The Fall of Ventaris (42 page)

There was too much here for Duchess to ignore any longer. Whatever happened at the Fall, the time had come for her to learn more of He Who Devours
and His interest in her. Assuming, of course, He himself did not make that clear when she again passed his lair on the way back through the tunnels. Her mouth went dry at the thought.

She crept along a curving lane and peeked carefully around the corner. To her frustration she saw a group of lightboys, with their sticks and lanterns, clustered around a nobleman, standing just a few feet from the grate she’d need to use. She cursed silently. There was no way she could get back underground without them noticing her. She could wait for them to move on, but with the blackarms thick as flies, any delay could doom her. Desperate, she looked more closely and recognized the pack as the Tenth Bell Boys, Zachary among them. Before she could wonder what they were doing so far up the hill, the nobleman turned and she saw he was Lysander, wearing a padded doublet and satin half-cape that would not disgrace even a member of House Meadowmere. Her heart leaped to see him there, and she broke from cover and ran towards him. The lightboys seemed unsurprised to see her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to cry. “I thought you’d be halfway down the hill by now!”
 

“Waiting for you, like I said I would.” He grinned broadly. “You sure didn’t hurry getting back here, did you?” Unable to contain herself any longer, she leaped into his arms. He hugged her tightly, and she knew that, as usual, he was reading her mind. “Before you lose your composure, you’re going to need a costume change,” he said, pushing her out to arm’s length. He beckoned to one of the lightboys, and before she could open her mouth to question, he was unwrapping a parcel of brown cloth and pulling forth a familiar dress.

She looked at him skeptically. “I’ve already paraded up and down the hill in the empress’s idiot daughter’s dress — ”

“A
cheap knock-off
of the empress’s idiot daughter’s dress,” Lysander put in.

“ — and I have no intention of giving the city another show,” she finished.

Lysander shrugged. “Suit yourself, but the gate guards are expecting to see me in the company of a young noblewoman, and your current outfit” – he gestured to her dark clothing – “won’t exactly convince them. Unless you’d like us all arrested for trespassing and thievery and gods know whatever else you’ve been up to tonight.”

She threw up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine...I’ll wear the damned dress. But then I want to hear how you got past the guards in the first place.” She took the garment from him, and he swept off his cape and used it and his body to shield her from the lightboys’ view.
 

“Noblemen travel in the company of lightboys all the time, especially if they’ve been shopping for their beloved in Market.” He indicated the wrapping for the dress. “So it wasn’t hard to smuggle that past the gate.”

“And what about the cats?” Duchess asked, struggling her arm into a sleeve. “Or did you pack them with the dress?”

Lysander sniffed. “Hardly. They were part of the young nobleman’s scheme.” He glanced back at the lightboys. “You try peeking past me once more and I will slap the Thomas right out of you!” She continued to squirm into the dress and he went on. “It was all part of his scheme to get his beloved out of Garden while her father was distracted by the noise.”

She giggled, straightening the bodice, which was, naturally, too big for her. “Not bad,” she said, turning so he could lace up the back. “But how did you know where to find me?”
 

“I sneaked a look at those maps of yours.” He worked at the laces. “Oh, and here’s some padding for the front. No offense, but this dress was made for someone a bit larger up top, I’m afraid.”
 

“I hear that all the time.” She tucked the padding inside, tugging and adjusting so she didn’t
look
padded. “You got into Garden with a smile and a good story?”

He shrugged. “Those, and this little gift from Ferroc.” He pointed to the breast of his tunic, where she made out an embroidered pattern. It was hard to tell in this light, but it might have been a flail and pitchfork crossed...

“House Eusbius!” she exclaimed. She snorted laughter into her hand. “You told the guards you were Dorian!” Both men were tall and blond, and while one was truly noble the other could fake it on command. Only Lysander would think of such a thing, and she loved him all the more for it. “Lysander, you are genius.”

