The Privilege of the Sword (24 page)

But to my boundless relief, he said, “No, better not. There’ll be a lot of cleaning up to do.”

“Don’t the chambermaids…?”

“That’s not what I meant. You go on, Kate. Have you tried the pies at Martha’s yet?”

I felt myself dismissed, but was not sad to go.

L
ADY
A
RTEMISIA
F
ITZ
-L
EVI, INTENDED BRIDE OF
Anthony Deverin, Lord Ferris, sat alone in her window seat with papers spread all over her lap, drawing up lists for her betrothal party. Her mother had tried to help her, and she had chased her mother out, certain she could do a better job herself. But it was harder than it looked, these questions of seating and decorating and precedence.

She was relieved when Dorrie told her Lucius Perry was at the door, and she admitted her cousin at once. He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations, my lady! You’ve taken the prize, and no mistake. Everyone is pleased as the devil.” He looked at her strained face. “But how are you?”

“Taxed,” she said. “Lucius, I used to think all our friends were so agreeable, but here’s Petrus Davenant and Albright Galing barely speaking to each other.”

“Betrothal has sobered you up, I see.” He sank gracefully into the chair by the window. “How sweet of you to be worrying about two unattached young men.”

“Well, they used to be attached to each other, everyone knows that. And I wanted to invite them both to my betrothal party, as they’re so amusing, but now if one of them is in the room, the other leaves it.”

“Oh.” Lucius Perry fiddled with his cuff. “That.”

“Are you going to tell me, or are you just going to work at that buttonhole until you ruin it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “If you invite only one it must be Petrus Davenant, because his father is an associate of Lord Ferris, and if you invite Alb Galing, old Davenant won’t come.”

“I know that, goose. I just want to know why.”

“Because Dav’s father is going around telling everyone Alb corrupted his son.”

“The hypocrite!”

“Not because they were ‘attached,’ but because the attachment led Dav to everyone’s favorite opponent of all that is good and decent, the Mad Duke Tremontaine.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. It all came to a head when the Mad Duke dumped them both in the country at Year’s End, leaving them to get home by themselves.”

“My mother would say it served them right. I should think Dav’s father would be pleased.”

“My dear Artemisia, try to see the full picture. It’s political as well as personal: Lord Davenant and the duke are adversaries in Council, and Petrus Davenant knew it perfectly well when he took up with him.” Artemisia gave him what she hoped was a knowing eye, but Lucius Perry was looking out the window. “It’s the old story: boy comes to city, boy disobliges family, family hears about it, ructions ensue. Dav was lucky to have someone else to blame.”

“Dear me!” Artemisia leaned forward in a rustle of striped taffeta, her papers forgotten. “I imagine Albright Galing doesn’t think so. Is this politics? I suppose I am going to have to learn all about it, if I am to run Lord Ferris’s household, and throw parties and all. Now…explain to me again just who hates who, and why?”

A
S THE WINTER WENT ON,
M
ARCUS AND
I
WORKED
on our shesh. I was never going to beat him, but at least we could have a good game, now. If letting someone else get ahead is cheating, he cheated: sometimes I’d feel him watching me as I went move after move in the direction I’d planned, and just when I was congratulating myself, he’d swoop down with something that confounded all my strategies. I didn’t mind, though. It was only a game. I had a real dueling partner, now: a sober young swordsman named Phillip Drake, who turned out also to have studied with Venturus.

Phillip demanded that I practice even more. He showed me no mercy in our bouts, and was always very happy to point out what I’d done wrong and what I might do to improve on it. When I did well, he only asked for more. As there was little else for me to do with my time, I practiced hard between lessons. I grew less and less tired at the end of our grueling bouts, and Phillip Drake had less and less to criticize. He said I had a long way to go, still, before he’d be happy contemplating me actually dueling a real opponent—“You’re not as good as all that yet,” he’d say; “but every once in a while, you do something…”

I did not tell him St Vier had been my other teacher, but he usually knew when I was departing from the ways of Venturus. When I broke through his guard, he’d stop, whistle, shake his head and say, “Well, it works, I guess. It isn’t stylish, but it works.”

B
ECAUSE
I
WAS OFTEN WITH
M
ARCUS
I
DID SEE MORE
of the duke, who required him to be close by where he could find him. And so I saw my uncle drunk and otherwise incapacitated, and I also saw him doing very normal things like going over accounts and dictating letters and approving dinner menus and ordering new curtains. He never spoke to me of Highcombe, or of swordplay, or much else. He tended to treat me like some friend of Marcus’s who had dropped in for a visit and might as well make herself useful while she was there. I helped Marcus to run errands, and began to learn my way around the house and around the city. I also took his lead on when to disappear; there were certain moments in Tremontaine’s life, and certain visitors to the Riverside house, that no one was invited to witness.

