Window Wall (37 page)

Yet if Touchstone went on a circuit of their own this autumn and winter, they wouldn’t be available to play in Gallantrybanks. Would the money from Lord Mindrising and Lord Eastkeeping offset the expenses of so much travel? Would it be worth it to go out on the road instead of staying close to home, where the Downstreet and the Kiral Kellari and the Keymarker and other venues would be glad to have them as often as they wanted to show up?

Gods and Angels, how had all this happened? Why hadn’t he seen it? He ought to have known years ago, when performing the traditional version of “Treasure” at Trials had landed them on the Winterly when they knew they were good enough for the Ducal and even the Royal. He’d never really understood that before, but now as he reviewed the incident in light of new knowledge, it actually made sense.

It had been at Fairwalk’s urging that they did the standard rendering of the play. A competent performance—and how furious Mieka had been!—had not been enough to win them a promotion to the Ducal or Royal Circuits. They were therefore free all summer and part of the autumn until the Winterly began. And then Fairwalk had shown up with giggings and Lord Oakapple’s commission and, amazingly, the invitation to accompany the Archduke to Miriuzca’s homeland and escort her back to Albeyn.

The bookings had been settled by Fairwalk before the ink on the final Trials results sheets was dry. He’d
known
they wouldn’t make the Ducal or Royal. Further, instead of having them do their own, more accurate version of “Treasure” for free at Trials, he’d got them the commission—and kept the down payment. Somehow, he’d known that Miriuzca had requested Touchstone’s presence at her proxy wedding—ah, but that wasn’t all that odd, for Kearney was a connection of the Royal Family, wasn’t he? Quite a few generations ago, to be sure, but a connection all the same. So he’d made sure Touchstone was free to travel to the Continent, and went along with them.

His absence from Albeyn for all those long weeks had put him beyond reach of his creditors. And as one of the delegation, his enhanced social standing would have made those creditors think more than thrice about demanding payment in the very public precincts of a court of law.

On his twenty-first Namingday, Cayden had come into an inheritance from his father’s father, who’d been a fettler back in the day. Lady Jaspiela, more concerned for the future of her younger son than the rights of her elder, had proposed that the money be dedicated to Derien’s education. Cade gladly agreed—and then he had done something that must have made Kearney caper like a dog with two cocks across every acre of Fairwalk Manor. Cade had stipulated that his grandfather’s legacy go into an account separate from his own, and that only two people could withdraw money from it: himself and Lord Fairwalk. Cade’s mother had been mortally insulted, a thing he’d enjoyed down to the ground, but he had been adamant. He’d thought the money was safe. No matter what her ambitions for Derien, it was Cade’s opinion that she was incapable of resisting all that money if she could possibly get her hands on it. He’d made sure she couldn’t. He’d thought the money was safe.

But not even that had been enough for His Rapacious Lordship. These last years, while Touchstone was away from Gallybanks on the Royal Circuit, he had used his position as their manager, his position as a highborn related to the Royals, and Touchstone’s forged signatures to drain their bank accounts. Surely it was ironic that the only one of them completely spendthrift was the only one who owned his own home—but Mieka was in full legal possession of the house at Hilldrop only because his father had been resolute about paying the debt.

Cade knew what Kearney would say about it all, how he’d excuse it. Wainwright and wheelwright—the wagon, of course. All those repairs and additions to Mieka’s house required wallers and masons and glaziers and joiners and carpenters—had Windthistle Brothers been paid? Of course they had. If not, it would have started people wondering. Touchstone required advertising placards and handbills—thus the printers, engravers, imagers, and so on. And of course Touchstone must appear in the most fashionable clothing, and eat the best food, and drink the finest liquor. All those places and more, Kearney would say, was where the money had been spent, and all the spending had been necessary. They were
Touchstone.

