His expression darkened. “And without some limited information sharing,” he added, “it’s hard to know just how well the other banks are coping.”
Emily nodded. “I thought that a number of banks did fail.”
“Seven did,” Markus said. “Five of them folded very quickly. I believe the original investors didn’t realize they had to offer incentives, beyond basic security. They had few customers and collapsed when they couldn’t repay the original investment. The sixth had a major break-in, a couple of months after it opened. Their customers lost a great deal of gold, which led them to simply abandon the bank completely.”
“Unsurprising,” Emily commented. “And the seventh?”
“I don’t know what happened to it,” Markus admitted. His face twisted in annoyance. He’d always liked to know things. “One day, everything seemed to be fine; the next, the doors were shuttered and the bank manager had done a runner. Thankfully, there weren’t that many customers who lost out. I think the manager realized he couldn’t repay his original investors and vanished, taking everything he could carry with him.”
“It sounds likely,” Emily agreed.
“We may never know for sure,” Markus said. “The investors stripped the building, then sold it to Vesperian for a song.”
“I keep hearing that name,” Emily said. “Who is he?”
“The Railway King,” Markus said. “Vesperian Industries built the Beneficence-Cockatrice Railway, as well as a number of prototype steamboats and improved steam engines. They’re currently plowing their profits into the planned Beneficence-Zangaria Railway. Or Vesperian’s Track, as they call it. There’s been a lot of investment in the line.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows. She’d approved the original plans for the railway, two years ago, but she hadn’t realized it had expanded so far. And yet, it wouldn’t be the only thing that had grown rapidly, when imaginative minds took what she’d taught them and ran with it. Right now, there were printing presses far superior to the primitive designs she’d introduced. Why not steam engines? How long had it taken Earth to move from the Puffing Devil to the Flying Scotsman?
“We were involved in some of the early investment,” Markus added. “I took the liberty of adding some extra investment after the first track started to pay off.”
Emily smiled. “Did it repay its investors?”
“I believe so,” Markus said. “Moving goods from Beneficence to Cockatrice is quicker now, thanks to the steam engines. But merely encouraging closer relations between the artisans in Cockatrice and the workers here has produced all sorts of interesting spin-offs. I believe that a number of new factories are being opened in Cockatrice, if only because we don’t have the room for them. Some of the guildmasters were actually thinking of trying to buy land from you.”
“They’d have to talk to the king,” Emily said. Cockatrice was entailed. She couldn’t divide her lands amongst her children, let alone sell a small patch of ground to the highest bidder…not without the king’s permission, at least. “It would be vulnerable, would it not?”
“I doubt that has escaped their minds,” Markus said, dryly. He pointed to the map. “If we surrender the protection of the river, who knows what King Randor will do?”
Emily nodded in agreement. Beneficence was cut off from Zangaria by the Tribune River, a fast-flowing body of water that would be hell to cross without modern technology – or powerful magic. The four bridges linking Beneficence to the mainland could be blocked easily by the City Guard, if necessary. She had a feeling, from what she’d seen when she’d crossed the bridges with Lady Barb, that the bridges could be cut completely if there was a realistic chance they’d fall. There was definitely enough gunpowder in the powder mills to smash them beyond easy repair.
But having territory on the wrong side would make it easier for Randor to strangle them, she thought. And the Kings of Zangaria have conceded the city’s permanent independence.
“You could always colonize one of the smaller islands to the north,” Emily mused. “Zangaria doesn’t have that much of a navy. You’d have no trouble smashing a blockade.”
“Perhaps,” Markus said. “But getting the trade goods to their destination might prove rather more difficult.”
“Trade-offs everywhere,” Emily mused.
Markus nodded. “The real problem is that we don’t have much of an international contract enforcement system,” he said. “Most merchant families are families, Emily, linked by ties of blood. They trust each other. That’s always been a problem because it limits expansion – either a family reaches its natural point and stops, or it starts making so many marriage alliances that they start to contradict each other.”
