The Duchess of the Shallows

by Neil McGarry

  "Don't just stand there!" Lysander called to her, taking off in the same direction. Duchess looked after them and sighed. "More running," she muttered. And then she was off as well.

  Bruised and battered though he might be, Brenn could still run quickly enough. He darted through an arched doorway and along a curving lane, his feet slapping smartly against the cobbles. Lysander, slightly taller and with longer legs, kept pace, but Duchess, still sore from the previous evening's adventures, found herself lagging behind. As they passed a narrow alley Lysander pointed wildly down its length without glancing behind, and she, trusting his greater knowledge of the district, changed direction without question. Sure enough, the alley cut straight and the shortcut would have brought her out well ahead of Brenn...but for a trio of nattering gray-bearded tradesmen who filled the narrow way from wall to wall.

  "What's your rush, m'dear?" one of them challenged her.

  "Probably stole someone's purse," said the second, clapping a hand to his own.

  Her breath was coming so hard she never heard what the third had to say. By the time she got around them the shortcut amounted to a short delay, and Brenn was still ahead. She gritted her teeth and willed her aching legs to move faster. They complied, reluctantly.

  They came to the top of a long hill that descended to a canal that marked the southern border of the district. The gate to Market lay not far beyond that canal, which was spanned by an arching wooden bridge. Once Brenn got across it and through the gate he could lose himself amongst the stalls and the shoppers, and they might spend the next week trying to find him again. Duchess didn't have that kind of time. Lysander had achieved an admirable speed but Brenn possessed the strength of terror. Lacking both, Duchess looked about desperately. Three apprentices sat under an overhanging roof, sharing a skin of ale, their wheelbarrows parked nearby. They hooted as Brenn and Lysander bolted past, and then looked at Duchess with more interest. She, in turn, had eyes only for their wheelbarrows.

  "Sorry!" she said, skidding to a halt. She grasped one of the barrows – which was less balky than the bread cart, she noted – heaved it around, and sent it rolling down the hill with as much force as she could muster. Its owner's cry of outrage was lost under the sounds of creaky wheels on cobbles. The barrow rattled along, picking up speed as it went, and soon it was flying along like the chariot of some petty god, sending up loose stones in its wake. A stray cat ambled out of a narrow space between buildings, took one look, and leapt away, hissing. Lysander, she saw, never even tried to dodge aside, and she blessed him for remembering that day in the alley.

  Brenn heard the barrow coming and veered sharply left as the thing barreled by, missing him by a good three feet before crashing to a halt against a smithy wall. The maneuver took away some of his speed, however, and before he could make it up Lysander crashed into him like thunder, sending the both of them sprawling. The sound was music to Duchess' ears.

  Behind her, one of the apprentices guffawed. "You missed!" he mocked.

  She turned back with all the smugness she could muster. "I meant to," she gasped.

  * * *

  An hour later, they were sitting on broken crates in an alley in Market, not far from that place of long-ago cat-catching. Leaving Lysander to guard their charge, Duchess had gone to the market and bought bread, wine, and half a roast chicken, and they'd sat quietly as Brenn fell to. He'd eaten in silence, his back against the wall, but even after he'd finished, he wouldn't say a word.

  Duchess found herself pacing the width of the alley while Lysander sat quietly next to Brenn. She tried to be patient but the day was passing and she still hadn't gotten any useful information. Neither Steel nor Silk had any ideas. Nor did Lysander.

  Brenn sat silently, clutching the half-empty wineskin. He looked so small, there against the wall, his arms wrapped tight around his bent knees, like a child. She thought about those first nights at the bakery when she herself had sat like that, long after the rest of the family had fallen asleep, unable to close her eyes for fear of dreams. She remembered the anger that no one had come to take her from this strange place with people who did not love her and made her work until her hands were raw and her back ached. She had vowed a revenge in the dark that she would never achieve. She wondered if Brenn had sworn the same oaths.

  She came out of her thoughts to see Lysander, looking at her with the strangest expression on his face. He looked from her to Brenn and back again and it seemed as if he'd found something there, some similarity or connection. Before she could react, he turned and wrapped one arm around Brenn.

