Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Hold on, hold on,” said another merchant, making a placating gesture. Abel identified him: Havartá, the mild-mannered head of House Havartá and a self-styled peacemaker. He had been at the house on that fateful night. So far he had ducked Abel’s questions, telling him hastily it was never the right time, and to call at his office for an appointment. The spare, thin man went on. “Why don’t we settle down to business, while the ladies chat in the salon? We’ve got a lot to cover, don’t we?”

  “Fine, fine. I don’t know what we have to discuss. Let’s just get on with it,” the elder Kerrill said. “Put that damned thing down, Amos, and sit and be quiet.”

  Amos sulked some more, but they finally all settled, seven of the top merchants in the city, the cream of the Guild.

  It was late afternoon, and while their ladies visited in the salon upstairs they had gathered at the home of Jax Charvantes to discuss the Guild and Trune. The luncheon had started at noon. Abel had been directed to come at two; and he had cooled his heels in the anteroom while the convivial crowd had their luncheon. He had caught a glimpse of the ladies as they followed the young Mrs Charvantes, the wife of the ambitious lieutenant who was their host, and he spied Miss Mederos and her sister.

  And he continued to wait, while Amos Kerrill whined, his father blustered, and the rest of the merchants eyed him with deep misgivings.

  For a group invested in bringing their errant Guild liaison to justice, they were acting as if they didn’t want Abel to get started.

  Finally, Mr Havartá managed to bring the group under his control.

  “Our thanks to Lieutenant Charvantes for his hospitality,” he said. “And welcome to Mr Fresnel. Your organization comes highly recommended, and no doubt you’ll get to the bottom of this. Unfortunately, I myself am quite busy – we’ll have to make an appointment – but I’m sure the others will be happy to discuss with you what they know.”

  Lupiere coughed, and TreMondi just rolled his eyes.

  Abel took out his small notepad and pencil, and prepared to take notes. He had not been able to shake hands with any of the gentlemen – apparently in Port Saint Frey a merchant did not touch those of a lower class, but made a slight bow instead. It was a small setback. He could tell almost as much from what was unspoken as he could from his acute sense of touch.

  “Very good, gentlemen,” he said. “Now, tell me the last time you saw your Guild liaison Trune.”

  Kerrill leaped in with a snort. “This is a waste of time. Do you mean he doesn’t even know what happened? What are we paying him for anyway?”

  “Georges, Georges,” Havartá said. “Patience. The man has to start at the beginning. Please. Just tell him what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Kerrill said, truculent in his voice and expression. One of those men who is always apoplectic, Abel thought. “I wasn’t at the last meeting. You – all of you – were there. But not I. So you can’t pin anything on me.”

  “Georges, no one is pinning–” Havartá began. He controlled himself. “Please. If you don’t care to speak, let someone else talk for now.”

  Kerrill subsided with another snort, and Lupiere spoke up. “We were invited to a meeting of the senior council of the Guild. Trune called us to dinner, we discussed Guild business, there was a disruption–”

  Kerrill could no longer stay silent. “None of that is important. What’s important is that the youngest Mederos sister was at the house that night, and we all know she did something. She can do things. We all know this. Amos, tell them.” He smacked his son on his shoulder. The young man stumbled forward, his pugnacious face flushed.

  “Dad, quit,” he whined. His father made another threatening smack, and Amos shrank back. “All right! All right! She can do things with her hands – she makes these sparks and they go right through you.”

  Kerrill scowled at his son’s inadvertent sexual innuendo, and the older men hid smirks. Abel just listened, drawing his tiny spoon through a delicate thimble of espresso. Kerrill made his useless son sit down, and Havartá said hastily, “Yes, well, we saw something too that night – the chandelier came down on us, and then Trune’s man said there was an intruder. When he went out to confront the bandit, there was a great commotion, and then the girl and the bandit were gone, and when we got out of the dining room, Trune and his man were trussed up.”

  Abel spoke up. “And that was the last time you saw Trune?”

  Everyone looked around at each other, awaiting confirmation. Once again, Havartá took the lead. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Who untied Trune and his man?”

