Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy)

by Pagliassotti Dru

  “All right.” He stood and leaned over to kiss her, running his long fingers over her cheek. “Thank you, love. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  Taya relaxed. As long as Cristof listened to her, she could keep him safe.

  “You’re usually worth it.”

  “Usually?”

  “Well, when you ask me to go to a morgue just to be your interpreter—”

  She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Exalted?” Amcathra said, from outside. “The inspector is waiting. If you still wish to hide in an adjacent room, I have prepared one for you.”

  “Now?” Taya growled.

  “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” Cristof promised, giving her one last, hurried kiss. She shook her head with exasperation as she followed him out.

  * * *

  Ondinium’s staff consisted of two lictors besides Amcathra and Rikard; Jayce and his five-person team, who kept the delegation appropriately clothed and coiffed; two Ondinium University professors who’d already settled into temporary housing at Echelles University but returned to answer questions; their two research assistants; and the three mercates representing each of the Big Three mining consortia and their separate clerks.

  Taya and Cristof listened as Amcathra and Inspector Gifford asked each person about Hubert Guisnard and came up with nothing except the confirmation from a lictor that yes, a bookseller had visited Exalted Forlore and yes, he thought the exalted had bought some books from the man. Yes, the exalted had bought a dozen or so books since coming to Mareaux, and several journals, too. His wife had, too. Yes, his wife was with the delegation. Hadn’t they met? His wife was the icarus.

  Taya made a face as the inspector began to stammer.

  The icarus was the exalted’s wife? Why hadn’t she been introduced that way? Weren’t cross-caste marriages illegal? Do we mean the same thing by the word “wife”?

  Apparently the inspector thought the folk wisdom that “cross-caste marriages never work” was law. To be sure, the statement was implicitly sanctioned by hundreds of tragic cross-caste love stories. In fact, Cristof had assured Taya during their engagement that almost .025 percent of marriages in Ondinium over the last fifty years had crossed caste, and 90 percent of those marriages had been successful; a higher percentage than enjoyed by intra-caste marriages.

  At last the chief inspector took his leave. Lieutenant Amcathra stepped through the room connecting the two chambers.

  “The mercates have asked to speak to you. They are waiting, if you care to address them now.”

  “I suppose I’d better.” Cristof reached out and squeezed Taya’s hand. “Will you stay?”

  “Of course.” She followed him into the room, where the three mercates rose and bowed.

  Within Ondinium, Cristof had given up wearing a mask and robes entirely. Outside Ondinium, he was required to cover in public, unmasking only before foreigners of the highest social rank. The compromise sounded good in theory, but in practice it had been impossible to maintain. Cristof had soon stopped wearing his mask and public robes when he was alone with the mercates and the rest of his ambassadorial staff. It had been awkward at first, but after a while the mercates had disciplined themselves to look at Cristof’s naked face without flinching.

  “Exalted,” said Maximilian Trichas, straightening. He represented North Reach Consolidated Mining & Smelting Co. and was the youngest and most headstrong of the three. “We were hoping you’d tell us whether you’re going to pull the delegation out of Mareaux as a result of these assassination attempts.”

  “How much would it inconvenience you?” Cristof asked, taking a seat. Taya perched on the edge of an overstuffed velvet chair on the other side of the room.

  “We haven’t finalized our negotiations yet, Exalted,” said Patrice Corundel, the gray-haired woman who represented Allied Metals & Extraction. “I think we could reach a satisfactory agreement if we had another three days.”

  “Those are three days in which the exalted’s life could be in danger,” Trichas objected. “I think we should withdraw as soon as possible. The assassin has failed twice already. Who knows what will happen if he gets desperate? The exalted should take the next train to Terminal and wait there for the rest of the delegation.”

  “What do you think?” Cristof asked, turning to the oldest of the representatives, Auguste Macerain, of Ondinium First Standard Mining Co.

