Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence)

by W. R. Gingell

  “Hallo, Belle. What have you done this time?”

  “I wonder why it is,” I began plaintively; “That everyone I talk to seems to assume that I’m about to do something, am doing something, or have done something! My own sister, too! You’re supposed to look up at me with wide-eyed admiration, Su, and wait eagerly for the pearls of wisdom that drop from my lips. It’s a sad reflection upon your upbringing, I’m inclined to think.”

  “You should have taught me better, then,” said Susan cheerfully. “Besides, I can’t do wide-eyed looks, and since you’ve been away, all I’ve had are Mrs. Higgins’ words of wisdom.”

  “Which particular words of wisdom has Mrs. Higgins been sharing?” I enquired. Mrs. Higgins had been our cook for most of my life and all of Susan’s, and she had become something of a fixture.

  “Wait, I want to get it just right; the wording has to be fully appreciated.” She concentrated, curling a section of escaped chestnut hair around one finger. “Oh yes! I believe her exact words were ‘Sling it in yer ear!’ With regards to the drayman who splashed her second-best boots with mud.”

  “I’ve always admired her ability to vocalize so effectively. Was the drayman abashed?”

  “Don’t know,” said Susan, watching me thoughtfully and continuing to twirl the one curl around her finger. “He was hunched over his horse and driving away so quickly it was hard to see his face. I think the peach she hurled at him might have had something to do with that.”

  “Susan, am I to understand that you merely stood and watched as our servant peppered a drayman with fruit?”

  “Of course not,” said Susan. “I passed her a dew-melon.”

  “I’m glad to think that at least some of my training remains. How are you and Kit coping?”

  Was I mistaken, or did a watchful gleam come to those grey eyes?

  “I’ve been out riding most of the day,” she said, accounting for her windswept appearance. A little worm of suspicion began gnawing away somewhere in the woodwork of my mind. Susan didn’t go in for wide-eyed innocence or deflectors: her particular type of deception was much harder to spot- particularly since she didn’t try to deceive. She simply mentioned what she thought was relevant, and left anything else out. Therefore what she said was not so much important as what she didn’t say. What hadn’t she said?

  “What happened, Belle? Is it Papa?”

  “Yes and no,” I said, letting the little worm chew away until it churned up something useful. “Have you heard about the murders?”

  “Everyone has,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Haven’t they caught him yet?”

  “That depends upon whom you ask,” I remarked. “Lord Pecus certainly thinks so. He arrested Papa.”

  Susan’s eyebrows went up, highlighting a smudge of dirt above her right eyebrow. “He must be an idiot. Or is he angling for something?”

  I drummed my fingers thoughtfully on my knee. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “But Papa isn’t in prison, is he?” said Susan slowly. “No, I would have heard about it; Annabel would have told me. Glause doesn’t allow bail, so . . . Belle, you’re in prison, aren’t you?”

  “Something of the sort,” I remarked, my lips twitching.

  “I always knew you’d end up in prison.”

  “I’m an honoured guest of the Watch House Commander,” I corrected her loftily. “Thank you very much! Officially, I was attacked by the murderer, and am being housed here for my own safety. Which brings me to my reason for calling you-”

  I stopped, because I had realized what it was that Susan had not said earlier. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I asked: “Su, where is Kit? Papa needs him.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,” she said candidly. “Kit’s gone off on one of his explorations. He left yesterday.”

  “Well!” I said wrathfully. “If that isn’t just like him! What are we to do now, I should like to know?”

  “I’m coming over, of course.” Susan tucked the few strands of loose hair away behind one ear in a businesslike manner, her eyes distant. “I can be there in three days- less if I ride, and let the coach follow.”

  “Absolutely not!” I told her firmly. “Kit must be fetched; and you, young madam, shouldn’t be travelling alone, not to mention being home alone!”

  “He can’t be fetched, he’s gone offlink,” said Susan, shrugging. “You know how he is. He probably sensed you’d call: he did leave in a bit of a hurry. Will I need party things, or just meeting things?”