  “Well – we all did,” Havartá said, puzzled. “I mean, inasmuch those of us who were there. I don’t know who specifically–”

  “And he said nothing of who attacked him and rescued the girl?” At their expressions, Abel revised, “I mean, interfered by taking the girl?”

  “He was shaky, as one can imagine,” Havartá interposed. “Livid, too. Incoherent. He was berating all of us – his man, for allowing the intruder, and Parr for his attempting to help. I’m sure I’ve never seen the man in such a rage.”

  “Parr?” Abel said. He had not heard the name before.

  “Barabias Parr,” TreMondi said. He smirked. “A weak sort of fellow, no backbone or spirit. He was another one who said the girl could do things. He threw in with Trune and disappeared along with him.”

  “He was a friend of Samwell Balinchard, an uncle on the distaff side of House Mederos,” Havartá explained. “He had special knowledge of the girl, and that was the sole reason he was at the dinner that night, as he was not part of the Guild board of directors.”

  There were a couple of chuckles around the room. Apparently the Guild held this Parr in low regard. Abel nodded and jotted meaningless notes. “So, including the Guild directors, Parr, Trune and his man, the girl, and this bandit – these were the only ones at the house that night?”

  “And servants, of course, but we saw none but Trune’s man,” Havartá said.

  There was another glance around the room. They were hiding something else about that night.

  “The bandit who took the girl – he’s the one referred to as the Gentleman Bandit?” Abel asked.

  “He is,” Havartá said, with some relief, now that they were off the subject of Trune’s last day. “He rained terror upon the city for several weeks. The Kerrill house was hit during young Amos’s birthday party, and many of the other salons.”

  “He’d fire one pistol, terrorize everyone, guests would hand off their money, and he’d be gone before you could call for your men,” Lupiere said. He grimaced, his thin lined face tensing with memory, and Havartá patted him once on the shoulder.

  “We almost caught him, right, Dad?” Amos said eagerly. His father scowled at him.

  “Well, we didn’t, did we? Idiot. You had to have a party.”

  Abel took a tiny sip. The coffee was rich and heady. “So, why was the girl at Trune’s house?”

  There was a vast, profound silence. Even Amos went dead quiet, although he looked uneasily at his dad.

  “I’m not sure it matters,” Havartá said, breaking the spell. He glanced around at the others. “You are here to find out only where Trune has gone. He has completely ruined the reputation of the Guild, not to say embezzled funds. That’s your mandate, Fresnel.”

  Abel nodded again, but another gentleman spoke up.

  “No, that’s not all,” Jax Charvantes said. The young lieutenant was flushed, and he stood soldier-erect by the sideboard, the crystal brandy decanter clenched in one fist. “Whatever happened that night, Fresnel, the Mederos girl is involved somehow. If you want to find out what happened to Guildmaster Trune, you need to investigate House Mederos. The entire family is a blot on Port Saint Frey. The girls and their uncle! I’m not saying they don’t have a right to justice, but the way they went about it: using their daughter to play at cards – cheating, I’m sure of it! – and behaving most abominably; it was shameful. We
’ll all be better off if we get to the bottom of this.”

  Abel cocked his head. “Didn’t I see the Misses Mederos among the female guests? I’m sure that I saw them while I waited in your hall.”

  The merchants exchanged glances, and Charvantes turned a deeper red. “My wife is naive and singularly forgiving. The girls were all friends as children. I see no reason to prevent them from knowing one another – that is, until you provide us with the evidence, Fresnel.”

  “Well, look at it this way, Charvantes. If the Mederos girl is visiting with your wife, she isn’t engaging in immoderate frisks,” Havartá pointed out. Charvantes made an impatient face, as if such logic were beneath him.

  “I would like to help, gentlemen,” Abel said, “but as I told Mr Kerrill, I’ve been engaged to find Guildmaster Trune, not uncover the malfeasance of House Mederos.”

  “And I’m telling you, you won’t find one without the other!” Kerrill slammed down his fist on a leather-covered card table. “Those girls are up to something, Fresnel, and if you don’t find out what it is, you Harriers can go to hell before we pay you a single groat!”