We were sitting in the hallway outside a very splendid room hung in shades of azure and violet silk. That room always gave the impression of dusk, like twilight over a mountainside. We sat out in a sunlit embrasure, waiting for Marcus to be called for, and played knucklebones; Marcus didn’t seem to know it was only a game for girls and was quite good at it.

A slightly built man with sleek black hair and fashionable clothes brushed softly past us on his way to the twilit room. Despite his finery, he moved like someone who knew how not to be noticed; he looked like a very stylish otter, swimming through the halls. So I looked hard at him, seeing the nice rings, the soft shoes, the very fine velvet and very wrinkled linen and the hair a little long, clearly tended to stay just that way. Hands that he held very still, even while he waited at the door to be admitted. I looked, and it occurred to me that I had seen him somewhere else, if only I could remember where.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to Marcus.

“Who do you think?” When the young man had safely closed the door behind him, Marcus elaborated, “It’s one of his fancy-boys. From Glinley’s.”

“Glinley’s what?”

Marcus cleaned dirt from under his fingernail, saying casually, “Glinley’s Establishment of Try-and-Guess…. Well, why would you know, a nice girl like you? It’s the finest brothel in Riverside. That fellow comes here once a week to pay a little visit. They won’t be long.” I stared at the door. “I like the way he looks harmless, don’t you? But my dear, he is riddled with vice. He takes money for engaging in sexual congress with strangers. Are you shocked? Say you are shocked, Katie.”

“Shut up, Marcus,” I said automatically; but then, because I really did want to hear more, “I
am
shocked, I guess. But not because of that. I don’t think he’s really a—one of those brothel people. He’s a nobleman. I’ve seen him before.”

“Re-eally? Where?”

His drawl made me giggle. “You can’t imagine who you sound like.”

“What do you mean?”

But I did not have to answer him, because the door opened and the young man stepped out, his linen a little less disheveled. His back to us, his hand on the doorframe, he bowed into the room and said one word: “Tremontaine.”

Then I knew where I’d seen him.

I clutched Marcus’s sleeve, but said nothing because the man was turning towards us as he closed the door. I lowered my head and busied myself picking up knucklebones so he would not see and recognize me. He had laughed at me at my friend Artemisia’s, when I went to her for help. Maybe it was his fault she’d never answered my letter. Maybe he was her brother, or one of her beaux. If so, she had no idea what he truly was.

It was Marcus who spoke up, bold as brass. In the duke’s house, he feared nothing. “Do you need help, sir, finding the way out?”

“I know the way,” he said mildly.

“Can I summon you a chair?”

The man’s voice smiled. “I’ll walk, thank you.”

He turned down the hall away from us. As soon as he turned a corner,
“What’s his name?”
I hissed in my friend’s ear.

“I don’t know it. Shall we ask the duke?”

“
No!
I’m going to follow him.”

“You’re
what?
Why? Katie, whatever is the matter with you? Why are we whispering?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I noted which corridor the man turned down, and left the house by another door where I could see him leave and catch his direction. Marcus was right behind me. I gave him a
Go back!
glare, but he just grinned.

Our man crossed the Bridge into the lower city. It was a warm day for winter and the city stank. But dipping and dodging the people and puddles behind the mysterious man sent me back to the stalks with the master, the green green fields and trees, the silver sky, the cool wind’s breathing and the musky deer waiting. It was strange to be in both at the same time. We left the docks behind, heading for the newer part of the city. The wider streets, more light, more air, made it harder to stay in the shadows, but there were more people and distractions to hide amongst.

Our young man went quickly. He seemed used to walking, and he knew his route well. He never checked behind him, and he did not stop to look at anything or to shop. Marcus stayed just behind me, only sometimes reaching out a hand to caution when I started to move forward too fast. It was hard not to be distracted by the shops with their displays and tantalizing smells; here was a part of the city I’d never seen before, and I liked it very much. We seemed to be heading toward the Hill, though; perhaps he was leading us to his noble family’s house, and then what? Maybe even back to Artemisia’s…? But, no. He turned down a side street full of pretty little houses and gardens.

Marcus and I fell back on the quiet street, and sank into a doorway when our quarry stopped suddenly before a little gate. He had the key. We watched him slide it from inside his jacket, look up and down the street, then turn it in the lock, and slip like an afterthought through the gate and into the house.

We shot down an alley around the back. There was a garden wall, with a fruit tree limb hanging tantalizingly overhead. “Boost me up. I think I can—” But the tree branch wouldn’t hold me, and I tumbled ingloriously back to earth, smudged with whitewash from the wall.

“You have to go over the
top,
” Marcus said, uncharacteristically dancing with impatience. “Country girl, climbing trees. Anyone can see you’ve never tried to break into a house before.”

“Don’t come all Riverside with me,” I growled. “You never have either, and I’ve skinned my palm.” He produced a clean handkerchief. “Do you want to try again?”