  "You're angry," he said, to Brenn, but his eyes never left Duchess'. "You're angry, but under that you're afraid. And all you have now is the fear of what happened and what might happen yet." She shivered and ached to reveal to Lysander even the smallest part of her secret. Lysander, in turn, held her gaze, and when he saw she had nothing to say, flicked his eyes towards Brenn, and in that moment she realized she had more to offer than just words.

  "And I can promise you," she said, her voice ringing louder than she'd intended, "if you tell me what he did, what was done to you, you'll soon have something else to replace that fear."

  "What?" asked Brenn, looking up at her, anger giving way to wonder.

  "The knowledge that I'll make him suffer."

  * * *

  "I was in the Wharves, on the way back from a job, and I guess he was handling some business or other. He bumped into me on the street by 'accident', the way they usually do" – he looked at Lysander, who nodded – "and I didn't even know he was a baron, then. He seemed to fit in down there a little too well for that. Then he caught my arm and held it for a moment too long and then I saw that look in his eyes. I thought it was going to be just an afternoon's work, but he sent one of his guards after me the next day, and the day after that.

  "At first we always met in Wharves, in the upper room of a warehouse I think he owned, but after awhile he got bolder and started bringing me back to his manor. His new wife wasn't happy about that, I can tell you, but the wives can never say anything about it." He took another sip of wine. "He'd always sneak me in the back door, through the kitchen, but he never did any more than that to hide what was going on. I think he enjoyed rubbing her nose in it. He kept me at the house overnights and after awhile she started staying away longer and longer and I never really saw her." He tossed away a chicken bone and the pair of stray cats who'd gathered nearby pounced to claim it, hissing and snapping at one another. He watched them fight for a moment, then went back to his story. "He was sweet, and kind, mostly. Not handsome, but he smiled a lot and he bought me things, and he wasn't too rough between the sheets and he never asked me to do anything I didn't want to.

  "I should have been satisfied with that, but, really, it was his own fault I went wandering. There was enough of the first two floors to fill my eyes for weeks, but he just had to tell me to stay away from the galleries on the third floor. Made a point of it, over and over, like I was stupid or something. And so, finally, one time when he was asleep – I guess this was two nights ago – I went up there just to see what in Mayu's hells was so damned valuable." He shivered, even though the morning chill was giving way to spring warmth, or as warm as spring ever got in Rodaas. Duchess said nothing, afraid that if she interrupted him now she'd break the spell and he'd never tell her the rest.

  "I didn't even find the gallery, and never even got up to the third floor. They weren't house guards, the ones who caught me. I wish they had been, because then maybe I could have talked my way out of it. But they were two of Ophion's Brutes, from the Shallows. The two that are always together: Malleus and Kakios." Duchess and Lysander exchanged a look. "They looked at me like I was some kind of bug and started talking to each other in these strange calm voices, and that was worse than if they'd just screamed at me. Then they took me to the baron, and he screamed enough for all three of them. He wasn't the Ivan I'd known, who'd bought me things and was sweet and warm. He was crazy angry and
his face turned this bright shade of red as went on and on about how I was ungrateful and that he'd told me time and time again to stay away from the third floor. Then he told the Brutes to punish me." Neither Duchess nor Lysander pressed him for details – the bruises on his face and body said enough – but after a moment he continued.

  "I thought they'd just beat me, but they had something else in mind. They took me downstairs and out of the house, behind the kitchen. There was this...I don't know, a little stone house back there, halfway in the ground. I'd never seen anything like that before. It was dark in there. Dark and cold and there was water there, like a little stream running right under the place."

  "I've seen those," Lysander put in. "The nobles have them sometimes, and they store wine and cheese down there, anything they want to keep cold."

  A cold house, she realized, her breath catching in her throat. They'd taken him to a cold house. She struggled to keep her face carefully blank, but the wheels of her mind were turning madly.