  “If you think you’re going to do the job, you’re very much mistaken!”

  “I don’t see how you’re going to stop me,” she pointed out. “Unless you get time off for good behaviour, of course. You know I can do this, Belle.”

  “I know you can do it,” I said. “Su, I was pushed into this life without a choice in the matter, and I won’t let it happen to you. You’re only seventeen.”

  Susan gave me a level look. “You were hosting parties when you were fourteen, and ambassadorial hooplas by seventeen. I want to do this, Belle. Kit never liked politics. I do. It’s my chance now.”

  I did a quick mental rearrangement, resigned to circumstances beyond my control. Susan would do a much better job than Kit ever could have, but I did wish she could have been older before she made such a decision.

  “Stick with the horselords and you won’t go wrong. You’ve not met the king, have you?”

  She shook her head, undismayed, and I felt a smile playing about my lips. Nothing ever did dismay Susan.

  “Papa’s next meeting is at the end of the week: can you be here by then?”

  “Kit’s been working on a travel spell to shoe a horse with,” said Susan thoughtfully. “He won’t mind my borrowing it.”

  I thought that this was dubious, but Susan did tend to know Kit better than I did. Besides, he had no business going off and leaving Susan in the first place, so if he didn’t like it he only had himself to blame.

  “Don’t commlink with Papa before you come,” I warned her.

  “Good grief, no!” she agreed at once. “He’d tell me not to come. Do you know, Belle, sometimes I think Papa is entirely too selfless to be an ambassador.”

  “Then it’s a good thing he has two conniving females on his side, isn’t it?”

  There were light footsteps along the hall, if I were not much mistaken; and I flicked my eyes sideways just as the door to my suite opened, admitting Vadim. I found myself startled. Was it dinner time already? I didn’t feel quite ready.

  “Belle? What’s wrong?” Susan’s voice was sharp.

  “Nothing, my darling; merely the call to dinner. Come and see me when you get here, won’t you? And for heaven’s sake bring me some drinkable tea!”

  She grinned at me, and closed the connection. I looked down at the mirror for a little while in pensive silence, then sighed and turned my gaze on Vadim.

  “Is it time, Vadim?”

  “An hour until dinner is served, lady. I thought you’d want the time.”

  “Very perspicacious of you, Vadim. We’re presenting dulcet harmlessness tonight: do you think you can manage?”

  Vadim nodded with an eagerness that suggested she knew the game was afoot, and stood ready as I pulled the combs from my hair and confined the resulting curls loosely at the nape of my neck with a moss green ribbon. The red mass puffed softly around my ears and left a few curls drifting free; adding, I thought in some satisfaction, a touch of youth to my face.

  “Which brings us to the most important business of the evening: what shall I wear?”

  Chapter Three

  I was late to supper after all. It wasn’t that I had nothing to wear: my problem consisted in an over-abundance of somethings to wear, and in deciding which one made me look sufficiently innocent and trustworthy. I am a devout admirer of the long con.

  I thought Lord Pecus was regarding his watch with a porcelain frown when I arrived, but if so, he whisked it away so quickly that I didn’t
even catch a flash of gold. I was pleased to find that he had provided his dining hall with light orbs: I have never appreciated having to hunt around my plate in the dark for the last mouthful. A footman was holding a chair away from the table, and I sat automatically.

  The servants seemed to hold their breath as they served. I wondered if they were nervous of me or of Lord Pecus, and was irrationally put on edge by the loaded silence until the small, mischievous part of my mind reminded me that I had done the same to Melchior just this afternoon, and made me chuckle. Still, it was a relief when they left, taking the air of expectancy with them. I looked down the length of the table at Lord Pecus, who, as promised, was removing his mask, and belatedly realized the enormous amount of tabletop between us. I frowned in disapproval: if there was one thing I hated as much as searching for my food in the dark, it was shouting across the tabletop at my dining partner. I wondered if Lord Pecus had done it to be imposing, or if he had been putting distance between us because he must remove his mask.