Lysander smiled modestly. “I’m glad you finally admit it. Remember that the next time I tell you how mad you are.” He examined her critically. “The dress is too short, your hands are filthy and there’s dirt smudged on your face, but that will only convince the guards you climbed over a wall to come to me.” He smiled. “I’d say you look perfect, and that we need a drink...once we get back to the Shallows. The
Merry Widow
?”

She smiled, feeling the tension slide away. There would be no need to face those tunnels again, nor He Who Devours. Her Lysander had saved her. “You read my mind,” she said, taking his arm and leading him down the hill. “Between you and this ridiculous dress, let’s see if we can’t give the gossipmongers something to talk about by dawn.”

Chapter Twenty-Four: Best-laid plans

They’d gotten back to the Shallows well past second bell, but at the taverns it might as well have been noon. What started with one celebratory drink at the
Widow
had turned into a debauch the likes of which Duchess had not seen since the night she’d given Lysander her virginity. She blamed Deneys, who along with the other ganymedes had found them just after the first flagon of ale. They didn’t know about the goings-on in Garden District, of course, but the “girls” knew a party when they saw one. The first flagon had led to another, and another, and by the time an unconscious Zachary had been dragged off by the other Tenth Bell Boys Duchess had feared the
Widow
was going to run dry.

The rest of the night was a blur of singing, dancing, and drinking. She told herself she should slow down, considering that the very next night was the Fall and the culmination of her plans, but something had hold of her. She had, after all, managed to pull off quite a daring feat, right under the very noses of the Atropi. Besides, the more she drank the less she thought about the hollow voice beneath the hill, and that was reason enough to overindulge.
 

Dawn had nearly broken by the time Lysander and the others left her at the base of her own stairs and staggered on their way. She stepped carefully around a man drunker than she, sprawled against the wall of the alley and started up the stairs. She was not due at Gloria Tremaine’s shop until the afternoon, she remembered, fumbling for her key, which was more than enough time to sleep this off and —

The door was ajar, and she was not drunk enough to think she’d just forgotten to close it, nor to miss the flickering of lamp-light inside. She looked up at the lintel and saw the crimson handprint, clear as day. Who was fool enough to break into a place protected by the Red? She drew out her dagger and eased the door open with her foot.
 

“There’s no need for that...Marina.”

He was seated at her table with a lamp beside him, cloaked in scholar’s blue. He was perhaps sixty years old, clean-shaven and hollow-cheeked, nearly as fleshless as the horrors that had stalked her beneath the city. Green eyes, sharp with intelligence, regarded her with interest. She had seen those eyes before.

“Savant Terence,” she said, too drunk and too tired to be surprised.

He nodded, smiling gently. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I wasn’t sure when you would return, and waiting outside seemed unwise.”
 

After a long moment she slipped her dagger back into its sheath, wondering if she were sober enough to be a threat to anyone. She fetched the clay jug of water from the windowsill and poured herself a cup. She offered some to him but he waved it off. “You caught your daughter,” she said, slipping into her own seat across from him.

He nodded. “Darley is not nearly as clever — or as stealthy — as she thinks. She shan’t be visiting you any time soon, and I’d appreciate it if you returned the favor. In the meantime, I’m afraid I’ll have to suffice.” His smile remained, not mocking in the least but sad, somehow.

“Have you come to turn me in?” It was the only explanation she could imagine for his presence.

He shook his head. “Beyond suborning my daughter to spying, I know of nothing you’ve done that requires punishment.”

She took another sip of water. If Ahmed was to be believed, this man had watched, and profited from, Marcus Kell’s downfall. “And what of my father and
his
punishment?”

Terence’s smile faded. “What happened to your father was not punishment but sad necessity. His crime was trying to change a city that wishes always to remain the same.”
 

Duchess set down her cup to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’ve heard a story that my father, he...he...” She couldn’t say the words.
 

There was no need. “It was the only way to save you, and Marguerite, and Justin, and the three of you were never far from his thoughts. If there had been any other way...” He sighed harshly. “But he made arrangements for you all.”