  "It kept me cold, that's for sure, because they ripped off my clothes and dunked me under. They held me down so long I thought I'd drown. Then they'd pull me out and while I was trying to catch my breath they'd punch me in the stomach. Then they'd put me under again. And again. Every time I went under I'd think that was the time I was going to die, but I didn't. They knew just how long to hold me under before I'd drown. Once I think I did almost drown, but they yanked me up and squeezed my chest until I threw up the water I'd swallowed. And then it was back in. After awhile I didn't even have the breath to scream, but they kept at it, talking to each other in that soft little way. Gods, I'll never forget those voices." He put his hands over his face, trembling, and Silk felt a stab of guilt for prying at him so coldly. No wonder the water in the fountain had unhinged him.

  "Where was the baron during all this?" she asked after a moment.

  "He was right there, watching the whole thing. Even had a chair brought down so he could be more comfortable. He didn't say anything that I can remember, but I guess he thought it was fun. I wouldn't have expected that from him, but there he was." A tear ran out of one eye. "I hope that bastard rots in the worst hell," he said, shuddering, and Lysander put an arm around him, looking stricken.

  Despite her horror at Brenn's tale – of Eusbius, of the Brutes, and what had happened in the cold house that day – the shape of a plan was already forming in the back of her mind. A dangerous plan, to be sure, but one she thought could work. She was so caught up in her thoughts that it was long before she realized Brenn had stopped shaking. He shoved Lysander away and stood, his fear giving way to icy rage. "I thought I would be in that room until I died." He leaned towards her, his face mere inches from her own. "You remember that, Duchess. You remember what he did to me. And then you make him suffer."

  * * *

  The sky was nearly dark by the time they reached the garret once more. They'd walked all the way back from Trades without speaking, climbed the stair, and sat quietly in front of the fire for a long time. Finally Lysander broke the silence. "Baron Eusbius is not someone you want to fuck with," he said, pouring them both some wine.

  Duchess drank deep, suppressing a shiver. The whole way back she'd been thinking about the guards who'd caught Brenn. Malleus and Kakios were more than just blackarms; they belonged to the Brutes, the most corrupt and violent of them all. They reported to Sheriff Ophion, who had responsibility for the Shallows and was by all accounts the most corrupt official in a city where corruption was common coin. He kept the peace only when and where it suited his purse, which was open to all contributors, highborn and low. Malleus and Kakios were the worst of the Brutes, and anyone with sense gave them a polite nod and a wide berth. Even Burrell kept a civil tongue in his head when those two passed his gate. If they were guarding House Eusbius, her mission had become even more dangerous.

  It would not do to say that to Lysander, however. "Brenn thought so. Still, now I know how to get this done."

  Lysander blinked. "You can't still be thinking of…"

  Duchess toyed with her half-finished cup of wine and tried to sound confident. "Look, Brenn got in trouble because he was careless. We won't be." She gave him a smile, hoping it looked less forced than it felt. "When was the last time you got caught stealing anything?" Lysander never got tired of being reminded of his own cleverness, but this time he wasn't so easily shaken.

  "Duchess, Eusbius isn't some dotty old lord whose house guard is an old woman with a broom and a toothless dog. He's got the Brutes working there, for Mayu's sake, and if his house guards don't catch you, they will."

  "Catch us," Duchess said. "I can't do this alone." She looked at him. "I need you." And that was the plain truth. She could face Hector and Baron Eusbius and the Brutes, but not alone.

  He shook his head in that Lysander way and said, "Anassa's secrets…three days ago you were the bread girl and now you want to break into a baron's house." He stared into the fire, swirling his wine. Duchess watched him in silence, hearing nothing but her own heartbeat and the crackle of the fire.

  She leaned closer. "Lysander, I learned from you how things work in Rodaas, about the players and the pieces. You and I have always been the pieces, but this is our chance to become one of the players. If we set it by, we'll spend the rest of our lives wondering what might have been." She watched him for a long moment. There was doubt written on his fine features, and fear, but she thought she could see a glimmer of interest as well.

  She thought back to the days when he’d first introduced her to the ways of tickling locks. She’d been practicing for weeks on the door to Noam’s shop, but she needed more of a challenge. Getting to the door of Minette’s office wasn’t a problem, of course. "But I’ll need a lookout," was how she’d put it, trying to sound off-hand, "to make sure Lorelei doesn’t catch me." His initial reaction, then as now, had been shocked disbelief, but while his words said no, that slow, sly grin said yes. She’d needed only to wait. Now, before the crackling fire, she sat quietly, not talking, not moving, just waiting.