  Well, that sort of thing had better stop right now, I thought determinedly; and, picking up my plate and utensils, I trod to the head of the table. I sat down at Lord Pecus’ right hand just as he pulled the mask away, startling him; and was strangely unsurprised to see the involuntary snarl that curled his lips and showed long, pointed teeth.

  “Lady Farrah-”

  “I can’t talk to you from all the way down there,” I said firmly, interrupting without compunction. “Besides, who will pass the salt?”

  He looked pained, as far as I could tell beneath all the fur. “I didn’t think it would be an insuperable difficulty!”

  “Lack of salt is always an insuperable difficulty unless there is more salt,” I said, delicately laying out my napkin. “I have to say that I didn’t take you for a bashful man.”

  I watched with interest the tremor of movement that passed over his face, and decided that he was trying not to laugh.

  “I didn’t want to frighten you.” His green eyes glowed with a touch of- what was it? Reproach?

  I assumed so, and said pleadingly: “You wouldn’t be so unkind as to send me all the way back down there, would you? I’ve just become comfortable!”

  One of Lord Pecus’ big hands curled around the stem of his wine glass, swallowing it. He said dryly: “I would hate to think I’d made you uncomfortable, Lady Farrah.”

  I chuckled, startling him again; but this time he controlled the snarl. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re finding me more trying than you expected, aren’t you?”

  “Not trying,” he said, and again I thought I could see a very human crinkling in the corner of his eyes that suggested he was smiling. “Unsettling, perhaps. I have the feeling you’re trying to discomfit me.”

  I flicked a look of genuine surprise toward him. “Not at this stage, my lord.”

  “We’re still friends, then?”

  I hadn’t thought I was being unfriendly. I thought about it critically, and came to the conclusion that Lord Pecus was more self-conscious about his condition than I had given him credit for. Evidently I had erred in judgement.

  “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable,” I said, regretfully. Throwing him off balance in a spirit of mischief was one thing: making him genuinely uncomfortable was quite another. “Please, dine in the manner you find most agreeable. Forgive my malapertness, it wasn’t maliciously meant.”

  This time it was Lord Pecus who looked taken aback. He regarded me for a moment in pensive silence, and then pinched the bridge of his nose between his long fingers. “We seem to have started out at cross-purposes, Lady Farrah,” he said. He sounded tired. “You’re very welcome to join me at the head of the table.”

  “You’ve had a bad day,” I said, in sudden realization. Father tended to drop things and huff into his evening coffee if he had had a bad day, and I had become so used to it that I had neglected to consider that it could manifest in any other way. Lord Pecus must have gone back to the Watch House after he and Melchior left me to my fainting fit.

  Lord Pecus grinned, showing a great deal of long, pointed teeth. It would have been frightening if I hadn’t seen his snarl and recognised the difference.

  “Perhaps a little,” he admitted. “There was a disturbance down in the Sinkhole. Most of my men were down there trying to keep peace – at least, as far as peace can be kept in the Sinkhole – so of course there was another incident in the city centre.”

  I regarded him interestedly over the top of my wine glass. “What happened?”

  “A half-drunk drifter backed into the wrong store window,” he said. “Or the right one, depending on which way you look at it. Burglar spells went off with a roar all through the Watch House, so Trophy and I went to see what the fuss was about.”

  I frowned. “Trophy?”

  “Trophimus Holt,” Lord Pecus explained. “My Lieutenant.”

  “Oh, the lovely boy whose badge- that is, the lovely boy I had to tea with me!” I corrected myself, with aplomb. “Go on, my lord. I’ve got the feeling you’re just getting to the interesting bit.”

  Lord Pecus took a meditative sip of his wine (really, I don’t see how he did it; it must have been something to do with the magic, or those jaws could never manage to sip) and eyed me quizzically. His beast face was amazingly mobile, with disturbingly familiar fluctuations of emotion that reminded one without hesitation of a human face.

  “Well, when we got there the drifter was rolling about in glass and pearls from the shop window,” he continued, keeping his reflections to himself. “He was muttering away to himself, so I thought I’d lock him up for the night as drunk and disorderly; give him a square meal or two. When he saw us he bolted for it, so of course we chased him down.”

