The Lost of New Bristol (Lila Randolph Book 2)

by Wren Weston

  Trees and darkness surrounded the house like arms and blankets hiding a coy woman’s flesh from her lover’s eyes. Fifteen meters away from the parlor wall, a dark Lake Bristol lapped at the shore. It would have been five, but the drought had stolen ten meters, likely the only thing in the world Max couldn’t steal back.

  Turning away at last, she sat upon a couch, musing again upon the bulletproof glass surrounding her. The entire outside layer of Max’s home had been plated in it, leaving the majority of his life exposed to anyone with a set of binoculars. He was a little bird in a cage that watched you long before you glimpsed it.

  For a spy, Max had certainly built the strangest house of all.

  Born John Poole, Max had grown up on the Randolph estate, studying with Lila under the tutelage of Trudy Poole, John’s mother. Busted for several dozen counts of corporate espionage, fraud, and blackmail, she had been surrendered to the auction house with a lifetime sentence. Not a single highborn had bid upon her, not even to put her into the mines out of revenge. Ms. Poole was a loaded gun, and no one wanted a daily game of Russian roulette.

  Given the severity of her sentence, Ms. Poole would have hanged if someone had not taken her. Unfortunately, the Massons could not handle the negative PR, given the embarrassing secrets that had been exposed about Chairwoman Masson’s youngest daughter, the only one of her brood that had not inherited their mother’s sense of elegance and propriety. At the last moment, Chairwoman Randolph had stepped forward to take charge of Ms. Poole as a favor to a longtime ally. What no one had understood was that Lila’s mother had actually wanted Ms. Poole all along, she just knew she wouldn’t have to pay.

  Ms. Poole wouldn’t do a damn thing against the Randolphs, for if Chairwoman Randolph became the slightest bit unhappy, she could turn her back over to Bullstow. If no one bid on the spy once, they damn sure wouldn’t bid after she’d been tossed away.

  She’d be hanged this time, and her son would become an orphan.

  The only thing Ms. Poole had ever cared about had been John, a fact Chairwoman Randolph had paid well to ascertain. Ms. Poole had been the sort of mother who kissed her son on the cheek whenever they parted, who put little notes in his luggage whenever he slept at a friend’s home, who watched him too closely at the park. She also had the nerve to share his baby pictures, including the naked ones, with anyone who would sit still for more than ten minutes.

  Lila had sat still for ten minutes. She’d blushed, unsure what to say, but she hadn’t looked away.

  John had blushed harder. It had been the first time they’d met after all, and he’d tried to kiss her only moments before.

  He’d gotten a swollen eye for his trouble, though Lila had been aiming for his nose.

  She’d sucked at hand-to-hand even as a six-year-old.

  She couldn’t leave, either. The condo on the edge of the Randolph estate was supposed to be out of bounds for Lila, but that made her desperate to visit it. Her mother had known that about her daughter, even back then. Though the chairwoman had intended for Ms Poole to teach Lila corporate defense, Ms. Poole had taught Lila whatever she wanted to learn. What young Lila had really wanted to know, other than how to keep her family safe from people like Ms. Poole, was how to sneak into wherever she wasn’t supposed to be.

  Lila had always been too curious and nosy for her own good.

  Ms. Poole had been more than happy to comply. She thought it funny. She also thought learning how to attack a system was a far better use of Lila’s time, and far more instructive than learning how to counter.

  John had learned alongside Lila, though Ms. Poole had clearly taught her son more tricks than she’d offered Lila. The pair eventually took up Ms. Poole’s assignments as homework. As a consultant to the Randolph militia, she’d occasionally been charged with puzzling out how certain blackmailers and intruders had compromised WolfNet. She’d been well kept for her trouble, and John had been treated like a little prince. That had endeared Chairwoman Randolph to Ms. Poole somewhat, or at least tempered her urge to steal from the Randolphs and flee to Burgundy.

  That, and the fact that John refused to leave his friend.