He smiled. “You’ll have discovered that yourself, I suppose.”
Emily felt her cheeks heat. “Does everyone take an interest in my life?”
“You’re an interesting person,” Markus said, with a wry smile.
Emily blushed, harder. If she hadn’t known Markus was happily married, she would have taken his banter for flirting.
Markus smirked. “And, given who you are, the person you marry is likely to be of considerable interest too. Poor Caleb.”
Emily sighed. “People will talk,” she muttered. “They do nothing else.”
“If they’re talking,” Markus countered, “they’re not plotting.”
His secretary returned, carrying a sheet of paper in one hand. Markus took it, scanned it with a practiced eye, and passed it back to her.
“No,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” his secretary said. “Shall I have security escort him out?”
“Please,” Markus said.
He watched his secretary sashay out, then looked back at Emily. “I do think we will remain fairly stable,” he said, “but I don’t like some of the rumors I’m hearing. Gods prowling the street, people being turned to stone…it’s worrying.”
Emily looked down at her hands. “Do you believe in the gods?”
Markus shrugged. “I’ve always believed in power,” he said. “Turning someone into stone permanently isn’t difficult, with enough magic. Cloaking yourself in a godly seeming isn’t difficult either. I could put together a spell to do it in a few hours, if I had the time. And there is a suspicious uniformity to the confirmed cases that bothers me. I think we have a magic-using assassin, not a god. The rumors are just muddying the waters.”
“And growing in the telling,” Emily said. She suspected Markus had a point. There were so many stories about her, she knew all too well, that some of the people who met her were disappointed. She hadn’t crushed Shadye with her bare hands, let alone seduced him into lowering his guard. There were probably more stories about Dua Kepala circulating now. “Are you watching your back?”
“I’ve taken a few precautions,” Markus said. “There’s an emergency tunnel I can use to get in or out of the bank, connected to a nearby house. I’ll key you to the wards.”
He waved his hand. Emily felt the wards shifting around her, then resettling into the background. She couldn’t help being impressed. It was a neat piece of spellwork.
“Officially, the house belongs to a sorceress called Robyn,” he said. Emily couldn’t help flinching. A sorcerer – and DemonMaster – called Robin had tried to rape and enslave her, nearly a thousand years in the past. “Unofficially, I own it. Just ask for the Robyn House and people will direct you.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
Markus rose. “I hope to see you again, before you leave,” he said. “Perhaps you and Caleb can join Melissa and me for dinner.”
“Melissa would probably prefer to spend time with you,” Emily said. She rose. “But I’ll see you soon.”
She walked back down the stairs and into the lobby. A pair of burly guards were escorting a pale-faced man out of the bank. His mouth opened and closed frantically, but no sound came out. Someone had clearly slapped a silencing spell on him, muting any protests. The customers looked amused, rather than angr
y. Some of them even laughed.
A man stepped in front of her. “Lady Emily?”
Emily blinked. That hadn’t stayed a secret long, had it?
She studied the man for a long moment. He was dark-skinned, probably around the same age as Sergeant Miles. His gold-rimmed spectacles helped him to project an air of reassuring competence. The grey robes he wore reminded her of school robes, but she couldn’t sense any magic on him beyond a handful of protective charms. He looked more like a lawyer – or another clerk – than a magician.
“Yes,” she said, finally. She carefully cast a privacy charm, trying to hold it in place without making it obvious. “I am.”
The man bowed. “I am Callam, Son of Patrick.” His voice was artfully flat. “Assistant to Tryon Vesperian. He requests the pleasure of your company.”
Emily hesitated, glancing at her watch. She still had nearly an hour before she was due to meet Caleb and Frieda, assuming she could find them. And she was curious. If nothing else, she wanted to know how her cover had been blown.
“Of course,” she said. “It will be my pleasure.”