  “Of course!” I echoed, fascinated. “Is it usual for the Commander of the Watch to chase down disorderlies?”

  Lord Pecus gave me another of those fearsome smiles. “Drunks don’t run. They mumble at you and ask what’s on the menu tonight, and if they should dress for dinner. People with guilty consciences run.”

  “You mean they set off alarms on purpose to have a meal and a roof over their heads?”

  He nodded. The stiffness in his face was now completely gone, and as I watched the play of movement over his mobile features, studying each different expression, I flattered myself that he had entirely forgotten that he was no longer wearing his mask.

  “I’ve never had one run away before. Something felt off about it, so we chased him.” A muscle in Lord Pecus’ hairy jaw twitched through the fur, as if he had clenched his teeth at a galling memory. “I was chasing him down an alley so that Trophy could head him off when someone emptied their washing water over me.”

  I choked off an involuntary laugh a little too late to turn it into a cough.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” asked Lord Pecus coldly.

  “Nothing in the world, my lord!” I said, in somewhat of a strained voice. “Did he get away?”

  He gave a brief shake of the head. “Trophy had him in his sights by then.”

  “Will you let him go tomorrow?” Lord Pecus was silent, and I found my curiosity roused. “No? What do you suspect him of, my lord?”

  He grinned. “I don’t suspect him of anything as such, Lady Farrah; I merely suspect him.”

  “I’ve warned you about the lack of trust in your nature,” I noted mildly, covertly sequestering a few stray peas beneath crisp, cheesy slices of potato. I’ve never much cared for peas, but since I’m far too old not to eat all the greens on my plate, my diplomatic skills extend to the point of concealment. “Did he tell you anything sufficient to allay your suspicions?”

  “No.” The corners of his mouth pulled back slightly in a way that I was beginning to equate with quiet amusement. “He’s spent the last few hours bawling drifter’s drinking songs into the garden. Very usual, very unsuspicious, but-”

  “But perhaps a little too drunk to be true?” He nodded, eyes glinting amusement, and a little c
og in my mind whirred, then clicked. “The garden? He’s imprisoned in the cells here?”

  Lord Pecus shrugged. “The Watch House cells have been turned into a second Sinkhole district: I’m told they’ve already split into two factions. It wouldn’t have been safe. I didn’t take you for the nervous type, Lady Farrah.”

  “Not nervous,” I told him; “Merely grateful that I have a suite of rooms rather than a draughty cell.”

  I wondered how difficult it was to get to the cells. I would have to confer with Vadim. I was inclined to trust Lord Pecus’ instincts that there was more to the drifter drunk than met the eye, and I have never been a great believer in coincidence.

  Our murderer had a long reach, and I wondered very much if he had been behind either or both of the disturbances today.

  I left the dinner table in a thoughtful mood. I flattered myself that Lord Pecus hadn’t noticed my preoccupation, but his own thoughts had to have been running along similar lines, and I wondered what plan he had concocted in order to induce the man to talk. I smiled mischievously to myself as I climbed the stone stairs back to my suite, because I already knew what my plan was . . .

  *

  “Now, Vadim: report, if you please.”

  “One of the doors in our hall is locked,” said Keenan gleefully, interrupting Vadim without compunction. “Bet it goes somewhere excitin’!”

  I suffered the interruption long enough to ask: “A grand old door, I presume? Big and foreboding, with great, dusty carvings inlaid?”

  He nodded with glinting eyes, and I had a moment’s relief that though his upbringing may have been a little lax, he evidently hadn’t descended to criminal enterprise- or at least not the housebreaking sort. A thief would know better. I found it a refreshing innocence in Keenan.

  “What do you think of this locked door, Vadim?”

  “I think I could pick the lock,” she said, pleasingly to the point; though evidently as misguided as Keenan. “It’ud take a while, though, lady.”

  “Is it a magical lock, Vadim? Or mechanical?”

  “Both,” she told me, with a grimace. “I can do the magic bit, just, but I’m not much for mechanical ones.”