The Duchess of the Shallows

by Neil McGarry

  "Thank you for coming," he said earnestly, clasping his hands before him. They were nice hands, she thought, smooth and firm with surprisingly sensitive fingers and no scars that she could see. "Antony, bring up some of that spiced pear wine from the other day. No need to warm it first. Oh, and a plate of my biscuits, please." Antony dipped his head and exited, leaving the two of them alone. The Uncle turned back to her with a kindly smile. "There's a small shop in Scholars District that makes these delightful sweet biscuits, and I confess I am quite addicted. They're better than the wine, and believe me-" he gave her a conspirator's wink - "I never drink bad wine." Duchess was speechless. This was the chief of the Red, who inspired terror in his enemies and instant obedience from his followers?

  She realized she was gaping; she should say something and not appear witless. "I…was honored by the invitation."

  "And I by the company. I don't have as many visitors as you might think," Cornelius replied, all warmth and congeniality that went oddly with his rat eyes. He sighed, ruefully shaking his head. "But I must admit that I did not ask you here just for the company. I seem to be in a spot of trouble. You may not believe this, but I hate trouble." He said the last with a seriousness that took her aback for a moment, even though his voice was still light and conversational. "I hate making trouble and I hate solving it. Don't you feel the same?" She nodded and his smile returned. "I knew you did. You seem a woman of uncommon good sense for one so young, so I feel comfortable sharing my problems with you. I feel like you'll understand."

  By understand she imagined the Uncle meant don't ever think I'm joking, and if so he needn't have worried. She was hanging on his every word. "I'm sorry to hear you're having problems," she replied at last.

  He shrugged. "These things happen." Just then there was a heavy knock at the door and Antony entered with the wine and biscuits. He placed the wooden tray carefully on the desk, his huge hands moving far more gently than she would have thought possible, then took a position to the Uncle's right, still as stone. The Uncle poured and handed her a glass. "Do try one," he said indicating the biscuits. "They're best when fresh, and left to my own devices I'll eat them all." He took one and chewed with gusto, but his gaze never left her. Duchess took a biscuit out of politeness and held her wine, but she did not eat or drink for fear she'd retch.

  "So," said Cornelius, swallowing, "I'm sure you want me to get to the matter at hand. I asked you here because I was hoping for your assistance with something." He finished his biscuit and reached for another.

  "I'm glad to help in any small way I can," she said.

  "Your kindness is as wise as it is welcome." He winked. "Trust me, with that attitude you'll make friends everywhere you go. Friendship is important, don't you agree?" She nodded. "I've been blessed with many friends; so many, in fact that sometimes I find myself pulled in all directions." He looked pained. "My friend, the Baron Eusbius, is one of those pullers. He comes to me last night and tells me I must find a dagger for him, one that's gone missing. I try to calm him down, to make him see reason, but my friend the baron doesn't understand. He wants his uncle to make things right, so I send out my boys" - he patted Antony's massive shoulder - "and I make trouble. Which you know I hate." He took another biscuit from the tray and looked at her, his rat-eyes flickering to the biscuit she held, as yet uneaten. Duchess obligingly took a bite, the morsel tasteless in her mouth, and the Uncle smiled.

  "I am ready to tell the baron there is nothing more I can do when I get a visit from another friend who tells an interesting story about Hector the pawn-shop owner. I can't believe Hector would get involved in such a mess, but the second friend is never wrong about this sort of thing. So now there is something more I can do, but how? What can you do when one friend wants this, and a second friend wants that?" He gazed inquisitively at her, and she realized he was waiting for an answer.

  "I suppose," she said slowly, taking care not to say the wrong thing, "you turn to a third friend. Maybe a new one."

  He nodded, seeming pleased that she was paying attention. "I never turn down the opportunity to make a friend. This world is so hard that a man needs all the friends he can get. Don't you agree?" She nodded for what seemed like the hundredth time since she'd entered the room. The man certainly enjoyed hearing himself speak. "But there's a small detail I haven't mentioned, but maybe you've guessed. There's a newcomer involved here, who probably doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. She let Hector lead her down the wrong path, and now…well, she's in unfamiliar territory. And I don't know what she'll do next. Maybe she knows what will make things right, and maybe she doesn't. That’s the detail."