  Rather than follow in his mother’s footsteps when he grew up, John had chosen the safer route. He merely watched, both people and systems. He’d quickly earned his fortunes as the best spy in Saxony, growing rich off the highborn and others who could afford to pay for the best.

  Lila, too, as she hadn’t the time to watch everyone she needed to watch.

  Max slowly descended the glass staircase in the middle of the house, his steps barely making a noise as he entered the room, his path visible through several panes of glass. He had dressed in a pair of nondescript trousers and a plain white t-shirt, both commissioned from a tailor. His shirt’s fabric was a silk blend and incredibly soft, not that anyone would notice it, just like his black boots. They’d been crafted by a cobbler in Greece. Max’s wardrobe looked as common as his face, though far more lurked beyond the surface. If anyone met him on the street, they’d forget him and his clothes less than five seconds later.

  That was exactly how Max liked it.

  His hazel eyes fixed on Lila as soon as he entered the room, the corners crinkling as he smiled and gave her a bear hug. “Lila, you little minx, I’m so glad you could join me for a glass of wine. I can’t remember the last time you came over for a chat.”

  Lila’s hand twisted in her pocket, and she thumbed her jammer. The little pendant-like device would prevent any audio from being recorded, either from bugs that Max’s enemies had planted or the ones he’d planted himself. “Wine? What sort of wine?”

  “The best.” Max led her through a glass corridor. He always claimed the soundproofing was better inside the kitchen, covered with some new glass from Asia. Glass and stainless steel appliances filled the kitchen, everything clear and sparkling. “Let’s have some Sangre, my darling, before we muse about poor Oskar Kruger and the scoundrel who gave you that nasty bruise on your jaw. How long has it been since you had a glass?”

  Lila smirked.

  “Ah, you bought a crate from Natalie recently? One of these days your mother will catch you at it.”

  “I had breakfast with my father. Bullstow doesn’t care about my mother’s ban. Have I mentioned how much I love visiting my father?”

  Max picked up a bottle of wine on the counter. “I hope you plan on visiting your father a whole lot more this week, because I fear your source has dried up.” He dug through a drawer for a corkscrew. The serving spoons and spatulas rattled against one another.

  Lila shrugged and sat on the barstool across from him. “I know, but it won’t be hard to acquire a new source. Natalie was merely the cheapest option. I don’t have much sympathy for the woman. She’s difficult.”

  “Women always are.” Max popped the cork with a hollow thunk. “Especially when they’ve been disowned. It happened right after her arrest warrant came down from Bullstow on Tuesday, and no one has seen her since. By the way, my sources tell me that you were right in the middle of that kerfuffle.”

  “Kerfuffle? No one uses that word anymore, Max.”

  “Kerfuffle, kerfuffle, kerfuffle.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, unable to peer through the metal floor. “Mr. Vimes, please use the word ‘kerfuffle’ in a sentence for our darling Lila.”

  A muffled voice came from somewhere upstairs. “I’ll get into a kerfuffle with my boss if I do not use this word in a sentence. I’ll get into a worse kerfuffle if I remind him that rich people do not shout.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vimes.” Max winked at Lila. “Chef Ana always said the same thing. I think the only reason why the rich do not raise their voices is because the poorer among us do not wish it. They train us as easily as spoiled puppies with diamond collars.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know what kerfuffle meant, smartass, I just said no one uses the word.” She shove
d her empty glass closer to the wine.

  Max held the bottle back. “You didn’t answer my question about Natalie’s arrest. Did you have something to do with it?”

  “I have no intention of answering. It’s more fun to watch your little wheels work.”

  “Brat. All of New Bristol is buzzing about what part you might have played in Natalie’s arrest, as well as the Wilsons’ downfall, and you won’t tell me? Me, Lila? I’m your oldest friend.”

  “Alex is my oldest friend. You’re merely the most annoying.”

  “Even after she assaulted you before the High Council?”

  “How do you know about that already?”

  Max grinned. “I know everything, my darling Lila, except where Natalie is. What do you know?”

