Part 6 (1/2)

”Surely, Mr. Rafferdy, your time in Asterlane cannot have been entirely unremarkable,” Mrs. Baydon said. ”Did you not have the pleasure of making a new acquaintance while you were there?”

Rafferdy gave her a sharp look. ”As a matter of fact, I did. Lord Everaud was visiting at Asterlane, and I made the acquaintance of his eldest daughter. But I wonder how you should know such a fact.”

”I am not without my abilities,” Mrs. Baydon said.

”Gossiping with other young women being chief among them,” Mr. Baydon added, lowering the paper. ”You should be warned, Rafferdy, that Mrs. Baydon and Miss Everaud have recently become fast friends and will no doubt do everything they can to entrap you in some scheme of their concoction, as two silly young women acting in concert must always try to do.”

”She is very beautiful, isn't she?” Mrs. Baydon said brightly.

Rafferdy only smiled. He suspected he had better heed Mr. Baydon's warning and proceed with care. Men far more clever than he had been caught in snares laid by women far less clever than Mrs. Baydon. Propriety might prevent women from visiting the theaters of Durrow Street, but like so many charming young ladies, Mrs. Baydon still found a way to craft her own small spells of illusion.

”Indeed, Miss Everaud is very pretty,” Rafferdy said, though he could not remember what she looked like or anything she had done or said while he was there. However, he thought she must have been pretty. If she had been otherwise, he surely would have remembered that.

”What was your favorite thing about meeting her?”

”It would be quite impossible for me to choose,” Rafferdy said. Fortunately, his answer seemed to satisfy Mrs. Baydon, and she sipped her coffee with a pleased expression.

Rafferdy mused awhile over his own cup. This conversation had done much to cast a new light on his visit to Asterlane. It wasn't just for the purpose of admonis.h.i.+ng him to behave more responsibly that his father had summoned him home-or to give him the news about his plans for the estate at Asterlane. No, Lord Rafferdy had had other intentions in mind. Nor could Miss Everaud's presence there be ascribed to chance. A snare had been laid for him indeed, only its purpose was not to clamp an iron band around his foot but rather a gold band about his finger.

Rafferdy took his leave of the Baydons, then returned to his house near Warwent Square. This was a neighborhood nestled between the New Quarter and the Old City. It was neither so splendid as one nor so shabby as the other, and given its convenient proximity to the houses of the wealthy as well as houses of drinking and gambling, it was the favored choice of many young gentlemen.

Lord Rafferdy did own a house in the city, not far from Lady Marsdel's abode, but he was seldom in Invarel, due to his infirmity. Rafferdy might have dwelled there, but Warwent Square suited him better, and on this one matter he and his father agreed. The house in the New Quarter was much more expensive to operate, requiring a staff of at least eight. In contrast, at his current residence Rafferdy kept but a single man to serve and dress him, and he took every opportunity to remind his father how much money he was saving the family by choosing to dwell at Warwent Square.

H E SPENT THE rest of the morning in the parlor, responding to the heap of letters that had grown on the table. There were invitations to dinners and parties and dances, and he took much care in choosing which he would turn down (very many) and which he would accept (very few).

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Rafferdy was ready to venture out, having spent an hour choosing what to wear and another making himself presentable. He paused to write a note to Eldyn Garritt, telling him to be at the Sword and Leaf after sunset, then he was out the door.

He told his driver to bring the cabriolet and put down the calash top, for there was no threat of rain. It was now midday, and according to the driver (who, unlike Rafferdy, was no stranger to an almanac), the sun would not set on the long lumenal for another thirteen hours. Thus there was time for all sorts of amusing pursuits, followed by a rest, so that Rafferdy could wake as the day ended and be refreshed for the night's various activities.

He began by taking a dinner at his club, where he lingered for a time in a comfortable chair, enjoying a pinch of tobacco and pretending to read a copy of The Comet. On the front page was a particularly captivating image of Princess Sahafina. The daughter of a wealthy Murghese prince, she had recently made a journey to Invarel and while there had captured the fancy of the city with her beauty and exotic customs.

