The Telastrian Song (9 page)

‘My family is the reason I want to do it. I have a responsibility to my son, and to make sure that he receives all of the estates that his ancestors worked to build up. I lost them, I should get them back for him.’ Ranph’s voice was raised, one of the few times that Soren had heard it so.

‘I expect he’d rather have a father,’ Soren said.

Ranph opened his mouth but closed it again and slumped back in his seat. He had lost his own father, most likely to Amero’s plotting. He knew what it was like. Soren was aware he had touched a tender spot, but it needed to be said. He couldn’t have it on his conscience if something happened to Ranph.

E
ven on short notice
, the staff in Ranph’s house were able to put on an impressive five-course meal that felt more like a banquet than any dinner Soren had eaten in a very long time. The chat flowed easily and happily as the stories of what had occurred since they parted were told, embellished and laughed over. Ranph tactfully avoided discussing Soren’s reason for coming but Soren could sense that Sara was eager for an explanation, which Ranph would no doubt be interrogated for as soon as they all parted for the night.

With dinner over, a servant led Soren and Alessandra to their room. It put the room in the hotel in Voorn to shame, and reminded Soren of the apartments he had been given at Brixen Palace when he was in Ruripathia, years before.

They were preparing for bed when Alessandra steered the conversation to their reason for being there.

‘You’re not going to ask for his help now, are you?’ she said.

Soren shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not now that I know he has a family and a boy to take care of.’

‘Can we do this without him?’

‘That’s what I need to talk to you about.’

‘You want me to stay here.’

That made things a little easier. Soren nodded. ‘Yes. You’ll be safe here until I get back. I need to know that you’ll be safe. One way or the other.’ He held his breath as he waited for her reaction.

She shook her head. ‘I reckoned that’s what you had in mind, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Don’t do this, Soren. I told you before, we’re in this together. How can you expect me to just sit here and wait, not knowing what’s happened to you?’

‘If I’m going to be at my best, I need to know you’re safe. This is the only place for that. I know you can take care of yourself, but that won’t stop me from worrying. I can’t have any distraction. Not if I’m to get through this. Not if I want to come back to you.’

S
oren left
the next morning after breakfast. He said his goodbyes to Alessandra in their room. She was crying and did not want anyone to see her in that state. He felt awful, but he had to go. Success or failure, she would be safe with Ranph. There was money enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. It was all he had to take solace in as he parted from her and closed the door behind him.

Ranph was waiting for him at the steps to the front door, and gave him the curt salute of a banneret before taking Soren by the hand. ‘You make sure to kill that bastard and come back here safely.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Soren said. ‘Look after Alessandra. You know how much she means to me.’

He nodded solemnly. ‘There’s something else. A favour that I need from you.’

‘Anything,’ Soren said, relieved to be able to help his friend in return for the favour Ranph was doing him.

‘I need you to take this box to Ostenheim and deliver it for me,’ Ranph said.

‘To whom?’

Ranph smiled sheepishly. ‘The truth is, I’m not really sure. This needs to get to them though, and they might be able to help you. This should get you in the door with them. They’re an underground of sorts. Friends to Amero’s enemies.’

‘And you’re helping them?’ Soren said. It seemed like a promising opportunity.

‘Yes. The exiles in Venter received word about a number of nobles still alive in Amero’s dungeons.’

‘Can I ask what’s in it?’

‘Money. Diamonds, to be precise,’ Ranph said. ‘Can you imagine how big a box I’d need for the same amount in coin?’

Soren raised his eyebrows. ‘How do you fit in to the whole thing?’

Ranph smiled again. ‘I’ve had a little bit of experience with busting people out of captivity. Not just you—but that’s another story for another day. Most of the exiles living here in Venter have family and friends that are still unaccounted for. I’m the wealthiest of the exiles, and most senior noble. This is a ransom to pay for the release of those captive nobles. It’s a small fortune and I’d have a hard time trusting anyone else with it, so I’m glad you’re able to do it.’

