The Telastrian Song (22 page)

The danger of it all was exciting, something that dal Lupard had not felt in quite some time. Even though he was undertaking tasks that he had eschewed for many years, he felt positive again. That might have had something to do with the fact that he had now discovered Soren’s location in the city, and was pleased to discover that his instincts were as reliable as ever. Massari and Soren were indeed one and the same. On top of it all, it was good to be back home and it was even better to think that he would be able to remain there permanently, and in considerable luxury.

After so long in Venter doing little other than watching and agitating, more out of boredom than out of professional requirement, having a fixed purpose was a refreshing change. He recognised Soren on first sight, remembering his smug face from the theatre in Voorn. He watched for a few days, building a knowledge of Soren’s habits and the places he frequented—the young man led an oddly boring lifestyle, doing little other than eating and moping about his inn all day. Perhaps he no longer had a purpose with Kastor dead. It mattered little. In a few days he would have a personal audience with the Duke himself. Before that, he would have an audience with dal Lupard.

Satisfied that he knew everything that he needed to know, dal Lupard had then hired four men that had worked with him in the past, former Intelligenciers; trustworthy and comfortable with inflicting pain, one of them to the point of being depraved.

His first thought had been to hire two men to help him apprehend Soren and deliver him directly into the Duke’s custody. However, the temptation to mete out some punishment of his own had remained strong. With Kastor’s information about the money Soren had access to, dal Lupard’s decision was easily made. He only needed a little time to conclude the business, but he needed somewhere discreet and without neighbours. For this purpose, he rented a small warehouse with thick walls in Docks and hired the two additional men, experienced torturers both, to allow him maintain constant pressure on Soren until he revealed where the money Kastor spoke of was kept. Probably a bank, in which case he would need to convince Soren to collect it and hand it over. The men he chose were perfectly suited to the type of persuasion dal Lupard had in mind, and he was no stranger to it himself.

He didn’t know how tough a nut Soren would be to crack, but once he had him, time was less of a concern. All that remained was to grab Soren and get to work on him.

W
ith the snub
sent from the palace, Giura knew matters between the Duke and Austorgas’ were at an impasse. The bank was now faced with a choice, act or take the slight and invite further defaults by powerful debtors. This was his opportunity. He had to keep careful watch to ensure he knew what that response was.

Giura had no way to know how they would react, but he couldn’t see them taking Amero’s behaviour lying down. He had made an enemy of them one way or the other, which meant they were a potential friend to Giura and Soren—even if they needed a gentle shove in the right direction. The time was not yet right to make contact with Austorga, however. He needed to know exactly how they planned to respond to Amero’s slight before he made himself known. It could give him leverage and as a result the access he needed.

Any decision made would require discussion with the other heads of the Austorga family, which meant messages and avenues for Giura to exploit. Austorgas’ maintained their own private fleet of ships. There was a large and heavily armed squadron that would have done any navy proud, which they used to transport coin, and a smaller squadron of extremely fast courier ships that were in almost constant movement across the Middle Sea. The job of an Austorga courier was a prestigious one—highly paid and reserved for top quality bannerets. Giura was not aware of one ever having willingly divulged the contents of the message they were delivering. This was how Austorgas’ transported their private correspondence, and if Giura wished to know what they were planning, he would have to work out how to get to the next courier Austorgas’ sent out of the city.

T
he life
of a constantly travelling courier was a lonely one. It was attractive in that when employed by Austorgas’, there was a certain amount of prestige and a very high salary. It was a job that Giura had considered while in his final stages of the Academy. It was perfect for someone with no family and no ties. It was lonely however. You had to move around too much to ever settle down. In the end, the Grey Tower was the best choice for him.

The Intelligenciers knew who was working for Austorgas’, so identifying their courier was not difficult. There were three Courier Bannerets on the payroll of the Ostian branch, and only one of them was in the city at that time. The Purple Rose was this particular courier’s solution to the loneliness problem. The notes kept on him at the Grey Tower said that he called at the brothel the night before every overseas trip that he made. It looked like Giura would have to keep a watch on the place.

Giura didn’t think that Austorga would waste any time. A message would be going out of the city soon, perhaps within a few hours. The Purple Rose was regarded as one of the finest brothels in the city, and it was an establishment far beyond Giura’s means as an Intelligencier. Nevertheless, he needed to be there if he was to find out what the courier’s message said. It was quite possible he would have the message with him, if he spent the night before travelling there. At face value, it might seem like a lapse in professional judgement. However, no one was supposed to know who the couriers were; the messages they carried were always coded and were carried in containers that were all but impossible to open.

