“Take your time,” Mirianne said.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Dayne felt as if it was on him to prompt the conversation. “So I understand your situation might be connected to the ones I’m already looking into?”
“Yes,” Vollingale said, dabbing his eyes with a kerchief. “Which surprises me, because until Miri talked to me last night, I thought—we had been explicitly targeted.”
“A ransom situation?” Dayne asked.
“We presumed,” Vollingale said. “This happened three days ago, late in the evening. I had been at the Hardicher Club, playing cards, and came home just around one bell. And I found my wife at the bottom of the main stairway, an absolute wreck, and one of the footmen badly injured.”
“So, your home was invaded?” Dayne asked. “The person came here to abduct your son?”
“Person,” Vollingale said with a scoff. “According to my wife’s maid, it was some sort of monster, enormous. Taller than you, my friend. Skin of scaly gray. The sort of thing confined to Waish country stories. I couldn’t believe such tales, but . . .”
“But?” Dayne asked.
“My wife, she could barely communicate with me. Whatever she saw, it terrified her.”
“So what did she see?” Dayne asked. “Can I speak to her?”
“She is in no state, I’m sorry. She’s only said one word since that night. ‘Gurond.’”
That was of note. “That’s a name another witness heard.”
“Where?” the baron asked. “Who?”
“In Dentonhill.”
“Who was taken there?”
“Children of factory workers,” Dayne said.
“That makes no sense,” he said, agitation rising in his voice. “Don’t you know who that must be?”
“Gurond?” Dayne shook his head. “Should I?”
Vollingale sighed. “Maybe not. The Barony of Vollingale is in the eastern part of the archduchy, near Itasiana. It used to be two baronies, until about fifteen years ago. My family’s, and our rivals, the Gurond family.”
“Rivals?”
“Ugly, petty business that went back generations. Squabbles over land, over money, over anything. Too much blood spilt in the process, and so many lives destroyed, in both families. Not to mention the havoc it wreaked among common folk who were our tenants and residents. Nothing I am proud of, or ever had any part of myself.”
“What happened fifteen years ago?” Dayne asked.
“I don’t know all the details, as my father took them to his grave, but he had finally crushed the Gurond family. Devastated them utterly. They lost their land, their fortune, everything. Lord Gurond went to prison for years, ended up begging in the streets before he died. The lady killed herself, and their son—”
He faltered, his voice cracking. Mirianne reached across the desk and took his hand.
“It’s all right.”
“They had a son. Pendall. I’m given to understand he fell into a life of crime. An enforcer or assassin. He was a large brute of a boy to my memory. I imagine he grew up to match you in height.”
“You think he’s the giant we’ve been hearing tales of?” Dayne asked.
“I mean, this is—I only met him a few times, when I was about eight. I remember him as a cruel bully who had a . . . flair for the theatrical. He wouldn’t just hurt you, he wanted to scare you.”
Dayne understood. “You think the ‘monster’ is some sort of disguise he’s adopted? And he took your son for . . . revenge?”
“Exactly,” the baron said. “But how does that track with the other things you’ve heard?”
“I’m not sure,” Dayne said.
“It’s rather simple, actually,” Miri said. “You say he became a criminal. Clearly, he’s been drafted to abduct children, for a purpose we don’t understand. He’s largely been targeting vulnerable children in poorer neighborhoods. But the opportunity came to also make it personal, and he took it.”
Dayne nodded. That made sense.
“Does this help you, Mister Heldrin?” the baron asked.
“It’s another piece of the larger puzzle,” Dayne said. “I’m afraid I don’t have sight of the whole thing yet, and I know that’s no comfort in terms of getting your son home and safe.”
“No,” Vollingale said.
“But I will keep working on this,” Dayne said. “I will do whatever I can.”
Vollingale got to his feet. “I appreciate that. Anything you need—money is no object, of course.”
“Not necessary,” Dayne said.
“Take care of yourself,” Miri said to the baron. “You need to be strong for your family right now. You haven’t slept, have you?”
“Not a drop,” he said.
“I have a doctor who is very good,” she said. “Should I send him to you?”
“Please,” he said. “Thank you both so very much.”
They were led out to Miri’s carriage. “What are you going to do now?” she asked as she got in.
“I’m not sure,” he said, staying on the walkway. “See what I can find out about this Gurond fellow, how it all connects.”
“Aren’t you getting in?” she asked. “I need to go to the store, but I can drop you, leave you the carriage if you need to get around . . .”
“No,” Dayne said. “Like I said, I don’t have sight of the whole picture, and . . . I think I want to walk so I can think it through.”
“Of course,” she said, leaning out of the carriage to kiss him. “Be kind to yourself, my love. It’s not on you to save everyone.”
Minox had spent the morning preparing himself. He first waited for most of the household to go to work, or, for the ones who were working moonslight shifts, to go to sleep. By nine bells, the only ones up and about in the house were Mother and Aunt Zura, both of them in the kitchen.
Confident he would not be interrupted, he went into his mother’s room, and, more specifically, to his father’s trunk. There he found what he would need: his father’s old riding coat, as well as his crossbow and bolts. Sharp, deadly points. Not the Constabulary blunt-tips. Minox put it all together and put it in a knapsack with his own handstick.
In a few hours he would break law and convention, and force his way into the chapterhouse of the Blue Hand Circle. He might find nothing.
