by Gaie Sebold
Pettigis regarded them for a moment in silence, his eyes crawling jealously over their elegant lines. “I see,” he said. “And do they do anything?”
Instead of answering, Orrie went behind them. There were some clicks and clangs, and a tinkling, silvery music began to play.
The Whirligigs turned to each other, and bowed.
Reel held out his sleekly jointed hands.
Spin put one hand upon his ‘waist’ and one upon his shoulder.
With a strange, careful grace, they began to dance, sliding around each other, turning in a slow circle. Their bell-like lower bodies somehow gave the impression that feet moved swiftly below them.
As the music ran down, they slowed, bowed, parted, and returned to their standing position.
Pettigis, who had been watching with his mouth agape, rapidly pulled himself together. “Hmm,” he said. “Well, I suppose one could do something with these. Possibly.”
He walked around the Whirligigs. One of them let out a low ‘pung’ when he passed, and Orrie pretended not to notice him jump. He opened the back panel of Spin and peered at the wheels, arms and levers inside, going, “Hah,” and “Hmm,” and “I see.” He made as though to poke the mechanism with one extremely clean and well-manicured finger, appeared to think better of it, and shut the door.
“They would require clothing appropriate to the Court.” He glanced at Orrie, in her battered and practical garments. “I suppose I had better deal with that part of it, as well.”
Orrie did not ask him ‘As well as what?’. She already knew that the rest of his contribution would involve fussing, shouting, and taking the credit.
She allowed herself a small and private smile.
They met again at the Black Pig, in Madis’ room.
“This is impossible,” Alina complained, cramped and wriggling on the bed between Milandree and Orrie. “Have you actually had any company while you’ve been staying here? They can’t have been very big... and where are you keeping your clothes?”
“Oh, stop moaning, and stay still,” Orrie said. “This is bad enough without you scriggling about like a two-year-old.”
The window of Madis’ room was open a fraction, letting in the reek of beer, horses, sewage, a sudden savoury waft of hot meat pies, the rattle of passing vehicles and clatter of feet, and an occasional expression of admiration at the sight of Shaikan, tied up outside.
“So,” Madis said. “Alina?”
“I’ve set wards.”
Madis glanced at Dagri, who nodded. She went on: “Just to go over it finally, so everyone’s on board. Alina and I will embark with most of the other wedding guests, two nights before the wedding. Milandree – you’ve applied for the guard, yes?”
“Yes. Been accepted pending proving myself capable. Going over in a few days.”
“Alina? The belt?”
“Haven’t found a bloody thing. Either it wasn’t made under Adepts’ Guild regulations or it wasn’t listed as a focus. The unlocking spell isn’t helping – it’s very old-fashioned, could be from any of half a dozen schools.” She scowled. “It’s odd, for an unlocking spell, too. Really strong, which means the locking spell was really strong. This belt’s powerful. Once we’ve got it we need it off our hands as soon as possible. If the Guild catches us with something with that much punch, especially if it’s unregulated...” She shuddered.
“It’ll be off our hands that night,” Madis said. “Orrie, how badly do you need to know what sort of lock it is?”
Orrie frowned at the ceiling, absently shifting to try and give herself more room. “You’re sure it has to be unlocked, not broken off?”
Madis made a face. “The buyer was apparently very firm on that point. If it’s broken, it will stop working and be worthless to them.”
Orrie sighed. “I can probably do it, if it isn’t something completely mad, and you can get me enough time.”
In the street, Shaikan stamped and nickered.
“So,” Milandree went on, after a moment. “There’ll be a big feast, followed by a display of the wedding gifts. The bride, traditionally, leaves early to get a good night’s sleep before the wedding and the rigours of the wedding night. Which is good for us, but how early is up to her and the custom of the house. From what I’ve found out about the Baridines, they tend to run it late – but the wedding ceremony itself is set for early the following day – just after dawn.”
“Just after dawn?” Alina groaned. “That’s uncivilised.”
“Too right,” Madis said. “And it means we have to make sure everything is thoroughly sorted before that. How’re the Whirligigs, Orrie?”
“They’ll make my boss’s name,” Orrie said, with a small and slightly disconcerting smile.
“Wonderful. That and the early night should give us time before everyone else returns from the feast. So. She’ll have at least one maid, and we have to assume at least one guard on the door. Milandree, if you can get posted to the door, that’ll save time.”
“See what I can do.”
“Anyway I trust you to deal with any guards. Get in, get the belt – then there’s the exciting part, getting away.”
“Because the rest of it will be as calm as a bowl of soup by the fire,” Alina said.
“I have faith in you all,” Milandree said. “So. I get sick and am isolated from the other guests. The night before the wedding my ‘corpse’ goes out in the boat, accompanied by a young guard,” she pointed at Milandree, “who had the misfortune to dally with the sick woman the night before, and is already showing signs of fever. Dagri? Do we have a corpse?”
“I found someone,” Dagri said. “It will be fifty gold, I must make a generous offering at the shrine of his ancestors and he will only do it because he is already in disgrace.”
