By D.G. Laderoute

 I pride myself on finding things before they are lost.

–Soline El Gato

“Aren’t you drunk?”

Soline glanced sidelong at Sanjay and grinned. “Very. Why?”

“Because I think you’re walking straighter than I am.”

Soline laughed, but a burst of hurdy-gurdy music and raucous voices cut it short. The Pauper’s Joy was still open, it seemed. She and Sanjay had already put in a good night’s work at The Drowning Man, but the night wasn’t done yet—
“Don’t even think about it,” Sanjay glared pointedly at her, then at the open tavern door, then back at her.

“Sanjay, Sanjay—where is your sense of adventure?”

 

“It went to bed at least an hour ago. And I intend to join it there.” He held up a battered leather pouch. “Besides, we’ve already done a good night’s work, and need to count the spoils. Doubloons—which are easy—but there are also florins, and Vestin guilders, a few Eisen Marks, some shillings—” Sanjay stopped, opened the pouch and dug around in it. “And a couple of those strange opal pellets that everyone keeps claiming are Syrneth currency. Also some lint—” He dug around some more. “And a dead beetle.”

He plucked the latter out and dropped it into the street muck. As he did, a rowdy group of young men came swaggering around the next corner, all silken finery and bravado, stumbling and singing their way towards them. Soline and Sanjay stepped aside, but one of the dandies, clad in tight breeches spattered with mud and a ruffled silken shirt stained with wine, stopped and peered at them for a moment. He then proffered a wobbly bow, reached up and grabbed Soline’s shoulders.

“You should come w—with me, pretty one. I will—will take you to such—” He burped, giggled, then frowned. “Oh. Yes. I will take y—you to such heights of pleasure as you ever—” His words collapsed into jumbled nonsense, but kept going anyway. He finished on a broad grin, then turned to his companions, to make sure they’d heard him. They laughed and slurred all sorts of none-too-clever innuendo. Satisfied, he turned back to Soline and opened his mouth again.
Soline put a finger up to his lips.

“Hush, now, because I don’t want you to miss what I say, little one. I am going to count to three, and if you have not taken your hands off of me by then, I will break your left wrist.” She smiled as sweetly as new honey.

The young dandy blinked a few times, then barked a laugh. Sanjay sighed and stepped back, shaking his head sadly.

The dandy blew a gust of boozy breath into Soline’s face. “Fiery words, from—”
“One.”

“—from a fiery woman. And I like—”

“Two.”

“—fiery women. They are so—”

“Three.”

“—so fiery—”

SNAP.

The dandy shrieked, stumbling backwards. He crashed into his fellows, and three of them toppled into the street with a thick splat of piss-sodden mud and animal manure. Two more just stood and gaped.

Soline turned away and resumed walking. “Anyway, you were saying, Sanjay, something about florins and doubloons and beetles?”

Sanjay hurried after her. None of the drunken fops seemed inclined to follow them, and instead thrashed and floundered about, struggling to help their friend, who whimpered and wailed as he clutched his wrist, back to his feet.

“As I was saying, we need to count this,” Sanjay said. “Especially since these florins look like they’ve been filed down. Scoundrels, debasing currency like that—”

He stopped, frowning, then dug deeper into the pouch. “Huh. What’s this, I wonder?”

He’d extracted a slip of paper and unfolded it, revealing a few words scrawled in a spidery script.

Giovanni J.

Upstairs Florian’s Fine

Say Armand sent you

Soline read the paper over his shoulder. “Florian’s Fine?” She frowned. “Florian’s Fine—Florian’s—” She snapped her fingers. “Ah, Florian’s Fine Tobacco and Herbals, just off the Square of Carvallo, perhaps?”

“So what is there, upstairs and apparently waiting for word from Armand?” Sanjay mused. “And who, for that matter, is Armand?”

Soline smiled, sensing both opportunity and danger, and taking delight in both. “Ah, well, now that is what we have to find out, isn’t it?”

***

They waited until the following day, though, to pursue their little mystery. Soline had drank a lot of wine, after all, with some brown beer on top of it, and a few swallows of some Ussuran concoction that smelled like sweaty feet, and tasted
just as it smelled. Mysteries demanded clear heads.

And quick reflexes, in case something went wrong.

 

The next morning—late, when Soline finally pried herself out of bed—they set off for the Square of Carvallo. It nestled in the heart of a district of Five Sails where most of the sundry crime lords and bosses lived, making it the safest, most tranquil part of town. Occasionally, someone young, foolish, drunk, or just new to the City of Five Sails—or rarely all of those—would make the very bad decision to cause trouble here. It was a very bad decision they never made twice, being dead and all.