  Abel remained impassive. Doc would take immense enjoyment in schooling Georges Kerrill in just how he extracted payment due. He drained the last sip of espresso and stood. “Well then, it’s good the ladies are at hand. Shall we?” Abel looked around at all the men.

  Charvantes stared, and then gave a short laugh. “You seriously don’t mean to visit the ladies?”

  “Why not?” Abel asked. “They’re right upstairs. The girl in question is there, and I need to get a look at her. To solve the case of the missing Guildmaster, I will need to understand why he had an interest in her.”

  TreMondi snorted.

  “Now look here, Fresnel.” Charvantes broke the silence, looking around at the others for support. “You aren’t – that is, you aren’t one of us. I don’t think we should bother the ladies. They don’t need to be disturbed.”

  Havartá raised a hand. “Lieutenant,” he said, and Charvantes stopped in mid-protest. “Fresnel is right. We have to let him do his job as he sees fit. Shall we all visit the ladies? We can introduce Mr Fresnel, he can take his measure of the Mederos daughters, and then I’m sure he would be more comfortable taking his leave.”

  Abel schooled his face to reveal nothing, but on the inside, the small impoverished indentured boy he had once been, raged. You have more power and respect than they will ever have, he told himself, but he didn’t believe it.

  “Right. Let’s visit the ladies,” Kerrill growled. Charvantes led the way.

  Chapter Seven

  Elenor Charvantes, nee Sansieri, laid down the paper from which she had been reading aloud, and her guests all murmured their dismay.

  “Jax says that it’s but the calm before the storm,” she said. “That many times a career criminal goes dormant before escalating his crimes and becoming ever more dangerous.”

  As the ladies all exclaimed, Yvienne sipped her tea. She and Tesara perched on floral sofas in Elenor’s parlor, Tesara trying to hide her yawns behind her fist. It was Elenor’s first intimate party as a married woman, and thus an important part of her development as a hostess of the highest of society.

  Mrs Sansieri and her daughters were there, as were the first circle of Port Saint Frey merchant families. It’s a wonder we’re invited, Yvienne thought. Indeed, some of the more respectable guests eyed them askance, though everyone was polite enough. However, Inigho Demaris’s mother was in attendance, and Yvienne was trying to formulate a way to talk to the woman about her son’s business tactics. Mrs Demaris was a haughty, formidable woman, with scalloped white hair that towered alarmingly, and a double strand of massive pearls that glowed against her wrinkled neck.

  “I think it’s frightening,” said Lily Sansieri, Elenor’s younger sister. “It’s gotten so one can’t even enjoy oneself when visiting friends. I don’t know how I can stand to have a come-out party, if there’s a chance the Gentleman Bandit breaks into one’s house and robs one’s guests.”

  Yvienne continued to sip her tea.

  “Jax says that the city should hunt him down once and for all,” Elenor said. “I do hope they catch him before he hurts someone and makes such a grave misjudgment that he cannot come back from it at all.”

  “And I hope that it’s as the Gazette said, that he’s gone on to greener pastures,” Lily said, a bit ungenerously.

  “Yes, let him fleece another flock,” said the acerbic Mrs Demaris, and Lily flushed at the rebuke.

  “I’ve been at two parties where he’s made his appearance, and I got the distinct impression that he was a good man, if misguided,” Elenor insisted.

  Mrs Demaris snorted. “Elenor, you’re a fool if you think these things don’t escalate. And besides, Miss Tesara can speak first-hand to the Gentleman Bandit’s demeanor.”

  Tesara looked startled, and Yvienne tensed. Had Mrs Demaris laid a trap for her sister? Tesara sipped her tea for a moment, as if to gather her composure. When she answered she was calm, and Yvienne’s heart eased.

  “It was rather frightening,” she said. “But Elenor is right – I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. It was only to prevent any of the gentlemen at the party from playing the hero.”

  Poor Mr Lupiere, Yvienne remembered. She had given him quite a fright.

  “You see?” Elenor said, a mischievous if well-bred smile in her voice. “The mode of operation of our Gentleman Bandit is first and foremost quite well-mannered.”

  “Oh, surely you can’t call him our Gentleman Bandit!” cried a young lady, excitement bright in her eyes.

