Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2

by Teresa Edgerton

  Puzzling over the question of just how to obtain the necessary evidence, how to ingratiate himself with the Count and so gain his confidence (and from there access to his private papers), Sir Simon was at first too preoccupied to notice the hasty footsteps that followed him down the corridor—not until the one who came hurrying in pursuit had almost caught up to him. Then he whirled around with his hand on the knob of his cane, prepared to pull out the concealed blade . . .

  Recognizing the elegant figure in red as a member of the secret conclave he had just addressed, Sir Simon did not draw his sword. "I have not, I believe, the honor of your acquaintance?"

  "Don Balthazar Onda. Perhaps my cousin has mentioned me."

  "Ah yes," said Sir Simon, studying the senator's features. The face within the heavy chestnut wig did bear a strong familial resemblance to Baron Onda. And his friend had mentioned a kinsman in the powerful inner circle, a man who possessed a greater zeal for justice than any of his fellow senators, a man who might, for that reason, be regarded as a possible ally.

  At a motion from the aristocrat, Sir Simon's escort withdrew, leaving the senator to lead the way out of the Residence. "You are personally acquainted with Count Azimet, Sir Simon?"

  "Only by reputation."

  "Then I will perform the introduction," said Don Balthazar, as they proceeded down the corridor. "I have been invited to an entertainment at the Count's palace two nights hence. You shall be admitted as my guest. And, if you will permit me, I offer you a few words of advice. The Count is ruled by two obsessions: his love of luxury and his collection of curiosities. The best way to buy your way into his favor is to bring him some rare gift that will capture his fancy. Is it possible that you can contrive something on such short notice?"

  A smile flashed in Sir Simon's eyes as he made the senator a very pretty bow. "That should present no difficulty. And as for your offer of an introduction: I accept with pleasure and a keen sense of obligation."

  "I am pleased to be able to offer you my services," said Don Balthazar, with a bow fully as elegant as Sir Simon's own.

  ***

  The following afternoon found Sir Simon twenty miles from the city and just the other side of the Spagnish border, at the rural estate of a noble and wealthy dwarf. The gatekeeper, recognizing him as a recent and welcome visitor at the villa, let him pass through unchallenged. Leaving his horse at the stables, Sir Simon crossed the statuary garden and mounted the shallow stone steps to the front door. He gained immediate entry to the house and from there into the master's study.

  "My good friend," said the dwarf, rising from his chair to greet Sir Simon, with an expression of friendly concern written plain on his broad face. "I am delighted to see you, of course . . . but so soon? Was our lodge brother, Onda, unable to provide the aid that we expected?"

  "Baron Onda and his kinsman have been very kind. But I come to ask you a great favor," said Sir Simon, dropping his hat and silver-handled riding whip on a table and taking a seat opposite his host. "I must ask for the loan—perhaps the gift—of the Chalazian triptych." And he proceeded to explain the circumstances of his upcoming introduction to Count Azimet, as well as Don Balthazar's advice.

  The dwarf declared himself entirely willing to loan the valuable artifact. "So many innocent lives ruined . . . what is the phrase you so often use? 'The rape of innocence.' I wish to do my part in combating those wicked men."

  "I hope to be able to return the triptych unharmed, but I can make no guarantee," said Sir Simon.

  His host laughed softly, as though the matter were of supreme indifference. "It is, after all, only an object, and this collection of mine merely an amusing pastime. It is true that I would not sell my prize to another collector, not though he offer me all the riches of this world, but to give it away, in such a good cause, that is another matter entirely." He sent a trusted servant down to the vault where he kept his treasures.

  With many expressions of gratitude, Sir Simon accepted the intricately carved altar-piece. Then he took his leave of the good old dwarf.

  By the next evening, the night of Count Azimet's entertainment, Sir Simon was back in the city of canals. He had arranged to meet Don Balthazar on the steps of the cathedral and ride to the palace in the senator's gondola.

  Sir Simon had dressed very carefully for the occasion, still in black, but this time with touches of silver. Silver, also, were the ribbons that tied back his hair, and he wore a diamond brooch at his throat. In one hand, he carried a velvet half-mask, in the other, a black satin bag containing the Chalazian triptych.