Along the way, Soline pondered the note, and what it might mean. She thought as well about the man whose pouch had contained it, a dour Eisen, all oiled beard and mustache and inflated self-importance. He’d fancied himself a hard drinker, claiming you had to be, if you were Eisen, because of the monstrous Horrors that terrorized his homeland. Soline had interrupted his bragging to pronounce to the entire tavern that these Horrors, the things that supposedly crawled and loped and generally lurked through the gloomy Eisen nights, were vastly overblown.

They were just exaggerated tales of ordinary animals, wolves and bears and such, designed to make the dreary land seem more interesting than it really was.
The Eisen had taken exception to this, which led to a spirited debate, which led to drinking, which led to more drinking, then a drinking contest intended to settle the matter of who was right. Soline had quickly discerned that the Eisen sought to outdrink her by cheating. He tried to use sleight-of-hand trickery to shift drinks about, replacing wine with a cup of unfermented grape juice he’d clearly placed on the table earlier. It was an old trick, a grift intended to entice people into drinking too much, making them easy prey. Sanjay, a skilled prestidigitator in his own right, had taught it to her long ago.

She rarely needed to use it, though, and just relied on her natural constitution to ward off the worst of alcohol’s effects. So she happily drank a great deal of wine, then abruptly switched to beer. The Eisen was too far into the contest to say no. The foul Ussuran liquor sealed the deal, leaving her opponent sprawled on one of The Drowning Man’s rough wooden trestles. After ensuring that The Eisen had indeed passed out cold, Sanjay deftly swiped the man’s bejeweled dagger. Soline, in a fleeting moment of practicality, relieved The Eisen of his belt pouch.

Sometimes, she wondered if there was someone out there who could drink her under the table, what such a person would be like, and what she would do about it.

Maybe she’d kill them.

Or marry them.

Or, as was more likely, eventually do both.

Sanjay cut off her musings. “There is the tobacconist, just ahead.” He frowned and rubbed his stubbled chin. “Suppose the Eisen remembers his note, and has already got here?”

“Then we’ll say our farewells and leave.”

“What if he comes along later?”

“Then we’ll claim he just followed us.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Soline smiled. “It’s how I’ve made it to this time and place alive and in one piece, my friend.”

They entered the shop, slamming into a thick, rich wall of warm, earthy aroma. Apparently there were many types of tobacco, along with many other herbs that could be smoked, sniffed or chewed. Some of them were supposedly quite relaxing, and a few were said to even expand one’s consciousness. Soline, however, didn’t especially like deliberately breathing in the smoke of burning leaves, so she mostly abstained.

They waved off the shopkeeper, presumably Florian himself, and clumped upstairs. A different sort of reek tinged the air of the narrow, rickety staircase. It was acrid, with a bitter edge that made Soline’s nose twitch. She heard Sanjay, coming up behind her, cough.

She reached the door at the top. One hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, she knocked.

Thumps sounded within, then the clatter of the latch. The door cracked open, and a man’s face peered back.

“What?”

“Armand sent me.”

The face gave her a narrow-eyed stare, then vanished, and the door swung open. Soline entered, Sanjay once again behind her.

They both stopped, gazing around them in wonder.

Cracked, stained tables sported a maze of glassware—tubes, beakers, crucibles, and flasks. Flames guttered under a few. Viscous fluid dripped from an alembic into a bowl. Books and scrolls inscribed with arcane symbols lay scattered about. A thin, bluish haze fumed the air, making Soline’s nose tingle, and her eyes water.
The only other furnishings were a narrow bed under a small, dingy window, a wash-basin, and a few battered chests, one open to reveal shabby clothing. An old man sat on a stool, poring over yet another tome and scrawling notes in its margins. The man who’d opened the door, a younger fellow with a neat beard and eyes as unblinking as a snake’s, smiled an equally empty smile. Soline thought he might be from Vestenmannavnjar, or perhaps Avalon.

“So Armand sent you,” he said.

Soline smiled right back. “No. I just happened to make up that name, and stumbled to this place by chance.”

The old man turned, scowling. “Jennus, who are these people? What do they want? And why are you all making so much noise? Can’t you see that my studies have reached a critical juncture?”

The man named Jennus turned and offered a shallow bow. “My apologies, Master. They are friends of a mutual friend. We will enjoy our reunion elsewhere, so as to not disturb your important work.”