  “Why not?” Elenor said. “He was well-dressed, and well-controlled, and kept everyone in line without resorting to crude violence. Even though he never spoke, his manner was gentle – except for his pistols, of course.”

  The hubbub rose once more at her quiet defense of the scoundrel. Under cover of the rising conversation, Tesara elbowed Yvienne with a barely perceptible nudge. Yvienne kept a straight face.

  Interesting, Yvienne thought. Elenor had started out the conversation with Jax says, but she finished it with her own opinion. Yvienne knew little of the dashing lieutenant her friend had married – the Mederos sisters had not been invited to the wedding – but it had been made clear that if there were to be any opinions in the Charvantes’s marriage, they would be Jax’s. Elenor was not as entirely defeated as all that, thankfully.

  “And the thievery,” her mother interjected. “He wasn’t there to dance, my dear. He was there to rob.”

  “Yes, but he was always a gentleman,” Elenor persisted. She threw a glance around the room, and her gaze lit upon Yvienne. “Don’t you agree, Yvienne?”

  Yvienne smiled and set down her teacup. “Indeed, Elenor. From everything I’ve heard, he was a perfect gentleman.”

  “That’s right, you never encountered him,” Elenor exclaimed. “I wonder why, when we all have our stories of him, that you would be the only one who does not?”

  One part of Yvienne noticed Tesara looking away as if lost in thought and uninterested in the conversation. Only her sister’s hands, gripping the delicate porcelain cup so hard her knuckles were white, betrayed her. Another part of Yvienne wondered – did Elenor, shy, quiet, mannerly Elenor – guess?

  “I was a governess during those six months and had no occasion to join in the revels,” she said. She looked over at Mrs TreMondi, the bronze-skinned Chahoki woman who had fallen in love with and married Alve TreMondi of House TreMondi. “How are the girls, Mrs TreMondi? And Dubre?”

  Mrs TreMondi looked at her, her smile bright against her earthy skin. “They are very well, Yvienne. They bade me tell you they wish you could come and teach them again. Even Dubre says he would much rather do maths taught by you than by the Academy Masters.”

  “I would love nothing more, Mrs TreMondi, but I am afraid that the business of House Mederos keeps me busy these days,” Yvienne said. “Please tell the childre
n I would be happy to show them about our offices if they would like another lesson in merchant economics.”

  “I am sure they would love such an excursion,” Mrs TreMondi said. “May we call on you at your earliest convenience?”

  “Of course,” Yvienne said. It was as cordial as could be, except for the way the rest of the ladies cut their eyes at each other.

  “All I want to say is, if the Gentleman Bandit ruins my come-out, I shall be cross,” said Lily Sansieri, with an exaggerated pout. Since Lily, like all of the Sansieris, was vastly good-natured, this brought a laugh.

  “Knowing you, Lils, you would ask him to dance and dinner,” teased another young friend.

  “Only if he took off his mask,” Lily came back in an instant.

  “I say, what if he is one of us?” one of the young ladies gasped.

  Yvienne took note of who gasped and protested, and who did not – and mostly the mamas did not. Merchant women were not stupid – they were merchants themselves, and like Alinesse ran their homes as well as their Houses. If I were a gambler like Tesara, she thought, I would wager that one of these women has already speculated that the Gentleman Bandit was a lady.

  She glanced again at Mrs Demaris. Under cover of the general merriment and scandalized excitement of the younger set, Mrs Demaris was expounding at great length to Mrs TreMondi. Seeing her chance, Yvienne excused herself from her sister, and went over to talk with her.

  “How do you do, ma’am?” Yvienne said, sitting next to her.

  With a polite air of relief, Mrs TreMondi turned her back to them and engaged Mrs Havartá in conversation.

  Mrs Demaris eyed her with a hawkish glance. “Well enough. And that’s all the small talk I can abide. I hear you are running things now,” she said. “Probably for the best. Your father was coasting, my dear. Better for everyone to acknowledge it. And your mother lost her fire.”

  “I do my best,” Yvienne said, irked, even though inwardly she agreed.

  “Hmmph. False modesty. You’ve got the brains and the knack. So what do you want with me?”