Even an Intelligencier needed to be properly prepared for this task, and he knew that time was against him. He needed to refresh himself on the codes Austorgas’ used, and work out how he was going to approach the task.

There was always petty cash available to Intelligenciers for operations, and with all the other mage takers missing and presumed dead, the daily stipend that was put into the cash box by the Tower Bursar was building up nicely. More than enough to fit him out with clothes and a purse large enough to allow him fit in at The Purple Rose. Giura didn’t expect Austorga to wait for long. It was likely the courier would be visiting The Purple Rose that very night.

S
pending
money on himself was not something Giura often did. Wearing fancy clothes was an entirely new experience, but he had been pretending to be something he was not for more years than he cared to count, so it was not a difficult role to assume.

The clothes he settled on were very comfortable—for the price they would want to be—and he felt they made him look the part. He felt odd though. After so long dressed almost entirely in black, burgundy and silver thread made him feel like a prize horse at a fair. He had the odd sensation that everyone was looking at him, but realised that he was the only one who thought he looked unusual. To everyone else he was just another gentleman, with perhaps more money than taste.

Brothels went hand in hand with the intelligence gathering business, so Giura was no stranger to them. However, the reaction he got when he arrived at The Purple Rose was entirely different to the one he usually got. Instead of the suspicious discomfort, or outright fear that his arrival undisguised usually provoked, he was greeted with warmth by one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

‘Welcome to The Purple Rose, sir. It’s your first time here?’

‘Yes,’ Giura said, easing into the role of confident, conceited aristocrat. ‘Not had occasion to call before.’

‘Well,’ the woman said, with a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, ‘when you’ve been once, we find most gentlemen return for another visit. If you’d like to follow me to the lounge, you can settle in and relax for a little while.’

There was a bar and a number of comfortable couches in the plushly decorated lounge. Several gentlemen, each dressed just as well if not better than Giura, sat there, completely relaxed in their surroundings. Giura went to the bar, taking the opportunity provided by the walk through the lounge to get a look at each of the other men. Two were in later middle age and overweight, a couple looked to be the products of lives of indolence, while only one looked in any way physically competent. He fit the courier’s description, but Giura wanted to be certain before he proceeded.

It was a casual atmosphere, with the men chatting idly and the courtesans passing through engaging them in conversation, trying to interest them. With drink in hand, Giura took a seat near the man he believed to be the courier, nodding genially to one of the other men as he did.

‘Recommend anyone in particular?’

‘Ha. And have my favourites too busy to see me?’

Not the response Giura had expected.

‘Only jesting, friend. You can’t go wrong here. All the ladies are perfect. Beyond perfect. Your first time here?’

‘Yes. I’ve been meaning to call for a long time, but never had the opportunity before now.’

‘Ah. You won’t regret it. I always try to drop in the night before I have to go away on business. Sort of a good luck ritual.’

‘Oh,’ Giura said, as nonchalantly as he could. Somewhat indiscreet, but hiding in plain sight was a tactic he employed himself and the easiest way to maintain a lie was to make it as close to the truth as possible. There was no reason for anyone to know the man was an Austorgas’ courier. Giura had the information he was looking for, but he had to play out the deception to avoid arousing suspicion. ‘What line of work are you in?’

‘Wine trading.’

‘Much travelling involved?’

‘All the time. It seems like I’m never home. What business are you in?’

‘Farming.’ It was the polite way of saying he was a landed gentleman of no particular occupation, being far too rich. The conversation had gone as far as it needed.

Giura relaxed a little, pleased with himself. If the courier was travelling in the morning, he almost certainly had the message on him. The morning tide was at four bells meaning The Purple Rose was his last stop before embarking. There was of course the risk that he did not have the message yet, and Giura weighed the possibility against revealing himself to Austorga prematurely. Was the Ostenheim Austorga the type of man who would get up before four bells to give the courier the message? Giura thought that unlikely. More likely the courier was given the message that evening and instructed to go straight to the ship to wait for their morning departure. Giura was confident; bad habits are hard to break, especially when considered a lucky ritual rather than an indiscretion, and the chance of getting everything he needed that night was too great to pass up.

G
iura committed
himself to his course of action. He nodded to the courier and stood, going back to the woman who greeted him when he first came in.

She smiled again, displaying a set of perfectly white teeth that had obviously benefitted from the tricks of one of the back alley mages he was usually occupied with chasing.