Duchess laughed bitterly. “Yes, such
arrangements
. Gelda dragged me out of a burning house in the dead of night and off to some Shallows bakery, without a word of explanation, and with no idea where Father, Justin or Marguerite had gone. “ She was surprised at the anger she could still feel for something that had happened so very long ago.

Terence rubbed his forehead. “Yes, I thought Gelda had something to do with it. It was not supposed to be that way.” He ran a hand through thinning gray hair. “I have loved three people in my life. The first was my wife, gone sixteen years now. The second is my troublesome daughter, whom you’ve already met. The third was Marcus Kell, who was the bravest, kindest and most intelligent man I have ever known.”

“What happened?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. “At the end?”

“We all knew your father’s final gambit would fail, and I tried to talk him out of it, but he would not listen. He was never a man to wait for danger to appear at his own door before striking out. In the end, I gave up trying to dissuade him because, truth be told, I never thought he’d convince the Uncle to release the Deeps gangs. I still don’t know how he managed it.” So her father had known the Uncle, and had somehow struck a deal with him. She hadn’t thought of that connection, but now it seemed obvious.

Terence leaned back in his chair. “I brought him the poison, the day before. I knew what he intended and I knew there was no other way. But believe me when I say that nothing Gelda did was part of our plans.”

“What
was
the plan?” The thought of her father taking poison broke her heart. Had it been something painless? She was afraid to ask.
 

“Justin was to bring you and your sister to me.”

Duchess felt lightheaded, and not all of it could be attributed to drink. “To you?”

He nodded. “I would shelter Justin until the time was right for him to assume your father’s mantle. In the meantime, I hoped to make a match for Marguerite. As for you...your father had hopes that you would study at my side, to someday become the city’s first woman scholar. You were an exceptionally bright child and would have done well...but clearly, Gelda had other plans.”

Duchess felt as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. She would have grown up with the books she used to love, reading, researching, perhaps writing works of her own. Darley would have been her sister, and they would have grown up together. Her life would have been not flour and yeast and work, but ink and quill and paper, status and an assured future. So much would have been different.

“When Justin never came, I searched up and down the hill for you,” Terence went on, “but with things so unsettled I dared not move openly. It was too soon for the scions of House Kell to reappear, you see. I may not be Grey, but I have friends in the city who see and hear for me. They reported no sign of Justin, nor Marguerite, nor you. Then I discovered that Nurse Gelda had
also
gone missing, which gave me a lead to follow. When the political situation in the city stabilized I searched more openly, but by then the trail had long gone cold. After a few years I had given up hope, assuming that something terrible had happened, that you were all lost in the fire. I
did
turn up news of Gelda, for what good it did me.”

“What news?” Duchess asked, heart leaping. Gelda could tell her so much about that mysterious coin.
And now we’re quits
she’d told Noam, but Duchess still did not understand what the old nurse had meant.

Terence shook his head. “Gelda was six months dead when I finally tracked her down. Of a fever, or so I was told. Whatever her reasons for smuggling you into the Shallows that night, she took them with her to the grave.” He sighed.

She felt as if the world were spinning, and she put a hand against the table to steady herself. “And you never heard from the others?”

He shook his head sadly. “I had all the papers in place to speed Justin’s inheritance, wills and other documents that detailed the disposition of your father’s gold and lands. But he never appeared to make the claim.”

Her father’s plans seemed a shambles: Marguerite and Justin mysteriously vanished, and her left alone in a house on fire. With each answer she discovered another riddle. “What’s become of my father’s wealth? Of the Freehold?”

Terence smiled grimly. “Your father’s death cost us dearly, but my comrades and I made sure it was not a
complete
loss. Your father was and is something of a symbol to us, and we have not forgotten him. We made sure that his holdings that survived the fire were not swallowed by the empire. The Freehold is held in escrow, along with most of your father’s gold. As time passed there were occasional efforts by the council to liquidate the estate and funnel the profits into the imperial coffers, but we managed to stave them off, each and every one. After a few years...well, things in Rodaas tend to settle in one place. Half the council has forgotten House Kell ever existed, and the other half no longer cares.”