  “Make sure you have a private carriage,” Macerain advised. “It’s twenty hours to Terminal. You can’t ride all day in a mask, and how would you manage those robes when you needed to take a piss?”

  “Good point,” Cristof replied.

  “How’s the trade agreement going?” Taya asked, trying not to laugh. “Have you worked out that coal tariff?”

  “Mareaux has dug in its heels at six percent,” Trichas complained. “Our partners tell us Mareaux’s Parliament will reduce it to five if the Council reduces the cotton tariff to five, but that’s out of our hands.”

  “Unless you have any influence on these matters, Exalted?” Corundel inquired.

  “I can take a recommendation to Council, but that’s all. Still, the compromise doesn’t sound unreasonable. Of course, ultimately it all comes down to the Great Engine’s trade projections.”

  “We would appreciate anything you could do to help,” Corundel said.

  “Are the other negotiations going better?” Taya asked.

  “As well as expected,” Trichas said. “We’ve reaffirmed several agreements and discussed some mutually beneficial delivery and storage rate changes. Signed a few new contracts. Nothing to excite our investors.”

  “We could have done most of it by post,” Macerain grumbled, standing and leaning on his cane. He turned to Cristof and touched his forehead with his palm. “If you will excuse me, Exalted, I’m leaving to attend a string quartet. The daughter of one of my old friends plays the cello. She’s dreadful, but nobody in Mareaux has the good sense to tell her so. If she’d taken the Great Examination, she would have been culled out of music school right from the start, and dozens of family friends would have been saved these painful musical interludes.”

  “You aren’t going to tell her, are you?” Taya asked, wincing.

  “Don’t advise me on manners, Icarus; I’ve been visiting Mareaux since before you were born.” He headed out the door. “And nothing ever changes. Don’t know why you insisted we come in person, Patrice. I could do this job in my sleep.”

  Corundel waited a beat for the old man’s back to vanish down the hallway before adding, “and for the most part, he does.”

  “It’s useful to have someone around who remembers all the precedents,” Trichas said, diplomatically. He turned to Cristof. “Will we have a few more days to wrap up?”

  “Janos, how long would it take to get a private car attached to the next train out to Terminal?” Cristof asked, looking at the lictor.

  “Two days, if you want your staff and luggage to accompany you.”

  “I do, and I see no reason to rush. We’ll give you the three days you requested, Mercate Corundel. Lieutenant Amcathra will figure out the timetable and keep you informed.”

  “Thank you, Exalted.” “Thank you,” the two mercates chorused, taking their leave.

  “Will you let us know as soon as you’ve set a departure date?” Cristof asked Amcathra.

  “Yes.” The lictor folded his arms over his chest and fixed the exalted with his ice-blue gaze. “Was Guisnard a Council agent?”

  Taya grinned as Cristof blew out an exasperated breath.

  “He was an informant, but as far as I know, he wasn’t working for the Council. He brought me some useful news the last time he visited, and I can only assume he returned with an update. I hope that wasn’t why he was killed, though.”

  “How do you come to have informants outsi
de of Ondinium?”

  “When I ran my repair shop, I corresponded with clockmakers all around the continent. I also worked with a number of foreign tradesmen and met foreign customers shopping for an Ondinium timepiece.” He shrugged. “Now that I’m a diplomat, some of my old contacts send me information.”

  “Then there is a message hidden in the two books.”

  “Probably.”

  Amcathra’s blue eyes narrowed.

  Taya held her breath, wondering if he was going to ask about Alister again.

  “There is no way to forcibly retrieve the books that would not risk an international incident,” he said at last.

  She softly released her breath.

  “No.” Cristof sounded glum. “Which means we may never find out why Guisnard was killed.”

  Chapter Six

  “There,” said Jayce proudly. “What do you think?”

  Taya gave a very unladylike whistle of admiration as she gazed at the four silk robes he’d spread out over the bed.