‘Can I help you with something?’ she said.

‘Yes, I was hoping to talk to you for a moment,’ Giura said.

‘Well, we can talk here, or in a private room if you prefer…’

Giura glanced over his shoulder. There was no one else within earshot. ‘Here is fine. For the moment. What’s your name?’

‘Arriella,’ the courtesan said, with a smile that made even Giura’s heart skip.

He took a flat coin from his pocket and flipped it through his fingers, drawing her attention to it. She looked puzzled at first, until she saw the engraving on it; a staff, a skull and a sword. The coin was a tool used by Intelligenciers when they wanted to identify themselves discreetly.

The puzzled look on her face was replaced by one of distaste, as though she had just smelled something foul.

‘I don’t think this is the right place for a… gentleman such as you.’

‘Obviously I’m not here to patronise the establishment,’ Giura said. ‘I’m here in a professional capacity, just like you. I would appreciate your discretion though.’

‘Why don’t you do us both a favour and fuck off,’ the courtesan said, all the cultivated refinement that she had exuded a moment before well and truly gone.

‘I’d hoped that you’d just agree to help, what with me being an agent of the law—but if I’m being honest with you I didn’t actually expect it.’

‘Aw, well then, at least you aren’t disappointed. Now fuck off.’

Giura smiled. ‘I know that the confidence with which you speak to me comes from the knowledge that a great many wealthy and powerful people come here, and would be very annoyed if there were to be any interruption to the services or the absence of one of their favourite girls.’

‘You Intelligenciers really are as smart as they say. Doesn’t explain why you wasted your time coming in here though. Like I said, do us both a favour.’ She gestured to the doorway.

‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’

‘Don’t think I won’t call the boys if you don’t do as I say. They’ve beaten the piss out of more powerful men than you, and we’ve not had a problem because of it.’ The courtesan reached toward a bell sitting on the counter near the door.

‘That’s not going to happen either, Clara.’

The courtesan’s hand froze in mid-air. ‘I said my name’s Arriella.’ She stared at the bell, as though deciding whether or not to continue reaching for it.

Giura smiled. ‘It’s not going to happen, Clara, because I know, for instance, that you have a three year old daughter. Your mother looks after her. Who’d look after her if your mother was in the Grey Tower, or went missing? Permanently.’

The courtesan’s eyes widened, and she turned her head slowly to look at Giura.

‘I can give you the address they’re at if you like. Just to convince you I’m not making this up.’

The courtesan stood up straight, some of her former composure returning to her. ‘You’re a complete shit.’

‘Thank you for noticing,’ Giura said. ‘I’ve worked very hard on it. I assume that means you’re prepared to help me?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Now might be an opportune moment to take our conversation somewhere a little more private.’

‘
I
need
you to put this in the drink of one of the men out in the lounge,’ Giura said, as soon as the courtesan closed the door behind them. He held up a small waxed paper parcel.

Clara shook her head. ‘I’m not helping you kill someone.’

‘That’s not what I’m asking you to do,’ Giura said. ‘All this does is makes sure he goes to sleep, and stays asleep for at least four hours.’

‘Why d’you need him to be asleep?’

‘Why d’you need to know?’

Clara frowned, then adopted an expression of resignation. ‘Is that it?’

‘No. I need to get in to see him when he’s unconscious.’

‘And you’re not going to kill him?’

‘No. When he wakes up, he won’t even know anything’s happened.’

‘You promise? If someone gets killed in here, it’s bad news. Bad news for me.’

‘He won’t even know. He’ll get tired, fall asleep and wake up as normal a few hours later. Won’t even have a headache.’

She chewed her lip and scrutinised Giura. ‘All right then, give me the packet.’

G
iura waited
until Clara came back an hour later to tell him that the courier was asleep. The woman he was with was hustled out and told to keep her mouth shut, and Clara followed Giura in.

‘Out,’ Giura said.

‘No way. I need to make sure you don’t kill him.’

‘Don’t trust me?’

She shook her head. ‘Anything happens to a client in here and I’ll be face down in the harbour before morning.’

‘And you reckon you could stop me if I decided to cut his throat? Yours too for that matter?’

‘No, but I can call the lads in and they’ll kick seven shades of shit out of you. Then it’ll be you floating in the harbour in the morning.’

‘Fine. Sit there. This won’t take long. I think it goes without saying that you don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.’

She nodded, and Giura got to work.

