40
The Ashanta banker’s manor was enormous, a veritable palace set within its own keep. Beyond the front gates, a graveled lane curved beneath dual lines of fruit trees before arriving at a set of sweeping front stairs. The banker was away on some official duty when they arrived. The chief guard’s name was Gert, and he greeted them with sour disapproval. But his master had been alerted to their arrival, the guard conceded, and so led them to the rear entrance. He clearly intended this as a slur, but Dally’s one brief glimpse at the manor’s formal rooms was enough. She insisted upon staying with her team. Gert snorted his disdain and stomped away.
There formed an uneasy truce between the banker’s staff and Dally’s team. Edlyn and Alembord made it work by simply ignoring Gert’s suspicious jibes. The chief guard was a brutish man with scarred knuckles and a flattened nose. He spoke with a deceptively quiet voice, but Dally disliked how the rest of the house staff showed fear at his approach. Alembord despised the man. They said nothing to one another, but Dally thought it was like watching two cur dogs who waited for the chance to strike.
Edlyn insisted upon helping Dally up the stairs and out of her road-stained clothes and into the bath. The steamed water and the feel of clean clothes were exquisite. When they returned downstairs, they found a table laden with early-season fruit, a plate piled with smoked meats, a quarter-round of cheese, a clay pot of fresh-churned butter, and bread still steaming from the oven.
Gert stomped through the rear entry just as the cook’s two helpers set out flat bowls of stew. The pair fled at his approach. He stood watching Dally and her company with eyes of dried mud, fists cocked on hips, a bruiser looking for his next conquest. As Dally felt the friction growing between Gert and Alembord, she shut her eyes, reached out, and signaled to her dogs. A few moments later, the wolfhounds padded in.
Gert took an involuntary step back and snarled, “Them dogs of yours better not give my lot trouble. Else I’ll skin ’em and turn four dogs into one fine coat.”
Edlyn and Dally and Alembord fed the dogs from their spoons. Edlyn said, “No trouble, Captain.”
They were seated around a broad-plank table in a pantry as large as Norvin’s cottage. Shelves held wheels of cheese and jars of spices and dough covered in cheesecloth and left to rise. The air was redolent with all the fragrances of a happy home. Gert’s disagreeable presence was the only sour note.
The kitchen opened through the doorway directly opposite Dally’s chair. Behind Dally was the boot room and weapons closet, and beyond them the passage leading to stables and storerooms and kennels and training grounds. The estate was rimmed by a high wall with guard towers set in each corner. The rearmost area of the yard held a vast kitchen garden and coops for chickens and geese.
Gert scowled in Dally’s direction. “Don’t think much of the banker’s guests being back here in our space. Eating our food. Fouling the place with their dogs. Don’t think much of that at all.”
The cook was a rotund little man who glanced worriedly through the doorway and said, “The master left strict instructions . . .”
Gert shifted his glower, and the cook vanished. Gert shouted after him, “Where’s my dinner?”
“Coming, coming, I wanted to reheat the stew, is all.” He popped back into view long enough to add, “And let our guests eat in peace like the master said.”
“Enough with the master. I know well enough what best suits his needs.” Gert reached across the table, knocking Alembord’s arm and causing him to spill a spoonful into his lap. “And what’s needed is to have this lot back out on the street where they belong. Not here eating the master’s food and bringing who knows what trouble to our doorstep.” He gnawed off a hunk of cheese that dribbled crumbs down his front. “Uncommon strange it is, having his lordship order us to make room for the likes of you, no proper introduction, all in a rush, ordering me to ask no questions. Me, captain of his guard, commanded to mind you lot like I was—”
Gert stopped talking because he had suddenly lost the ability to draw breath.
Edlyn did not look around. “A bit of food get in the way, did it?” Her voice was mild, but not the least bit kind.
“Difficult to make trouble for others when you can’t breathe,” Alembord said. “It’s a good thing the lady here has a hand in the healing arts.”
The captain’s fists rose to his throat, and he made a harsh gagging noise.
“I could probably help you,” Edlyn said. She turned in her seat. “But in return we’d appreciate a bit of peace and quiet.”
“A friendly welcome would be nice,” Alembord said. He continued to feed spoonfuls of stew to his wolfhound. “Probably what your master ordered as well.”
“Nod if you agree to our terms,” Edlyn said.
Gert gagged and coughed and finally complied.
