Lieutenant Holt removed me from the cell with a none-too-gentle shove and a rough adjuration to move myself up the stairs. Accordingly, I moved myself, and emerged at the top of the stairs to the eager countenances of Vadim and Keenan. They gazed avidly at me, but it was left to Lieutenant Holt to ask: “Well? What now?”
“A bath, I rather think,” I said disparagingly, lifting a strand of my grubby hair and eyeing it with fascinated horror. “Vadim, I think you might have done just a little too well.”
“Don’t be unkind, Lady Farrah!” Trophimus pleaded laughingly. “You know what I meant.”
“Isabella, if you please!” I said firmly. “Once one has been imprisoned by someone it seems a little silly to stick to formalities, after all.”
He grinned shyly. “You can call me Trophy, my lady. Isabella, I mean.”
“To answer your question, Trophy: let him go.”
“Let him go?”
“Let him go, Trophy, let him go!” I repeated, waving an airy hand.
“I don’t know if Lord Pecus would like that,” he said dubiously.
“Oh, live a little! And it might be as well to send someone to question the woman who poured a load of dishwater over Lord Pecus. Discreetly, of course; don’t burst in on her wearing your Watch uniform.”
“Perhaps I should put her into a cell,” remarked Trophy humorously. “Since you seem to be doing so well. What did you get out of him?”
“He was paid to set the alarm off. He was also paid to run in the direction that he ran.”
Trophy blinked several times, rapidly. “It was a jape? Someone thought it was a good idea to run a practical joke on the Commander of the Watch?”
“I don’t think it was a joke, exactly,” I said slowly. The murderer had struck me as definitely unbalanced, and with a distinct interest in me: was it a stretch of the imagination to think that he could consider Lord Pecus in the light of a rival? “I believe I need to speak with Lord Pecus.”
I frowningly considered this for a moment, and added: “But first I must have a bath.”
Chapter Four
It was a week later that I awoke to the sounds of vigorous dusting and numerous determined sniffs: Damson was evidently still experiencing problems with her gentleman friend. I forbore to question her, since she had been disinclined to discuss the matter earlier, but I did wonder briefly, gazing up at my ceiling in quiet meditation, if the hearth had been in a sufficiently dirty state to justify the vigorous scraping I had heard. I rather fancied not. It would seem that my morning rest was at the mercy of Damson’s gentleman friend.
Since it didn’t seem likely that I would get any more sleep, I roused myself sufficiently to decline the presence of a fire in the newly swept hearth. It was the second month of summer, and hot as the days already were, they would daily increase in mugginess until not even the dawn or dusk would offer relief from the heat of the triad. As it was, the morning coolness had not even managed to pierce my light coverlet, and the thought of a fire, no matter how small, was decidedly disagreeable.
After Damson had flounced her way back below stairs, I climbed languidly out of bed and into a warm, soupy morning that seemed to wrap itself around me like syrup.
“Insupportable!” I said firmly: but since it was also insupportable to remain any longer in my somewhat sticky nightdress, I ruffled through my wardrobe for a light summer frock and was dressed before Vadim and Keenan had even stirred.
It had occurred to me last night, in the time before I fell asleep, that I had not been making the best use of my resources, and with that thought in mind, I curled myself up in the windowseat with the Book of Interesting Excerpts, to await breakfast.
The Book was in a contrary mood, however; sulky and slow with its information, and when the children awoke fractious and quarrelsome, it began to be borne in on me just what the day was liable to be like. Evidently I was not the only one who found the first real day of summer a trial.
Eventually I sent them outside to bicker, and changed focus in my perusal of the Book of Interesting Excerpts. I had been trying to get a little more history on the Earl of Horn, who, though not in my estimation a truly viable suspect, was certainly a Person of Interest. It was he, I strongly suspected, whom Lord Pecus and I had followed to the Charles Black meeting. But the Book was vague and confusing, inking out diverse and contradictory written reports from Watch occurrence books (and, disturbingly, personal diaries) that could not possibly have been true in conjunction with each other. When I pointed out as much to the Book, its ink sank into a sullen black, and it sputtered out a short, messy sentence.
