A Conjuring of Assassins, page 18
I relished the artworks il Padroné sponsored for the public buildings of Cantagna, as well as his own residences. Paintings, frescoes, panels carved from wood or stone or cast in bronze were filled with exuberant, lifelike portrayals, whether the subject was a mythic encounter or a celebration of a grape harvest. Sandro believed that every ceiling, wall, and dome should infuse the people’s souls with beauty and give them pride in their city. What was the purpose of this odd arrangement?
“The tapestries are especially beautiful,” I said. “Is Mercediaran art all so serene and elevating?” Boring, truly.
Just then, the city bells rang the Hour of Business—the hour of our appointment. At that very same moment the sun peeped over the eastern horizon and shot its beams through the narrow windows. The mosaic chips in the floor took on new life, the light giving depth to the blue circles, slightly less to the white and gray, so that their image became swirling waves like the sea that surrounded Mercediare. Not serene at all; I could almost hear them crashing. In a blast of rose and gold, the dawn light bathed each of the tapestries with the perfect angled beams to bring out the subtle colorations in the designs, as if a thousand threads of a thousand other colors had been worked between the ones the eye saw, only visible when the light was angled perfectly.
“By the Holy Sisters,” I said, overwhelmed with astonishment. “Papa, look! This whole chamber is the artwork!”
The room was alive, ablaze, an exquisite harmony of color and light. But only for these few moments. Even as I blinked, the sun shifted; life and color began to fade.
This was ephemeral artistry, more so than jewel-colored frescoes that dampness set peeling in less than a decade, more even than a sculpture built of sand. How many times a year—once, twice—would the particular combination of time, season, and weather display the floor and tapestries in their fullest glory?
Was that the ambassador’s design? Perhaps he had other chambers decorated entirely for other instants of time. Or did he have different teases for different visitors? The hour chosen for our appointment and the slow processional from the gates to this spot could not have been coincidence. Yet a visitor who remained on the couch could miss the entire display. A visitor who arrived for an appointment late … or early … or who failed to apply at all would never be able to appreciate the owner-creator’s cleverness. Did Egerik care if that was so?
A door closed softly behind me, back the way we’d come in. No one had joined us from the reception room. Yet high on the wall above that door—at the level a second floor of rooms might exist behind the wall—was an intricate brass latticework. I would swear I glimpsed the outline of a door behind it.
A squint! I knew as well as I knew my own name that someone had been watching and listening from behind that lattice, as I had once sat behind a painted screen listening to the Shadow Lord interview his petitioners. So the ambassador was interested in how his visitors reacted.
Everything I’d learned showed Egerik di Sinterolla to be an ambitious man. It seemed he was also one who reaped satisfaction from his own superiority. However trivial the game, he wanted to see the outcome of his play.
Mantegna’s report had portrayed a man ready to accommodate any tyrant so long as he retained his position and his private pleasures. One who valued static perfection and loyalty. A man looking over his shoulder rather than in front of him. But this room evidenced a person who shaped his own world. Perhaps one who played other people, not one who allowed himself to be played.
I swept across the fading tiles, reclaimed my seat on the couch, and made sure to speak clearly. “I’ve never seen anything like this room, Papa. Such magnificence! So exceptional! This ambassador must be a very intelligent man. So clever and sophisticated.”
“When this noble ambassador sees our wares and notifies his countrymen of our extraordinary selection, we shall travel to his glorious homeland and see its wonders for ourselves,” boomed Placidio. “I’ve heard that Mercediaran art is surpassed only by the region’s true landscape of fields, sea, and sunlight”—he leaned close as if sharing a confidence—“and that those are only surpassed by the splendors of Mercediaran women!”
“Papa! Decorum, segnoré.”
We played the parts, but Placidio’s cinder eyes circled the room, and a slight nod told me he understood exactly what I was saying.
Unexpectedly, masked by the draping of his cape, my partner took my hand. Cool fire consumed my skin as his huge paw massaged an ointment into my fingers. “A last-minute gift from Paolin,” he murmured. “As discussed.”