Chapter Eight
EMILY WAS NOT SURPRISED TO DISCOVER that Vesperian’s mansion was located in Starry Light, the richest part of the city. It was one of a dozen mansions, each surrounded by small gardens and protected by private guards. Their owners had gone to some trouble to try to make the buildings unique, placing statues of their ancestors or the gods outside their homes. Vesperian had placed a giant, stylized ‘V’ outside his mansion, just like the one she’d seen in the funicular. It glittered gold in the noonday sun.
She tensed as she passed through the gates, silently readying a handful of protective spells. It hadn’t occurred to her until she’d already agreed to go that it might well be a trap, although she knew no one in Beneficence who might want to do her harm. She certainly couldn’t recall meeting Vesperian – even hearing of him – before she’d headed off to war. It was possible that he’d been one of the industrialists who’d flocked to Cockatrice as the New Learning became more prevalent, but Byron and Paren had been in charge of handling such matters. She’d chosen to keep her distance.
Which might have been a mistake, she told herself sternly.
She reached out with her senses as they reached the door, which swung open as they approached. There were a handful of protective wards – one tuned to keep out supernatural vermin, the remainder aimed at anyone entering with bad intentions – but they didn’t feel directly linked to a sorcerer. Given time, she knew she – or any reasonably competent magician – could probably break into the house. The butler, wearing a long dark robe, bowed politely as Callam led her into the hallway. She couldn’t help thinking that he lacked the loyalty and devotion she’d seen in some of King Randor’s liegemen.
Vesperian hadn’t lived in the mansion long, she realized, as she looked around the hall. It looked as though he and his family had only moved in a year or so ago. The walls were lined with paintings and portraits, the former showing a combination of real steam locomotives and remarkable designs that wouldn’t have been out of place in a steampunk universe. Some of the latter would take years to build, even assuming steam technology continued to advance; the remainder were probably doomed never to materialize, unless technology went in unprecedented directions. She couldn’t help smiling as she followed Callam down the hallway. Vesperian, whatever else could be said about him, didn’t lack imagination.
But he did lack taste, she noted. Everything he’d placed on display showcased his wealth: golden statues clashing uncomfortably with old paintings and artifacts that dated all the way back to the pre-imperial days. There was no overall theme, none of the quiet elegance she’d seen in Whitehall or Queen Marlena’s private chambers. The servants wore striking clothes, the men showing off their muscles while the women displayed their breasts and legs. She couldn’t help thinking Vesperian had designed everything to call attention to himself and his wealth. He was definitely nouveau riche.
King Randor has to show off his power, she thought. She understood the logic, the need for the king to show off his power even when funds were running low, but she’d never cared for the style of King Randor’s court. And Vesperian has to show off his wealth.
She felt a twinge of pity, mingled with amusement. Vesperian had no title, no long family history he could call upon to back up his claims. The older families in the city had probably sneered at him, once upon a time. She wondered, as they stopped outside a large wooden door, if they were laughing at the parvenu now. A man who had purchased – or rented – a mansion in Starry Light could not be dismissed.
The doors swung open. “Lady Emily,” Callam said. “Please allow me to introduce Tryon Vesperian.”
Emily braced herself as she strode into the office. It was huge, easily larger than a small classroom at Whitehall. The walls were lined with bookcases, save for one wall dominated by a giant painting of Vesperian and his family. She sensed three more protective wards, one of which was definitely a supercharged privacy ward. The other two didn’t seem to have any purpose, as far as she could tell. They were clearly designed to resist outside probing. She pulled back her awareness before she provoked a reaction. God alone knew what the wards were designed to do.
Tryon Vesperian rose to his feet and bowed, politely. He was tall, probably in his early forties, but running to fat. His face was pale, but his almond eyes suggested that he, too, had some mixed blood in him; his hair was orange, a neatly-trimmed goatee dominating his chin. It was a statement, Emily suspected. An unkempt beard would have suggested a nobleman, one dominated by his lower impulses. She’d seen too many of them at King Randor’s court.