That the bills had been sent to the bank for settlement—and for Jeska to be handed when he inquired—would be more difficult to explain away. As for where the money had actually gone … Cade had not been invited to Fairwalk Manor for several years now. He had the distinct feeling that if he were to pay a visit, he’d find a new roof to replace the elderly and leaking one, new windows, new floors, new carpets, new furniture, and a new carriage or two in the coach house, with new horses to draw them.

He had a brief, ludicrous vision—no Elsewhen, this, but a deliberate conjuring attributable to fear and hatred—of himself, striding through the Manor, pointing to this table and that sculpture and saying,
“That’s mine, and that, and this over here. You bought it with my money, and that makes it mine.”

No, take it one step further, the way Mieka would. Imagine himself and his partners and their wives and children (but
not
Mieka’s mother-in-law) taking possession of Fairwalk Manor, choosing bedchambers and private parlors, admiring the elegance of every room and the lovely views from every window, all of which they owned. And Kearney Fairwalk as the lowliest of stable boys, mucking out stalls and tugging his scant, sandy forelock whenever any member of Touchstone happened by.

His musings turned even more ludicrous. Who would be the wife he’d share his portion of the Manor with? How many children would they have? It would be a nice place to raise a family: away from the noise and flurry of Gallantrybanks, safe and serene. They could hire tutors, and if any of the children—his, or Mieka’s, or Rafe’s, or Jeska’s—turned out to have talents like their fathers’, four accomplished practitioners of magic would be there to teach them how it was all done. Accomplished and acclaimed, he reminded himself, thinking of their knighthoods. Rich, famous, titled, brilliant—

He became aware that the wine was affecting him, and looked at the decanter. Jeska had accounted for about two glasses; Cade had unknowingly drained it dry.

Well, and why not get drunk? It was a pretty vision, ownership of Fairwalk Manor. Now, if only he could figure out whom he ought to marry. To own so fine a property was one thing. Maintaining it was something else again. That had been His Lordship’s problem. Keeping everything repaired and up to date, adding things here and there to increase its beauty … Touchstone could put in a rehearsal hall, nearly the size of a real theater, and invite friends to exclusive advance viewings of Cade’s latest plays … how much would it cost to do that … but not the noblemen and representatives of the various guilds who bid every year for the right to present groups on the circuits … well, except for Lord Eastkeeping, who was a friend … and Princess Miriuzca … she’d adore it … but to pay for the upkeep of a place like that, they’d need a steady and secure source of income, for no matter how many shows they played, there was no guaranteeing that they’d be paid one year what they’d been paid the year before—

Megs.

The name appeared in his mind and he stared at it. Lady Megueris Mindrising was the richest person he knew. Heiress to a dozen fine holdings—if he married her and brought a quarter of Fairwalk Manor with him, she’d have another property to add to her list, and with both parents possessing the sort of magic used in theater, the children were more than likely to inherit—

Forget Fairwalk Manor, the sober part of him said. Lady Megs—how about it?

If he married her, a goodly portion of her income would be his—it depended on how the writ-rats sorted it in the marriage settlement. But even if he got only half, or even less than half, it would pay off all Touchstone’s debts (which were his fault—he’d accepted that, somewhere in all his half-drunken ponderings) and there’d be plenty left over to live on rather beautifully.

True, she usually looked like an unmade bed, and there were times when he suspected she didn’t much like him, and she obviously disapproved of his use of thorn, and—

What in the name of the Lord and the Lady and Old Gods and all the Angels was he
thinking
?

Trapped. Cornered. It was a way out.

“Any more of that, and we’ll have to send for Yazz to carry you up to bed.”

He looked up, bleary-eyed, to find Mistress Mirdley watching him. “I won’t,” he told her, unsure if he referred to the wine or matrimony. “I really won’t, you know.”

“Get up to bed, then, while you can still walk.”