  Don Balthazar came late, leaving Sir Simon to stand outside the cathedral and watch the bustling world of Zammarco pass by. An intriguing place, this city of Zammarco, with its golden domes, deteriorating palaces, ancient churches, and cyclopean statuary. The dress of the inhabitants was equally exotic. The men wore old-fashioned full-bottomed wigs, or their own hair tied back in clustering ringlets hanging almost to the waist. They loved bright colors, and the full cut of their coats and breeches, the rich fabrics they favored, showed an Oriental influence. The women, for the most part, dressed very discreetly in sober colors, but the hems of their gowns (worn over great hoops) barely reached their trim, silk-clad ankles. They never left home without covering their heads, and sometimes their faces, with lacy veils and filmy scarves, except during Carnival, when many went masked.

  "My dear Sir Simon," said Don Balthazar, as his guest stepped down into his scarlet and purple gondola. "It appears that someone is spying on you. He was watching you intently as I approached. But as soon as I hailed you, he conceived an elaborate interest in that puppet show over by the steps. I mention the matter because he cannot possibly be one of our spies—they would never be so clumsy!"

  Sir Simon maintained a bland expression. "A tall fellow with a pronounced stoop? Or was it a little man dressed as a common sailor?"

  "It is a little man wearing dark spectacles and a cocked hat."

  Sir Simon's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Another familiar disguise, one I thought he had finally abandoned. You must not allow him or his stoop-shouldered friend to worry you. They are merely agents of a certain great lady in Marstadtt, and they follow me wherever I go. Indeed, I hardly regard them anymore, for they never inconvenience me in any way. I believe they have been assigned in the hope I may eventually lead them to . . . something the lady has lost and wishes to regain." And he seated himself, quite nonchalantly, on a velvet-cushioned bench beside the senator.

  "You understand," said Don Balthazar, dropping his voice, "that if you succeed in capturing Count Azimet's interest, he will undoubtedly make inquiries concerning your background."

  "You may rest easy on that head," said Sir Simon. "I have been Sir Simon Blood for some time now, and during that time, my activities under that name have been consistent with that character. Even if his spies should approach my faithful watch-dogs . . . they may know me by another name, but I doubt they can tell the Count anything that will fail to reassure him that I am exactly as I shall present myself."

  "And that will be?"

  Sir Simon inclined his powdered head. "As a liar, a cheat, a gamester, and a thief."

  Don Balthazar gave a surprised little laugh, as if slightly taken aback by his new friend's effrontery. "By the Sacred Powers! You seem to have nerve and enough to spare for this daring enterprise."

  ***

  Outwardly, Count Azimet's palace was typical of the fading grandeur that characterized the city. Damp spots disfigured the stone facade, the golden dome of the roof had a tarnished look, and all the cornices, friezes, statues, and columns were cracked or chipped. All but two gargantuan marble figures flanking the door: a man and a woman nobly attired, with wreaths of olive branches encircling their brows.

  A dusky Oranian slave admitted the senator and his guest. Within the palace, it was all light and color, with great mirrors and immense hanging chandeliers, and frescoes upon all the walls. Donning their masks, Sir Simon and Don
Balthazar followed a crowd of costumed revelers down a long, bright corridor and up a crystal staircase to an equally brilliant ballroom, where Count Azimet held court. Sir Simon had expected a big man—rumor had prepared him for that. By all he had heard of the Count's greed, his decadent and self-indulgent style of living, he had come to expect a gross slug of a man, wallowing in silken luxury. Nothing had prepared him for the reality.

  Count Azimet was enormous. Even seated, he was impressive; standing, he could not be less than eight feet high. But if he was big, he was also beautifully proportioned, with a lean, powerful body and distinguished features. Dressed in the height of Continental elegance, in pale blue satin and foaming white lace, there was yet nothing about him suggesting the fop. He had a keen pair of eyes, and a broad, good-humored smile which seemed to indicate that he found the world a very amusing place.

