In the past year, Dia had not only scored the marriage-coup of the decade, she had matured into a gorgeous woman. Or, perhaps the first had been the result of the second. In any event, she had also matured into something else—the person one called on when one wanted to make a stir on the social scene, because Dia knew everyone, and everyone owed her social favors. Her friendship with the Princess Royal didn’t hurt her standing in the least, and neither did the fact that she and her husband absolutely adored one another.
“I’m here for one thing and one thing only,” Dia said, as Lord Leverance bowed deeply to her. “And on His Majesty’s express orders.” She turned to Leverance’s three daughters. “I am here to get you into all of the best Midwinter parties!” She dimpled. “If there is an important party you miss, it will only be because you had the bad taste to fall ill.”
If the import of this was lost on the girls—other than the excitement of being escorted into the season’s finest social events—it was not lost on either Leverance or his wife, who gasped, and then curtseyed deeply to Dia, clutching her hand in gratitude. “Your Ladyship!” Lady Leverance babbled. “You are too kind—you are too generous—we are most grateful!”
“Oh, nonsense,” Dia said, tugging on Lady Leverance’s hand to get her to rise. “I’m nothing of the sort. I’m only too happy to oblige. You may come to regret my so-called ‘kindness’ after a fortnight of trotting from one party to another!” She raised one eyebrow, shrewdly. “I hope you understand that there will be at least two, and possibly as many as four every day.”
At just that moment, before her Ladyship could respond to that, one of the chief reasons why Amily had recruited Dia’s help poked his little head out of the hole in the front of her muff made precisely for that purpose. Lord Leverance politely ignored the . . . intruder . . . but all three girls gasped and Lady Leverance stared.
“Oh! What is that?” asked the youngest, Violetta, (who was, in Amily’s opinion, the prettiest and by far the best tempered of the three). “It’s adorable!”
“He is a warming-spaniel,” Dia said with authority. “They are especially bred and trained to be unobtrusive. They stay in your muff to keep your hands warm, and when you are sitting, they come and sit under your dress to keep your feet warm. They are all the thing. I breed them myself—or rather, my dog-man does, and trains them.”
Violetta had, by this time, come close to Dia and was coaxing the little dog to stick his head out of her muff again. “He’s the sweetest thing I ever saw!” she said artlessly. “But what . . . when he has to go . . . you know?”
“He lets you know he needs to, you put down the muff so he can get out, and he goes off to the nearest spot of earth to take care of matters,” Dia said, in her most kindly of voices. “Then he comes right back. Would you like to see him out of the muff?”
“Oh yes, please!” cried the girl, and Dia obliged by bringing the dog out in her right hand. It was a tiny spaniel with long, silky golden hair, and enormous brown eyes, scarcely the size of a puppy even though it was obviously full-grown.
Now, all of this was absolutely the truth. These tiny lap-dogs were all the rage, they had been bred for exactly this purpose, and Dia did raise and train them. In fact, her dogs were much sought after. But Dia hadn’t brought the dog here by accident.
Dia handed him over to Violetta, who was instantly crooning over him, obviously completely smitten.
Which was precisely what Amily wanted.
“Well, I can see you know dogs,” said Dia, with a pleasant laugh. “And Star clearly likes you. Would you like to have him?”
“Oh, more than anything! Please, could I?” There was no doubt that Violetta had fallen completely head over heels with the little dog; she looked to her parents with entreaty, her huge brown eyes wide with pleading.
“Out of the question—” began her mother. “I cannot possibly allow you to—”
“Oh, but you must,” Dia replied firmly . . . so firmly that her tone reminded Lady Leverance immediately who outranked whom, here. “First of all, it will establish your family as being educated in the current modes. Second, I would be ever so pleased to place one of my dogs with someone who so clearly will give him the love he needs. He’s not one I have grown attached to, yet; he’s one of the latest litter, just now finished with his training. I insist that you take him, Violetta. He will be my Midwinter’s Gift to you.” She turned to the other two sisters. “Would either of you like a dog as well?”
The eldest, Brigette, shook her head, as did the middle sister, Aleniel. “You are very kind, Lady Dia,” Brigette said for both of them, “But neither of us are . . . good with animals.” The look of faint distaste on her face spoke volumes. Never had pets even as children, and don’t want them. This wasn’t all that unusual, actually; many of the highborn looked on animals as things you ate or things you used, and never understood emotional attachments to them. Then again, these were often the same sorts of people who never formed very strong emotional attachments to other human beings. As children, they seldom saw their parents, were brought up by nurses, governesses and tutors, went into arranged marriages, and in their turn gave over their children to nurses, governesses and tutors. They went through their lives as if they were pieces on a giant game-board. But, given that they were often moved about by their parents or overlords as if they actually were mere playing pieces . . . this was certainly understandable.
“Well, then, I shall have to find a more conventional Midwinter’s Gift for you two. Something special for new undergowns, perhaps,” Dia said carelessly, and it was obvious from their expressions that the girls themselves found that a much more pleasing prospect than being given a dog. “Now! Herald Amily, since your duty has been done, you can get along to the Palace. The young ladies and their mother and I have some important discussions to engage in . . . and some equally important reviewing of their wardrobes.”