Jennus gestured for them to follow him. He led them back down the stairs, through Florian’s shop, and into the street. They all fell into an easy, methodical pace, just three acquaintances on unhurried business of their own.

“So Armand sent you,” Jennus said.

“Haven’t we established that yet?” Soline replied.

“Very well. Then you know what we want to do.”

“Armand was thin on detail, as he usually is. And I was drunk.”

Jennus gave another of his thin, taut smiles. “It is very simple. Master Fitzroy believes he has made a breakthrough in his studies, and can transmute lead into gold.”

Soline and Sanjay exchanged a glance. Soline turned back to Jennus.

“He believes he can.”

“Yes. He can’t, of course, because it can’t be done, it’s all utter nonsense.”

“So he’s—an imbecile?”

“No, he has seen results. He has, indeed, changed lead into gold.”

Soline shook her head. “Wait. He either did it, or he didn’t—”

“He didn’t. I used some trickery to make him think he succeeded. Now, he intends to provide a demonstration for a selected group of merchants and minor nobles, who will throw vast sums of money at him if it is successful.”

“Vast sums of money. I like the sound of that,” Sanjay said.
Soline lifted an eyebrow at Jennus. “Ah. So you are a grifter, who seeks to capitalize on an old man’s delusions.”

“Does that concern you?”

“Not at all. I just wonder what you need me to do, and how much you will pay me for it.”

A glimmer of a genuine smile touched the man’s face. “My sleight of hand skills are sufficient to deceive a half-blind old man. I’m afraid they won’t suffice in front of a crowd of skeptical onlookers. Armand assured me that he could provide such an individual. Was he wrong?”

Soline shrugged. “Yes, and no.”

Jennus slowed, frowning. “What do you mean, yes and no?”

“Yes, he was wrong, because my skills aren’t up to the task either. And no, because Sanjay here—” She clapped a hand on Sanjay’s shoulder. “—is more than capable. He could switch around your mustache and beard, and no one would be the wiser.

Isn’t that right, Sanjay?”

Sanjay sighed. “I have a feeling we’re going to find out.”

Jennus frowned at Sanjay’s less-than-enthusiastic response, but Soline slapped him across the back.

“Sanjay, you must stop this infernal false modesty of yours. I’ve told you, no one believes it, and it just makes you look arrogant!” She grinned at Jennus. Sanjay brightened.

“Oh, fine. Yes, this should be a trifling task for me. Just tell me what to do, and when to do it, and it will be done.”

Jennus stared a narrow-eyed moment longer, then nodded. They made arrangements for another meeting that evening to work out details, then Jennus turned back towards the alchemist’s shop.

“Are we actually going to split the take with that man?” Sanjay asked.
“What do you think, my friend?”

***

They spent the next day with Jennus, working out the details, and practicing the con in his rented room near the alchemist’s. The gist of it was that, under the cover of an eruption of smoke and stink from Fitzroy’s ‘great work’, a small ingot of lead would be switched with a similar one of gold. That was Sanjay’s job. Soline’s would be to spirit Fitzroy away immediately thereafter, to avoid any awkward questions and maintain the air of mystery. While Sanjay and Jennus scooped in the ‘investments’ that would follow, she would put old Fitzroy aboard a ship heading for Vestini, passage having already been arranged.

Soline liked it. Simple, straightforward, and potentially very lucrative, just like all of the best things in life.

That evening, while Sanjay continued to ingratiate himself with the alchemist, Soline met with Jennus in an out-of-the-way tavern. Ostensibly, they were there to finalize the details, but an apparently very drunk Soline foolishly challenged Jennus to a drinking contest, the winner taking a bigger share of the loot. Like the Eisen had the night before, Jennus tried to cheat. And, like Soline had the night before, she ensured it made no difference.

When Jennus had finally slumped over the trestle, a pair of roguish figures sitting at a corner table stood and moved to join them.

One of them, a pale man with long, dark hair, poked at Jennus’s shoulder. “This is him?”

Soline held up a finger and drained the last of her cup. Then she clunked it down, wiped her mouth, and nodded.

“No, Lorenzo, I am undertaking a multitude of drinking contests here tonight.”
Lorenzo’s companion, a swarthy woman with a wide-brimmed hat that hid much of her face, reached down and lifted one of Jennus’s eyelids. He didn’t react. “And you would like him to be elsewhere for at least two days?”

 

“Three would be even better, Maya, my sweet.”

“Elsewhere? As in, in the harbor?” Lorenzo asked.

Soline tapped a thoughtful finger on the table, then shook her head. “No, he’s a greedy and manipulative scoundrel, but if we started throwing the good citizens of this city into the harbor for that, there would be no room left for the ships.”

