After a long moment, the historian sighed, reached out and uncorked the bottle. He sniffed the mouth. Brows lifted. ‘Empty the rubbish in your cups, please.’
They did and Duiker poured.
‘Cutter,’ said Murillio.
‘What?’
‘You were disembowelled? Gods below, man!’ ‘Kruppe struggles to taste the wonder of this wondrous vintage, so gasted of flabber is he at said horrendous tale. The world is most cruel, yet salvation unfolds at the last, blessed be all the gods, goddesses, spirits, marsupials and amphibians and indeed all the rest. Made drunk by punches is poor Kruppe, rocked this way, knocked that, buffeted askew in every direction at once very nearly unto exploding. Beloved Scillara, you tell a most awkward tale, and tell it badly. Despite this, see us here, each one reeling at said poorly told revelations!’
‘Perhaps excessive in my efforts at summarizing, I’ll grant you,’ Scillara allowed. ‘But I thought: best to push through the uncomfortable stage, and now here we are, relaxed and eager to quaff down this fine wine. I have decided I like the Phoenix Inn.’
Duiker rose. ‘My task complete, I shall—’
‘Sit back down, old man,’ she said. ‘If I have to slap the life back into you I will. Less painful, one hopes, partaking of our company this day, don’t you think?’
The historian slowly sat back down.
Kruppe gusted out a sigh. ‘Pity us men at this table, we are outnumbered!’
‘I take it Cutter’s told nothing,’ Scillara observed. ‘Not even how we almost drowned when the moon broke up and fell out of the sky. Saved by a dragon.’
‘I will indeed stay,’ said Duiker, ‘provided you back up and tell us all this properly, Scillara.’
‘As you like.’
‘From the moment you first met Heboric.’
‘This will take all night,’ she said. ‘And I’m hungry.’
‘Murillio will be delighted to purchase our suppers,’ declared Kruppe.
‘For once you are right,’ Murillio said.
‘I don’t think you’re too fat,’ said Cutter. ‘I don’t think anything like that, Scillara.’ Too good, yes. And why don’t you see how Barathol looks at you? As for me, well, Apsalar was smart enough to get away and I won’t begrudge her that. In fact, I doubt there’s a woman low enough for me anywhere in the world.
Was that too self-pitying? No, just realistic, he decided.
Oh, and by the way, everyone, that dragon is wearing silks and biding her time aboard her damned ship, right there in Darujhistan harbour . . . Oh, and did I mention that the city is in imminent danger?
The bottle of wine was done and Sulty was sent off for another one. Meese was quickly appeased by the orders for supper and the knowledge that, eventually, the swill she stocked would be broached and consumed to excess.
As Scillara told her tale.
While Cutter’s mind, sodden with alcohol, wandered through all those thoughts that were anything but self-pitying. Not a woman anywhere . . .
Lady Challice Vidikas sat at one end of the table, Shardan Lim on her left, Hanut Orr to her right. For this night she wore emerald green silks, the short coat tight-fitting, collarless to expose her unadorned, powdered throat and low-cut to reveal her scented breasts. Her hair was tied up, speared through with silver pins. Rouge blushed her cheeks. Kohl thickened her lashes. Earrings depended from her ears in tumbling, glittering array, the green of emerald and the blue of sapphire. The coat’s short sleeves revealed her bared arms, the skin soft, smooth, slightly plump, unstained by the sun. Leggings of brushed kid leather covered her lower limbs and on her feet was the latest style of sandals, the one with a high peg-like heel.
Amber wine glimmered in crystal goblets. Candlelight painted soft and gold every detail in a pool that faded into gloom beyond the three at the table, so that the servants moved in shadows, appearing only to clear dishes, rearrange settings, and deliver yet more food.
She but picked at her meal, wanting to be somewhat drunk for what would come at the end of this night. The only question she was unable to answer was . . . which one first?
Oh, there was sexual excitement – she could not deny that. Both men were hale and attractive, though in very different ways. And both equally obnoxious, but she thought she could live with that. For certain, her heart would play no role in what was to come, no giving over, no confusion that might lead to conflicted feelings, or feelings of any sort.