  “What makes you think I know anything about her arrest or her disappearance?”

  Max stared at her for several long seconds, studying her face.

  Lila didn’t flinch, and searched his face at the same time. They’d engaged in such contests frequently over the years, each claiming they knew when the other told a lie.

  This time it was Max who pulled away first, finally pouring the wine, leaving Lila to wonder what he had gathered. “You usually know what I do not, and vice versa. That’s why I think you know. Of course, maybe you don’t. The rumor is that Chairwoman Holguín’s blood squad disappeared Natalie for dishonoring the family.”

  Lila raised a brow. Every matron had a blood squad, reserved for violent and serious crimes against the family, usually perpetrated by the family itself. The group punished assassins and thieves, closing the gap between a family’s safety and what the law could prove. So long as the blood squad only operated on a family’s property and left no physical evidence behind, Bullstow left them alone. They even found a little innocent blood acceptable, so long as it kept their matrons, mothers, lovers, and children safe.

  “Since when does that family care about dishonor?” Lila asked. “Even if the chairwoman did send her brutes, Natalie would have slipped away before they closed in. Follow the Sangre if you wish to find her. She still has a whole warehouse full of it.”

  Max stopped mid-pour. “Where did you hear that?”

  “It’s basic human psychology. A woman like Natalie will have an insurance policy set up somewhere. Mark my words, she has plenty of wine set aside to tide her over. She just won’t sell it here. There are other families in the commonwealth who boycott the Holguíns.”

  “It’s almost as if you have firsthand experience with such insurance policies.”

  “Now who’s fishing?”

  “I’m always fishing.” He smirked, circling the counter to sit next to her. “I just don’t sell the information when it’s about you.”

  “Well, put aside your fishing pole. Both of them,” she said, grabbing her glass and casting a languid eye at his trousers. “Mark my words, Natalie will have put some of her money in reserve to pay for lawyers and sent the rest to Burgundy.”

  “She doesn’t have an account in Burgundy.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “Perhaps you should ask your dear father. He’s stepping outside the bounds of his role as prime minister more and more these days. Perhaps his heart is in the right place, but it’s going to get him into trouble if he moves against the matrons, trying to govern as a king rather than as a satellite of the highborn. You should warn him if it’s not already too late.”

  “You’re claiming that my father froze Natalie’s account? The entire banking industry in that country hasn’t frozen the accounts of any Allied criminal in two hundred years, not unless the courts have found them guilty. Why would they do it for my father? And why now? They only exist so that the shadiest among the Allied Lands and the Holy Roman Empire can do business together without risking the hangman’s noose. It would put the entire country out of business in an instant if word leaked that they’d become anything less than neutral. They’d be bankrupt.”

  “Perhaps they were under the mistaken impression that the account belonged to your mother. Or perhaps they weren’t so mistaken after all.”

  “You want me to pay for information that I can get by asking my father?” Lila pinched Max’s cheek. “Are you that hard up for a shiny, new Adessi of your own?”

  “No. Where would I drive it? It’s far too flashy,” Max said, brushing her hand away. “Do you honestly believe your father tells you everything? You’re smarter than that, Lila. For his entire adult life, he’s been best friends with one of the sneakiest matrons in the commonwealth. I know you see him as a plodding idiot, Lila, but he didn’t become the prime minister on his cock alone. Don’t be so gullible.”

  “Don’t talk about my father’s…thing. And I don’t think he’s an idiot.”

  “Fine. You think he’s a golden retriever, but even happy dogs can growl and bite.”

  Lila sipped her wine and ignored the slights against her father. They weren’t the first Max had ever made. “So Natalie’s accounts have been frozen. Big deal. She’ll have more money soon. Natalie, of all people, wouldn’t want to see the auction house. She’s pissed off too many people for that. She’ll have a way out of this jam. Just follow the wine, and you’ll find her.”