***

“I wonder what happened to the Eisen, the one who Armand actually sent?” Sanjay asked. He and Soline wended their way across the crowded Square of Carvallo, on their way to Fitzroy’s laboratory for the big event.

Soline shrugged. “He was very drunk. Perhaps he forgot about it.”

She imagined the poor man frantically trying to remember where he was supposed to go. Hopefully, he wouldn’t just return to Armand, or that Armand was far away, in Montaigne, or even Avalon. Of course, that assumed that Armand existed in the first place, and wasn’t just a code name.

“I must admit, I am still concerned about my part in this,” Sanjay said. “A single error, even a fraction of a second of timing gone wrong—”
Soline just clapped his shoulder. “You will do a fine job, Sanjay, as always. I know no one more deceitful than you.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for that, Soline—” He furrowed his brow and shot her a frown. “I think.”

They arrived at Florian’s, and made their way upstairs, to ensure the alchemist was ready to perform his ‘miraculous transmutation’. Shortly thereafter, the ‘investors’ began to arrive. They were a motley group, selected by Jennus for their wealth—which was a lot—and their brains—which were much, much less. Soline had a bad moment when she saw they included a foppish dandy in tacky brocade. She briefly thought it might be the popinjay whose wrist she’d broken, or one of his companions, and would that be—well, rather funny, actually, but in an unfortunate sort of way. But she decided she didn’t recognize him after all. More importantly, he showed no sign of recognizing her.

Soline closed the door and called for attention, introducing Fitzroy first, and then Sanjay.

Fitzroy peered at Sanjay. “Who’s this?”

“Why, Master Fitzroy, it’s your faithful apprentice Sanjay. You know that, of course,” Soline said, turning to the audience with a conspiratorial look that said, just indulge him, he’s brilliant, but addled.

Sanjay suddenly beamed brightly. “Of course the Master knows me! I have learned so much from him, an august scholar of the natural philosophies, and eagerly look forward to learning even more! He is master not only in title, but in truth!”

 

Fitzroy blinked at him, then nodded. “Oh. Yes—yes, of course. My apprentice.”

“And who’s she?” a portly merchant asked, jabbing a fat, ringed finger at Soline.
Sanjay swung his bright grin onto Soline. “Why, she is my lover. Such is the depth of her passion for me that she cannot bear to have me out of her sight, even briefly!”

Soline drove her gaze into Sanjay like flung daggers. “Yes. That’s it exactly. Even now, I’m thinking of the things I wish to do to my beloved.”

Sanjay blew her a kiss.

A hatchet-faced woman draped in a riot of colored silks spoke up. “And where is—Jennus, I believe he was named? The one who arranged all of this, claiming that he was Master Fitzroy’s apprentice?”

“I am afraid he’s tied up elsewhere,” Soline replied. “So, while he is off doing the Master’s business, I have agreed to help the Master and my—my lover, Sanjay, conduct this demonstration today.”

She turned to Fitzroy. “Anyway, these are all busy people, Master, so we shall not waste their precious time. These good men and women have come to see you perform your miraculous transmutation.”

Fitzroy stared blankly. “My—?” he began, frowning, but then brightened, and nodded again. “Yes, of course.” He turned to the people crammed into his stinky little apartment. “Of course. You see, I have discerned that the natural derivation of mercury, when distilled and collected while the Dragon Star is ascendant, and the Moon is new, will combine with the essential sulfur to—”

“Yes, yes, Master, this is all very interesting,” Soline said, taking Fitzroy by the elbow. “But you do not wish to give all your secrets away. And, in any case, these good people have come to see what you have accomplished. The how of it can come later.”

“Eh?”

Soline gently, but firmly turned Fitzroy to the worktable, where fluids bubbled away in glassware, wisping noxious vapor into the air. “Master, your transmutation. That is what they have come to see.”

“I—ah. Oh. Yes.”

Soline pointed at a small ingot of lead in a shallow pan, poised beneath the spout of an alembic. “The Master will cause this lead, this basest of all metals, to transmute into the purest gold.”

Skeptical mutters and whispers rippled through the gathering—and for good reason. Alchemists claiming to have changed lead into gold, or iron into silver, or any number of less valuable things into more valuable ones, were a guilder a dozen. And if it really did happen as often as claimed, why was Théah not awash in valueless gold and silver and electrum by now?