Can’t help it, that’s what happened.
“It can’t be what happened!” I said, with some asperity. “Look, you’ve got the Earl at home here, according to the time of this little note he wrote, and over in the Sinkhole District here, on the same date and at the same time!”
I don’t write it, I just research it, said the book, its writing growing smaller and more crabbed. It looked as though it were about to throw a temper tantrum, if such a thing were possible.
I sighed. “Very well, if that is too difficult, show me all communications the day the Pecus Curse took effect.”
The Book paused, its writing fading in and out uncertainly. At length, a sentence formed.
I don’t think that’s allowed.
“What do you mean, it’s not allowed!”
You’re concerned in breaking the curse, the Book scrawled. It would be considered cheating. This is outside my parameters.
“I am most certainly not concerned in breaking the curse!” I told the book firmly. “It has nothing in the world to do with me. Lord Pecus can look after himself.”
Lord Pecus seems to have chosen you to break it, smugly said the Book. That means you’re not allowed any help. You wouldn’t want to cheat, would you?
“Of course I would!” I said. “What a ridiculous question! I quite often cheat, thank you very much; sometimes it’s the only way to get things done. For example: how may I break a curse if I’m not given any information?”
It’s meant to be hard, inked the Book, sulky again. That’s the way it is. All the True Love curses are like that.
“I utterly refuse to be involved in anything so trite as a True Love Curse! And if you dare to tell me that ‘Lord Pecus seems to have involved me’, I shall begin ripping your pages out!”
There was a brief, pregnant pause; then a few, cautious words swirled onto the page. I can show you excerpts that record when it started, but that’s all.
I felt a glimmer of light. “Lord Pecus’ twenty-fourth birthday, I believe?”
If you knew, you shouldn’t have asked, the Book scribbled irritably, whisking away the fragments that had been collecting on one page.
“Oh, never mind,” I told it, my mind no more than half concentrated on soothing it. “You’ve been very useful. Thank you.”
I closed the Book with a snap, ignoring the half formed words that had begun to spell out another complaint.
It was evident that the Pecus Curse was not a hereditary thing. One, and only one of his ancestors, had suffered under it, and had originally brought masks to Pecus Manor. No doubt it had become the expected thing for Pecus Manor’s servants to be masked. Was it, as the Book had suggested, a True Love curse? I found it reasonable in light of the circumstances. I wondered if Lord Pecus knew it to be so, and thought, with something of a snap to my eyes, that it was very likely he did. Well! If he thought I was going to break it for him, he was very much mistaken. True Love curses had a tendency to be inconveniently binding, and I had no mind to be inveigled into marriage when there was so much work to be done. Besides, the climate of Glause did not suit me.
I would have to speak with Trophy again: I was sure it was he who had told me something of Lord Pecus’ twenty-fourth birthday, when the mask had been broken. I had one or two suspicions about that ‘mask’; a mask so good that it had not been recognised as anything other than Lord Pecus
’ face for the first twenty-four years of his life. Lord Pecus, I had been creditably informed, was one of the foremost magic users in Glause. It struck me as unlikely that he had not been able to produce anything so lifelike as his original ‘mask’.
Some time later I was roused from a pensive, daydreamish state by Susan’s arrival.
“Twice in two weeks!” I said admiringly, rising to kiss her. “My, aren’t we the family fond!”
“Well, you’re technically in durance vile, so I thought I’d better.”
Susan seated herself on the windowsill nearest her, swinging a leg. She was wearing a pair of borrowed horselord breeches and had managed to acquire a very nice pair of boots and a smart new tunic since last I had seen her. She looked young and boyish.
“I left the lummox outside.”
“Oh, you brought Emmett? Wonderful! I have a job for him.”
Susan grinned. “I thought Curran was joking when he said they were in your employ. Do the horselords usually take orders from a foreign power?”