Soren saw danger that he did not need, but he could hardly refuse and it could be of help in achieving his own goal. Ranph seemed to pick up on his concern.

‘No one else will know what’s in here. All you have to do is deliver the box to the agent, and that’s the end of it. If they can be of any use to you, great. I don’t plan on telling any of the Ostian exiles I’ve sent the money though. They asked and I said I’d think about it and if they ask again I’ll give them the same answer.’

‘And you have to pick up the bill?’

‘We had it hard when we got here. It’s as much luck as anything that we’ve turned things around. Not everyone’s been so lucky, least of all those poor bastards still stuck in Amero’s dungeon. Could just as easily have been my family and I. Or you.’

Soren nodded. ‘And Amero’s willing to sell them off?’

‘Apparently so. From what I hear he’s broke, or as good as. He needs cash so he’s ransoming the nobles he hasn’t had time to execute yet. Makes me sick to think that I’m sending money to that bastard, but it’s safer than trying to break them out.’

‘And where did all the diamonds come from?’ Soren said, gesturing to the not especially large wooden box.

Ranph smiled. ‘We’ve been pulling them out of the ground like pebbles in a gravel pit since not long after we got here.’

D
al Lupard cursed
his luck when he discovered that Massari had travelled south, to Medenmeer. The only thing of note to draw him there was that the estate belonged to the most powerful of the Ostian exiles in Venter, Ranph dal Bragadin or Medenmeer, or whatever he was calling himself. That in itself was an irritation—dealing with the exiles was always a tricky business, all the more so now that there were so many of them living in Venter—but what made it worse was that he had met Ranph, who was unusually influential there, and to say that they didn’t get along was an understatement.

Nonetheless, he made his excuses in Voorn and headed south with four of his more competent agents. They rode hard, but they were too far behind to catch Massari and his whore before they arrived in Medenmeer. The haste of his departure meant that dal Lupard was able to discover nothing about the young man. Nothing at all, which in itself was odd, even given the limited time involved. It added weight to dal Lupard’s suspicion that not all was as it seemed, and confirmed his decision to travel south and monitor Massari’s movements and arrange to have him grabbed at the appropriate moment. Then he could find out all he needed, and if his suspicions were confirmed it might lead him back to his old life in Ostenheim.
No more grey, pissy wet weather
.
Ever
.

E
ven in Ostia
, dal Lupard had found rural villages tiresome. Ignorant, uncultured yokels hostile to strangers and obstructive to Intelligenciers going about the Duke’s business. Luckily for him, his talent was spotted early in his career and he was put to more important tasks that rarely took him out of the city.

He could barely even stand spending time on his own estate—his former estate—although now that it had been taken from him, he thought of it and its yokels with far more fondness than when it had still been his. He bore the village of Medenmeer no such affection.

The locals were unfriendly to the point of open hostility. He and his agents found accommodation in a small inn on the village’s main cobbled square, maintaining the disguise of land scouts seeking a suitable property for a wealthy merchant. He questioned the tavern keeper, his wife and anyone else who he could get to respond to him about any strangers who had passed through lately.

Dal Lupard didn’t think it to be too difficult a subterfuge to maintain. A year or so earlier, there had been a significant diamond find in the region, which had sent prospectors and speculators to the region in floods to see if there was any land to be had. The dal Bragadin bastard had managed to snap up everything worthwhile however, and was now said to be even wealthier than when his family were considered one of the richest in Ostia.

Dal Lupard had felt an enormous sense of satisfaction seeing the old guard of the Ostian aristocracy forced out of their lifestyles of bloated luxury. They had condescended to him whenever they could, treated him with the contempt they would a disfavoured servant or slave. Being instrumental in having so many of them thrown in dungeons was a joy. He delighted in imagining them having to live like ordinary people, all their wealth, titles and sense of superiority counting for nothing. Seeing them scrabbling about Voorn trying to survive on charity and menial employment was the only thing that made the city bearable.