But Soline knew what thoughts passed through the minds of these gullible fools. What if? What if, this time, it were true? The money to be made would be beyond imagining. In other words, there was skepticism, critical thinking and good sense—and then there was greed. And guess which almost always won out?

Fitzroy began to putter with his apparatus, adding reagents to beakers, mixing them, decanting them into flasks, dripping in more reagents, all while consulting several battered and stained old books and scrolls and muttering under his breath. Soline just crossed her arms and waited, her jaw set. The reaction that would raise the billowing smokey stink was only moments away. Sanjay did an excellent job of looking attentive, and even appearing to offer assistance to the old alchemist.

They reached the critical moment. Fitzroy decanted a small amount of crimson fluid into a crucible bubbling away over a retort. Soline tensed, her hand near her sword in case it all went wrong—

A sputtering, greenish flame suddenly erupted from the crucible, raising a thick, dank fume. Brackish fluid oozed from the alembic’s spout, gooey droplets splatting onto the lead ingot and hissing furiously away. People, Soline among them, coughed and waved at the smoke. Slowly, it dispersed.

When it had cleared enough to see properly, they all peered at the ingot.
Sure enough, what had been dull and metallic grey now gleamed as brightly gold as sunlight sparkling on water.

A moment of stunned silence. Even Sanjay did a good job of looking wide-eyed, and deeply impressed. Then the room erupted into a clamor of voices, a sudden thrust of hands towards the gold ingot.

That was Soline’s cue. She pushed her way to Fitzroy, took him by the arm, and shepherded him away. “The Master needs fresh air, and time to recover from his exertions. I will take him into the street and for a short walk. Sanjay will see to your questions and—your other needs.”

As soon as Soline and the would-be alchemist exited the laboratory, Sanjay commenced prying money out of these hapless ‘investors.’ Leaving Sanjay to his grifting, Soline escorted Fitzroy to the waiting Vestini ship destined for Vodacce and far away from Five Sails. Jennus had already told the old man that a wealthy Count there wished to make him his Court Mage, a fact Fitzroy only remembered as Soline steered him to the docks. He’d also assured Soline that he had arranged for friends to take care of Fitzroy along the way. She wasn’t sure what take care of meant, exactly, but chose to assume the best.

Along the way, she had to listen to the old man prattle on about his alchemy, about how only certain derivations of phosphorous were crucial to imbuing the mercury with the first transmutative property, and so on, and so on. Soline just smiled and nodded, and said “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” over and over again, as she steadily herded him towards the docks.

***

Their timing had been perfect. Fitzroy had boarded the ship, a Voddace galleon, just as it was preparing to make way. His feet had barely touched the deck before the gang-plank was pulled up, and a pair of lighters crewed by beefy rowers warped the ship away from the quay. She watched as the galleon’s crew scrambled into the rigging, letting the canvas fly and catch the wind. The lighters cast off the tow-lines, sails flapped and billowed, and the ship hove over and began making her ponderous away south.

Soline, whistling, turned and started back. By now, Sanjay should have collected the initial ‘investments’ from the audience to the transmutation, and would be meeting her once again in the Square of Carvallo.

She wondered how much these ‘investments’ would amount to. A great deal, she hoped. But she shrugged, plucking an apple from the stall of an inattentive fruit vendor. Even if it wasn’t a great deal of money, all of it would be profit—and it had still been a most entertaining way to spend the day.

Chomping on the apple, she saw Sanjay at their agreed upon meeting place, pacing to and fro. As soon as he saw her, hurried towards her.

Soline swallowed. Something was wrong.

She cursed. Would they have to lay low? Perhaps even leave the city of Five Sails for a while? It wouldn’t be the first time, and left her pondering where to go if they needed to depart quickly. She knew a man in Soldano, the quartermaster of a mercenary company, who owed her money. She should be able to parlay that into a place to stay, a few meals—

“Soline!”

“Tell me, Sanjay,” she said. “What is it and, more to the point, how bad is it?”

“I—am not sure.”

She frowned. “You’re not sure? What do you mean?”

“What I mean is—I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“I couldn’t swap the ingots. The old man’s foot was in the way. And, like I said, if the timing was off, even an instant—” He shrugged. “Anyway, I couldn’t do it. I never switched the ingot.”

She sighed—

Wait.

“Um, Sanjay. If you didn’t do the switch—”

He nodded vigorously. “Right? And, yet, one instant, the ingot was lead, and the next it was gold.” He opened a pouch full of coins, most of them gold. “The investors were pleased, but—” He looked back at Soline. “Do you think that the old man made the switch somehow?”

“What do you think?”

