The Fall of Ventaris (38 page)

Minette had once told her one could know the shape of a thing not from seeing what was there, but from what was
missing
.

She began to rifle the room again, more carefully this time, noting the colors she came across. White and gold, she found, and green; deep blue and violet, yellow and purple and brown and orange. But no red and not a stitch of black. Red and black were the colors of the dress.
 

Red and black. What of it? What could she do with just that? By every god of the Walk, this was impossible. She barely knew what was in style, in season. She’d walked up the hill in the empress’ idiot daughter’s birthday dress. There was no way she could do this. No way she...

No way
she
could.

Lysander? He’d been to a thousand parties, seen a thousand designs. He’d drifted through a thousand candle-lit gardens and chatted and charmed a thousand ladies. Surely he...

No. This seemed beyond even her lovely Lysander. He lived amongst the nobility, even the high Houses, but this was the
empress
. There was nothing either of them could imagine that would fool one master weaver was the work of three others. There was nothing to be done. She had failed.

She would have to return to Tremaine empty-handed and hope the guildmaster would proceed with the plan anyway. There was no other choice. And if the guildmaster refused? She shrugged. She would simply have to proceed alone.

At least the rest of this night would be straightforward, even if tomorrow promised problems. She would slip out the back and over the gate, fetch the thief’s step and then head back to the safehouse. At least Castor had managed to make
that
part of the evening a success...

Castor
.

Castor who had been Pollux. Castor who had been an
Imperial White
. Who had been part of a brotherhood sworn to the empress’ line, who guarded her and her interests even when they were not visible. Castor, who must have followed silent, forgotten and ignored, a pace behind Violana for how many processions. Castor who had most likely been at the
Fall itself
, and seen the work of the Atropi year after year after damnable year. Castor, whose mind was like a trap, which let nothing, no detail pass.
Castor
.

She set the workroom to rights and hurried downstairs, moving towards the back door and escape. As she passed the closet where the lockbox and its coins had been stored, she hesitated. The Atropi were expecting some kind of trouble, but if it never came they’d stay on their guard and perhaps take further precautions, precautions that might hinder Duchess’ plans. But if their petty cash went missing they might assume the blow had been struck and leave it at that.
 

And if Tremaine heard about the theft it would make her tale and her false dress all the more believable.

Or perhaps it was only her greed talking. Still, when her greed and her cunning concurred, she listened. The box opened easily enough the second time, and she left them not a single sou as she stole out into the courtyard and pulled the heavy door shut behind her.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A fool's errand

Duchess entered the warehouse for what she imagined would be the last time. She doubted Tyford would welcome her back after what she had to say. The old thief was drinking by the brazier, which was pleasantly warm after the autumn chill outside. He looked up at her approach.

“I was just thinking that this wine would go better with a handful of sou,” he said, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. “Haven’t seen you in a while. So what can Tyford show you tonight, lass?”

She smiled, taking a seat nearby. “I’m more interested in what I can show
you
,” she replied, more lightly than she felt. She’d only just dropped off her drawing with Gloria Tremaine the day before, and she’d been fretting endlessly that the guildmaster would see right through it, Castor’s help or no. He’d looked at her as if she’d grown a second head when she’d made the request. Still, he’d given her what he could, a memory normally used to remembering entrances and exits and possible threats now given over to silk and damask, the curve of a collar, the embroidery on a hem. Despite his confusion and his declarations of knowing nothing of fashion, his sharp mind had caught patterns, noticed trends.

In the end, she hoped it was enough, for it was all she had. Tremaine had not said a word to indicate she thought it was anything other than truth, but still Duchess worried. Tremaine had not risen to head the guild by being a fool, and if she should become suspicious, Duchess’ foray into the Atropi’s shop would be wasted.

Still, whatever happened with the guildmaster,
this
moment promised to be pure pleasure. “Tonight I’d like to show you that even though I may be new to the Grey, I wear my cloak as well as any.”

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Then let’s see your color,” he said calmly, taking another drink.