She could keep this simple. Everyone made use of what they had, didn’t they, especially when what they had proved desirable to others. This was how power accrued, after all. One man here, right or left, would have her this night – had they already decided which one between them? A toss of the knuckles. A wager in flesh. She was not sure – the evening was early yet and thus far she’d seen no overt signs of competition.
Hanut spoke, ‘Shardan and I have been discussing you all afternoon, Lady Challice.’
‘Oh? How flattering.’
‘It was on the night of my uncle’s murder, wasn’t it? At Lady Simtal’s estate – you were there.’
‘I was, yes, Hanut.’
‘That night, young Gorlas Vidikas saved your life.’
‘Yes.’
‘And so won your heart,’ said Shardan Lim, smiling behind his goblet as he sipped.
‘You make it sound an easy thing,’ she said, ‘winning my heart.’
‘Then gratitude made a good start,’ Shardan observed as Hanut settled back as if willing to listen and venture nothing else – at least for now. ‘He was very young, as were you. An age when charms seemed to flash blindingly bright.’
‘And I was dazzled,’ she said.
‘Gorlas did very well by it, I should say. One hopes he daily expresses his gratitude . . . when he is here, I mean. All the proper, entirely unambiguous gestures and the like.’
Hanut Orr stirred. ‘For too long, Lady Vidikas, the House of Orr and the House of D’Arle have been at odds on the Council. Generations of that, and, as far as I am concerned, for no good reason. I find myself wishing, often, that your father would meet me, to make amends, to forge something new and lasting. An alliance, in fact.’
‘An ambitious goal, Hanut Orr,’ said Challice. Unfortunately, my father thinks you are a preening, fatuous ass. A true Orr, in other words. ‘And you are most welcome, I’m sure, to make such an overture. I wish you the Lady’s tug.’
‘Ah, then I have your blessing in such an endeavour?’
‘Of course. Will that impress my father? That remains to be seen.’
‘Surely he cherishes you dearly,’ Shardan Lim murmured. ‘How could he not?’
I have this list . . . ‘The House of Vidikas was ever a modest presence in the Council,’ she said. ‘A long, unbroken succession of weak men and women singularly lacking in ambition.’
Hanut Orr snorted and reached for his goblet. ‘Excepting the latest, of course.’
‘Of course. My point is, my father ascribes little weight to the desires of House Vidikas, and I am now part of that house.’
‘Do you chafe?’
She fixed her gaze on Shardan Lim. ‘A bold question, sir.’
‘My apologies, Lady Vidikas. Yet I have come to cherish you and so only wish you happiness and contentment.’
‘Why would you imagine I felt otherwise?’
‘Because,’ Hanut Orr drawled, ‘you’ve been knocking back the wine this night like a tavern harlot.’ And he rose. ‘Thank you, Lady Vidikas, for a most enjoyable evening. I must, alas, take my leave.’
Struggling against anger, she managed a nod. ‘Of course, Councillor Orr. Forgive me if I do not see you out.’
He smiled. ‘Easily done, milady.’
When he was gone, Shardan swore softly under his breath. ‘He was angry with you.’
‘Oh?’ The hand that raised the goblet to her lips was, she saw, trembling.
‘Hanut wants your father to come to him, not the other way round. He won’t be a squirming p
up to anyone.’
‘A pup is never strong enough to make the first move, Shardan Lim. He misunderstood my challenge.’
‘Because it implies a present failing on his part. A failing of his nerve.’
‘Perhaps it does, and that should make him angry with me? How, precisely, does that work?’
Shardan Lim laughed and as he stretched out it was clear that, free now of Hanut Orr’s shadow, he was like a deadly flower opening to the night. ‘You showed him up for the self-important but weak-willed bully that he is.’
‘Unkind words for your friend.’
Shardan Lim stared down at his goblet as he drank a mouthful. Then he said in a growl, ‘Hanut Orr is no friend of mine.’
The wine was making her brain feel strangely loose, untethered. She no longer even tasted each sip, there had been so many of them, the servant a silent ghost slipping in to refill her goblet. ‘I think he believes otherwise.’