“Fifty gold?” Milandree grumbled. “Could get a decent sword for that.”
“Alina, Milandree and the corpse land at the market quay on Quat bay, probably... what, around dawn? There’s an abandoned shepherd’s hut just up the sheep track behind the quay – wait for us there. Dagri will collect you and bring you back here. Then we’ll meet up with Arden. And if he doesn’t have our share of the money already in hand, he doesn’t get the belt.”
“Bloody right,” Milandree said.
“As soon as it’s discovered the belt’s missing,” Madis said, “there will no doubt be a huge hue and cry and everyone will be searched. Also, they’ll certainly send someone after the boat. Dagri, you’ll need to get out of there fast.”
“That will not be a problem.”
“I don’t like leaving you all behind,” Alina said.
Madis smiled at her. “It won’t be for long. Now, even if they do realise the belt’s already gone, we can’t assume that they won’t search everyone after the wedding. Once all that’s over, I will insinuate myself into the entourage of one of the wedding guests, and get off the island when they all leave, along with Orrie and her boss, and will then meet up with you all back here. Everyone clear?”
“I still don’t trust your brother,” Alina said.
“No one trusts your brother,” Dagri said.
“He wants me on his team,” Madis said. “If he plays us false, he won’t get me.”
A figure in the blue and white robes of a Priest of the Sky God, head reverently bowed, moved away from the window. It walked slowly down the street until it was out of sight of the inn, pushed back its hood, and grinned. “Oh, little sister,” Arden said. “You and your friends are almost clever.”
Orrie frowned up at Shaikan as the group left the Black Pig some time later. “Are you sure he’ll do all that?” she said. “I mean, he’s a horse.” Shaikan gave her a look. “Well I’m sorry,” she said, “but you are. A very beautiful horse, but still.”
“He’s proved pretty useful already,” Alina pointed out.
Dagri only smiled.
A day later, Madis walked into an inn called the Jug of Ale to see her brother in a particularly flamboyant ja
cket of green velvet with large gold buttons. A matching hat lay on the table.
“My dear... brother,” Arden said. “How very plain you look.”
“Thank you.” Madis, dressed as a young man of moderate but respectable means, bowed. “I see you’re not worried about attracting attention.”
Arden flicked a lacy cuff. “I can avoid attention if I so wish, my dear, I simply don’t see the need. After all, look at them.” He waved at the roomful of traders, farmers, drapers and shopkeepers. “Dull as a November day. Obsessed with cattle and grain and cloth. Hardly a risk.”
“If you find the inn so dull, why did you choose it?”
“I didn’t want you to feel out of place. So what did you want to discuss?”
“We need more information on the belt.”
“You have the spell, what else do you need?”
“The make, Arden. The make. There are thousands of different types of lock in the world. Without knowing the make the chances of getting it off without damaging it, or for that matter waking its wearer...”
Arden tutted. “I thought that Artificer of yours was supposed to be good.”
“She is good. But this is not exactly the simplest job. I’m not going ahead without that information, it’s too much risk. As it is the others think I’m a fool to trust you after last time.”
“So like women to exaggerate. You all survived, didn’t you?”
“Barely. Get me that information, by tonight, or we’re pulling out.”
At that moment, the server brought their food. Arden poked at his fish with the tip of his knife and sighed. “This looks appallingly overcooked. Take it away, and tell whoever passes for a cook in this place that I’ll have the duck, and to try not to make a mess of it.”
The woman was not out of earshot when he added, “Honestly, if she’d looked any more like the fish I might have taken my knife to her by mistake. You’d think they could find people who wouldn’t put a man off his food. Are you eating that?”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Madis said. “In fact, it’s good.”
“You never did have any palate.”
“Can you get me that information?”
“Yes, I can get you that information; really, do you want me to hold your hand as well? I’ll meet you back here, tonight. At supper hour, not that I plan to eat here again.”
Arden left the inn, smiling to himself. He walked through the lamplit, cooling streets, occasionally pausing to comment on a shapely figure or swipe a piece of fruit from a market stall. Eventually he reached a small boarding house, so tucked away that it might have been chosen for its obscurity. It smelled of cheap stew and damp.
He was let in by a colourless fellow who, once he gathered that Arden had no intention of taking a room for the night, appeared to lose all interest in anything but returning to the meagre fire in the front room and the steaming brew beside it.
The woman who was waiting for Arden in the cold, under-furnished upstairs room was slight and pale, her gown of good cut but plain cloth. She had discreet glints of gold in her ears and on her fingers, and a hint of the North in an otherwise courtly accent.
He gave her one of his most charming smiles, which, yet again, she utterly failed to return.
“Well?”
Arden bowed. “All is going as planned. I have enlisted some assistance, but you can be assured that I will myself supervise everything.”
“You understand, the belt must be removed without any harm coming to the wearer. That would damage the magic and render it useless to me. And you will not be paid.”
“Indeed, you have been most clear on that point. Several times, in fact.”
“Good.”
