Cordwain favoured her with a patronising smile. ‘Well, Miss, we look after the interests of our clients. We work for some very important people. My job is to deal with those people, keep things running smooth.’
‘Hired guns and bounty hunters, that’s what they are,’ sniffed Crake. He was quick on his feet in social situations, and he’d already decided on the best tactic for getting away as fast as possible. ‘I must say, I find it very distasteful.’
‘Damen! Don’t be rude!’ Jez said, appalled.
‘It’s alright, Miss,’ said Cordwain, with an unmistakable hostility in his gaze. ‘There’s some that don’t understand the value of the work we do. The law-abiding man has nothing to fear from us.’
‘I say, sir, do you dare to imply something?’ Crake bristled, raising his voice. People nearby turned and looked. Cordwain noticed the attention their conversation had drawn.
‘Not a thing, sir,’ he said coldly. ‘I apologise for disturbing you.’ He bowed quickly to Jez and walked away. The people around them resumed their conversations, glancing over occasionally in the hope of further drama.
Crake felt panicked. Had there been a warning in the man’s tone? Had he been recognised? But then, what was the point in confronting him? Was it just monstrous bad luck that he’d run into a Shacklemore here?
The warm sensation of being surrounded by familiar things had faded now. He felt paranoid and uneasy. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
Jez was studying him closely. She was an observant sort, and he had no doubt that she knew something was up. But she kept her questions to herself.
‘Let’s go find Gallian Thade, hmm?’
Crake found him shortly afterwards, on the other side of the room. He was a tall, severe man with a hawk nose and a deeply lined, narrow face. For all his years, his pointed beard and black hair had not a trace of grey. His eyes were sharp and moved rapidly about as he spoke, like an animal restlessly scanning for danger.
‘That’s him,’ said Crake, admiring their host’s stiff, brocaded jacket.
Thade was in conversation with several men, all of them stern and serious-looking. Some of them were smoking cigars and drinking brandy.
‘Who’s that with him?’ murmured Jez, looking at the man next to Thade.
Crake studied Thade’s companion with interest. ‘That’s Duke Grephen of Lapin.’
Crake knew him from the broadsheets. As ruler of one of the Nine Duchies that formed Vardia, he was one of the most influential people in the land. Only the Archduke held more political power than the Dukes.
Grephen was a dour-looking man with a squarish build and a sallow face. His eyes were deeply sunken and ringed with dark circles, making him look faintly ill. His short blond hair was limp and damp with sweat. Though he was thirty-five, and he wore a fine uniform with the Lapin coat of arms on its breast, he looked like a pudgy boy playing at being a soldier.
Despite his less than formidable appearance, the others treated Grephen with the greatest respect. He didn’t speak often, and never smiled, but when he had something to offer, his companions listened intently.
‘Bet you never thought you’d see him when you came here tonight,’ said a voice to their right. They looked over to see a gaunt man with white hair and bushy eyebrows, flushed from alcohol and the heat. He was wearing a Navy uniform, his buttons and boots polished to a high shine.