Vesperian wore fine clothes, cut from the most expensive silk; a pair of black trousers, a white shirt and a black waistcoat. That too was a statement, she suspected. Vesperian had come far in the world, far enough to afford such materials, yet he hadn’t forgotten his humble beginnings. The shirt wasn’t too different from what a common laborer would wear, but the silk would cost more than a thousand laborers could earn in a year.
“Lady Emily,” Vesperian said. His voice was polite, tinged with a hint of aristocracy. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”
His handshake was firm, Emily discovered, as he shook her hand. It made her smile as he invited her to sit, summoning maids to bring food and drink. His manner suggested that he considered her an equal, perhaps more than an equal. She found it oddly refreshing. He wasn’t bowing or scraping to her…or dismissing her, as some noblemen in Zangaria had tried to do. They’d never wanted to take women seriously…
And yet, there was something about his manner that set alarm bells ringing at the back of her mind.
“I’ve been following events in Cockatrice with great interest,” Vesperian said, as a maid arrived with a tray of drinks and small cakes. “I’m glad to hear that most of your…innovations remain in effect.”
“They haven’t been changed,” Emily agreed. She couldn’t help noticing that the maid’s dress was terrifyingly short. “I find they bring in considerably more tax revenue.”
“Of course,” Vesperian said. The maid withdrew, as silently as she’d come. “And they are spreading, are they not?”
“Swanhaven has adopted some of my innovations,” Emily said. She covertly tested the drink and cakes for poison, finding nothing. “I don’t know how far they’ll spread beyond there.”
“The new Baron has considerable influence,” Vesperian said. If he’d noticed her test, he didn’t bother to comment on it. “And you know him, do you not?”
“Yes,” Emily said, flatly. King Randor had given Swanhaven to Jade, after both of the baron’s legal heirs had died. She couldn’t decide if Randor had done his son-in-law a favor or given him a poisoned chalice to drain. Swanhaven had been on the verge of outright rebellion only seven months ago. “He has many other duties to attend to.”
She nibbled one of the cakes, tasting sugar on her lips. It was
sweet enough to make her teeth hurt – yet another display of wealth. Sugar was expensive, even in a trading city. The cake probably cost more than an entire month’s supply of food, for a poor family. She wasn’t particularly impressed. There was a fine line between showing off one’s wealth and naked conspicuous consumption.
Vesperian chatted about everything from politics to magic. Emily listened, feeling an odd sense of respect mingling with irritation. On one hand, he asked for her opinion and actually listened; on the other hand, he hadn’t said anything of particular consequence, certainly nothing that explained why he’d asked her to visit. She could have had the same conversation with almost anyone. And yet, somehow, she doubted he just wanted a chat.
“The railway is coming along well,” Vesperian said. “Have you ridden the line to Cockatrice?”
“Not yet,” Emily said. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to return to Zangaria without King Randor’s permission. Practically speaking, Randor had no way to keep her out as long as she was careful, but it would put Alassa and Imaiqah in an awkward position if he found out. And Jade, who might be ordered to arrest her. “I hear it’s spectacular, though.”
“It is,” Vesperian said. He grinned. Oddly, she thought it was the first genuine emotion he’d shown. “We started with a single track, which might have been a mistake; we had to add a second track within a month, just to run engines in both directions at once. Right now, we can move goods from Beneficence to Cockatrice City in just under two hours. We’re currently working on extending the line further into Zangaria.”
His smile grew wider. “My investors have been very happy,” he added. “Each individual payment is quite small, of course, but they’ve been mounting up rapidly. I’ve made them very wealthy men.”
Emily nodded. “I’m sure they’re pleased.”
“They are,” Vesperian said. His smile lit up his face. “And extending the line into Zangaria will bring them more money.”
“One would hope so,” Emily said. “Do you have permission to take the line further south?”
Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12) Page 8