She rubbed her hands together. “I ended up following that piece of information you sold me, about Adam Whitehall. I spoke to Preceptor Amabilis, and he confirmed some things I’ve been hearing about a rival sect of Mayu, some trouble between the Red and the Deeps gangs, and a certain dagger that’s gone missing once more. The one you stole from House Eusbius.”

He laughed and swirled his wine. “You’ve got the wrong thief, girl. Look in a mirror and you’ll get it right.”

“Oh, I did steal it, as well you know. How not? You quizzed me on every detail. At first I thought that was just part of my lessons, or because you were selling the information on the Highway, but now I know it was all so you could steal the dagger yourself. In fact, I’m almost entirely certain it’s why you agreed to train me in the first place.”

Tyford shook his head in disgust. “Tyford’s retired, girl, as well
you
know. Even if I wasn’t, wouldn’t make any sense to steal something that’d already been stolen. No honor on the Highway in that kind of repeat performance.”

“Precisely my thought. No one currently on the Grey would earn any renown from stealing the baron’s dagger a second time...but someone who’d hung up his cloak wouldn’t care about that, would he? I couldn’t figure out why you’d bother, but it came to me the very day you dropped your little hint about Adam Whitehall. You’re retired, as you keep telling me, but I’m betting a few of your marks are still floating around somewhere. Preceptor Amabilis had one, didn’t he?”

Tyford watched her with those blue eyes and said nothing.

She laughed. “Oh, you’re good. Amabilis started sweating the minute I tugged his tail, but not you.” She picked up the flagon from the table and poured herself a cup. “I know you don’t
frune
any longer, which is why I felt safe approaching you for information on Amabilis. If you did
frune
I imagine you’d have already heard about Antony’s visit to the Halls of Dawn.” His eyes went hard, but she calmly sipped her wine. “It was when you told me about Whitehall that you gave yourself away. Your continued curiosity about the dagger, the fact that you just
knew
what happened to it afterward. You saw my asking about Amabilis as an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To settle the score. No matter what you might think I take your lessons
very
seriously. You don’t like being used, and when you are, you strike back. Amabilis forced you to honor a mark and pull off the same heist I did, except you were left with nothing to show for it. So when you heard me asking after Amabilis, well, you saw a golden opportunity to get even with him.
Tyford’s not one to fuck with
, isn’t that what you said?”

He grunted impatiently, but there was grudging respect there, too. “It’s worked so far.”

She shrugged. “Some might say so. Still, Amabilis’ work in the Deeps — I’m pretty sure you know all about that, so don’t trouble to deny it — is over, and the whole thing’s been cleaned up. Mostly.”

He frowned. “Mostly?”

“Well, you see I’m not the only one who knows what Amabilis has been up to. Antony does as well. You know Antony, surely. Big, scary-looking fellow, wears a red cap? What Antony knows the Uncle soon finds out. I wonder what he’ll say when he learns that you were helping Amabilis with his little scheme?”

Tyford was silent a long moment, weighing her with his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Even if Amabilis is in some kind of trouble with the Red, that’s got nothing to do with Tyford. You’ve got no proof of anything, and I’ve been bluffed by better than you. So why don’t you go peddle your little story somewhere else and leave me in peace?”

She shrugged. “Well, if you insist. I wonder where should I start ‘peddling my little story.’ Perhaps at the Vermillion? Minette loves a good tale, and she always gives as good as she gets. I’d be surprised if she didn’t know
someone
who’d seen you hanging about House Eusbius, or meeting with the good preceptor afterward.” She sipped her wine, trying to appear casual. Although it was true there was no direct link between Tyford and the flow of weapons to the Deeps, there was more than enough evidence to tie the old thief to Amabilis...or would be, if she
fruned
it right. Guilt by association was a very real thing on the Grey. At his age he might not care, but Tyford had lived a long time keeping himself out of trouble.