The number of steps on the cast-iron staircase seemed to have multiplied. Each footstep had a metallic echo, as if his boots had steel soles. When he collapsed fully dressed onto his bed, he spared a grateful glance for his big black armchair over there in the corner, and a half smile for Rumble, who looked up at his arrival, yawned, and went back to sleep.

He stared at the ceiling for a while, every crack and ripple of the plaster familiar in the candlelight. He felt that he understood things now, and the understanding brought no comfort. He ought to have known. From that very first time Fairwalk took him and Mieka shopping, and no bills were presented at the time, and they had both learned that it was almost a dead certainty that no bills would ever be presented—the honor and privilege of serving His Lordship, don’t you know—he ought to have known then.

But he hadn’t. And now Dery was close to being permanently expelled from the King’s College for lack of payment of fees, and Jeska and Kazie had to move into Wistly Hall, and Rafe’s plan to buy Crisiant a country cottage like Mieka’s was impossible, and Cade had to live at Redpebble Square again—and for a few minutes, he had actually considered marrying Lady Megueris Mindrising for her money—

Dery. He had to concentrate on Dery. The school fees were the most urgent of his problems. Without the Masters at the King’s College to learn from, and the social connections that came from attending school with lordlings, Derien’s ambition to become a Royal Ambassador would die aborning. He would have to roll up and put away all his beloved maps, and forget about travel and service to Albeyn—and what about his magic? There would be no money for a special school like Sagemaster Emmot’s Academy.

Derien’s magic …

… which included an ability to sense gold.

Absurdly, Cade began to giggle. A solution at last! The solution to everything! Send Derien off on one of Lord Piercehand’s ships, to return with cargo holds belching gold. Yeh, he could see it just like an Elsewhen: himself, waiting proudly at the docks below the Plume, Derien waving from the deck, flags flying, a brass band playing, their mother and even their father turning out to cheer the triumph and collect a share of the spoils—

Wine and weariness caught up with him before he could decide, still cackling inanely to himself, which idea was more disgusting: using his twelve-year-old brother like a ratting dog, or using Megs as a bank account.

T
he first awful thing that happened was that his wife wasn’t at Wistly Hall to meet him.

“I know you’re disappointed,” his mother said as she hugged him. “But Jindra isn’t feeling well, poor darling.” She stood back and looked at him. “Good Gods. How long since you had a decent meal?”

Mieka shrugged off her concern. Pointing to Jeska, hovering near the staircase, he asked, “What’s he doing here?”

That turned out to be the second awful thing, which made the first fade to insignificance. Jeska was there because, arriving a day earlier than the wagon, he’d discovered Kazie in a fury because of something to do with the bank, and first thing this morning he’d gone round to demand an explanation, and now he was here at Wistly with appalling news.

They all looked round for Cayden, who seemed to have vanished. Jeska said he’d go over to Redpebble Square later, which led to Rafe’s asking why Redpebble, which led to Jeska’s tale of what he had discovered at the bank.

The third awful thing was that Mieka was the only one who actually owned the house his family lived in. Rafe had been waiting for just the right country cottage; Jeska had been planning to buy a flat in one of the big new buildings down below the Plume; Cade—well, who knew what Cade had in mind, and Mieka didn’t care anyways. Now Jeska and Kazie would move into Wistly, Rafe and Crisiant and Bram would continue to live with Mistress Threadchaser over the bakery, and Cade would be back at Redpebble Square before the sun set this evening. Of them all, Mieka was the only one with his own home to go to. It was no fault of his; Hadden Windthistle had arranged to pay off the mortgage as quickly as possible. Mieka and Yazz and their wives and children were perfectly safe. He didn’t know why this made him squirm inside with guilt, but it did.

The most awful thing of all was finding out that he should have trusted his own instincts years ago about Kearney Fairwalk.

Jeska described the whole dismal situation and set off for Redpebble to tell Cayden. Rafe went silently home. Mieka glanced into the dining room, where a welcome-home dinner was all arranged, and fled upstairs.