work.”
I blinked. Master Travis? Or someone else?
“That’s what you get for relying on someone from outside the circle,” the first boy said, coldly. “You were tricked.”
“He was on to something,” Reginald insisted. “I just need a little more time.”
“We don’t have the time,” the first voice snapped. His voice was suddenly cold, yet earnest. “The House War shook things up, Reggie, but not enough for us . Damn that old crone. What was she thinking?”
“I imagine she saw a shot at power and took it,” a new voice said. “How many of us wouldn’t do the same, if we thought we could take power so quickly?”
“It wasn’t as if she had long to live,” the second voice said. “She really didn’t have the time to be more careful. And she nearly succeeded.”
“And she did a lot of damage to her house,” Reginald pointed out. “How many of us could survive such a disaster?”
“None,” the first voice said. It admitted of no room for uncertainty. “We are running out of time.”
I leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Running out of time for what? Reginald and his friends were clearly up to something, but what? And what did it have to do with the House War? I made a mental note to go through the list of ingredients Master Travis had purchased again, in hopes of figuring out what he’d been doing. A weapon, perhaps? A potion Reginald could use against his own house? Anything that involved Dragon Scales was sure to be dangerously volatile. Something to take down the wards? But Reginald hadn’t had any trouble taking down Master Travis’s wards.
The wards here are a little stronger , I reminded myself. And more likely to react badly if anyone tries to take them down .
“You do realise what we’re risking?” It was another voice, a little more nervous. “If we get caught ...”
“We’re not going to get caught,” Reginald drawled. “There’s no evidence to link us to anything.”
I smiled, coldly. After I recovered the notebook, after I fled the building, I could report the whole affair from a safe distance. Whatever Reginald was doing, I doubted his family would approve. They might nip it in the bud without being entirely sure what it actually was. And if they did ... I pushed the thought to one side as I leaned closer. The conversation was growing quieter. I wondered, grimly, just what they were saying.
And then I heard footsteps from behind me. Someone was coming up the stairs. I hesitated, unsure which way to go. Should I go further down the corridor, to a dead end, or head back down the stairs myself. Or ... I gathered myself and knocked on the door. There was a long pause, then I heard more footsteps. The door opened a moment later. Reginald glared at me.
“Yes?”
I dropped a one-handed curtsey, careful to keep my eyes down. “Young Master,” I said, holding out the tray. “I thought you and your friends would like a drink.”
“A very considerate thought,” Reginald said, with heavy sarcasm. I could feel his eyes trailing slime over the top of my breasts. “And no doubt you thought it would give you a break from the maddening crowd too.”
“Oh, no, Young Master,” I said, with as much innocence as I could muster. The footsteps behind me were getting closer. “I was merely told it was my duty to keep everyone supplied with drink.”
Reginald snickered. “Then you had better serve us, then,” he said. “Come on in.”
I gritted my teeth - I had the feeling that this had been a mistake - but walked inside anyway, careful not to show any reaction when he closed the door. Reginald’s friends were sitting around the table, cards in their hands. I silently memorised their faces, hoping to have a chance to put names to them after the ball. Jill might know who they were, if I described them to her. Or ... I wished, suddenly, for a perfect memory. It would be nice to be able to glance at something and then remember it until the end of time.
Reginald patted my rear. “Come along,” he said. “We don’t have all day.”
I walked around the table, handing out the drinks. A couple of Reginald’s friends looked to be cheating - one of them had a card clearly visible up his sleeve, so visible that I was tempted to push it further up so it wouldn’t be so easy to see - but otherwise they just seemed to be a group of young men playing an innocent game. There was nothing incriminating about them, nothing that might suggest they were up to something. I emptied the tray and turned towards the door. I’d risked everything for nothing.
“You can inform the cook that we’d like a late snack,” Reginald told me, blocking my escape. “And you can also bring us two more bottles of wine.”
“And a mug of beer,” the first voice said. He was tall, but there was something about him that gave the impression of being short and flabby. His hawkish cheekbones were spoilt by years of easy living. “And maybe some peanuts.”
The table laughed. I kept my expression under tight control. It was a joke, I was sure. Beer was a lower-class drink. It was unlikely that anyone from the aristocracy would drink it, unless ... I made a mental note to check with Cook anyway. I might be wrong. There might be some aristocrats who had a taste for slumming. Cook or one of her assistants would set me straight. And if it was a joke ... I wondered, briefly, if I should fetch him the beer anyway. Better to let them think me a fool then have them wondering if I was smarter than I looked.
“Yes, Young Master,” I said. “I’ll bring it to you at once.”
Reginald stood in front of me for a long moment, just long enough to make me nervous, then stepped to one side with the air of a man bestowing a great gift. I hurried to the door, feeling sweat trickling down my back. If they called me back ... I didn’t relax until I was through the door and h
alfway down the stairs. I’d put myself in immense danger, for what? I’d learnt a few things, but nothing particularly useful. Reginald was up to something ... I scowled. I’d known that from the moment he’d walked into the shop. No one committed murder - and blew up an entire building - unless they had something they wanted to hide.
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 21