“More like a calling card by now,” Colette, the older of the daughters, remarked. A dark-haired young woman of about Keely’s age, with a couple of decades just freshly behind her, Colette grinned mischievously as she tightened the laces of her bodice.
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea to go crashing society parties. And those stupid gowns weren’t exactly made for slipping away in. They’re for making a scene in.”
The younger daughter, Madeline—old enough to pass for a woman, but still young enough to pass for a precocious child—snorted. “If you wanted to get away unnoticed, you’d stash a dress to change into.”
“I did the first time, and some ne’er-do-well stole it,” Keely said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, I thought it was my job to be distracting. You got the book, didn’t you?”
“Easy as one of those round, fruity confection thingies,” Madeline grinned.
“You know, if you wanted to leave a calling card,” Ophelia muttered, “you could try leaving an ‘X’.”
“I was fresh out of charcoal,” Keely answered dryly.
“Or a glove,” Ophelia went on. “Or a fan. Or a kerchief.”
“You didn’t pack me any,” Keely countered.
“Or a slipper, for go’ss sake!” Ophelia said, throwing up her hands.
“Oh, no!” Keely shot back with a real display of temper. “Nobody messes with my footwear!”
“Those are some amazing shoes.” Colette sighed, wistfully admiring the crystalline slippers.
“You like them?” Keely asked.
“You always find the best shoes,” Colette said, shaking her head with a little smile of envy. “Where did you get them?”
Keely just winked as she began rummaging for a dress to pull on. “What about the book?” she asked. “Is it any different from the others?”
“I only judge a book by its cover,” Ophelia said. “The binding’s the same. I recognize some of the same symbols, and it’s got that same cat front and center…”
“It’s a lioness,” Keely corrected her.
“It’s an angry cat,” Ophelia reaffirmed hotly. “But the point is I can’t read any more than you can.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious,” Keely asked, “why she’s willing to pay so much for this collection of books?”
“Not really,” Madeline said, taking a brush to her hair as she studied it in a hand mirror. “From the gossip going on at all these parties, it’s got to be some intrigue over—”
“Hush!” Ophelia cut her off. “Court politics is too nasty a business for any self-respecting criminal to get caught up in, so just keep your nose clean and your curiosity to yourself.”
Keely finished taking off the rest of the jewelry and dumped it into Ophelia’s lap before snatching up the book from her. “I’ll be sure to stow that away with all the other advice I’ve pointedly ignored. I’m ready to bet she’s paying a fortune for these things for the same reason that the Inquisition is chasing them.”
“Here, now!” Ophelia grabbed for the book, but not nearly fast enough to reach it before Keely pulled back out of reach. Then she did a double-take. “The Inquisition?”
“Well, they rode down some poor fool with an armload of books tonight,” Keely said, flipping through the pages as fruitlessly as Ophelia had.
Ophelia answered with a dismissive snort. “You know how many books the Inquisition has banned?”
“A lot,” Keely conceded. “But the guy thought they were valuable enough to stop and pick them up after he dropped them, even with the Inquisition right behind. How much does a guy have to get paid to consider doing something that stupid? And how many other books do you think are floating around the city right now that could be worth that much to anyone?”
Ophelia gave Keely the wary frown of someone who suspects she’s just heard a spurious argument but can’t quite nail down what was wrong with it.
“You’ve always said I had good instincts,” Keely said earnestly. “Trust them now. They’re saying it’s time to walk away from this job before we drown in it. Besides, isn’t the rule that the moment the Inquisition shows up in town, we disappear?”
Ophelia snorted. “That’s the small-town rule. Serylia’s always going to have someone from the Inquisition wandering around, and it’s big enough to lose ourselves in. For all we know, the job’s over anyway. How many books could ‘Lady A’ need for her set?” Ophelia said, insistently holding out a hand for the book, but when Keely’s only response was a stern glare, she relented a bit. “I’ll sleep on it,” Ophelia sighed.
“You do that,” Keely said, tossing her the book before turning to duck back out into the night. “Heck, sleep on it a couple of nights. I’m going to get started tying up my loose ends.” She adjusted the borrowed dress and walked off down the street, trailing a couple of the cats who seemed to have casually decided that if she was heading that direction, it might be because there was something interesting over there.
CHAPTER TWO
Loose Ends
The sun rising over the Unclouded Vale a couple of mornings later shone upon an ironically heavy mass of fog rising off the lakes and off the broad silver ribbon of the Cornyssus River that wound its way among the picturesque green hills. The rest of the Vale’s name had been saved from history’s irony bin only by virtue of its relative vale-ness. The Cornyssus and her tributaries had long since worn deep, comfortable grooves out of the snow-capped mountains that towered to the north, embracing the vale with their southward-sweeping arms.
Getting from Point A to Point B through the vale’s picturesque scenery generally consisted of forging across or around what residents of many of the civilized kingdoms would have unhesitatingly called mountains, but at least no one could accuse those particular mountains of being “alpine”.