Austorgas’ couriers carried the message in a small metal container not much bigger than a picture locket that they wore around their necks. They were made from Telastrian steel and covered in a base metal to make them look inexpensive. The Telastrian interior prevented forcible entry, and the couriers did not have a key to open them. The construction was one of the closely guarded Austorgas’ secrets that the Intelligenciers had discovered, a fact that was also closely guarded.

It came as a relief when Giura saw the locket sitting on the courier’s chest, attached to a fine chain around his neck. The risk that he wouldn’t yet have been given the message was not lost on Giura, but it being so close to the departure time, he felt it likely the courier would have it.

Giura studied the dull metal object. To an ordinary person—everyone as far as the Austorgas’ were concerned—it was a worthless trinket, of perhaps sentimental value on a man who was more than capable of defending himself.

The courier would also carry more obvious dispatches in more obvious ways, as well as a sum of money that would more than satisfy any uncommonly skilled or lucky thieves, but Giura knew what he was looking for.

The courier was fast asleep on the bed in a state of semi-undress. Unfortunately for him, it looked as though he would be travelling in the morning without his lucky ritual completed, but he wouldn’t remember the fact. Indeed, he wouldn’t remember much of the hour before he fell asleep. When he woke, he would be particularly receptive to whatever he was told. Giura would have the courtesan fill in the missing hours for him.

Giura slipped a small leather pouch from his belt, took two metal picks from it and then carefully took the medallion from around the courier’s neck.

‘What’s that?’ Clara said.

Giura looked over to her. ‘If you’re going to stay here, you need to stay quiet.’

‘Oh. Ok. Sorry.’ She humphed and sat on the corner of the bed.

Undistracted, it took Giura a moment to open the medallion. It was a difficult lock to open, even for him, and probably impossible if you hadn’t been shown specifically how to do it. Concealed within, on very thin, water-soluble paper that was neatly folded into the medallion, was the message that the Ostenheim Austorga wanted conveyed to The Austorga.

With the medallion open, the fun was only just beginning. He checked it for any traps that would indicate the note had been tampered with or anything that might damage it. Seeing nothing, he removed the paper and with great care, unfolded it.

As expected, the writing on the note was complete gibberish. Every important message sent by Austorgas’ was written in code. They had several different codes, used for information of varying importance. Each was more complex, and thus more expensive to create than the previous. They reserved the most complex, one that had taken years and tens of thousands of crowns to create, for the most important messages. Each time a code was used, there was a risk that it would fall into the hands of someone who would be able to work out how to decode it.

Unfortunately for Austorgas’, that was exactly what had happened. A few years previously, a message concealed in their most complex code had come to the attention of an Intelligencier. He had the presence of mind to copy as much of it as he could without being caught, which was then decoded over the course of two years at the Grey Tower in circumstances of absolute secrecy. The fact that the Intelligenciers could read the code was unknown to all but a few in the Grey Tower. It was only due to Giura’s seniority that he was privy to it and had learned how to decode it.

He spread the paper across the floor and looked at it, taking in each symbol and trying to recall what they meant. The particularly tricky thing about the code was that each symbol was not necessarily a letter, number or word that needed to be translated. They could also be instructions as to how the next sequence of symbols should be dealt with. The note was not long, but it would take a couple of hours to work. He hoped the sleeping draught the courier drank would last for long enough.

‘
A
re you done yet
?’

Clara was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, beside the still unconscious courier. She had started huffing and puffing in frustration a little while before, but this was the first time she had said anything since he had first told her to be quiet.

‘As it happens…’ He paused to quickly scan over his decoded message and the original. ‘I am.’

He had been confident of what the gist of the message would be, and the truth of it had been slowly building as he decoded each word. To read over it and see the full detail was still enormously satisfying. His translation didn’t need to be perfect. It only needed to confirm his suspicion, and give him enough detail to frighten the Ostenheim Austorga.

‘What’s it say?’ she said.

Giura folded the message, carefully following the original fold lines. He put it back in the medallion and locked it, before putting it back around the courier’s neck.

‘Think I’m going to tell you that?’

Clara pouted and sat up. ‘What now then?’

‘Now I leave, and if you play your cards right you’ll never see me again.’ He walked to the door, but turned before he opened it. ‘Probably be best if he wakes up with a courtesan in here. His memory will be patchy. Have the girl fill in the blanks with what he usually likes to get up to.’

Clara nodded, clearly relieved that the experience was over.

‘And remember,’ Giura said, ‘not a word about this to anyone. Ever.’