“When they know what is good for them, they do. And if it comes to that, Su, I should like to know why you’ve got one at your beck and call.”
“Oh, that’s because I’m a Delicate Flower of the Highlands,” Susan said. “The King is afraid that I’ll be ‘attacked’ as well. Well, publicly he is. Privately, I’m certain he knows that you’re in no more danger than the average Glausian who roams the streets. If you ask me, he’s sitting back to enjoy the show.”
“Well, I’m glad someone seems to be enjoying it,” I remarked, with great insincerity. “When did you become so satirical, Susan? I’m sure you were nicer when you were younger.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “I was just out of the way more. Anyway, it’s all your influence; I thought you’d be proud.”
I laughed, and sat beside her in the window seat with my feet up and my arms clasped around my knees. “I’m simply bursting with pride. I have missed you, Su!”
The corner of her mouth turned up in the lopsided smile I knew so well. “I suppose I’ve missed you, too. It’s never as fun when you aren’t at home. How’s the Beast Lord treating you?”
“So they really do call him that on the street!” I said, with interest. “You’ve acquainted yourself with the gossip very quickly.”
“I have a thousand eyes and ears,” she told me airily. “Actually, I spent the morning lounging about the Sinkhole district pretending to be a hash runner until the lummox found me. They’re a wary bunch down there; your Beast Lord has ‘em all in the fear of being eaten or worse.”
“He’s managed quite well, I think,” I allowed. “He does have certain natural advantages to work with.”
“Does he mean to marry you, Belle?”
I considered deflecting the question, but it has always been difficult to deflect anything in the face of Susan’s grey gaze.
“I believe so. Of course, I shan’t do anything of the sort; the man dips biscuits in his tea. Besides, Papa needs me.”
“He doesn’t, you know.”
“Of course he does,” I said. “I’ve seen him do it myself.”
“I’ve got my chance now and I mean to keep it,” Susan continued serenely. “And so I warn you, Belle.”
“Very right and proper of you. This may perhaps alter things. How is the merger proceeding?”
Susan tilted her head. “Are you changing the subject?”
“Certainly I am. I want to know how we’re doing.”
“It’s still going slowly; Papa moves to raise the year limit, someone vetoes, and so on. Do you know, General Kropke is quite the dancer. I think it must be all the legwork he does over the Glausian hillsides. The Mage General is trying to ramrod us, and Papa has begun taking sugar in his coffee again.”
I laughed. Father and sugar were a notoriously bad combination.
“Do you have enough money for clothes?”
Susan gazed at me in silent consideration for a long moment. “I always forget how much I love you until we’re together again. You never interfere. You know a thousand ways to get around the Mage General, but you won’t tell me unless I ask. You’ll let me go on and make my own mistakes. I appreciate that.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. You’re more than capable of taking care of things: why should I try to interfere?”
She slipped off the windowsill and bounced down on the seat beside me, crushing my skirt. “How do I get past the Mage General, Belle?”
“He ramrods.” I shrugged, and gave her a roguish grin. “Simply make sure that when he shoves, he shoves in the direction you want him to go. He doesn’t have a terribly athletic mind: it will be enough for him if he thinks he’s opposing you. Create something for him to fight against, put a few conditions for surrender in place – things you really want – and he’ll push all before him.”
There was a gleam in Susan’s eyes. “I think I may have an idea. What do you want Emmett for?”
“Are you leaving me already?” I tried for an indignant tone but couldn’t quite manage. Susan grinned.
“Work to do, Belle. You of all people should know how busy things get.”
“There’s a person I need the horselords to see for me. Nothing formal, and strictly no uniforms.”
Susan looked knowledgeable. “A flighty witness?”
“Something of that sort.”
“Is it something to do with Raoul’s murder?”
“Perhaps. I think someone is trying to get my attention.”
“You’ve made some unusual friends since I last saw you. Does the Beast Lord know you’re investigating?”
“I certainly hope not!” I said frankly. “He doesn’t care for interference. Tell Emmett that the thing needs to be done quietly.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, and Su?”