The image of the princess was not a typical ill.u.s.tration but rather an impression. From what Rafferdy understood, there were some illusionists who could hold an engraving plate in their hands and concentrate upon it, working an enchantment so that what they imagined in their minds appeared on the plate, rendered with an accuracy that caused the subject to appear clearer than in the most skillful painting.

Once he tired of the club, he instructed his driver to take him to Marmount Street, where the finest clothiers resided. By the time he returned to his carriage, the sun was well on its descent toward the towers of the Citadel, and he had been fitted for two pairs of trousers, a coat, and several s.h.i.+rts.

A pleasant weariness had settled over him, and he decided a cup of chocolate was in order. The best chocolate houses in the city were in Covenant Cross. However, just as he leaned forward to tell the driver to go in that direction, his attention was caught by a figure in black walking with long strides along Marmount Street.

The man cast a glance over his shoulder, and a jolt of surprise coursed through Rafferdy. A moment later the other vanished into the dimness of a side lane. Surprise gave way to curiosity, and Rafferdy found himself wondering what sort of place a man such as Mr. Bennick might frequent.

A compulsion to discover what Mr. Bennick was doing seized Rafferdy. Why he wanted to know he couldn't say, except that it seemed a diverting entertainment, and of all the people he had ever met at Lady Marsdel's, Mr. Bennick was the only one he had found intriguing.

Mr. Bennick had vanished from sight. The lane was too narrow for the cabriolet to follow, but Rafferdy knew that it led toward Coronet Street, and so he directed the driver to take him around the block.

Sure enough, as the cabriolet turned the corner onto Coronet Street, Rafferdy glimpsed a tall form in black. However, he had no sooner caught sight of Mr. Bennick than the other man crossed the busy thoroughfare and, with another look over his shoulder, started down a stair. Rafferdy was not certain where the stair led, so he asked the driver, who said if he remembered right it let out on the edge of Greenly Circle.

That was ill news. Greenly Circle was in a part of the Old City where several streets came together. From there Mr. Bennick might proceed almost anywhere. Finding himself well amused by the thrill of the chase, he ordered the driver to proceed to Greenly Circle by the most direct route.

This proved a difficult feat, for the New Quarter was situated upon a heights, and the driver was forced to descend to the Old City, then navigate a labyrinth of twisting ways before at last proceeding along King's Street and down into Greenly Circle.

At once noise and odor overwhelmed Rafferdy. The booths of flower sellers and butchers and fishmongers crowded against one another in the shadow of the Citadel as tradesmen, servants, goodwives, and boys hawking broadsheets jostled between. On the steps of a fountain, a pair of mummers juggled torches, sometimes pausing to lay the flaming ends against their tongues while the crowd gasped as if the two were Siltheri illusionists rather than common street players, their rough faces smeared with greasepaint, their callused hands blackened beyond feeling.

Rafferdy had the driver make a circuit three times, and each time it took ten minutes for the vehicle to maneuver through the crowd. At last Rafferdy was forced to admit defeat at his little game; he had seen no sign of Mr. Bennick. With both his curiosity and craving for chocolate gone, he instructed the driver to turn toward home.

This was easier said than done, as a cart carrying apples had turned over and spilled its contents, and the result was a crowd of children, women, men, and horses all vying for the fruit. After much cracking of his whip, the driver was able to guide the cabriolet into a side street where it only just fit.

In contrast to the raucous circle, the lane was all but deserted. Only a murky light filtered down between buildings that leaned overhead. As the carriage started down the lane, a door opened ahead, and a man stepped out.

He was tall and wore black.

Before Rafferdy could even think to call out, the man pulled his hat low, then started up a stair between two buildings and was lost to sight. Once again he had gone a way where a carriage could not pa.s.s. Nor would there be any tracking him in the maze of the Old City. Rafferdy had found him only to lose him for good; there was no way to know where he had been going.

Except Rafferdy did know. For this had to be the place that Mr. Bennick had come. Why else had he gone into that building? A sign hung over the door. Rafferdy couldn't read it in the dim light, but there was a picture painted on it in faded silver: a single eye that stared through the gloom. Directing the driver to wait, he left the cabriolet and approached the door. It looked to be some sort of shop, though what manner of goods it sold he couldn't say; the objects beyond the grimy window were impossible to make out. Having come this far, he opened the door and entered.

