Wicked Bronze Ambition

114

Shadowslinger, Barate, and accomplices employed intimidation, negotiation, and more intimidation to evade custody. It helped that the Crown Prince was a friend and big fan of Furious Tide of Light, complicity in whose murder by an Orthodox magister had provoked the Chattaree invasion. A witness statement from one Niea Syx tilted the balance-once Shadowslinger agreed to underwrite repairs.

That promise was likely worth the paper on which it wasn’t written. It would happen only if Constance found Meyness Stornes’s stolen money.

Mikon said a stash existed. He didn’t know how much. Meyness had thrown money away lately, arguing that there was no point having a fortune he was too dead to spend.

Shadowslinger eyed my crew and its featured captive. I observed, “You’re looking remarkably hale after your debility and extended day.”

She grunted, then glared at Stornes-sparing just enough attention to make sure that nobody with a grievance did anything premature.

The possibility of treasure had softened vengeful attitudes, though.

The Church’s money had been filtering through Magister Bezma’s sticky fingers for a long time.

Singe gave me a dirty look, knowing that I was thinking treasure, too. She figured I was well off enough already. I owned a house on the Hill.

She willfully ignores the fact that I have a house full of females, some getting fashion conscious and all too damned — liberal with my funds. How could it hurt to put together a pile too big for them to spend?

Oddly, no one objected to Singe’s presence.

Bashir came in to announce, “The Lady Orchidia Hedley-Farfoul has asked to join the conversation.”

Bash was holding up well for a man who had lost his wife-so thought a widower who had spent several days willfully and with malice aforethought holding up well himself. I knew what was going on inside Bash’s head. The truth shone through when he eyed Meyness Stornes.

Stornes was oblivious. He had vested himself in a false conviction that the Breaker friends of his youth would make allowances.

Idiot. He could really think that way while surrounded by people whose family members would be celebrating All-Souls from the shady side because of the wicked ambition of Meyness B. Stornes?

He appeared to lose volume and mass when Shadowslinger chirped, “Bring her in, Bashir. It would be unfriendly and impolitic to deny Orchidia a part in the process. She lost more than any of us.” She laid a ferocious scowl on Kevans, who took the hint to remain silent. The girl could be intimidated by her grandmother.

Shadowslinger asked, “Richt? You want to say something about your niece?”

“Only that I suggest you be careful what you wish for.”

He and Constance glanced at me. For no obvious reason most everyone moved a step this way or that, as though some silent, unconscious realignment had begun.

Bashir said, “Very well, madame.” He offered Constance a shallow bow, then moved a step toward me. He murmured, “I have seen the dogs fed and bedded down, sir.”

“Why, thank you.” Somewhat surprised.

Out he went.

In came the Black Orchid, slightly more than a minute later.