  Duchess knew that the detail in question was sitting directly across from him, but it would not do to say so. The Uncle was probing to see how much she guessed and how much he needed to spell out. Although it was wiser to stay silent, something had hold of her. "Well, it seems to me that this newcomer just needs some guidance in knowing what has to happen. So that there's no more trouble." The Uncle nodded encouragingly, gesturing for her to go on, and she took a breath and dived in. "Be an uncle to this newcomer. Show her you want to help her fit in, understand things. Show her that it's really worth her while to help out her uncle in return."

  Cornelius thought about that a moment, hand on his chin. "That's good, that's good. Maybe I could set her up, give her a push along the right path, and in return she could help this whole matter just go away." He frowned. "I'd have to be careful, though. I wouldn't want people thinking I was buying a spy." He took up another biscuit and snapped it in half, watching her intently with his black eyes.

  Duchess swallowed. Yesterday she would never have dreamed of asking a favor of Uncle Cornelius, but then again yesterday had been a long day. "Spies operate in secret, so if you acted openly…well, who could accuse you of doing something wrong?" Of course she was lying outrageously, and they both knew it; no one who valued life would accuse Uncle Cornelius of anything, at least in his presence. Then she leaned forward and said, "And I could make sure that the newcomer understands that you're not buying a spy. You're…making a friend. And friends are good things to have, aren't they?"

  He smiled broadly. "I've always said so," he beamed, and she took another bite of biscuit, noticing for the first time the sweet, rich flavor. It tasted like triumph. The Uncle seemed to approve of this. "I like the way you think, Duchess. I'll leave it to you to make the newcomer cooperate. You have good sense, and I am sure you'll make her understand."

  "It sounds to me like you didn't even need my advice," Duchess sipped the wine. Very nice. "And I appreciate you helping me to understand."

  The Uncle waved his hands. "Not at all, not at all. I like talking these things through, it helps me to think. Yes, the more I consider this idea, the more I like it. What's more," he said conspiratorially, "I think that none of this has to get back to my friend the baron. It will be enough for him to know that his uncle took care of it." He slid off the desk and stood, brushing crumbs from his vest. "Well, I mustn't keep you any longer. It was so good of you to come all this way just to speak to me."

  The interview was over, and not a moment too soon. Minette thrived on careful words and subtle insinuations, but Duchess had taken her fill for the day. "My pleasure."

  Uncle Cornelius sat behind his desk. "I'll have Antony here escort you back to the Vermillion." She nodded, well aware that Antony's job was to return with either that dagger or her head. She decided she could more easily spare the former, and truth be told she'd had enough of that dagger and its strangeness. She would be glad to see the back of it. "Do say hello to Minette for me, when you're there. She's a good girl, never any trouble." He went back to his ledger, taking no further notice of her.

  She and Antony were about to step out into the hall when something suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, Uncle?" she said. He looked up politely and she drew P's copper mark from her pocket, wondering if she was doing the right thing. "I found this a little while ago, but I'm not sure what
it means. You have so many friends in the city that I thought you might know who it belongs to."

  She handed it over, and Cornelius looked at it closely for a moment, running his finger over the coiled snake devouring its own tail. "No, I couldn't say, though it reminds me of a rumor I heard." He looked at her, then went on. "You see, not everyone in Rodaas runs things as I do. In my family, my boys know how things work, and when they forget I remind them. Antony here has his younger brothers who all answer to him, just as he answers to me. Everyone knows his place. But there are other families in the city, and I am thinking of one in particular. Their children – Hector, for example – get into all manner of trouble because they've got no uncle to keep them on the right path. A shame." He looked at the mark again. "They're not really a family like us...more a band of orphans, each running his own way, always vying for position. It's sad, I think. They never really know their place." He handed the coin back to her as if glad to be rid of it. "But as I said, I heard a rumor once that this other family had some kind of uncle of its own, perhaps even a council of uncles. All that seems certain is that this leader's symbol is the snake swallowing its tail."