At the farthest navigable point of the Cornyssus, where the river poured down from a three-hundred-foot cliff as Seriena’s Tears, the city of Serylia had begun the business of waking up. When a city the size of Serylia slept, it always slept restlessly, but Serylia at least did her diligent best at gathering strength for the new day ahead. Lights burned all through the night in those corners of the city dedicated to distracting the poor from the precariousness of their desperate lives. In the wealthy districts, the occasional celebration might drag on until dawn broke the horizon.
The substantial and devout middle class of the city, though, had gone piously to their beds by the time the Bell of the Final Candle tolled out across the city. There were, Keely had observed, some definite perks to that lifestyle around here—so the morning sun found her waiting sleepily in the open dormer window of her townhouse to greet it this one last time.
She sat perched there—wearing nothing but a blanket to protect her bare skin against the morning chill and a dark wig to cover her silvery hair—and sipped at a goblet of mulled wine while she waited for the bells to start. She didn’t wait long.
The red glow of dawn had barely crept up over the mountains before the first one began to toll, its deep and somber chime rolling out over the city. It tolled ten times before the answers began to ring back from spires all across Serylia, and the dawn chorus had begun. How many centuries the city had been perfecting it, Keely had no idea, but the tones rang out clear, true, and intricate from at least a score of sites (and certainly no less than a hundred bells). The locals claimed they could tell the day of the year by the morning song of the bells, and Keely could at least testify that no song had been repeated during the month she had been listening—yet each of those songs stood out as a masterwork of beauty.
Keely closed her eyes and allowed herself the decadent luxury of drifting away on the sound until the echoes of the final chime came drifting back off the mountains. Then the vocal chorus swelled to take its place. Keely couldn’t understand a single word of the old imperial tongue, but she couldn’t deny the rapturous beauty of the voices. Countless priestesses throughout the city raised their voices in loving praise of Seriena, every woman of them
blessed with a natural gift and a lifetime of training for exactly this.
Lack of belief or no, losing herself in the chorus each morning had soothed Keely’s soul, and it had reminded her that Church and Inquisition were not one and the same—all of which underscored the truth that it was time for her to move on. All other dangers aside, Serylia was beginning to feel too much like home.
Hero joined her at the window just as the song was ending. She sighed contentedly as he stepped up behind and folded her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek. “What’s that look in your eye, Fel?” he asked as she invited him into the blanket, savoring the feel of his bare skin against hers.
“Just have a lot to get done today, Hero,” she said, smiling up at him. This week he was a tall man, and he’d chosen a good face this time. She liked the way it looked, framed in his long, brown locks. “I’ve got something for you, though.” She slipped away from him, leaving him the blanket as she sauntered back away from the window, casting him a mischievous smile and a wink back over her shoulder. Fetching a key from the night table, she tossed it to him, then retreated behind the folding screen to pull on a clean chemise and her dressing gown.
“What’s this to?” Hero asked, turning the key over in his hand.
“The front door,” Keely said, as she began brushing out her hair. “Back door too, I think,” she said, frowning thoughtfully.
“Oh, really?” Hero said with a flirtatiously cocked eyebrow.
“Yep. Run along now, but make yourself at home when you’re done with your…thing today.” She waved a hand in dismissive surrender to that hole in her memory where details on the matter might have been stored.
When Hero had dressed and gone—with a rather steamy farewell kiss—Keely headed down the stairs, humming cheerfully to herself. “Jenny!” she called loudly as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s Raymentine, your ladyship,” the young housekeeper corrected as she appeared dutifully from the back of the house.
“Of course, Jenny,” Keely said, patting the woman fondly on the cheek. “Breakfast smells delightful. Is the alderman here yet?”
“Waiting in the parlor, your ladyship,” Raymentine said.
“Best keep him waiting, then. Come help me get dressed?”
When Keely stepped into the parlor half an hour later, in addition to the dark wig of fashionable curls, she wore a dress of simple elegance and dark red velvet, and a slightly haughty—but otherwise welcoming—expression.
“Alderman Margar!” She greeted the elderly gentleman with open arms and a kiss on each cheek. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Lady Felicity,” he greeted her, the stern expression fighting to maintain its place on his face at the warm greeting. “I find myself most vexed at you.”
“At me?” Keely clutched a hand to her breast in the exaggerated manner of polite social theater. “Dear Margar, whatever for?”
“For not turning to me for help, that’s what for,” he said crossly.
Keely scowled pensively, biting her lip. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t fool an old businessman,” he said, raising a scolding finger at her. “I know you’re getting ready to head back to Carabas, and I know why. I also know you’re ready to be a fool about how you’re doing it.”
“Alderman!” she gaped at him as her scowl turned to one of offense.
“Your pride won’t raise you an army,” he said, meeting her offense with a steely resolve, “and your title won’t get you much further.”
“I will manage, sir,” Keely said coldly.
“With that paltry sum Marviene Floron is offering you?” Margar raised a dubious eyebrow. “Look…Felicity,” he said, softening, “I’ve never had a daughter to spoil, and I admire your courage. I could get two times what Floron is offering for that painting your father left you—maybe three, if I embellish its history just a touch. Let me send you home with twice the army to take back your lands. It will save a great deal of strain on my heart, knowing you’ll have the upper hand when you leave. And if I’m lucky, I could still come out a bit the richer for it. What do you say? Personal favor to an old man?”