  Don Balthazar made the necessary introduction, then tactfully drifted away.

  "If Your Excellency would be so gracious as to grant me a private audience later in the evening," said Sir Simon, "I believe you may find it well worth your while."

  The Count lifted his quizzing glass, regarded the dapper little man with mock dismay. "Is it possible that the good senator has unwittingly introduced a petitioner into my home . . . or are you merely a common tradesman? You certainly do not have that appearance."

  Sir Simon doffed his mask. "Don Balthazar is certainly unaware of my purpose in coming here. I regret infinitely that I was obliged to deceive him. And yes, I am a tradesman of sorts . . . though by no means a common one."

  Count Azimet studied him with dawning amusement. "Well, well, you intrigue me . . . a little. I will send a servant to fetch you, when (and if) I am ready to speak with you."

  Sir Simon bowed and withdrew.

  He spent the next four hours sipping an emerald-green Spagnish wine, breathing in fumes of the hashish smoldering in pots or on brass tripods in every room he entered, nibbling on a variety of cloying sweet confections, and watching the brilliant entertainments which the Count had arranged for his guests. The company was preparing to sit down to a lavish supper when Sir Simon felt a light, respectful touch on his elbow.

  A little Oranian page-boy in an enormous turban touched his head to Sir Simon's hand and announced that he had been sent to escort "the pretty little foreign gentleman" to a private meeting with the Count.

  Count Azimet received him in a gilded chamber off of the ballroom, where he stood warming his hands at an enormous fireplace so extravagantly and ostentatiously ornamented that it wearied the eye. Standing, the Count appeared even more gigantic.

  Without any preamble, Sir Simon presented the Chalazian triptych, counting on the altarpiece to make a strong impression. The Count examined the ivory ornament carefully, then shot him an alert, suspicious glance.

  "You did not come by this honestly. I know who this comes from, and also that he would never sell it."

  Sir Simon bowed a courteous acknowledgement. "You are entirely correct. I admit quite frankly that I stole it, in the hope of impressing you and obtaining your gracious patronage. If you recognize the object, then you undoubtedly know how carefully it was guarded—I daresay, to any man less talented than I, those obstacles would have been insurmountable."

  Count Azimet cocked his head, with a look of polite interest, and Sir Simon felt encouraged to go on. "With all due modesty, I present myself as the Prince of Thieves; beyond all others, I excel at my profession. Yet few men can afford to purchase my services, for the items I steal are often so valuable that even wealthy men cannot dream of acquiring them. What remains, then, for the Prince of Thieves but to seek employment with the very Emperor of Collectors?

  "Moreover," Sir Simon added, "I am a man of vast and varied talents: there is little that I cannot or will not do if the payment is high enough. Perhaps, therefore, you may know of other ways in which I could serve you."

  Such a vain (and utterly conscienceless) speech seemed to appeal to the Count. "But yes, it is possible that I might find some employment for you. The triptych—a gift, I assume?—certainly provides an effective introduction. But I never discuss business during Carnival. It is a long-standing policy of mine." The big man made a show of polishing his quizzing glass with a bit of silk. "I take it that you plan an extended stay in Zammarco?"

  "I expect to remain another fortnight, at least. Longer, if by doing so I might serve you."

  "Then I insist you join me here as my houseguest. We may then further our acquaintance over the next few days, and after the New Year . . ." The Count smiled graciously. "Perhaps then we can make an arrangement, you and I."

  Fully cognizant that this sudden and gratifying invitation could only be prompted by the Count's desire to keep him under observation, while sending out the necessary spies and agents to look into his background, Sir Simon was perfectly content to accept. "Your Excellency is kindness itself. I confess myself . . . overwhelmed by your generosity."

  "Oh, I am not, by nature, a generous man," said Azimet, continuing to smile urbanely. "And so I must warn you: if you should happen to succumb to the temptation to steal anything from me—no matter how valueless—there will be no escaping my vengeance."

  CHAPTER NINE

  In which Sir Simon experiences an Unexpected Encounter.