‘I doubt it. It was some damned conspiracy with House Orr that saw my father assassinated. And now it seems my family is snared, trapped, and the games just go on and on.’
This was a most unexpected side of the man and she did not know how to respond to it. ‘Such honesty humbles me, Shardan Lim. For what it is worth, I will keep what I have heard this night to myself.’
‘No need, but thank you anyway. In fact, I’d rather your husband well understood how things stand. Hanut Orr is a dangerous man. House Lim and House Vidikas share many things, principal among them the stigma of disrespect on the Council. Contempt, even. I have been curious,’ and now the look he turned upon her was sharp, searching. ‘This venture of your husband’s, ever pushing for this ironmonger of his to attain membership in the Council – what does Gorlas play at?’
She blinked in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea.’
‘Might you find out? For me?’
‘I am not sure if I can – Gorlas does not confide in me on such matters.’
‘Does he confide in you at all?’ He went on without waiting for her reply (not that she had one). ‘Lady Vidikas – Challice – he is wasting you, do you understand? I see this – gods, it leaves me furious! You are an intelligent woman, a beautiful woman, and he treats you like one of these silver plates. Just one more possession, one more piece in his hoard.’
She set her goblet down. ‘What do you want from me, Shardan Lim? Is this some sort of invitation? A conspiracy of love? Trysts behind my husband’s back? While he travels here and there, you and I meeting up in some squalid inn? Getting intimate with each other’s bodies, then lying back and making pointless plans, endlessly lying to each other about a future together?’
He stared across at her.
All the servants had with uncharacteristic discreetness vanished into the side chambers, the kitchens, anywhere but this dining room. Even the wine server had disappeared. It occurred to Challice that Shardan’s manservant had probably been free with coin among the house staff and that sly, silent man was now outside in the courtyard, passing a pipe to eager-eyed menials, and they were all laughing, snickering, rolling their eyes and worse.
Too late, she realized, to change any of that. To scour the lurid thoughts from their petty minds.
‘You describe,’ Shardan Lim finally said, ‘a most sordid arrangement, with all the cynicism of a veteran in such matters. And that I do not believe. You have been faithful, Challice. I would not so care for you otherwise.’
‘Oh? Have you been spying on me, then?’ It was a mocking question that lost its carefree aura as the man voiced no denial, and she suddenly felt chilled to the bone. ‘Following another man’s wife around does not seem an honourable thing to do, Shardan Lim.’
‘Love has no honour.’
‘Love? Or obsession? Is it not your own hunger for possession that has you coveting a woman owned by another man?’
‘He does not own you. That is my point, Challice. Such notions of ownership are nothing but twisted lies disguised as love. I have no interest in owning you. Nor in stealing you away – if I had I would have found an excuse to duel your husband long ago, and I would have killed him without compunction. For you. To give you back your life.’
‘With you at the grieving widow’s side? Oh, that would look odd now, wouldn’t it? Me leaning on the arm of the man who murdered my husband. And you talk to me of freedom?’ She was, she realized, shocked sober. By what this man was revealing to her; by the stunning depth of his depraved desire.
‘Giving you back your life, I said.’
‘I will ask you again: what do you want?’
‘To show you what it means to be free. To cut your chains. Take me to your bed if you so desire. Or don’t. Send me out of here with your boot to my backside. The choice is yours. I want you to feel your freedom, Challice. In your soul – let it burn, bright or dark as you like, but let it burn! Filling you entirely.’
Her breaths came fast, shallow. Oh, this was a most unanticipated tactic of his. Give me nothing, woman. No, give it to yourself instead. Make use of me. As proof. Of your freedom. Tonight you can make yourself free again. The way it felt when you were younger, when there was no husband weighing down your arm. Before the solemn shackles were slipped on. A most extraordinary invitation indeed. ‘Where are my servants?’
‘Away for the rest of the night, Lady Vidikas.’
‘Just like Hanut Orr. Does he sit in some tavern right now, telling everyone—’
‘I arranged nothing with that bastard. And you must realize, he will talk whether anything happens or not. To wound you. Your reputation.’