“That he could barely stand upright. Years of exposure to those vile fumes of his have softened his brain.”

Soline’s frown deepened. “So then how—?”

They both stopped, their eyes going wide.

“We must catch up to that old man!” Sanjay said, turning towards the docks.

But Soline put her hand on his arm. “He is well out to sea now, Sanjay, on his way to Vestini.”

“But—fine. We just book passage to follow him!”

“Sanjay, do you really think he is going to survive the trip?”

“I—but—we—” Sanjay said, then stopped, just blinking dumbly.

Soline spent a moment of her own just staring.

Then she began to laugh.

Because it was either that, or cry.

by Nancy Sauer

Odette de Dubois d’Arrent surveyed the room with a quick sweep of her eyes. The parlor looked much the same as it did on her previous week’s visit: well-made but not ostentatious furniture, an embroidery frame with a newly-begun project in the corner, and books piled on nearly every table in the room. The exception was the table located near the window that looked out over the house’s inner courtyard, neatly laid with table service for two.

“I am so happy you could join me this afternoon,” her hostess said. “Our discussions are always so entertaining.”

Odette smiled at her. “Your emotions exactly mirror mine,” she said. “I was gratified to receive your invitation.” It was a complicated truth. Urraca de la Murrieta was a young woman of many interests and a charming way of speaking about them; Odette enjoyed the time she spent with her. Urraca was also the daughter of one of Five Sails’ wealthiest merchants, Guillen de la Murrieta, a man who Odette very much wanted to ingratiate herself with. He controlled a number of shipping contacts that would be very useful to her patron back in Montaigne.

“I have been reading the book you lent me!” Urraca said, moving towards the table. “Will Marie ever escape the castle? No, don’t tell me, I want to read it myself. And you say that there are more?”

“Several more,” Odette said. She seated herself at the table. “I think I will be getting another one when my mail from home next arrives here.” She casually waved at the goblets and plates set out before them. “I take it that your father will not be able to join us?”

Urraca wilted a little. “He will not. He says he has no desire to meet you.”
Odette didn’t know how to react to this. She accepted rebuffs as part and parcel of a courtier’s life, but rarely had she received such a blunt refusal. “I am sorry to learn that I have offended him so,” she finally said.

“Oh, it isn’t you personally,” Urraca said. “It’s because of the bandits.”

“Bandits?”

“Well, really a street gang. They are led by a man from Montaigne, it is said, and they are causing trouble at some of Father’s warehouses. He’s taken it into his head that all the Montaigne in the city are in league against him, and he won’t hear a word otherwise.”

“I am so sorry to hear about your father’s problems,” Odette said. “But let us speak of happier things. Tell me about your embroidery.”

* * *

 

When Odette finally left the house of de la Murrieta she found one of her musketeers, Jean Urbain, waiting for her at the gate. The other three musketeers had predictably wandered, across the street, joining the locals in drinking and gambling with dice.

“So how did your meeting with the rich merchant go?” Jean asked. “And did you hear any word about our elusive lady?

“Not a single word, though I am even more convinced that Urraca’s social connections will be of great help in the search. And I didn’t meet her father at all.” She quickly summarized the problem of the street gang.

“Most unfortunate,” Jean said.

“Indeed. I will need to find out more about this man, if he has any patrons or family that I could use to influence him.” Odette flinched a little. She would have to go to her patron’s other agents in Five Sails and ask for another round of favors. So far none of her plans had come to fruition, and she was running thin on goodwill.

Jean touched her arm slightly and smiled. “Powder your face,” he said. “I have seen you in darker times than this.”

Odette returned the smile. “I usually try to forget such things,” Odette said.. “But sometimes it is good to be reminded of them. Let us collect the others and go visit the merchants of knowledge.”

* * *

 

Odette had taken a suite for herself and her musketeers at the Hotel Precieux. It was located on the edge of one of the seedier districts of Five Sails, which made it both fairly cheap to rent and convenient for dealing with the city’s more unsavory inhabitants. It was thus perfect for her needs. Her office was furnished, like the rest of the suite, with furniture that had once been of high quality but had begun the gradual slide into shabbiness. The large, ornately carved desk contrasted with the rest of the furnishings. A map of the city and random piles of documents obscured much of the desk’s rosewood surface. While her musketeers amused themselves, Odette read through her many reports.

 

“He isn’t even from Montaigne!” Odette suddenly burst out. All around the room the others stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Henri Michelet had been practicing a new song on his lute, Jean was reading a philosophy tract, Leontine Giroux and Bastian Girard were playing cards. Leontine was in the process of raising a cup of wine to her mouth.