Vashti had told us of an ointment that made pinpricks bleed more than expected, but she was afraid she’d forgotten how to make it. I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment of the surprise.
Mistress Mella emerged from the inner chamber and extended her open hand to the twin bronze doors in invitation, her expression unrevealing. “Merchant di Fabroni, damizella, His Excellency will see you now. Your servant may enter for long enough to deposit your chest on the carpet beside the display table.”
“Good, good,” said Placidio. “Such a quiet house and comfortable accommodations could send a man dozing, even when he has stimulating business at hand!”
Indeed. The silent slippers and the seats facing the hearthfire could keep guests unwary of what surrounded them. Or imply that the magnificence a sideways glimpse revealed was not truly intended for their eyes.
For the first time I was pleased that the circumstance of Rossi forced me to use my magic. Such a man as I imagined would have no interest in a merchant’s flirtatious daughter with a playful avocation of augury. Monette had to be absolutely convincing. A true believer in Lady Fortune, not a dabbler like the girl who inspired her. And not a flirt, but a desirable woman susceptible to his mastery.
I slipped my hand under Placidio’s arm, hoping to provide a bit of extra support. No need for us to reveal more than necessary of our weaknesses. He rose slowly, smoothly, avoiding groans or grumbles.
“Cei will make you welcome,” said Mistress Mella. “I shall escort your servant to an appropriate waiting chamber.”
“You are most gracious, Mistress,” I said, motioning Antone to follow us.
“Papa, are you ready for our most serious business?” I squeezed his arm in two sharp bursts—a signal I’d used before to tell him I was going to draw on my magic. “We shall have no foolery in a great man’s house.”
Placidio glanced down, thoughtful and perceptive. Then he smiled broadly. “I do relish meeting new customers, my lovely Monette. I am always ready for serious business.”
“Then onward.”
As we followed Mistress Mella across the vast chamber to the great bronze doors, I allowed Placidio to guide me. Closing my eyes, I reached deep for the power I’d kept walled away for over half my life. Thanks to Neri, Placidio, and Dumond, I envisioned my magic as a cask of strong liquor to be relished, rather than a nest of cold vipers to be avoided. I had learned to seize the power that waited, rather than hesitate; to wield it purposefully rather than tease and dash away. I must not allow the terror of Bawds Field to rob me of that grace.
Warmth flowed around and through me, honing my senses, heating bone and blood, mind and wit, and I set my mind to the masquerade. I had to become Monette, but I could not let Romy get buried too deep. I must infuse Monette with all of Romy’s questions, and the words I chose to invoke my magic must shape a woman capable of exposing the purposes of the man who had brought us to this room at this hour.
Thus I began my change: I am Monette di Fabroni, a woman who intends to burst out of her father’s sordid shadow to become the most respected woman in the Costa Drago. Sweet Espe, Lady Fortune, daughter of the Unseeable divinities, whispers in my ear …
A sturdy arm supported me. My father’s arm.
… laying the needles I cast in patterns that speak of things to come. I know it. I believe it. The Lady’s breath is warm upon my cheek and the certainty of truth lives in me as she speaks through sharpened bronze.
But I am still learning how to read those patterns, and until I’ve honed my interpretations, I need coin to live and to surround myself with accoutrements that befit the Lady’s favored handmaiden. The Lady has graced me with a natural comeliness. Ravishing, so many serious men have told me. Luminous, I’ve heard from women whose pleasures lie in that way. But a diviner—even a beautiful one—who dresses in rags and roosts in the Asylum Ring with bricklayers and pimps will appear a charlatan, no matter that she speaks the Lady’s truth. So I use my beauty as I use all my skills … in service to my Lady.
For today, Papa’s profession is more exciting and profitable than earning my coin as a chambermaid or scullion. Our new customer is something different from usual. A man who can change lives. A wealthy man with secrets and particularities that I must learn. He could be my path to Lady Espe’s service.
Lady Espe promises to forgive my minor transgressions if I remain open to her guidance and prepared to denounce my father as a pithless cheat when the time is right to give her my all.