  “I’ve been trying, but Natalie’s usual hideouts are empty and I don’t think she’s in the wine business anymore. More than a few Randolphs have been asking my minions to procure Sangre. It’s beneath my people, Lila. They just stroll into a liquor store, buy a few bottles, and sell it at an obscene markup. I think the highborn merely like throwing their money away.”

  “It’s safer. They can’t exactly ask their servants to buy it for them. It might get around.” Lila didn’t have that problem anymore. Tristan had cleared out a Holguín warehouse filled with wine the previous month. He’d offer her crates of Sangre if she asked.

  “Just like the rest of the highborn. You’d never ask anyone to buy it for you. Word might get out. How would it look for the future prime of Wolf Industries—”

  “I’m not prime.”

  “You will be. On that, I’m certain.” Max poured himself another glass. “My mother taught us human psychology on the playground, Lila. Your mother is like the child who never learned to share. She won’t let the militia keep you for much longer.”

  “She’s not sharing me. I’m not a toy.”

  “You could be. Why haven’t we slept together?”

  “Because we grew up like siblings?”

  “I can get past anything if the lights are off. Maybe even if we leave them on.”

  “Fine, because you’d probably film it without me knowing and sell the tape?”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea.” He grinned. “I bet it’d go for quite a bit, too. I’d ask you to wear a costume. A pretty little dress with—”

  “Focus, you perv.”

  “Fine. Natalie has no money and isn’t moving any product. What does that mean?”

  “It means that she has another source of funds we haven’t found yet, or she found a better way of making…” Lila put down her wine. A blush rose on her cheeks. “Gods, you think she took Oskar, don’t you?”

  “It was a bit obvious, Lila. You’re slipping.”

  Lila didn’t even bother contradicting him. “It’s a bit obvious for her as well. It won’t take long for people to put two and two together.”

  “By then, she’ll be gone. It’s a risk, but not too risky for a pissed-off niece with nothing to lose. I bet you’d try to screw over your matron in her spot, so long as it didn’t involve selling a child.”

  “The big difference is that I have the skills to pull it off.”

  “Natalie might not have our skills, but she isn’t as inept as you believe. In any case, the Holguíns have their suspicions about who took Oskar. They just won’t release a word of it to Bullstow. They don’t want the press, and I’m bett
ing Chairwoman Holguín still wants to complete her deal, which they can’t do if her buyer thinks she’s lost Oskar. She’s stalling until she finds him.”

  “What do you know about a deal?”

  Max shrugged, his hazel eyes coyly tracing the floor. “Lila, Lila, Lila… Do you really expect me to answer that?”

  “You’re telling me far too much already. They didn’t hire you to find Natalie, so you’re blabbing everything to me as an act of petty revenge.”

  Max cleared his throat. “It’s not petty.”

  Lila said nothing, and poured another glass of wine.

  “It’s not,” he muttered, and sipped his wine. “It’s costing them far more than it’s costing me, and I’m not just talking about money.”

  “Now who’s pissed?”

  “I’m not pissed. I’m just free to say what I will.”

  “How many families know that Natalie and Oskar are both missing?”

  “None that I can tell. You and your mother’s spies always scoop theirs, but I’ll make sure my clients know soon. Four of the families pay me quite well, after all. The other six can’t afford me or refuse to spend the money. Cheap fools.”

  “What about Ms. Park?”

  “She’s not cheap, nor is she a fool.”

  Lila drummed her fingers on the counter. “Natalie’s going to use Patrick’s plan, or some version of it, only she’ll remain in Burgundy. No one can extradite her there, and Chairwoman Holguín will be out much more than ten million credits. It’s smart and bitchy, just like Natalie.”

  “Maybe she’ll move to Burgundy, maybe she’ll move somewhere else, but one thing is for sure. She won’t stay in New Bristol for very long.” Max stilled Lila’s fingers on the countertop. “You’re tired and nervous, Lila. What’s got you so wound up? Was it that man last night at the auction?”

  “No, just work.”

  “Good, because he did it to himself. Take a vacation. I don’t like seeing you like this. I don’t like seeing bruises all over your face and your hands torn up, either.”