“His loss,” Henri said.

“He’s not?” Jean said.

“Wasn’t the merchant supposed to be Castilian?” Bastian said.

“Who are we talking about?” Leontine said, and finished drinking her wine.

“The criminal troubling de la Murrieta,” Odette said, laying the report down on the desk and spreading her hands flat on it. She knew she shouldn’t let her frustration get the better of her, but it remained an ongoing struggle. “He isn’t from Montaigne, he is a member of the Red Hand gang from the Vodacce district. He’s been nicknamed The Montaigne because of his hat!”

“Unfortunate for us,” Henri said, “but a sign of good taste for him.”

Odette ignored the observation. “He seems to be trying to raise his stature in the Red Hand by making raids in the Castilian district. If he can succeed in gaining a foothold there, the gang will become even more influential in the city and he will become more powerful within the gang.”

“What is his real name?” Leontine said.

“Here’s a list,” Odette said, “you can take your pick. He uses a different one in the gambling houses of each district, and he owes money to all of them.”

“If he owes many people money, then he could be bribed,” Jean said.

“That will work until he gambles it all away again,” Bastian said. “Then he will be back at work troubling honest merchants. Or somewhat honest merchants, as we are in Five Sails.”

“And I could not get enough money to pay off all—“ Odette paused, a distant look on her face. Her musketeers were silent: they knew what that look meant.

“It’s somewhat risky,” Odette finally said, “but manageable, and failure will harm us little.” She reached for her writing kit. “Bastian, I need you to find me a professional rumormonger and an actor who can present himself as a Castilian gentleman. Henri, I need you and Jean to go to our patron’s moneyholder to obtain some funds.”

“How much?” Henri said.

“As much as you can. Be persuasive. Leontine, I need you to take a note to Urraca. We need to know if there is a pattern to The Montaigne’s attacks on her father’s warehouses.”

“We are musketeers, not errand runners,” Jean said.

“Never fear, my friend,” Odette said. She wrote a note in a swift, decisive hand. “You will be showing your worth very soon now.”

* * *

The moon had risen just high enough to be seen over the roofline of the buildings around them. Jean could hear the murmur of the nearby sea and the soft tapping of shoe upon cobblestone as one of his fellow musketeers moved, shifting their weight from one foot to another. Two nights ago, rumor had it that The Montaigne had lost heavily at gambling. Tonight, Odette gambled on him keeping to his usual routine after a loss.

A crowd of about a dozen people came up the street, led by a man in a Montaigne hat.

“They are very reliable criminals,” Bastian said.

“The biggest one is mine,” Leontine said.

“That is a fine hat,” Henri said.

“It’s time,” Jean said, and he strode out of the shadows of the de la Murrieta warehouse. The others followed him. When he reached the center of the street he stopped and held up his hand. “No further, good folk,” Jean said in a loud, friendly voice. “You should turn around and go home.”

The gang’s leader stopped, giving a signal to his followers. “And why should we do that?”

“I have heard that there are criminals moving through this area, and I would hate for you to fall afoul of them.”

“Very amusing.” The man known as The Montaigne drew his rapier, a blade with an ornate basketweave hilt-guard but no other ornamentation. “I have business at that warehouse, but it doesn’t require me to kill you. Leave now and I’ll cause you no trouble.”

“If you have business at this warehouse then your business is with us.” Jean’s tone remained friendly, even as he drew his own rapier.

“The four of you against all of us? They say a dog’s bark is louder than his bite.”

“Well, that is true,” Jean admitted. He tilted his head slightly in Henri’s direction. “But our bark is very, very loud.” Henri smoothly raised his musket out of the shadows of his cloak and brought it into firing position.

The crowd was still and silent for a moment, and then a number of them started to edge back down the street. “Stand your ground!” their leader shouted. “They can try to shoot me if they like; I’m not afraid of them.” Henri adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger. A booming roar tore through the night, followed by a man on the edge of the crowd screaming as he collapsed.

“Ready your steel!” Leontine cried as she sprinted towards the tallest of their opponents. Jean and Bastian followed close behind. Henri took the time to carefully resling his musket and then he, too, charged into the fray.

The fight soon organized itself into several knots of activity. Several of the gang members were trying to help the man who had been shot. Leontine busied herself with a man half a foot taller than her and twice as wide. She locked his sword up with her blade catcher and then used her rapier to make several quick slashes to his arm and chest. Her opponent shouted something that was probably Vodacce, and likelier obscene, as he tried to free his blade. Leontine let it go before he could pull the blade catcher out of her hand, and then sprang in to continue her attack.