And so we play our game again …
15
ONE DAY UNTIL THE PRISONER TRANSFER
THE HOUR OF BUSINESS
“Greetings of the dawn hour.” Another shaven-headed young man held open one of the bronze doors to Ambassador Egerik’s inner chamber. Cei, Mistress Mella had called him.
“And to you as well, segno,” said Papa.
Of course, no gentleman would be holding the door with his head bowed, not in such a house as this one. The woman hadn’t even dignified him with a title such as aide or understeward. Papa made it a practice to “bounce the honor” as he called it, offering everyone at least a step more rank than they owned. Part of my job as Papa’s partner was to take accurate note of such matters for future use. To prevent him acting too much the fool, more like.
Without dignifying the servant with a glance, I followed Papa into the spacious room. Quite elegant it was! Uncluttered, with fine coffered ceilings, and a floor of light wood, polished like a mirror glass. Wide windows looked out on greening hills and vineyards. At one end a single modest doorway stood open to an indeterminate passage. At the other end stood twin painted doors of soaring height. Surely those must lead into another grand chamber.
No ambassador was present as yet; nonetheless, the room revealed much. So much clear glass would have cost a bucket of gold. Certain, Papa had noticed that; he could smell a clot of gold dust the size of an olive pit halfway across the Costa Drago. Once our hired porter deposited our sample case, the cold fish of a housekeeper showed him out. The young man closed the doors behind her and turned to us with a slight bow.
“Honorable Merchant, Damizella Monette, welcome. Ambassador Egerik has commanded me to make you comfortable until he is available to speak with you.”
When the young man straightened from his bow, my heart near seized. Were the naked god Atladu himself standing in the middle of that room, it was this Cei would hold all attention.
Cei was simply the most beautiful man who had ever come into my view. A plain sleeveless tunic and flowing trousers of soft ivory linen set off skin that glowed like burnished copper. My insistent eye traveled the strong curves of his shoulders and arms for their full extent, before moving on to the fine bones of his face, hands, feet, and shaven head—bones that would seem too prominent did the sweet skin that covered them not fit so seductively. His lips were neither miserly nor slack; his firm, shapely chin had not a bristle to be seen, yet he was undoubtedly man, not boy. Long lashes fringed eyes that remained humbly lowered. I liked that.
“We thank your master for his hospitality,” said Papa. “A chair would do me well. The damp has set me a proper torment of aches and pains these few days.”
“Certainly, Segno di Fabroni. But before all, if you please…”
With charming humility, Cei motioned us toward a waist-high table of red lacquer inlaid with ebony that stood just inside the entry door. A bowl of water sat in its exact center and a stack of white linen squares on the shelf beneath.
“It is our house custom for all to cleanse their hands when entering one of His Excellency’s private chambers.” Cei’s voice was neither gravel nor tin, but the rich in-between that could loosen a woman’s knees with even such mundane verbiage.
“Hmmph. An unusual custom.” Papa leaned heavily on his cane, pivoted smartly, and returned to the lacquer table. “But I wish more of my customers would take it up. My heart breaks to see fine fabrics mauled by greasy paws. Not that I would expect His Elegancy to have such.”
Papa passed me his horse-head cane to hold, while he inspected his knuckles and dunked them in the water, disturbing the floating curls of lemon peel.
“Pass me a towel, Monette. Best you do the bending and not me.”
I reached for the towel, only then noticing the little bronze statue sitting beside the towels. It was a natalé, like those people put in the graves of dead children to keep demons from eating their souls. What did a natalé signify in a reception chamber? When I passed Papa the towel, he winked approvingly. Which made no sense.
Cei watched closely as I dipped my own unstained fingers in the bowl and blotted them carefully on a linen square—so as not to wipe off the oil that kept them soft. I wished I’d taken the time to henna my fingernails. Alas that it was his master’s attention I needed to entice.
This Egerik collects beautiful things. Like a parent’s slap on the cheek, this odd phrase rose up unbidden. And just like a slap, it forced me to look at Cei with new eyes. Unblemished was the word that came to mind. Perfect.