Her tone was resigned. “Yes, Belle?”
“Don’t do it yourself.”
*
I didn’t see Lord Pecus until dinner that night. He arrived dishevelled and tired, and it seemed to be no far stretch of the imagination to assume that there had been trouble on the streets again. He applied himself to his food in silence, leaving me at leisure to study his face. I did so at length, my chin propped in the palm of my hand while I nibbled at sweetmeats, and fancied that I began to discern the suspicion of lines about the corners of his eyes. It was nonsense, of course, since nothing could possibly have shown beneath all that fur; but I couldn’t rid my mind of the notion. Once, I thought I saw the movement of a clean-shaven jaw as he ate, and my thoughts began to tick over interestingly as the second course was brought in. It was an odd curse – True Love or otherwise – that worked as fitfully as this one seemed to do.
Unless, of course, I was already involved. Oh dear.
I was engaged in discerning the faint line of Lord Pecus’ human nose through the fur, with the quickly growing certainty that I had in fact become involved, when he turned his head and caught me at it.
“Am I interrupting you, Lady Farrah?”
I may have blushed a trifle. “Not at all. I was merely wondering when you would join me for dinner.”
A smile curved his lips, perfectly synchronized with the overshadowing tooth-baring grin of his beast face. “Did you miss me, my lady?”
I only had time to think faintly: Oh my, he has a dimple! before his outer face solidified and made him the Beast Lord again. I may have grown a little pinker than before.
It was in the consciousness of this that I said firmly: “Absolutely not! I’ve been far too busy to do anything of the kind.”
Lord Pecus grinned a somewhat ferocious grin. “Up to no good, my lady?”
I looked at him primly. “Certainly not. I’ve been improving my mind upon the subject of modern history – not to mention Damson’s difficulties with her young man.”
Lord Pecus said cautiously: “Should I know who Damson is?”
“She’s your chambermaid,” I told him helpfully. “I have
yet to ascertain all the details, but the matter has already deprived me of some little amount of sleep. As you can see, I’ve had far too much on my mind to think of causing mischief. I only cause mischief when I am bored.”
A gleam appeared momentarily in Lord Pecus’ jade eyes, and I knew that he was thinking of that one, locked door in my passageway. I wondered if he fancied I had been attempting its challenges. I gave him my most demure smile in the hopes of encouraging the thought, and sipped the last of my fruit nectar. To be really elegant, of course, one ought to drink wine: but I’ve never cared for the taste, and so I drink fruit nectar with great spirit instead, which answers very nearly as well when it comes to polite society.
“Did you let the drifter go?”
He nodded. “I could have tracked him but it didn’t seem worth the trouble. He’ll have to shift for himself.”
“I should imagine that he’s well out of the city by now,” I said.
The drifter had not wanted for sense, and I was tolerably certain that he had taken my warning to heart.
“Then I only hope he has sense enough to stay out,” remarked Lord Pecus. “People dealing with this madman have a tendency to turn up dead- if it was our man he had dealings with.”
“I think it very likely. No doubt if you questioned some of the rioters you would hear the same story.”
This time his smile was a trifle bitter. On his beast-face it looked intimidating. “If it’s all the same to you, Lady Farrah, I’d rather not find out that all this chaos was caused by a single man. I dislike the notion that one man can influence the Imperial City at will. And to what purpose?”
I remembered the bright, wild lilt to the murderer’s voice as he had talked with me, and shivered. He had murdered not just at will, but on whim.
“At will, by whim, according to plan- there’s no sense to it. He changes from one moment to the next, but he always has a wide reach. Why Raoul? If it was because of treason, why you? Daubney was murdered because of what he knew, but your attack makes no sense. If we consider them apart, there is some reason, but none at all if taken together.”
“There’s one connection you’ve forgotten,” Lord Pecus pointed out. His teeth were showing in a faint grin, as if he had expected me to see something I had not, and was quietly amused at my lack of comprehension. “All of them are connected very clearly by one thing.”
Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence) Page 23