Thief's Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) (21 page)

“Again, Major, I would never presume to tell you how to do your job, but aren't you being just a wee bit excessive?”

Julien Bouniard glanced irritably at the black-frocked churchman—seated quite calmly, fingers steepled together before him, at the writing desk—and tried to blink back the first stirrings of what promised to be a right monster of a headache. The room was pristine, neat and organized; surprisingly so, considering that Bouniard's men had dug through it with rabid gusto last night, seeking any evidence the intruders might have left. Behind de Laurent, the young monk who had so meticulously straightened the room paced nervously, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. The three of them—as well as six guards in the hall outside, four standing on the grounds beneath the chamber's window, and two dozen more scattered throughout the house—awaited the archbishop's carriage, at which time the entire procession would head to the dignitary's next temporary domicile.

The Guardsman shook his head. “Excessive? No, Your Eminence, I don't think so. There's already been one attempt on your life, one that the Marquis de Ducarte will never live down. I don't think we want another.”

De Laurent's expression turned wry. “For my sake, or for the sake of whichever noble is next in line to be so dishonored?”

“Truthfully, Your Eminence, some of both. Look, your assistant knows enough to be concerned. Why don't you?”

The archbishop craned his head. “Brother Maurice,” he chided gently, “you'll wear a hole through our kind host's carpeting.”

“Good. Maybe you can use it as an escape route the next time someone tries to kill you.”

The high official smiled broadly. “There, you see?” he asked Bouniard. “Maurice worries quite well enough for the both of us. For me to fret would be redundant, and I so frown upon wasted effort.

“So,” he continued swiftly, before the vague reddening of the major's face boiled over into something unpleasant, “tell me about this young lady we're so worked up about.”

If de Laurent hoped to calm the incensed guard, he'd chosen his topic poorly. Julien's lip curled under, and he fumed visibly. “There's little to tell, Your Eminence. I'm going to find her, and wring her scrawny neck with my bare hands.” He waved dismissively, as if shooing away an insect. “Everything past that is pretty much ancillary detail.”

“My, but we're taking this personally,” the archbishop commented. “What do you have against this poor girl whom you're planning to murder on my behalf?”

Julien's frown grew even deeper, a feat of true muscle contortion that threatened to flip his entire face upside down on the front of his head. He'd been exaggerating, of course. He had no true intention of killing Widdershins, but the archbishop's quiet criticism was still a slap in the face.

“Your Eminence, I've a burnt-out husk of a building, one dead guard, another who'll be off work for a week until his head heals, and I very nearly found myself winging off to meet the gods myself!”

“And you believe this girl responsible?”

“At the very least, she played me for a fool,” the Guardsman admitted after a few deep breaths. “I'm still not entirely certain how she did it, but she played me, and managed, in doing so, to escape from a prison with a seventeen-year vomit record.”

“Vomit record?” de Laurent repeated cautiously.

“Escape,” he clarified apologetically, flushing slightly. “When someone escapes, we, umm, we usually refer to the prison as having vomited them out. Thrown them up, as it were.”

“I see. How droll.”

“Yes. Ah, well, my point is that no one's escaped from that particular gaol in seventeen years, Your Eminence. But she did it, and she used me to do it. That'd be enough to make me irritable even if I didn't have the rest of it to deal with.”

“I'd never have guessed,” Maurice whispered as his pacing carried him past the archbishop's shoulder.

“Down, boy,” de Laurent hissed, hiding a smile behind an upraised hand. “Do continue,” he said more loudly.

The Guardsman let the whispered exchange pass without comment. “I would have thought that her attempted assault on you would have put you in a fouler mood than I, Your Eminence. Even with the whole ‘forgiveness doctrine' bit, you seem remarkably unconcerned about this.”

“'Forgiveness doctrine bit.' Oh, it warms my heart to see that the Church's teachings are so happily embraced by the masses.”

“I—”

“Major, I believe I have told you—more than once, in fact, which is not a frequent experience for me unless I'm giving a classic sermon—that this girl…” He frowned. “What was the bizarre name you called her?”

“Widdershins. Most of Davillon's thieves have—”

“Widdershins, yes. I believe I've told you that Widdershins was not here last night to do me any harm.”

“Your Eminence, with all due respect—”

“A statement,” de Laurent noted to the young monk, “that is never followed by anything even remotely respectful.”

“Disgraceful,” Maurice confirmed.

“Indeed.” The archbishop smiled once more. “If I may take a wild guess, Major? You were about to tell me, in the most respectful manner imaginable, that I'm a foolish old man who forgives far too easily, can't tell an assassin's dagger from a butter knife, and wouldn't know real danger if it came up and bit me on something that I cannot, as an official of the Church, admit to possessing. Is that about the size of it?”

Julien's jaw clamped shut tighter than a chastity belt.

“Major,” he continued, leaning over his desk, all trace of good humor sliding from his face, “allow me to be absolutely, perfectly clear. I appreciate your concern for my well-being. I appreciate that you're trying to do your job to the best of your ability. And I will happily admit that I'm far less familiar with the bloodier aspects of life than you.

“At the same time, I am no stranger to violence. My life has been threatened more than once, and I have defended it more than once. I believe in the afterlife, and I even have the audacity to think that I'm headed to the more pleasant place when my time comes, but I'm in no rush to prove it. I am not an idiot, no matter what gossip you might hear, and I am not some ignorant old fool to be taken in by a pretty face.

“When this Widdershins burst into my chamber, she was wounded, and attempting to warn me of some coming danger. As you yourself informed me, she seems to have rather handily dispatched another disreputable fellow who was lurking about the house, one who most likely
did
intend me some amount of bodily harm. So tell me why I should be worried about this woman?”