Amily retreated at once, with a formal bow, and allowed the Leverance’s manservant to show her out.
Rolan was waiting for her at the front door. He had trotted off on his own after delivering her—probably to Master Soren’s stable, where he knew that he would be properly tended to. And he had brought himself back now that she was finished. It was probably just as well he had done so. She wasn’t at all sure that these people properly understood what a Companion was.
:That went well,: Rolan observed, sidling up to the steps to make it easier for her to mount.
:Very well,: she agreed, mounting him; he turned his head to the road and trotted back up to the Palace. :I was afraid Dia was going to have to spend a lot of time coaxing one of those girls to take that dog, rather than the young one practically stealing it from her.:
Rolan was clearly pleased. Well, so was she. :And now you have eyes and ears in the household.:
It was rather more than that. Now Amily had the means to know exactly what animals were in the household, and where they were likely to be. And if the dog wasn’t positioned somewhere she wanted to spy, she might well be able to use some other animal instead; through the dog’s eyes, ears, and nose, she would know where every animal was in the household. When she had suggested this ploy to Mags and her father, both had been keen for her to try it out.
She left Rolan in the care of the stablemen and went straight to her rooms. She wanted to see as much as she could before something came up to interrupt her.
Mags was out . . . she had a good idea where. This was perfect. She settled down in her favorite chair at the fire, closed her eyes, and hunted for the very familiar mind of that little dog.
She found him, comfortably nestled against a pair of feet in embroidered woolen slippers. She knew they were wool because he smelled the wool; not Dia’s feet then, so he must be with Violetta. By paying close attention to the sounds—which were nothing but random sounds to the little dog—she was easily able to translate the sounds into words. It s
eemed that the ladies were at the end of a conversation on fashion.
“Now I think we need to go to his Lordship and break the news on what expenses he is going to face.” That was Dia’s voice. The little dog picked up his ears at the sound, but did not stir. He had been set down by the new person, and unless he needed to take a walk, he was not moving.
“It will be less than he feared, but more than he likes,” replied an older woman. That must be Lady Leverance.
“Well, isn’t that always the case with men?” asked Dia with a laugh. “If they had their way, we would wear the same gown, winter and summer, feast or fireside, until it fell apart. And then they would ask us why we didn’t just patch it back together.”
All five of the woman laughed at that. “Come girls,” said her Ladyship in tones of authority. “Let’s see to this, while we have dear Dia with us and he cannot argue for fear of looking like a miser.”
Oh, so she was “dear Dia” already, was she? That was a good sign. It meant Dia was amused, and not affronted, that she had told them to use her given name. Dia might have been kind enough to volunteer—and she had certainly played this sort of game more than once back in the day when Amily and her friends were Nikolas’ eyes and ears among the courtiers’ children, but . . .
Well, there was a limit to what Dia would do if she was bored or irritated by her erstwhile charges. But if she was enjoying the work—well, she’d definitely extend herself.
The dog saw a hand reach under the skirts, and snuggled into it. Violetta brought him out and tucked him into the crook of her arm in lieu of a muff. She kept slowly stroking his head as they walked; the dog was half-hypnotized with pleasure, which was the hallmark of the breed. As they walked, the dog unconsciously analyzed everything he was smelling, and Amily “read” what it was that he got.
Mice; well that was no surprise, given how long the house had been shut up, untenanted. And the family must have known that, for the dog also scented a number of cats. Two in the kitchen, which was very smart of the cook, but there also seemed to be a cellar cat, and three cats allowed to prowl the rest of the manor. Even though these didn’t seem to be pets in any sense, it was pretty clear that Amily could probably find a cat or two she could use if the dog wasn’t in a position to eavesdrop on what she wanted to hear.
But then, they all entered the study, and Amily felt such a wash of relief that it was a good thing she was sitting. For the dog not only scented but saw an enormous, aged mastiff at the fire, and as they entered, Lord Leverance said, indulgently, “Put your puppy down for Lion to smell, Via. I want him to know the little thing isn’t a rat to be shaken to bits if he sees the pup without you.”
Violetta laughed. “Poppa, Lion is the kindest dog that ever was to puppies, and you know it.” But she did put the dog down in front of the mastiff’s nose.
The little dog knew instantly from the mastiff’s scent and the thudding of his tail on the hearth-rug that this was a friend. They sniffed noses, and then the mastiff gave the pup a single, somewhat sloppy lick with a tongue that was nearly the size the little dog was. Even though this tumbled him end over end, much to the amusement of the humans, the pup raced back to the mastiff and began licking one of its floppy ears with great determination.
Meanwhile the humans were talking about the clothing the girls would need. This was nothing Amily was even remotely interested in. Ah, but the mastiff, however . . .
She slipped into his mind, familiarizing herself with it so she could find him immediately. This was a very old dog; his joints ached unless he was basking in the sun or in front of the fire. He was his master’s favorite hunting dog. There were vague memories of tremendous bear and boar hunts in his mind. Now in his old age, his master indulged this great champion of his pack with a place on the hearthrug of his study and the pick of the leftovers and trimmings from the kitchen.
