Page 18 of Play of Shadows
I sighed. Mentioning her at all had probably been a mistake. Describing her looks certainly had been. Beretto lived in a world where beauty, love and nobility of purpose were largely interchangeable concepts, and he foresaw no complications in goading me into pursuing a romantic relationship with a trained killer. ‘Best I can determine, Lady Shariza is some sort of foreign spy or assassin that Monsegino hired to be his personal bodyguard when he came to Jereste and took the throne.’
‘A wise enough move when you think about it,’ Beretto observed. He ceded ground, only to then stretch out into a long lunge that resulted in yet another point against me and another hearty swig of wine for him, before he continued. ‘Plenty among the nobility had questions when old Duke Meillard kept thecrown from his own daughter in favour of her nephew. And then we have these Iron Orchids flouting all Monsegino’s efforts to curtail the booze and drugs flooding the city.’
The damned Iron Orchids again. Everywhere you found misery in Jereste these days, there you’d find those smirking thugs. Until a few months ago, they’d been little more than packs of arrogant, proud-of-being-working-class arseholes who’d pocket a few coins rounding up fugitives for whatever reward had been posted down at the courthouse. Lately they’d started behaving more like an informal militia, patrolling the streets at night and laying the boots to alley-rats unable to find anywhere else to sleep, or immigrants rumoured to have done something no one could remember to a victim no one could name.
Beretto took an extra swig from the flagon and grimaced. ‘Too bad Mother’s not one of them– then she might get us the good stuff, eh?’
I ignored the question, for Beretto was drunk enough that I might actually have a chance to score against him. I went for a triple bluff: first a feint to his shoulder, then a disengage down to his thigh and finally the true thrust to his chest. The big man ignored the first two false jabs entirely and when the third came, encircled my blade with his own before jerking down hard and sending my sword clattering to the floor.
‘I hope your flirtations with the lustrous Lady Shariza weren’t as transparent as these clumsy feints, brother.’
‘Oh, for the saints’ sake,’ I swore in frustration. ‘The woman’s a cold-hearted killer, as bad or worse than the Vixen herself! If the gods love me, they’ll keep me from crossing paths with either of them again!’
‘You’re not fooling me,’ he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You were ensorcelled by her, weren’t you?’
There was no point in arguing with the sentimental lummox when he had that much booze in him. Especially when he wasright.
‘Ensorcelledandintimidated,’ I confessed.
‘Ah, see? That’s the sign of true love, right there!’
The distinctive groan of the third stair above the landing leading to our floor caught our attention and we stopped to listen to the timing and character of the steps slowly climbing the stairs.
‘You think it’s the Bulger?’ I asked, pressing my ear to the door separating the hallway from the stairwell.
‘That pervert? You’d think he’d know by now that stuffing whatever food or valuables he’s stolen from us into his underclothes looksnothinglike natural. . . arousal. But no, it’s not the Bulger.’ Beretto tugged the rounded wooden cap off the tip of his steel blade. ‘Sounds more like the Pin.’
The Pin wasn’t a fellow tenant. In fact, no one had ever seen him. There were occasional reports of his footsteps treading the stairs on the very night someone died, although a body might not be found for some hours, or even days. But his handiwork was never in doubt: the Pin left nine-inch-long needles buried with surgical precision in the backs of the necks of his victims, all of whom were modest, working folk, rather than nobles whose power and privilege should, by all rights, makethemthe target of professional killers. The Iron Orchids had started claiming the Pin worked for the duke.‘Instillin’ fear into the common man to keep him from risin’ up and takin’ back what’s ’is,’they would announce whenever there was a new victim.
My hand shook as I popped the wooden cap from my own sword and took up position to the right of the stairwell door. My job when some reprobate tried to break into our apartment– which was more often than should be reasonable for two impoverished actors with nothing of value to steal– was to quickly turn the handle on the door and swing it open before the would-be invader knew anyone was about. Beretto handled therest.
‘Bloody Hells, man!’ Shoville squealed when he found the very sharp tip of a fencing blade pressed against the ball of his throat.
The director tried to bat the sword away, but Beretto was already spinning it in a half-circle and returning the tip to its original target.
‘You don’t suppose he’s the Pin, do you?’ Beretto asked.
‘Doubtful,’ I replied. ‘If the Directore Principale of the world-renowned Operato Belleza was a nefarious midnight murderer, you’d think we would’ve been hisfirstvictims.’
‘Good point.’ Beretto removed his weapon and tossed it through the open doorway into our small living room, where it landed on the threadbare couch. ‘What in all the Hells are you doing out at such an hour, Shoville? I would have thought you’d still be on your knees offering more coin and prostitutes in exchange for the mercy of our illustrious Veristor.’
Shoville ignored Beretto’s drunken impertinence, staring back at the two of us, uncharacteristically shame-faced, until we led him into the apartment.
‘I did try to placate Abastrini,’ the director admitted after refreshing himself from Beretto’s flagon. ‘I spenthoursbegging him– even offered him my share of the profits on the production. But Ellias has always been implacable. He threatened to quit the company if I ever allow Damelas another speaking part.’
‘That’s me done for, I suppose.’
I glanced around the apartment. I’d never had much affection for it, but now it felt as precious to me as any duke’s palace. Foul as the place was, it cost a small fortune, even splitting the rent with Beretto. No director would keep an actor who couldn’t even play a herald, which meant I would be out on my ear with nothing but a duelling writ awaiting me.
Maybe I can survive on the streets the way the alley-rats do, Ithought. Hide out for a decade or so, until Grandfather gets so old even the Vixen won’t want to bother duelling him.
Of course, that begged the question,then what?Move to the countryside and find work in the fields? I didn’t have much cause to believe I’d be any better at picking wheat than I’d been at acting. I wasn’t even sure if one picked wheat.Plucked? Harvested? Threshed?
‘I’m afraid the whole company is done for,’ Shoville said, holding up a rolled piece of parchment. The red wax seal had been broken. ‘A woman dressed all in black delivered this to me an hour ago– I was in the process of plying Ellias with drink at a ludicrously expensive bar.’
Shaking the scroll, he shared its contents without bothering to unroll it. ‘By order of Duke Firan Monsegino, our production ofValour at Mount Cruxiais ended as of tonight.’
‘Damn all the saints, Shoville– I’m so sorry– this is all my fau—Hold on. . .’
