certain degree of time and effort trying to understand them a little better. He'd ground a few insights out of them before having them killed, which he'd had to do because they were raiding his territory and harming his people. Now, here they were again. He had no idea what they wanted. He yawned.
Someone knocked at the door, and he groaned. He had the option, of course, of simply not being there. Let them knock until their knuckles started to ache, and then they'd go away again.
'Come in,' he said.
As it turned out, it was only Macer, with some letters for him to sign. He nodded, and Macer put them down in front of him. The tradition was that letters needing a signature came in on a half-inch-thick sheet of glass; something flat to rest on in an uncertain world. 'Do I need to read any of these?' he asked.
Macer shook his head. 'Requisitions, mostly,' he said. 'And you're authorizing payments to a couple of merchants-hay, oats, stuff for the carthorses-and there's a warrant for some character called Jarnac Ducas.'
'Oh, him.' Valens nodded. 'Wasn't life so much simpler when the Eremians were our enemies? You'd think that now there're so many fewer of them, they'd be less of a nuisance. Other way about, apparently.' He signed a letter and Macer took it from him for sanding and blotting. 'While I think of it,' he went on, 'the Mezentine, Ziani Vaatzes. I want you to go and see him, directly after dinner.'
'Right,' Macer said. 'What about?'
Suddenly, Valens grinned. 'Good question,' he replied. 'You're either going to make sure he gets anything he wants in the whole wide world, or you're going to have him arrested. Maybe both, and in no particular order, I haven't decided yet.' He noticed Macer noticing the used wine glass; that obvious, then. He pulled himself together a little. 'Vaatzes will hand you a list,' he said. 'All sorts of expensive things we haven't got; most of them you won't even have heard of, probably. Find out what they are, where you get them from and how much they cost. Then see me. If Vaatzes tells you to do anything for him, tell him yes, you'll see to it right away, then report back to me. Also, I want details of everywhere he goes and everyone he talks to.'
'Understood,' Macer said. 'Actually, I've been doing that for the last couple of weeks. I've got a list right here, if it's of any use to you.'
'Really?' Valens frowned. 'Well done. All right, let's see it.'
Macer never went anywhere without a battered pigskin folder stuffed with tatty scraps of paper. He opened it, leafed through, took out a scruffy little corner of four-times-erased parchment. Macer's family had been government clerks for six generations.
'Thanks,' Valens said, as he glanced at the list. 'Who the hell is Henida Eiconodoulus?'
'Merchant Adventurer,' Macer replied immediately. 'Big woman, wears a red dress. Used to be in the salt business. There's nothing against her.'
Valens shrugged. 'Maybe he just likes big women,' he replied. 'This is quite a list. Macer, you annoying bastard, why do you have to write everything so bloody small?'
'Saves on paper.'
'Of course.' Valens squinted. 'Let me guess,' he said. 'Milo Calceus and Naeus Faber are blacksmiths, right?'
'He's been to see all the blacksmiths in the city,' Macer replied. 'Most of them before I started making the list.'
'Figures. Hello.' Valens' frown deepened. 'Some familiar names here.'
'Quite. And before you ask, he met with them outside the castle, on their own time. Of course, he could just have been finding out about protocol and etiquette and so forth; which knife to use for which course, and who you're supposed to stand up for when they walk into a room.'
'That's possible, certainly.' Valens stopped. 'This one here,' he said. 'You sure?'
'Yes,' Macer said, his tone of voice perfectly neutral. 'Actually, that's why I started keeping the list.'
Valens put the paper down. 'It says here he's met her several times.'
'That's right. First time was in the street, about six weeks ago; he walked with her across town, apparently showing her the way to a draper's shop. After that, twice in the castle, the other time in the park.'
'You thought I ought to know about that?'
'Yes.'
Valens sighed. 'Macer,' he said, 'you're a clever man. Also very brave.'
'Do you want me to pour you another drink?'
'Actually, that's the last thing I want. Does Orsea know?'
'I don't think so, no.'
'Try and see to it that it stays that way.' He scowled. 'Is there anything in it?'
'My opinion?' Macer shook his head. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'I think she's bored and he's an interesting man. She seems to like the company of interesting people.'
Valens looked at him in silence for a long time. 'I think that's everything for now,' he said.
6
Ziani had, of course, lied to the Duke. He'd written out the list of things and people he needed a long time ago; just after he'd first met the salt-dealer's widow, in fact. The four closely written sides of charter paper curled into a roll and hidden in the sleeve of the gown hanging up behind his bedroom door was in fact the third revision of that particular document. Accordingly, he was in no particular hurry as he left the Duke's tower. He walked slowly down the stairs into the east cloister, and sat down on a bench opposite the arch that led to the mews. After a minute or so, he stood up again and retraced his steps as far as the rather splendid marble memorial to Valentius IV, Valens' great-grandfather. Needless to say, the seventeenth duke was commemorated with a fine equestrian statue, about two-thirds lifesize, showing him in the act of leveling his spear against an enormous boar. Ziani knelt down beside the boar's flank and coughed politely.
'Breathing,' he said.
Slowly, a man uncoiled himself from the small nook between the boar and the horse's legs.
'I could hear you from right over there,' Ziani explained. 'Worse than my uncle Ziepe's snoring.'
The man stood up straight and scowled at him. 'Right,' he said. 'I'll know better next time.'
Ziani shook his head. 'There won't be a next time,' he said.
'Because if I see you skulking about after me again, I'll assume you're an assassin hired by the Republic to kill me. I'll feel really bad when I find out you were actually one of the Duke's men, but that won't help you very much. Or I may never find out,' he added with a mild grin. 'I don't suppose the Duke'll be in any hurry to admit he set one of his men to spy on a guest under his roof.'
The man took a step back, but the marble flank of Valentius' horse was blocking his retreat. 'Just doing my job,' he said.
'Of course.' Ziani nodded. 'You carry on. Just stay in plain sight, where I can see you. Understood?'
'Understood.' The man looked at him, then turned his head away. 'No problem,' he said.
'Splendid.' Ziani smiled. 'Now,' he went on, 'I'm just going to sit here peacefully for a while. I promise I won't wander off or do anything treasonable. And since I'll be staying put for a bit, it seems to me you might well want to take this opportunity to get something to eat or take a leak. Come back in half an hour and I'll know it's you, not a Mezentine spy.'
The man hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked quickly away. Ziani watched him leave the cloister by the west door, then marched briskly to the arch that led to the mews. Instead of carrying on as far as the mews green, however, he turned right down the tiny snicket that led to the steps that came out on top of the inner keep wall. His luck was in: no sentry, so he was able to slip into the guardhouse and use its staircase to come out in the far corner of the middle keep yard, next to the back door of the kennels. For a man with a generally poor sense of direction, he told himself, he'd got the geography of the place pretty well fixed in his mind.
From the middle keep to the guest wing, where his room was, piece of cake. He ran up the last staircase two steps at a time, wondering how long it would take his shadow to figure out where he'd gone and resume his miserable task. He was, therefore, more than a little disconcerted when he opened his bedroom door and found someone sitting in the chair in front of the fireplace.