At once he reconsidered this action. A musty odor perfused the air, calling to mind a library gone to mold. Indeed, the shelves all around were crammed with books, and more books were stacked on tables and heaped on the floor. Few looked to have been printed in Rafferdy's lifetime, given their cracked leather covers and the tarnished gilt on their spines. Other objects were scattered among the books: polished stones, bra.s.s candlestick holders, copper braziers, gla.s.s vials, and jars in which various objects floated-shapes unfathomable in the dirty light that seeped through the windows.

In all, the shop was in such a disheveled state that Rafferdy wondered why anyone would set foot in it, let alone a gentleman like Mr. Bennick. Hoping to learn something of his quarry, Rafferdy picked up a book.

”That one is not for beginners, you know. Do not blame me when you lose a finger. Or an entire hand, more the likely. The fellow I acquired it from had one made of silver. It was rather handsome, I grant you, but somewhat less useful than the appendage it replaced.”

Rafferdy dropped the book. He turned toward the sound of the voice and saw a little man waddle from behind a counter piled so high with flotsam and jetsam it had rendered him invisible.

”You've come for a ring, I suppose,” the man said. His voice had a wet, croaking quality to it, as if his throat was perpetually in need of clearing. ”Well, the term has begun, so I haven't as many as I did last month. Every young gentleman seems to want one these days. It's the fas.h.i.+on, or so I've been told. The fas.h.i.+on! As if power were a fancy coat like the one you're wearing-a thing you might don for a party and take off again when you were done. But I suppose you're no different, so come here, and we'll see what I have that fits. And do not think it will be cheap.”

Rafferdy hesitated, then edged his way between the various tables to the counter, where the little man had opened a drawer. He was roundish, with pale skin, bulbous eyes, and limp hair combed tight against his skull. In all, he made Rafferdy think of some preternaturally large toad.

”Actually,” Rafferdy said, ”I was wondering if I might ask you a question about...about someone.”

”These aren't easy to come by, you know,” the shopkeeper said, rummaging through the drawer, which contained a collection of ornate rings. ”They appear on the market only rarely, and there are precious few left who can make them.” He picked one up-a thick silver ring with a lurid green gem-peered at it for a moment, then gave Rafferdy a speculative look. ”So which House are you?”

”Pardon me?” Rafferdy said.

The man scowled behind dusty spectacles. ”You'll not get far in your research if you're really that dull. Which of the seven Old Houses are you a scion of?”

At last, things became clear to Rafferdy.

”I'm quite sure I'm not a scion of any of them,” he said with a laugh. ”Magick is far from an affectation of mine. I am comfortable in my certainty that I cannot claim descent from any of the Old Houses.”

”I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. A gentleman has a better chance than anyone of being able to trace a line back to one of the seven. Of course, not every son who gets his father's name gets his father's blood. And there are chimney sweeps and lamplighters who are the spitting images of portraits hanging in grand manors. But you...” He peered at Rafferdy over the rims of his spectacles. ”You have a likely look about you. Here, try this one.”

He handed Rafferdy the ring with the green gem. It was heavier than Rafferdy would have thought, and cold. He had no intention of purchasing such an ugly piece of jewelry, but it seemed that trying it on was the quickest way to be done with this exercise and get on to making his inquiry. The ring was overlarge, so he put it on his right middle finger.

Or tried to, that is. The ring had not reached the first knuckle of his finger when he felt a curious resistance. It was more than large enough to accommodate his finger, but even with great force Rafferdy could not manage to push it down.

”So not Baltharel, then,” the little man said with a sniff. ”Well, that's no surprise. There are few left who are descended of that House, though it was once one of the greatest.” He took the ring back and handed Rafferdy another.

This one was of gold and bore a row of seven red stones, as well as elaborate designs and tiny symbols carved outside and inside the band. It was thick and heavy like the other ring, and even gaudier. This time Rafferdy attempted to place it on the fourth finger of his right hand. Just as before, he could not get the ring past the first knuckle no matter how hard he pushed, even though it was more than large enough.