He gave her a smile clearly meant to be fatherly and charming but falling somewhat short of the mark.
“I…” Keely stammered, then cast him a suspicious sidelong glance. “How do you know how much Floron offered me?”
“I have my ways,” Margar said with a canny wink. “Ignorance does not a rich man make.”
“Twice?” Keely asked, in her best semblance of a woman doing some cautiously hopeful mental calculation.
Keely was humming happily as she entered the dining room. “Jenny!” she called.
“Raymentine, your ladyship,” Raymentine said, appearing dutifully.
“I hope there’s some breakfast still warm. I should have had more than those few bites before seeing the alderman.”
“Of course, your ladyship.” Raymentine nodded, then threw up her hands defensively to catch the small bag suddenly arcing across the dining table toward her.
“And sit down to join me,” Keely said as Raymentine caught the bag with a clink of coins. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” Raymentine asked curiously.
“I told you your Alonso will be a great artist someday. The alderman nearly twisted my arm off insisting I let him buy that painting off me,” Keely said.
“And…this?” Raymentine asked cautiously, peering into the bag.
“The alderman paid me a lot,” Keely assured her, carefully omitting the fact that—thanks to a little well placed misinformation—Alderman Floron thought he already had a buyer ready to take the painting off his hands for “a lot” five times over.
“Here’s the thing, Jenny,” Keely went on after Raymentine was settled. “That’s, what, six month’s wages you’ve got there?”
“Nearly a year, your ladyship,” Raymentine said, picking at the food on her own plate.
“My life just got complicated…” Keely paused briefly, waiting for Raymentine to finish coughing up a bite of eggs. “…and I’m heading back home. I want to make sure you’re taken care of, but I can’t take you with me. So listen carefully: I need you and Alonso to deliver the painting to the alderman for me this afternoon. He’ll pay you the other half of what he owes me. Follow me so far?”
Raymentine nodded, swallowing as she tried to guess the math of what ‘the other half’ might amount to.
“From there, the two of you are to go get married straight away.”
“Married?!” Raymentine exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“I mean, if you want to.” Keely smirked.
“Of course, your ladyship, but our families—”
“Will not be able to say a word against it,” Keely interrupted her, “because you’re going to take all that money the alderman will give you and head out to start life together in nice, cozy little city at least three days journey from here.”
“I couldn’t…”
“Fine.” Keely sighed. “At least a week’s journey. The important bit is to change your names, so that the alde…I mean, so that your families can’t find you. I wish I could say that if you’d rather not take the big, romantic adventure, I’d just give you a good letter of reference and let you take your chances. You’ll just have to trust me; that would be a bad idea. Marry the boy and run away together. And do it tonight.”
“What if he won’t…?” Raymentine began.
“Jenny, he always does,” Keely assured her.
“Always does what?” Raymentine asked, perplexed.
“You have my personal guarantee that he will, is what I mean. The boy is crazy about you, and not so crazy about his family. He’ll do it. And if he doesn’t do it, I’ll come back and scratch his eyes out myself.”
“What if…?”
“No! Jenny, life is short, and there’s no end to the number of ‘what ifs’
you can bury your dreams under. You want this, so you do this, or I wash my hands of the whole lack-of-affair.”
Whatever response Raymentine might have made was interrupted by the sudden, loud jangling of the front bell.
“That will be Lady Bellany,” Keely said, allowing herself a final bite before pushing away from the table. “Please show her into the parlor.”
Lady Bellany greeted Keely with a venomous scowl which twisted her otherwise pretty young features. “What are you doing here?” she spat.
Keely just sighed, holding up a placating hand. “Apologizing.”
The venom on Bellany’s face relaxed slightly in the direction of puzzled suspicion, and she left Keely the conversational space to go on.
“You’re right about me. I’m no good. I’ve done bad things, and I feel awful for coming between you and Hero,” she said with convincing contrition.
“Who’s Hero?” Bellany asked, though a serious dent was appearing in her venom now.
“The guy who’s supposed to be with you.” Keely sighed, massaging her forehead in frustration. “Is there more than one of them?!”
“Please tell me we’re talking about Perin?” Bellany sighed.
“Yes. Exactly. Him. You were right. I was wrong. I’m sorry for everything. No need to forgive me any of it, but if you promise me that you’re willing to forgive him for my leading him on, I’ll be out of his life before midday, and do my best to never be seen again. Can you do that for me?”
“I…” Bellany stammered, smoothing down her fetching red-and-white dress. “I don’t know what to say.”
“’Yes’ will cover it,” Keely assured her.
“Yes?” Bellany replied cautiously.
“Well said.” Keely nodded. “Now I’m also here because this is actually my house. Well, was my house. Your house now. Turn it into a home for stray cats or whatever if you don’t have a use for it. I’ll be cleared out in a couple of hours. The key’s on the mantle. Hero…” Keely winced and forced herself to carefully enunciate the name. “Perin should be by looking for me before dark. If I were you, I’d be here to break the news to him, and don’t spare my reputation.”
Lethal Red Riding Hood (Dark Goddess Chronicles Book 1) Page 2