  “Have you been holding these back?” she asked, running a hand over the outer robe. It was covered with an embroidered arabesque of flowering vines picked out in precious and semiprecious stones, and the inner lining was a mirror-match in gold thread. She lifted one heavy sleeve. “This must weigh a ton.”

  “It does. The exalted won’t do much walking around tonight.” Jayce sounded pleased by the thought. “Look, every flower is native to Mareaux. And the back? Mareaux’s grapevines. Each grape is a single ruby. Do you think the queen will appreciate it? I knew the exalted would need something impressive for his last night at court.”

  “Did the Council pay for this?”

  “We have a wardrobe budget.” Jayce gave the garments a calculating glance. “I’ll tear the robe apart when we get back and re-use as much of it as possible. So, please, no adventures tonight.”

  “We haven’t scheduled any.” Taya ran a hand over the other garments. The second robe was celadon and embroidered with a darker leafy pattern. The third robe was a solid deep burgundy, and the fourth a rich sienna. “Oh, he’s going to hate all this.”

  “Your husband has even less fashion sense than you do.”

  “That’s true. But for what it’s worth, they’re beautiful. Can we keep this one?” She pointed to the sienna robe. “Cris would look good in it around the house.”

  “Have you convinced him to start wearing robes again?”

  “I’m working on it.” Not with much success, but she hoped if she kept flattering him whenever he wore one, he might come around. She enjoyed seeing him dressed up in proper silk and jewels.

  “Good luck.” Jayce turned to the wig on the dresser. “And what about this?”

  “He’ll hate that, too,” Taya said. “But you did an amazing job. I can’t even tell it got soaked.”

  Jayce gave the wig an affectionate pat. “One of my assistants is an incredible stylist. You should use her. When will the exalted give up his wig?”

  Taya ignored his jab about her hairstyle. “His hair is almost long enough to style now, even though he keeps threatening to cut it off.”

  “Don’t let him do that!”

  “I’m working on that, too.” She looked around. “What am I going to wear tonight?”

  “A traditional Mareaux gown, of course.”

  “Of course.” She sighed as he lifted it off a chair for her. Long, tied-back skirts, a tight bodice, a high collar, and sleeves down to her wrist. “I wish you’d make me something practical.”

  “I give you practical in Ondinium, where you’re an icarus. But I give you formal in Mareaux, where you’re the ambassador’s voice. This is the height of local fashion. Do you like the bodice?”

  Taya saw that he’d cut the fabric in long, curving strips, creating a suggestion of wings wrapping around her midsection.

  “That’s a nice touch,” she admitted, although she’d rather wear her real wings.

  “I work for barbarians,” Jayce grumbled.

  “No, it is nice. You always remind people that I’m an icarus, and I appreciate it. I’m just tired of wearing dresses every day.”

  “You haven’t worn dresses every day. I’ve seen you in that ugly flight suit.”

  “Only when I’m on my own.”

  “You need to wear a dress two more times. Tonight, for the concert and reception, and tomorrow, for the farewell ceremony. Once you’re back in Terminal, you can wear your flight suit every day, if you like.”

  “I can hardly wait.” She smiled. Despite the social awkwardness of the delegation’s withdrawal, she was looking forward to getting back home, where she could act — and dress — like herself again.

  Jayce waved at the garments. “Then this will do?”

  “Of course. Thank you. Can you deliver everything to our suites within the hour?”

  “Naturally.”

  “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” She squeezed his hand and left. She had to find Lord Pomeroy to make certain the palace would provide a translator for the morning’s departure ceremonies. She wouldn’t be accompanying Cristof, since she had to oversee the transport of her armature.

  Taya turned the corner into the grand hall and froze when she saw Lord Gaio Mazzoletti leaning over Rikard. The young lictor’s fair complexion was flushed and his jaw and fists clenched as the Alzanan courtier berated him. Their faces were only inches apart.

  “Excuse me.” Taya raised her voice as she strode across the inlaid marble floor. “Is there a problem?”

  Lord Gaio straightened, his dark eyes flashing.