  He took up his quill again and resumed his work, clearly done with the topic and with her. As she followed Antony from the office, he said one more thing, barely heard as Antony closed the door behind them.

  "I don't believe a word of it, myself."

  * * *

  Lysander was sitting on the front step of the Vermillion, and Duchess was warmed to see that he still held her purse and the wrapped dagger. He smiled when he saw her approaching, but raised his eyebrows when he noticed Antony was still with her. "Is everything all right?" he asked, rising slowly to his feet. She gave him a reassuring smile.

  "Everything is lovely, Lysander. The Uncle is a perfect gentlemen, and he serves the most wonderful biscuits." He gave her a quizzical look. "But there's one more thing I have to do. Could I have that back?" she asked, indicating the bundle containing the dagger. He handed it over, looking dubious, and she turned to Antony. "Could you give this to Uncle Cornelius for me?" she asked. "With my compliments." Antony eyed her for a moment, and she could have sworn she saw grudging respect there. He accepted the bundle wordlessly, turned, and moved off the way he'd come.

  She turned to see a priceless look of shock and wonder on Lysander's face. His chin seemed halfway to the ground. Duchess shrugged. "Friends, I was told recently, are wonderful things to have."

  * * *

  The sun was dipping below the roofline as Duchess made what she hoped was her last trip to Hector's shop. The streets were beginning to fill with night people, whores and lightboys, and the occasional slumming noble. Duchess moved blithely past them all, grateful for this moment of peace, the first she'd had in days. She was thinking of all the things she'd seen in the past week, but in particular of Uncle Cornelius. She still wasn't sure what to make of him, but at least he seemed like someone with whom she could deal. She wouldn't have expected such subtlety from the chief of the Red, but then again no one rose to the Uncle's position by being a fool. Ophion was more openly violent - his men weren't called the Brutes for nothing - but his curses and glowers did not seem half so menacing as the Uncle's congenial condescension. She half-worried that he might not keep up his end of the bargain, or that if he did some favor or service would be required from her in future, but there was little she could do about that.

  Minette had certainly turned out to be even more influential than Duchess had guessed, enough to gain even the Uncle's respect. She had known Minette since she was a little girl but never fully trusted her, and it seemed she'd been wise. The information the Uncle had shared about the coin...well, Minette had conveniently left out that important connection to the Grey. In fact, it made her wonder just how much of what Minette had hinted was true, and how much merely feints to draw her out. But by every god of the Walk, there was something about Minette's manner that felt true, even if she'd left out nearly as much as she'd given. Minette had not failed to mention the connection between the snake's mark and the Grey simply because she'd overlooked it. She was clearly playing her own game, and until that game was revealed it was best to treat her with caution. Still, Duchess felt as if she understood the older woman a little better now. Minette's way was to work slowly and secretly, collecting power piece by piece, secret by secret, taking years to gain the position she now held. She didn't appreciate bold, sudden moves…such as sneaking into a baron's estate and stealing his most prized possession. A woman to be respected and even feared, but not for Duchess to fully emulate. Minette's methods were effective and enviable, but Duchess knew she just lacked the patience to rise as Minette had.

  Hector was angry to see her before sundown, but she brushed that aside. She had dealt with far more fearsome foes than he this day, and in truth she felt a bit sorry for him. He was a small man whose peevish resentment of Eusbius had enabled the cult of Anassa to make him a witless tool. He could not even take credit for the plan to embarrass the baron; Duchess suspected that idea had originated from behind a feathered mask. There were no doubt a thousand other ways of striking at Eusbius; the baron had spent a fortune on becoming and appearing a noble and his coffers must be nearly empty. Hector might have done better to send her after his sources of income, which might have ruined Eusbius once and for all. In any case, as far as Duchess was concerned, her business with House Eusbius was concluded.