Tyford chuckled. “Godsdammit, girl.” He drained his cup in one draught and set it aside. “You got me. I must have taught you more than I knew.” He rubbed his forehead with one gnarled hand. “I never should have gotten involved with that bastard in radiant’s robes, but he had a mark back from Ventaris-knows-when, so what could I do?” He sat forward, placing his hands on his knees. “So now I either pay for your silence or slit your throat. I’m guessing you’d prefer the first. Well, so would I. Could chase you around this place with a knife, I suppose, but you’re quick, and strong for a woman, and I’m not young anymore. Who needs that nonsense?” He sighed. “So what’ll it be? You want your silver back? You’ll have gotten the best teacher in the city for free.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Tyford. You have been a good teacher, and you earned that money. Every penny.” She smiled. “But I do have another problem you could help me with. A rent problem.”

“A rent problem...” he began, confused, then his bushy eyebrows lowered. “That’s a three-story building, girl, and even in Wharves it’s worth fifty times what you’ve paid me to teach you. More.”

She shrugged. “It’s either that or we get to the chasing. And I have a knife too.” She sat back, crossing her arms. “So do we pick up our blades, or do I come back with a scholar, to handle the paperwork?”

Tyford watched her for a long moment, his Nerrish features hard with anger. Then he relented. “The damn scholar,” he said, defeated, “but not here. I’ll meet you at one of those booths in the market square and we’ll sign over the deed. And then I don’t want to see you again, or hear your name, or even remember you ever walked through that door. Gods above,” he lamented, pouring himself another drink, “but I hate this city.”

*
 
*
 
*

“No,” Castor said, and all her plans fell apart.

They were in her office, the day before the Fall and only hours before she was to execute the final stage of her plan. Everything was in place: Lysander had corralled the cats, and Gloria Tremaine had — after painfully close inspection — agreed that Jana’s cloth met with her approval. All that remained was to fill Castor in on the part he would play. She’d met him with the intention of laying everything out, but his coldness upon his arrival had caught her short.

Then he’d demanded to know precisely what she was up to.

It was her questioning that had aroused his suspicions, her bizarre request for descriptions of the empress’ previous dresses, of previous Falls and how they had gone. Why would she need to know such things? What was she
up
to?

And when she told him, he told her no.

“What do you mean
no
?” she’d said, feeling weightless. “Castor, no one else knows about those tunnels, and for good reason. I need you with me, and no other.”

He rose from his chair and paced restlessly to the window, which was unlike him. From outside had came the sounds of voices, the creaking of wagons, and the tromp of feet on cobblestoned streets. Duchess had spent so much time dealing with the high and mighty that she’d nearly forgotten that the common folk also celebrated the Fall of Ventaris, if less extravagantly than their betters. The Shallows bustled with people shopping for food, laundering good clothing, and hanging folded parchment suns from door posts and shop windows.

Finally, he turned to face her. “The Atropi aren’t worth this.”

She looked at him. “They tried to ruin me.”

“And in return you’re destroying the Empress’ dress?”

“I’m destroying the
Atropi
s’ dress. There’s a difference.”

“Violana won’t see it that way, and neither will the court.” He shook his head. “Yes, those old women struck at you, but this is too strong a riposte. It’s the same mistake you make at weapons practice. When you feel threatened you go on the offensive, but this...this is like using a battering ram to kill a bumblebee.”

“The only thing I’m battering is the pride of a few nasty old women who went looking for trouble,” Duchess countered, taken off-guard by his reaction. “Why do you care what happens to the Atropi?”

His face went hard as stone. “I don’t. But I wore the White for years, protecting the honor of the imperial family. Yes, I dishonored the color I wore, but I won’t do the same to the family — ”

“
Family!
” she shouted, making him flinch. “Don’t talk to me about
family
. Do you know what the Brutes were going to
do
to Lysander if they got ahold of him? Do you know what they were going to do to
me?
” She was on her feet now, ranting. She didn’t care. “They were going to destroy Jana’s most prized possessions, they were going to cost me everything I’d
risked,
everything I’d
done
. And you don’t want to embarrass
three old women
?”