“Now, I don’t wish to seem ungentlemanly,” Arden seated himself in one of the rickety chairs, stretching out his legs and admiring the gloss of his boots, “but I require some assurance of goodwill before we proceed further.”
“I assume you mean money.”
“If you must put it so crudely.”
“You are a thief,” she said. “How else should I put it?”
Arden’s head came up, and he shot a glare of dislike at the woman. Her pale eyes met his expressionlessly. Remembering that she was, if not herself gifted with powerful magic, certainly working for someone who was, he reined in his temper.
“You will be paid when I have the belt, and not before,” she said. “There are other thieves.”
“The best of them are already working for me,” he said. “And as there are other thieves, so there are undoubtedly other buyers.”
Those pale eyes met his again. “By all means,” she said, “you may attempt to find one, in the time that remains before the wedding, who understands the true value of the belt.”
Arden felt a squirm of unease. The woman was remarkably self-confident, which furthered his belief that she herself was the possessor of magical ability. And the belt she described to him – heavy, ugly, inscribed with crude symbols – would fetch nothing like the amount she was offering on the open market, but was unusual enough to be extremely easy to trace. A fast, guaranteed sale was by far the better risk.
Arden had no problem with risk – especially when it was taken by others – but he liked to have something to show for it, and to be in a state to enjoy that something.
He had no idea why it had to be obtained before the wedding. Perhaps it was something to do with virginity. He speculated briefly on the woman before him and decided that she was almost certainly a virgin, and anyone attempting to remedy that condition would probably end up with a very unfortunate case of frostbite.
A spatter of what sounded like sleet hit the window. His boots would rapidly lose their polish in this weather. The thought did nothing to relieve his irritation.
“Was there anything else?” she said.
“A little more information,” he said. “The origins of the belt.”
“Origins?”
“Some information about its maker, where it came from. My Artificer requires it, in order to ensure it is removed safely.”
“It was bought, or traded from, Defani. That is all I have.”
“Then that will have to do.”
“Was that all?” The woman said.
“There remains only the arrangement of the handover,” Arden said. “Here?”
“For now. If that needs to change I will send you a message.”
If he had not found her so irritating he would have admired her discretion. He had made enquiries, but had succeeded in discovering nothing whatsoever about the woman – it was as though she had simply popped into existence in this dull little room, in her dull gown.
Except for that accent, and those glints of gold, she could be an upper servant.
Sleet hit the window again, along with a piece of moss dislodged from the gutter. The weather would get no better, and he would obviously gain nothing more from her tonight. Arden stood up, and bowed. “I will take my leave of you, then, Madam. And I look forward to seeing you when I have the belt.”
She gave him the barest of nods in return. Arden closed the door of the house behind him with slightly unnecessary force, and occupied his return journey with a series of pleasant meditations on the fate of women who thought too highly of themselves.
Neither he, nor the woman in the room, noticed the shadow that dropped with catlike agility from the roof of the boarding house to the street, and disappeared down an alleyway.
Three
On the afternoon before the wedding, Madis joined the rest of the guests in the great hall of Baridine Castle, where a luncheon was about to be served. The shutters were open, but the morning’s sun had disappeared, and a thick coat of grey cloud was rapidly rolling in over the sea.
Most of the light came from the bluish glow of hundreds of dancing werelights and the mellow gleam of thousands of candles. It glittered on wrought silver, gleamed from polished wood, deepened the hue of rich velvets and slick satins, caught fire in the jewels at ears and throa
ts and wrists. In this room alone was enough easily portable loot to make the fingers itch.
Guards stood at every entrance. Above each door, window and hearth, according to Alina, were wards. Madis spotted a sigil or two, black and spiky, half hidden behind the woven garlands of purple and scarlet lilies. The flowers alone, at this time of year, must have cost the price of a good riding horse. It seemed Lord Baridine was very sure this wedding was going to restore his fortunes.
The garlands’ heavy scent mingled not quite happily with the odours of food, perfumes, beeswax polish and sweat. Those lilies could be found in hangings and carvings throughout the castle, as well as the servants’ livery. The Baridines were selectively proud of their family history, especially their support for the current successful claimant to the throne, which, if history went their way, would no doubt be translated as undying loyalty to the True Line.
However poorly rewarded such loyalty was currently proving to be.
The solution to that unfortunate state of affairs, the Lady Casillienne of Darnor, was even now taking her place between Lord Baridine and his formidable mother, the Dowager Lady Baridine.
Lady Casillienne was a tall woman with the yellow hair and white-rose complexion typical of the far northerner. She was currently unflatteringly swathed in an absurd concoction that was made of enough plum-coloured silk to curtain a four-poster bed.
Madis watched the betrothed couple, her persona as nobility of the middle-to-upper sort having placed her reasonably close to the high table.
Lady Casillienne was handsome enough, but rather lacking in animation for the woman Alina had described with such enthusiasm. Baridine – in plum-coloured velvet to match the lady’s silks, which flattered his more florid complexion no better than it did her pale one – had probably been good-looking enough before the drink started to blur his edges, but had an unattractive air of proprietary smugness and no obvious signs of incubus-like charm.