“Your Eminence,” Bouniard told him, fighting to keep his voice under control, “I'll acknowledge that she probably wasn't here to kill you. It's not her way. But she's
involved
with people of a much bloodier bent—and putting thoughts of murder aside, she was
definitely
here to rob you. I don't approve of that, even if you do. And
someone
wants to cause you harm. So either way, you're in danger. And either way, Widdershins is connected to it, and she's the only lead I've got.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go see if your carriage is ready.” Fists clenched so hard his leather gauntlets squeaked, the major rose, bowed stiffly, and swept from the room.

“That,” Maurice noted as he moved to stand behind the archbishop's left shoulder, “is not a happy jasper.”

“Indeed, no,” William agreed.

“Maurice,” he said suddenly, swiveling to face his young friend, “you'll not be traveling with me to our next residence. There's something I need you to do for me.”

“I'm a very busy woman, Jean Luc.” Lisette Suvagne leaned, hawklike, over the edge of the table, her face illuminated hellishly by the lamp blazing between her and her unexpected guests. “I have no work for you, and I certainly didn't summon you. So what the hell are you and your…”

She scowled irritably at the motley assortment. Jean Luc had always struck her as little more than a common dandy—he reminded her vaguely of Renard Lambert, come to think of it, even if he lacked the foppish thief's flamboyance—though she had to admit he was decent at his job. She didn't know the others: two, in their dueling vests and cheap rapiers, looked the part of common thugs. The last was tall, shrouded in a worn cloak, his hands and face bandaged as though to evoke the leprosy scares of old. Only the fact that Jean Luc had worked for the guild before, and swore he'd come on a matter of urgency, had won them admission past the guards. The red-haired taskmaster fully intended to have someone lashed if this didn't prove very,
very
important.

Or at least interesting.”You and your
friends
doing here?” she finally concluded, twisting a dagger between her fingers, scarring the heavy table with the blade. The sound of tiny splinters being gouged from the wood snuck through the chamber and went to go lurk in the corner, where it occasionally bounced back at them as an echo.

“That's not good for the steel, you know,” Jean Luc said neutrally.

“Oh, thank you
so
much. I've never held a dagger before. They're sharp, aren't they?”

“I was just—”

“Just about to tell me why you're here, why I should talk to you when I frankly have no use for you, and why I shouldn't just have all your throats slit and your carcasses dumped in a deep hole with the rats.” She grinned maliciously. “You don't necessarily have to answer to that last one, if it's too much of a strain.”

Jean Luc returned her smile, obviously not cowed in the slightest. “I would very much like to know when the Finders' Guild was taken over by idiots and cretins.”

Lisette rocked back in her seat. He couldn't
possibly
be talking about the attempt to kill Widdershins in gaol; not even the Shrouded Lord, let alone anyone
outside
the guild, could have linked her to it! And yet, what else could he…? “Explain yourself—
quickly
,” she hissed at him.

“What could possibly have possessed you,” Jean Luc continued, ignoring the woman's posturing, “to authorize a job on the archbishop? That sort of attention's bad for
all
of us, not just your precious guild!”

The taskmaster's jaw snapped shut like a bear trap, allowing only the release of a strangled, “What?!”

“The archbishop,” Jean Luc repeated slowly, as though explaining something to a child. “One of your thieves made an attempt on his belongings the night before last. My employeer—”

“And that would be who, exactly?” she interrupted.

“You know full well that I can't tell you that, mademoiselle. But I'll say that it's someone who would make a very bad enemy.” He fluttered his fingers in dismissal, as though shaking a clinging strand of cobweb from his gloves.

“I have plenty of enemies,” Lisette told him stiffly, when it became clear he would offer no further answer. “One more doesn't scare me. But as it happens, we authorized no such operation. Perhaps you'd tell me more about it?”

“Really?” Jean Luc leaned back, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “Not to doubt your word, but I find that hard to fathom. She was clearly a professional, mademoiselle.”

“She?” Lisette's face lit up to shame the lantern. “Describe her,” she all but cooed.

Jean Luc shrugged, and began. He'd scarcely gotten beyond eye and hair color before Lisette's own eyes blazed like a funeral pyre.

“Widdershins!” The woman's grin was somehow both wolfish and serpentine at once.

“Really. Don't any of you people have normal names,
Taskmaster?
”

Lisette ignored him. “The little scab was specifically ordered to keep
away
from de Laurent! I told them she'd be trouble, but no, have to give her the chance to hang herself first. Well, now she's done it, hasn't she?”

And made things much easier for Brock and me, for that matter.

Jean Luc rose to his feet and bowed politely to the woman sitting across from him. “I see this has become an internal guild matter, then. We'll leave you to your affairs, content in the knowledge that you can handle the situation. Good evening.”

“Just a moment, Jean Luc,” the taskmaster interrupted as he rose, her voice oily as a well-greased hinge. “And what, precisely, were
you
doing at the Rittier household to witness little Widdershins's activities?”

The assassin ran a hand down his fine vest. “I was a guest,” he said simply.

Lisette Suvagne was no fool; Jean Luc hailed from the aristocracy, yes, and he
could
have been innocently attending the party, but she didn't buy it for a moment. He'd been there on his own job, one that could have thrown the entire city into chaos if he'd meant to kill de Laurent himself. She was tempted to
demand
answers from him, even though she knew well she'd get none.

But there were always alternatives.

Lisette waved him away, waited until her guests had departed, then rose and strode from the room. She whispered instructions to the nearest guard, who nodded and darted off along the hall; then she moved in the other direction.

Widdershins had finally given Lisette cause to deal with her as she'd always wished. Not even the Shrouded Lord could object if she took action now, not without appearing weak. Lisette almost felt like skipping along the darkened halls, and many of her fellow Finders recoiled in fear from the gleeful malevolence in her grin.