  “This young hoodlum ran into me and refused to apologize. He has no respect for his betters!”

  Taya looked at Rikard, whose black lictor’s stripe stood out against his reddened face.

  “I apologized,” he said, his voice tense.

  “He said ‘Sorry,’” Lord Gaio mimicked, in a bad Ondinium accent. “Without even stopping. I do not consider ‘sorry’ an apology. In Alzana, I would challenge this boy to a duel for such an insult. Only my respect for the ambassador keeps me from doing so here.”

  Taya’s lips tightened. She didn’t like Lord Gaio browbeating a member of her delegation, but she had no trouble imagining Rikard rudely brushing by the Alzanan ambassador.

  “Lictor Kiraly, would you please give Lord Mazzoletti a more suitable apology?”

  Rikard shot her a dark look, and then straightened, dragging his eyes away from her to fix them on the Alzanan. He gave a Mareaux-style salute.

  “I apologize for running into you, Lord Mazzoletti,” he said, stiffly. “It will not happen again.”

  Lord Gaio grunted with disgust and then waved a hand. “See that it does not.” The Alzanan turned to Taya. “The exalted should not travel with children who cannot be trusted to do their duty.”

  Rikard jerked around and strode away, his shoulders high.

  “I’m sorry,” Taya said to the Alzanan ambassador. “This has been a stressful time for our security personnel. I’ll see that Lieutenant Amcathra has a word with him.”

  “He is still in charge? I’m surprised. If an Alzanan bodyguard had failed to prevent two assassination attempts, he would be dismissed. Or executed.”

  “The lieutenant is not exactly the exalted’s bodyguard, and his fate is up to the Council,” Taya said, hiding her annoyance.

  “Exalted Forlore doesn’t have the power to dismiss a member of his own staff?”

  “Exalted Forlore is content to wait until a formal investigation determines whether any of our lictors were negligent in their duties.”

  “How can there be any doubt?” Lord Gaio reached out and touched her cheek. “I would take better care of my wife, if I were the exalted.”

  “The exalted’s wife prefers to take care of herself.” Taya stepped backward. “If you’ll excu
se me, Lord Mazzoletti?”

  “Of course.” His smile mocked her.

  Taya caught up with Rikard on the other side of the hall and tugged him into an empty side hall.

  “What was all that about?” she demanded, keeping her voice low.

  The young lictor avoided her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t trust him.”

  “I don’t trust him. But he’s Alzana’s equivalent to an exalted, and he deserves to be treated with the respect due his rank.”

  “In Demicus, people are respected for what they do, not how they’re born.”

  Taya took a deep breath. If Rikard wasn’t careful, he was going to fail the lictors’ annual loyalty test.

  “Demicus has several families who have headed their clans for multiple generations. Isn’t that a form of birthright?”

  “They lead because they’re good leaders,” he shot back. “If they were weak or corrupt, they’d be challenged and someone else would take over.”

  “Well, it isn’t that different in Alzana. The Families also recognize right of combat. In fact, you were lucky Lord Mazzoletti didn’t challenge you on the spot. Alzanans duel with sabres, not guns. How good are you with a sabre?”

  The question was rhetorical. Ondinium didn’t teach its lictors how to use such old-fashioned weapons.

  Rikard scowled at the floor.

  “Alzanans duel with poison and bombs,” he countered, his voice flat.

  “Are you suggesting that the Mazzolettis were behind the attacks?”

  “Of course they were.”

  She sighed. She needed to have a stern talk with Amcathra and Cristof about airing their suspicions in front of impressionable young lictors.

  “We have no proof of that. Look, the political situation is difficult enough for the ambassador without throwing an offended Alzanan into the mix.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling silent anger in his taut muscles. “I know Lord Mazzoletti is annoying, but he’s a powerful nobleman and, if we’re very unlucky, he could be the queen’s next consort. So keep your temper, do your duty, and make your uncle proud.”