Some had managed to get enough out of Ostia to maintain a comfortable existence—despite dal Lupard’s best efforts—but dal Bragadin seemed to have been touched by the hand of Divine Fortune herself. By all accounts his mine was still spitting out diamonds as fast as they could be gathered up. If dal Lupard could visit some misfortune on him before returning to Ostia, it would be a bonus that alone would make the journey worthwhile.

He sent his agents out each morning, ostensibly to scout for property but actually to spy on dal Bragadin’s manor house, where it appeared that Massari and his whore had gone. There were a great many blanks in dal Lupard’s knowledge and he keenly missed the resources that the Grey Tower provided, but they were removed from him not just by the Middle Sea. He had no idea why Massari had scurried south to dal Bragadin—to beg perhaps—but they were roughly the same age and both bannerets, so there was possibly some friendship extant from their time at the Academy.

‘
A
little farther
south than usual, Pierfranco. Chasing the sun? You have a way to go yet if you are, I’m afraid.’

Dal Lupard stiffened at the sound of the voice. He had only spoken to dal Bragadin on a couple of occasions, but neither had been pleasant. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground—it was unlikely that his cover story would stand up to dal Bragadin’s scrutiny. It was worth a try though. He turned from a plate of food that he was trying to find fault with, to be greeted by Ranph dal Bragadin standing by the tavern’s bar with two of his retainers, bannerets also by the look of their sword belts.

‘Wanted to invest in some land down here. See if I can’t find myself a nice little diamond mine.’

‘Well, if anyone can make diamonds undesirable, I expect it’s you, Pierfranco.’

Dal Lupard disliked the use of his given name. It was an intentional mark of disrespect that he had to force himself not to rise to. He took a discreet, but deep breath to quell his temper. How very much he would have liked to get this one on a torturer’s table in the Grey Tower. He could always dream. It was, however, time to drop his deception and see how dal Bragadin responded to a direct challenge.

‘Actually, that’s not entirely true,’ he said.

‘From an Intelligencier, I’d expect nothing else,’ Ranph said.

‘Former Intelligencier,’ dal Lupard said. ‘Ambassador now. And do bear in mind that I am an Academy graduate. But my true reason for being here has more to do with my former role, and of course my loyalty to Ostia.’

Ranph snorted with derision. ‘I’m intrigued. What could possibly bring you down here in that regard? Do you plan to offer me the Ostian throne? Seeing as I’ve a better claim to it than the incumbent? Legal too, although I gather that’s not of so much importance these days.’

Dal Lupard smiled insincerely. ‘No, that’s not why I’m here. I’ve reason to believe a fugitive from Ostian justice passed this way in the last couple of days.’

Ranph snorted again. ‘Ostian justice? That’s as dead as the Empire.’

The snort lacked its previous spontaneity. Dal Bragadin knew Massari had been there. He had seen him. Dal Lupard smiled. He ignored dal Bragadin’s comment and continued.

‘Yes, a Banneret Massari, family name unknown.’

Dal Bragadin frowned, before masking his expression. The slip had only been momentary, but it revealed that dal Bragadin was not familiar with the name. Yet dal Lupard knew for a fact that the man calling himself Massari had visited dal Bragadin. Dal Lupard smiled at the discovery that ‘Massari’ was a false identity. Now all that remained was to discover who he actually was. He decided to press farther. ‘He was in the company of a woman, going by the name “Vittoria”, also known as Bevrielle, formerly a whore in Ostenheim. I believe her real name is Alessandra. Perhaps you’re familiar with her. I hear she was very popular among the aristocracy.’

Dal Bragadin’s face darkened, and for a moment dal Lupard feared he had overstepped the mark. He didn’t have the resources of the Grey Tower to back up his insinuations—something he often forgot, a dangerous mistake—and his agents were still out spying on dal Bragadin’s manor, so that safety net was absent also. He would know the reason why none of them had warned him of dal Bragadin’s approach before the day was out.

‘Haven’t a clue who you’re talking about,’ dal Bragadin said.