Jean duelled with The Montaigne, turning aside his opponent’s blows and making quick replies that threatened but never actually landed.

“Coward! Are you going to do anything else but dance with me?”

“I’m waiting for you to do something interesting,” Jean replied. His words had their intended effect, goading The Montaigne into a series of attacks that Jean easily parried. “Surely you can do better than that.”

Henri had intercepted a woman with a heavy saber moving in to come to her leader’s aid. They circled around each other warily, blades flashing in the moonlight, and the musketeer quickly realized that at some point in the past she had been given formal lessons in swordplay. That made her potentially dangerous, as someone half-trained with a sword could be wildly unpredictable. He grinned and brought his blade up for an attack. Tonight would be more entertaining than he thought it would be.

Bastian was engaged with two opponents who threatened him from opposite sides. The one on the left slashed boldly, but ineptly, at the musketeer, who parried the swing and then continued in to deliver a deep cut to the man’s arm. The one on the right tried to move in for a blow, but Bastian snarled her blade with a flourish of his cloak, quickly pivoting around her to kick her in the back of the knee. She crashed forward, entangling her comrade and pulling him down as well. Without a pause Bastian drew a pistol out and shot at a man who was sneaking up behind Henri. He missed, but the noise had an immediate effect.

“He has a pistol,” yelled one of those lurking in the back of the crowd.

“I have more than one,” Bastian said, and flung back his cape to reveal the other resting in its holster. There was a burst of shouting from different people, and then the men tending the fallen bandit picked him up and started running away. Then the remainder of the gang turned and fled, with their leader following and cursing at them.

Stillness and silence reigned for a few moments, and then Odette emerged from the shadows. “Well done, musketeers.” She spoke loudly, to make sure she could be overheard. “Let us go to the Gilded Darkness to celebrate our victory.”

 

* * *

 

The Gilded Darkness was one of the more popular coffeehouses in Five Sails. Odette had chosen it after careful calculation: elegant enough to discourage open violence, but with a slight underlying disrepute that should make The Montaigne comfortable enough to show up in person. She sipped her coffee and waited. Leontine was at the next table, drinking a much larger cup of coffee and making her way through a plate of pastries. Bastian, Jean, and Henri had taken seats in different parts of the coffeehouse where they could keep an eye on Odette and in turn be not easily spotted by anyone entering the premises.

“He’s here,” Odette said in a voice just loud enough for Leontine to hear.

The musketeer glanced up for a moment and then returned to studying the pastries in front of her. “Powder and flint, he’s wearing some kind of armor under that tunic,” Leontine said quietly. “I owe Bastian a guilder.”

The Montaigne strode directly to Odette’s table and glared down at her. “You have made yourself an enemy tonight.”

Odette raised an eyebrow, looking slightly puzzled. “Shouldn’t you be busy arranging a way to get out of Five Sails? The city must be very dangerous for you now.”

He stopped in mid-word and looked at her intently. “What do you mean by that?”

The courtier shrugged slightly. “Tonight a Castilian was at Madame Grimaldi’s Fortuna Felix, paying off your debts to the house and setting you up with some extra funds. And tomorrow morning it will be all over the dock areas that you had been bribed to set up the Red Hand for an embarrassing defeat.”

“None of my brothers and sisters in the Red Hand will believe that,” he said.

“Oh?” Odette picked up her coffee cup. “Many were hurt in tonight’s fight, but you aren’t even scratched.” She drank her coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup. His face flushed red from anger and for a moment she feared that he would attack her. She wasn’t afraid for her safety, not with several of her musketeers within arm’s reach, but a fight in here would have consequences she didn’t want to deal with.

Slowly his color edged back to normal. “You think you are safe,” he finally said. “Because you have your hired swords here with you.” He glanced over at Leontine, who didn’t bother to look up from her food.

“I think I am safe,” Odette said mildly, “because you have much more dangerous enemies in this city tonight.”

“I’m not sure that is true,” he said. He swept off his hat and gave her a deep bow. “Until we meet again, poisonous lady.” Before Odette could think of a reply he turned on his heel and started walking towards the door.

“He’s smarter than most,” Leontine said. “He will be trouble for us.”

“Only if he lives,” Odette said, dismissing him from her mind. Tomorrow she would send a delicately worded note to Urraca, letting her know that the problem had been taken care of. Then she could arrange a meeting with Guillen de la Murrieta and advance her own plans. She smiled to herself as she savored the last of her coffee.