  Stonefaced, he kept his eyes on the fire, knowing where this was going but not wanting to admit it. One heartbeat, two, and then he turned to her, his shoulders slumped under the weight of the inevitable. Their eyes met and a slow smile spread across both their faces. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll do it. It'll probably mean both our heads, but I'll do it." Duchess tried to hide her triumphant delight and failed, and Lysander flapped a hand at her impatiently and drained his cup. "Now before I regain my senses, tell me what do you need me to do."

  "What do you know about this party of his?" She was all Steel again, at least as long as she didn't have to think about the Brutes.

  "A costume ball, showing off the baron's new estate and his art collection. I'd heard there was something special he had planned and, from what you've said I guess it's this dagger of his. It's the wrong season for a costume party but that won't stop him." He shrugged. "So he's already stepped in it even before he welcomes his first guest. From what I've heard the whole of the high districts will be there to witness the spectacle."

  "Can you get an invitation?"

  He smiled. "I wasn't planning on going - sounded like a bore, really - but Stephan was making noises about taking me on his arm. If he's still going I can get in." He sniffed. "And he can damn well get me a costume, too, the old dandy, although I have no idea what's in fashion. Last year it was animals. If I had to attend one more party in yellow feathers I was going to retch." He looked at her shrewdly. "But Stephan only likes the boys, so he'll never let me bring you along. How will you get in?"

  Duchess lay back before the fire. "I guess finding a costume and slipping in with the other guests wouldn't work?" He snorted, showing what he thought of that plan. "OK…I have a better idea, anyway, one that won't get me drowned. What I really need, though…well, I need two things. First, I'll want to know everything Brenn knows about the estate: the grounds, the layout of the manor house, anything else he'll tell you. Hell, I'll tak
e a map if he'll draw one. Second, I need someone to look out for me while the party's going on, and provide a distraction if it comes to that."

  "It'll be easy enough to lose Stephan once I'm in, poor old thing. And as for causing a distraction…" He smiled modestly. "But how are you going to get out? If that dagger is as valuable as you say, the Brutes'll be searching everyone who tries to leave."

  "There's a way, and I'll bet Eusbius doesn't even know about it." The story about the cold house had not just impressed upon her the savagery of the Brutes, but had given her an idea of how to escape the estate and get far away before anyone thought to look for her. "Let me give it some more thought. Oh, and I'll need you to sneak in your skeleton keys, too." That was their polite term for Lysander's collection of wires, picks and other tools he used to tease open locks. She lacked his mastery, it was true, but she did well enough. "Keep that in mind when you're picking out your costume. Nothing too skimpy."

  He laughed. "That's a tall order, knowing Stephan, but I'll try. All right, I'll find him tonight and set it up. But I'd better make myself pretty first or else he'll have me in nothing more than tights and a kerchief." He got up and began sorting through the mess for clean clothing, and Duchess headed for the door. "Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.

  "I need to see Minette about a job."

  Chapter Eight:

  Laying out the tiles

  The Vermillion was, as always, a blaze of red: carpets, tapestries, couches, upholstery and throw-pillows all in rich crimson velvet, silk and satin. The first time she'd stepped into the wide receiving parlor, years ago with Noam, she'd thought someone had been killed here and left his blood all over the room, but of course she'd been only eight and ignorant of brothels. At the time she'd thought the ladies magnificent, and when she said someday she'd be just like them Noam had reddened and told her to hold her tongue. Then she'd been swept up in a vortex of powdered, perfumed women pinching her cheek, stroking her hair, and asking questions that the eight-year-old Duchess had taken very seriously while Noam stood aside and spoke quietly with Minette. Duchess had spent many an hour in the Vermillion's front parlor, or upstairs looking down through the diamond-shaped slots in the carved wooden bannister. She and Lorelei, of nearly an age at the time, would watch the arrival of the gentlemen in their finery and whisper of their favorites, of how they would have the custom of this one or that one when they were older. Of course Duchess never understood exactly what that custom was until much later, nor was she allowed to explore the building to find out.