  The next day, Sir Simon moved his simple belongings into Count Azimet's palace. He took a circuitous route from his previous lodgings, first walking, then riding in a gondola, in order to give the stoop-shouldered man the slip. This he did only for his own amusement, because he knew it would not take his two bloodhounds long to learn his present whereabouts, yet he liked to think that the Duchess's minions were earning their pay.

  It is a wicked age we live in, mused Sir Simon, as he settled into the spacious apartments the Count had assigned him. Even he, adventurer that he was (and, perforce, accustomed to a certain amount of intrigue and deception), could not but shake his head at the intricate complications of his present situation: he was spying on Count Azimet; agents of the Count were undoubtedly rushing from one end of Euterpe to the other, gathering information about him; the spies deployed by the Duchess continued to dog his footsteps; and there could be little doubt that agents of the Senate were spying on every single one of them.

  In the days that followed, Sir Simon spent an hour or two each day in the company of his host, who seemed to find his conversation amusing, at least in small doses. Otherwise, he roamed through the palace freely, though he had a strong impression, the whole time, that Count Azimet's servants kept a close watch on the Count's silver and other small objects of value whenever "the pretty little foreign gentleman" came into a room.

  As for the Count's famous collection of curiosities, that proved, in some sense, a disappointment. So vast was the Count's pride in his curios, apparently, that he kept them perpetually on display. Many piqued Sir Simon's interest, but on the whole, he had been privileged to view far more impressive private collections in Wäldermark and Imbria. The real fascination lay in the methods the Count employed to guard his treasures, the traps and the poisons and the magical protections. Many of these were exceedingly rare and of incalculable worth. Sir Simon wondered if it appealed to Count Azimet's sense of humor to place an antique vase, worth perhaps a thousand pounds sterling, inside a ring of magical fire generated by a golden circlet, worth ten times as much.

  But therein also lay a great source of frustration. Sir Simon intended to gain access to Count Azimet's secret letters and papers, which ought to contain documentary evidence of the aristocrat's involvement in the so-called white slave trade—that illicit commerce in human flesh, of boys and young women entrapped into lives of forced prostitution, and shipped from the west to the east and south—perhaps of the import and export of other forms of contraband as well. These papers he had originally hoped to locate by first detecting such magical safeguards as the Count used to protect and conceal them.

  And indeed, among so many other guests, amidst all t
he revelry which began each night promptly at sunset, Sir Simon moved easily about the house, investigating with pendulums and magnets and the other devices he brought with him. Unfortunately (and here, perhaps, the Count's true cunning was more fully revealed), the presence of such numbers of impenetrable crystal domes, flaming pedestals, and magically sensitive poisoned needles guarding the aristocrat's collection of curios continually led Sir Simon and his own devices astray.

  How to locate a single strong source of magic, when it was all around him?

  "I have something of the utmost interest to show you," drawled Count Azimet, one afternoon. "It is not something I display to casual visitors, but I fancy it may intrigue you." He led Sir Simon outside to a marble terrace, overlooking a small enclosed courtyard.

  Down in the faded winter garden below, an old man in a worn suit of clothes and a battered tricorn sat on a stone bench by a reflecting pool, watching the antics of an exquisite little female not more than eighteen inches tall. The tiny creature—Sir Simon could not, at this distance, determine whether she was a child or a woman—danced about the garden, among the withered vines and the shattered remains of an ancient gazebo, apparently intent on some private game of her own. The old man looked on with a benign smile.

  "Another of your curiosities?" asked Sir Simon, staring at the little female with uncommon interest. Too small to be dwarf, fairy, troll, or human, but too daintily formed for a gnome or a hobgoblin, she was not of any race he had encountered before. Her coloring, too, was odd, though not unattractive: her skin had a faint golden cast, and her long, silky hair a tint of green. It seemed to Sir Simon that she moved about the garden with something more than mortal grace.

  "More than a curio, she is entirely a mystery," said the Count. "The old man claims to be her father . . . though that, of course, is an impossibility. I found him in dire straits: more ragged even than he appears now, and close to starvation. Would you believe it? He actually kept this so-called daughter of his in a wicker cage, like an animal or a tame bird."