  Hector looked as bruised as he had that morning, and sported two cloth-wrapped fingers, but seemed more energetic, and was busy setting his shop to rights. Most of the glass had been swept up and some of the clutter cleared away. After letting her in the door, Hector went back to his work, completely ignoring her. Duchess let him go on, aware that he was taking one last opportunity to exercise what little power remained to him. She watched him struggling to right a fallen bookshelf, sighed, and walked over to help. When they'd gotten it upright, he glared at her for a long moment and then disappeared into the further recesses of the shop. She took a seat and waited, unruffled, until he emerged carrying a thin gray cloak over one arm. He gestured for her to stand and she obeyed, surprised that such a secretive group had such an open mark of membership. He draped the cloak over her shoulders and stepped away.

  "That's it?" she asked, nonplussed. She had thought there would be words, candles, or some other ritual, and not just the handing over of a piece of cloth. He snorted and went back to his work.

  "What did you expect? A parade? A visit from Ventaris?" He shook his head in disgust, arranging books on the newly righted shelf. "You're on the Grey now, and I'll frune that around myself." He glanced at her contemptuously. "You do know what fruning is?" She gave him a look, which he ignored. "You'll figure out the rules as you go – we all do – but from this day forward you can expect reasonable help from the Grey and you will be expected to respond in kind. Information, favors, possible targets or jobs are all fair game. There’s little honor amongst thieves, but know that any lies you spread will find you out. You may make your own marks and give them out as you will, but you must pay full value when they’re called due." He bent to pick up more books. "You and I are square, and you're on your own. Don't come crying to me for help anymore."

  It was Duchess' turn to scoff. "Hector, if it makes you feel better I can't imagine crying to you for anything."

  He looked at her angrily. "You think you're better than I am, don't you? You've got a piece of brass in your pocket and one successful job under your belt, but right now, at this moment, you are lower than I am." She was taken aback and he savored her discomfort. "An initiate's standing, my dear, is derived from that of her sponsor, and after this business with the Uncle…well, you're looking at the second-lowest ranked member in the city. You can find the lowest by looking in that mirror over there." He went back to arranging books. "My name and my mark are nearly worthless, but I take small comfort in the fact that yours are completely so." He turned, grinning yellowly, and waggled a book an inc
h from her nose. "And that friend of yours, the boy whore, he's even worse. He's sniffed around the Grey for years now and hasn't gotten anywhere. You're a fool, true, but you've got the drive to at least try to better yourself. He's weak and lazy, little more than a clever tongue and a pretty face, and in twenty years he'll be lined and old with nothing but the bitter knowledge of what he might have been." He snorted and went back to his work. "I don't know which of you is more pathetic."

  Duchess stared at him, any sympathy she'd felt melting away. What he'd said about her standing on the Grey was bad because it felt true, but the things he'd said of Lysander were somehow worse. Angry and strangely humiliated, she decided not to waste any more time with him. She removed the cloak, draped it over her arm, and tried to exit with all the dignity she could muster. She could make her own reputation, separate from Hector's, in time. She was certain of it. And he knew nothing of Lysander. She had one hand on the door when Hector took one last shot.

  "You got through this by the Uncle's good graces. I know it, you know it, and so does everyone on the Grey. And they won't forget it." He smiled at her. "Have a good evening."

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Duchess makes her mark

  It was the second occasion on which a letter changed her life. She'd been returning from Ferroc and Nieces when the runner had found her. She wasn't hard to find these days, not since her induction into the Grey. Hector had kept his word and fruned her initiation, and since then she'd noticed a subtle difference in the way she was treated. The wineseller's surly wife, for example, had become unexplainably helpful the last time Duchess stopped by for a bottle, and had even given her an unasked-for discount on the purchase. One of the butchers in the market had saved her a particularly choice cut of meat, fresh from the slaughterhouse, and never asked an extra penny. Lorelei had treated her almost as a minor noble, and even Burrell had given her a queer look the last time she passed the gate. There had been no secret hand gestures or significant looks; they just seemed to know about Duchess' rise in stature. She was fast learning that the influence of the Grey was all around…if you knew where to look.