‘My husband will then hear of it, even though nothing has happened.’
‘And should you stand before Gorlas and deny the rumours, will he believe you, Challice?’
No. He wouldn’t want to. ‘He will not accept being cuckolded.’
‘He will smile because he doesn’t care. Until it serves him to challenge one of us, me or Hanut, to a duel. On a point of honour. He is a fine duellist. A cruel one at that. He disregards all rules, all propriety. Victory is all that matters and if that means flinging sand into his opponent’s eyes he will do just that. A very dangerous man, Challice. I would not want to face him with rapiers bared. But I will if I have to.’ Then he shook his head. ‘But it won’t be me.’
‘No?’
‘It will be Hanut Orr. That is the man he wants for you. He’s given you to Hanut Orr – another reason he stormed off, since he finally understood that I would not permit it.’
‘So in Gorlas’s stead this night you have defended my honour.’
‘And failed, because Hanut is skewering your reputation even as we speak. When I said you can make use of me, Challice, I meant it. Even now, here, you can tell me to seek out Hanut – yes, I can guess where he is right now – and call him out. I can kill him for you.’
‘My reputation . . .’
‘Is already ruined, Lady Vidikas, and I am truly sorry for that. Tell me what you would have me do. Please.’
She was silent. It was getting difficult to think clearly. Consequences were crashing down like an avalanche and she was buried, all air driven from her lungs. Buried, yes, in what had not even happened.
Yet.
‘I will try this freedom of yours, Shardan Lim.’
He rose, one hand settling on the grip of his rapier. ‘Milady.’
Oh, how noble. Snorting, she rose. ‘You’ve taken hold of the wrong weapon.’
His eyes widened. Was the surprise real or feigned? Was there a glimmer of triumph in those blue, blue eyes? She couldn’t find it at all.
And that frightened her.
‘Shardan . . .’
‘Milady?’
‘Make no wishes for a future. Do you understand me?’
‘I do.’
‘I will not free my heart only to chain it anew.’
‘Of course you won’t. That would be madness.’
She studied him a moment longer, and received nothing new for that effort. ‘
I am glad I am not drunk,’ she said.
And he bowed.
Making, in that one gesture, this night of adultery so very . . . noble.
*
Night seeps into Darujhistan, a thick blinding fog in which people stumble or hide as they walk the alleys and streets. Some are drawn like moths to the lit areas and the welcoming eternal hiss of gas from the wrought iron poles. Others seek to move as one with the darkness, at least until some damned piece of crockery snaps underfoot, or a pebble is sent skittering. And everywhere can be seen the small glitter of rodent eyes, or heard the slither of tails.
Light glows through shutters and bubbled glass windows, but never mind the light and all peaceful slumber and discourse and all the rest such illumination might reveal! Dull and witless the expectations so quickly and predictably surrendered!
A woman in whose soul burned freedom black and blazing arches her back as only the second man in her life slides deep into her and something ignites in her mind – Gorlas ever used his fingers in this place, after all, and fingers cannot match – gods below!
But leave that now – truly, imagination suffices to make eloquent all the clumsy shifting about and strange sounds and the fumbling for this and that, and then that – no more! Out into the true darkness, yes, to the fingerless man stalking his next victim.
To a new estate and Captain Torvald Nom of the House Guard, moments from leaving for the night with all security in the so-capable hands of Scorch and Leff (yes, he worked hard on that), who pauses to watch a black two-person carriage trundle into the courtyard, and whose eyes thin to very-most slits of suspicion and curiosity and a niggling feeling of . . . something, as a cloaked, hooded figure steps into view and slides like a bad thought up the stairs and into the main house. Who . . . ponder no longer, Torvald Nom! On your way, yes, back home to your loving and suitably impressed wife. Think of nothing but that and that alone and be on your way!
A guard with occasional chest pains is questioning patrons of a bar, seeking witnesses who might have seen someone set out to follow that local man into the alley in order to beat him to death and would no one step forward on behalf of that hapless victim? Might do, aye, if’n any of us liked him, y’see . . .
Toll the Hounds Page 46