Disquiet whispered through my blood. No accounting for it.
“Merchant Fabroni, will this be satisfactory for your wares?” Cei gestured to a long, polished table where our samples could be spread for clear inspections. That was not how Papa liked to do things. I mustn’t allow myself to be distracted. For now, the game was his.
“Let me be seated first,” said Papa. “My daughter can judge how best to show our wares.”
“Sit as you please in any of these.” The three chairs Cei indicated were padded with slim cushions of gold-broidered black like those in the waiting room. His gesture pointedly excluded a high-backed armchair of gleaming ebony which had no cushions at all.
Interesting this Egerik. Particular about all things, as we had heard.
“Here, Papa,” I said, pointing to a wide chair that would support him best in his state of aches and pains. Unfortunate that his gout had picked this day to flare.
Once Papa was seated and his foot propped on a low stool, giving him clear relief, I asked Cei if he would move the sample case closer. “We prefer neutral light, neither too much nor too little. You understand, I think, how important light is to an artistic display.”
Dared I imagine the young man’s rich coloring deepened ever so slightly? Down to his bare toes. Lovely toes! He alone of all the servants we’d seen wore no shoes.
Monette! Attention to business! I swallowed an ill-timed tease.
Divine Espe held a firm grip on my conscience. I always heeded her words.
Cei bowed in agreement and gestured with an open hand.
I thanked him and showed him to put the case beside Papa’s chair.
Once the case was in place, Cei offered wine or tea and sweet cakes.
We refused as always. It’s difficult to speak clearly or handle samples to best advantage with hands juggling cups, or lips and fingers sticky with honey.
“I shall notify the ambassador that you’re settled,” said Cei, retreating through an inner door that was but one of many pale, cherrywood panels of a not-windowed wall. Cleverly done.
“What do you think, Monette?” my father whispered once the panel was vanished into the wall again. Perhaps he thought someone was eavesdropping.
“I think the ambassador is a man of exceptional taste,” I said at normal volume. Best not seem to be conspiring, and I wasn’t at all sure that whispering would preclude our being overheard. I took my place at Papa’s shoulder.
“This house is a marvel of beauty and order. Pleasant and bright, not grim.” Though why I should expect it to be grim, I didn’t know. “Such well-disciplined servants and clad with such simple elegance! I can only imagine this man Cei wearing our ivory silk, with just enough of Dama Aliota’s embroidery to enhance his perfection.”
Papa heeded my cue, leaning back in his chair. “Never seen the like. Perhaps you should take a walk around this lovely room and see where a customer might gain advantage from our wares, other than dressing handsome young men.”
Papa’s gout always left him grumbling, as did my interest in handsome young men. He had no idea of my true aspirations. Lady Espe alone would shape my choice of husband.
Dutifully, I circled the room. Though a pleasant chamber, as I’d noted, signs of the master’s appreciation of the mystical world were everywhere. Ghiris—the spiky knots of pomegranate twigs—were woven into the draperies above every window and door to filter out bad luck. The hand washing—not merely a house custom, I guessed, as lemon peel was said to cleanse away the oily spoor of demons. More natalés had been tucked in unlikely places—under tables, in corners, beside or behind other statuary. Chains of dried sea lavender twined the candelabra on the table, and wreaths of it circled the base of every lamp. The warmth of lamp and flame released the scent that barred the malevolent dead from plaguing us who yet lived.
What does he fear? My fingers brushed the needle bag at my belt.
A small shelf set in front of the wide windows held an array of glass candle lamps, a handbell, and a rectangular box of jewel-colored enamelware. Something treasured, most assuredly, yet here on display for visitors to see. My curiosity leapt ahead of my sense and I tipped up the lid of the lovely box. It held a simple gold ring, set with rubies, a lock of hair the color of sunlight, and a few dried rose petals as a bride might find on her marriage bed. I closed it quickly, shamed at my boldness, though wondering why something so private would be on display here.
