Benoit’s rooms were on this level, as well. On the upper floor were a sitting room, two bedrooms, and two dressing rooms for Rodrigo and Stephano, a library, and study.
“We’ll stay here in the kitchen,” said Miri. She and Gythe and Dag remained seated. “I don’t mind being mistaken for the cook.”
Stephano flushed. “You know it’s not that-”
“I know,” said Miri, smiling.
She meant that she and Gythe and Dag weren’t “hiding” in the kitchen because Stephano was ashamed of his “low-born” friends. The three kept out of sight because the Cadre of the Lost often found it advantageous for people to assume there could be no connection between the son of a noble family (albeit a noble family in disgrace), the son of an ambassador, and a mercenary and two Trundlers.
Dag reached into the sleeve of his coat and drew from a hidden pocket a small pistol known as a “stowaway gun.” The cheaper models of these guns relied on a flint to strike a spark to fire the weapon. Dag’s pistol used magical constructs-a fire sigil carved into the metal-to accomplish the same purpose. Such pistols were expensive because they required the regular services of a crafter to maintain the magic, but Stephano saw to it that his people had only the best. Dag inspected the gun, made certain it was loaded. He nodded at Stephano to indicate readiness.
The cat, Doctor Ellington, seeing the pistol, leaped off Dag’s shoulder onto the table and from the table to the floor. Tail bristling with indignation, the Doctor stalked off to the cold room. He disliked loud noises.
“Move! Move!” Rodrigo yelled, grabbing his coat and hustling the reluctant Stephano from behind.
Once in the sitting room, Rodrigo put on his coat and smoothed his brocade vest. Careless of his own appearance, Stephano walked over to the window that looked down into the street. He saw the coat of arms on the door of the carriage and said, “Son of a bitch.”
Crossing the room, he flung open the door, and shouted down, “I’m not at home!”
“Very good, sir,” said Benoit.
Rodrigo looked out the window and quirked an eyebrow. He remained standing by the window, a smile on his lips, humming a dance tune.
Stephano walked over to the fireplace, where a small fire burned in the grate. Though the days were warm in late spring, the evenings were still chill. He listened to the sound of voices and heard the door bang shut. He smiled in relief and was on his way out the door to rejoin his friends when Benoit came in.
“May I present Monsieur Dargent,” Benoit said in a loud voice. “Confidential valet-de-chambre to the Countess de Marjolaine.”
Stephano’s face flushed in anger. “Damn it, Benoit, I told you I wasn’t home-”
Benoit, who had now gone conveniently deaf in addition to his other infirmities, stepped aside to allow the gentleman to enter.
“Thank you, Benoit,” said Dargent, smiling at the elderly retainer. “Good to see you again.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” said Benoit, bowing. “Always a pleasure.” Stephano caught the flash of silver in the old man’s hand.
“Traitor!” Stephano yelled after him as Benoit descended the stairs.
“Perhaps next time, Master, you will answer the door yourself,” Benoit returned, pocketing the coin.
Stephano, pointedly leaving the sitting room door open, turned back to glare at Dargent, who smiled at him pleasantly.
“Stephano, you are looking well,” said Dargent. “And you, Master Rodrigo. You seem fit. How are your father and mother?”
“In good health, monsieur, thank you,” said Rodrigo.
“Your father is ambassador to Estara now, I believe,” said Dargent.
Rodrigo bowed. “He was so fortunate to be called out of exile and given that assignment.”
“The king’s way of making amends,” said Dargent.
Rodrigo bowed again in acknowledgment. “His Majesty is the soul of generosity.”
Stephano snorted and went to stand by the fireplace. He rested his arm on the mantel and stared moodily into the flames.
“I’d invite you to sit down, Dargent, but you won’t be staying that long. What do you want?”
“I have a letter from the countess, Captain,” said Dargent. “She asked me to deliver it into your hands.”
Though a creature of a court known for its elegant and extravagant dress, Dargent wore tailored clothes in somber colors, as became a man of business. His stockings were snowy white, his buckled shoes polished, and they made no sound as he walked across the carpet. He was even-tempered, quiet of manner, discreet. He handed Stephano a missive that was folded like a cocked hat and sealed with lavender wax bearing the countess’ insignia-a bumblebee.
Stephano took the letter from Dargent’s hand and tossed it into the fire.
Dargent reached into the pocket of his vest and drew out another letter. “Her Excellency said to give you the second after you destroyed the first.”
Stephano’s angry flush deepened. He was about to seize the letter and cast it to the same fate as the other one, when Rodrigo, moving with uncustomary speed, plucked the letter from Dargent’s hand and withdrew to the window to read it in the failing light. He gave a long, low whistle.
“What does she want?” Stephano asked, glowering.
“You are summoned to attend Her Excellency, the Countess de Marjolaine, in her quarters at the royal palace tomorrow morning at the hour of nine of the clock,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano glowered. “I’ll see her in-”
“-in the palace, my friend. There’s more,” said Rodrigo. “It seems the countess has bought up all your debt. Either you favor her with your presence in the morning, or she will demand that the debt be paid in full.”
Rodrigo handed Stephano the letter. He glanced over it, then turned to Dargent.
“And, knowing the countess, she’ll send me to debtor’s prison if my bill is not paid. What’s this about?” Stephano asked.
“I am sorry, Captain,” Dargent murmured. “I was not apprised.”
“Like Hell you weren’t,” Stephano said, sneering. “You know all the countess’ dirty little secrets.”
“Perhaps it’s a job,” Rodrigo suggested in a low voice. “We could use the work. The countess pays well and on time.”
“She might say it’s a job for her, but we would really be working for the king,” said Stephano bitterly, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Pays well,” Rodrigo repeated. “On time.”
Stephano watched the first letter dwindle to ashes, then said abruptly, “Tell the countess I will attend her at nine. I’ll hear what she has to offer. I can always say no.”
“And if you say no, we can always move to Estara,” said Rodrigo. “Our creditors might not find us there.”
Dargent bowed. “I will show myself out, Captain.”
“You do that,” said Stephano.
He waited until he heard the front door close, then he picked up his hat and cloak and said shortly, “I’m going for a walk.”
“Want company?” Rodrigo asked.
“No,” said Stephano.
“What do I tell the others?”
“What you like,” said Stephano.
Rodrigo returned to the kitchen alone. Miri, Gythe, Dag, and the cat all looked at him expectantly. Benoit was again pretending to be asleep, but he had his head cocked to hear.
“Benoit told us the man was from the countess,” said Miri. “Is it a job? Will Stephano take a job from her?”
“God knows,” said Rodrigo, throwing up his hands. “Most of the time, Stephano de Guichen is a rational man. But he loses his head completely when it comes to his mother.”