Anything that went on in this room, he would be here to hear. This was precisely what Amily needed.
And if Dia hadn’t brought the spaniel, she would never have known it.
She withdrew from the mastiff’s mind and slowly “woke” herself up. She had a lot to report, to her father, and to Mags.
But it would be to her father, first. Still confined to his bed, he was the easiest to get to, after all!
—
Mags ghosted along the rooftops in the dusk, following the little group of young men headed up by Lord Kaltar’s only son, Brand. They had all left the manor just after supper, as he had expected they would. What group of young men, newly come to Haven, could be expected to hang about the family hall when there was a city full of pleasures to explore? Particularly when none of them had been here when they were old enough to partake in those pleasures?
Mags, in his persona of “Magnus,” had already made Brand’s acquaintance—and, far more to the point, had already established his palate for good wine and his eye for a pretty woman. His plan now was to wait until they were trying to choose a tavern or an inn, “happen” upon them, and steer them to a place of his choosing.
As they wandered down the road, Mags had no trouble keeping track of all of them. They were exceedingly careless young men, and it was a good thing that they were in a group, or they would have been easy prey for footpads and cutpurses. But no thief or ruffian was going to approach a group of ten or so, all of them armed, not even if they were drunk. And they weren’t drunk, yet.
It hadn’t been at all difficult to discover their plans for the evening. Lord Kaltar had made it quite clear yesterday that he was going to entertain a group of his own cronies at his manor after dinner. The manor was not all that large, and the younger members of the family had been . . . strongly encouraged to take their presence elsewhere for the evening. The young men had been amused and vocal about it all afternoon, and Mags had commiserated. So the heir to the House and his cousins and their friends were free once the last of dinner had been cleared away.
Now, as of this afternoon, they’d had no plans, which was typical of the youngest members of the Court. But being as they were young men, and were likely to take this first completely unsupervised evening as a chance to enjoy themselves without restraint, it was pretty obvious to Mags what they were likely to do. So Mags had simply ridden Dallen down to the point where the first street of inns and taverns branched off from the main route through Haven, sent Dallen home again, and waited on the nearest roof. He didn’t think that the group would actually pick any of these, or want to—they were all expensive and, more to the point, sedate. But this would be a good place to suggest his choice when they were inevitably disappointed with what was on offer on this street.
Though the light from the windows of the half dozen inns on this street was welcoming, as were the scents of food wafting from them, there were no great peals of laughter, or the sound of dancing, and the music that could be heard was decidedly. . . .sedate.
Mags paused on the roof just above them, crouched on the eaves. Literally “eavesdropping.” They didn’t even look up to see him. “My grandfather would drink here,” said one young wag, as they came to the last place on the street. “But I certainly have no desire to do so.”
“Nor I,” agreed Brand, sounding disappointed. “We’d be better off going back to the manor.”
“Oh gods,” groaned one of the others. “You know that the girls are going to try to get us to join them, and if there is anything more tedious than playing at courtly games with your cousins, I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a damn shame we’re too insignificant to join the Prince’s Court,” someone else grumbled. “At least we’d be playing at courtly games with girls we don’t know.”
“There’s much more of the city!” someone else objected, as Mags climbed up and over to reach the roof of the stable, well out of sight. The voices faded as he did so. “Surely there must . . .”
They were still discussing the
matter when he came around the street corner ahead of them. He stopped, shading his eyes with his hand, and peering at the group in the rather dim light of the lanterns on either side of the inn doors, as if he had no idea who they were. “Ho!” he cried. “By the gods, Brand, is that you? And Rafe, and Sevast and Byll?” He began walking rapidly toward them.
Brand turned as he came up to the group. “Magnus!” he said, “Please tell me there is more to this city than—this!” He waved his hands expansively at the street around them.
“Piff. This?” Mags said scornfully. “This is where you quarter your grandfather if there’s no room left in your manor. This is where the rich old merchants take their friends for business meetings. This is where you take your wife for a night of so-called entertainment. Or your daughter. Or you take your auntie here, when she wants to hear some music. You don’t come here for fun unless you’re over the age of fifty. Or you’re henpecked. You want a night on the tiles, my lad, you want to see the best part of Haven by night, you’ve come to the right man!”
Brand looked at him in confusion. “Night . . . on the tiles?” he said doubtfully. Clearly, he had not the slightest clue what Mags meant.
Mags laughed. “Look up. All our roofs are made with tiles. No thatching allowed in the entire city. One spark from a chimney fire and half a quarter would be ablaze. So, where do tomcats spend their evenings?”
“Oh! On the roof!” Brand replied with a laugh. “Yes, a night on the tiles is exactly what we want. With she-cats! Pretty, willing, amorous she-cats!”
“Ah now . . .” Mags wagged his finger at the young man. “Now you listen to me, all of you, because this is important. This isn’t your country house where you can do what you like with the maidservant or a village girl, pay her off with a bit of jewelry and be done with it. Now, I can take you to a place where you’ll get drink and your wick dipped, but you’ll be paying for it. In good hard coin.”
Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 12