“That’s a good lad. Now bend down here. I don’t feel like getting up. I’m still enjoying this fine repast.” When Gert did so, Edlyn touched his throat. “There. All better.”
The guards captain coughed, hacked, and heaved a great breath. “You caused that, you did.”
Alembord stroked his dog’s ears. “If that’s so, how wise is it for you to stand there and bait her?”
“Peace and quiet,” Edlyn said. “A nice welcome. Pleasant words or none at all directed our way. That’s the ticket.” She looked up at him, and something he saw there caused him to step back. “And not another word about skinning dogs.”
The banker entered the pantry just as they were finishing their meal. His name was Karsten, and he was every inch a patrician, with leonine features and strong limbs that defied his age. An abundance of silver hair swept back from a broad forehead. His glare was ferocious, his voice a resonant thunder. He took in the tableau with one swift glare, Gert standing in the kitchen doorway and spooning up the stew as he shot Dally’s group venomous looks.
Karsten demanded, “Which of you is the Lord Reime’s daughter?”
“I am, sir,” Dally replied.
“Why are you back here with my staff?”
“I insisted. I do not wish to be separated from my company.”
Karsten disliked it but did not argue. Instead, he gestured at his guards captain and demanded, “Is this man bothering you?”
“There’s no problem,” Alembord said. “Is there, Gert?”
Gert pointed at Alembord with his spoon. “Got the look of trouble, this one. He’s nobody’s house servant, that’s for certain.”
But the banker wasn’t having any of it. “This woman’s company are my personal guests. I left word to that effect with the night guard before setting out. What is more, the Count Reime is one of my most important clients. Which means they are vital to the future of this household.”
Gert continued to scowl at the table. “None of us have a future, if this lot’s carting trouble with them. The streets are full of danger and woe—”
“Enough,” Karsten snapped. “Their disposition is vital. Their well-being is vital. Their comfort and safety are . . .”
Gert scowled but conceded, “Vital, your lordship.”
“Good. We understand each other.” He turned back to Dally. “My lady, if you are quite finished, perhaps you will be so good as to attend me.”
The banker’s former chambers were palatial in size and décor. His offices covered a full five rooms, each grander than the last. He ignored the greetings cast his way by various clerks and assistants, and ushered them into his inner sanctum, a space larger than Honor’s village hall. A senior aide and private secretary both entered after him and were genuinely shocked when Karsten sent them away.
When the door was shut, he said, “I have done as my unseen allies have requested.”
“Demanded,” Edlyn corrected. “The Ashanta made no simple request. They ordered you to help us.”
He strode behind the massive desk and dropped frowning into his chair. “I would ask that you tell me why we are meeting at all.”
Dally was accompanied by Edlyn and Alembord and Connell. They stood on a carpet woven with gold thread. The paintings adorning the side walls were ancient and very large. A tapestry covered the entire rear wall, depicting a group of nobles kneeling in fealty before a newly crowned king.
Edlyn repeated what Bryna had told them before their departure. “You served the last two Oberon kings. Your father and grandfather and his father before him. Your loyalty to the crown stretches back eleven generations.”
“Twelve,” Karsten said. “I make an even dozen.”
“You survived the transition and helped to keep the Ashanta in their territories by agreeing to the new king’s ultimatum. You forgave the debts owed to you by the Oberon realm. Forty tons of Ashanta gold. Lost.”
“The new ruler threatened to strip the Ashanta of their territories, by war if need be. Territories that had been deeded to them by treaty a thousand years ago,” Karsten said. “Treaties that should not be influenced by any transition of power within the human realm.”
“You and the Ashanta both expected to recoup some of your losses by charging the new rulers a higher rate of interest,” Edlyn went on. “But the crown has taken his business to other bankers. You have effectively been shut out.”
“And you are certainly well informed.” Karsten’s piercing gaze was shadowed by his massive forehead, a brow made for frowning. “All that you have related is both secret and highly sensitive.”
Edlyn’s only response was to turn to Alembord and say, “Our lady should sit.”
“Of course.”
Karsten clearly disliked having control of his room taken over by this supposed house servant. Which was why Dally did not object as Alembord carried over a leather chair embossed with a royal seal. “Thank you.”
Edlyn rested one hand upon the chair’s back. “Because you represent a debt that will never be repaid, your remaining here in Port Royal places you and all your household under a very grave risk.”
“And yet here I remain,” Karsten said.
“Precisely.”
He crossed his arms and scowled at them. “You are not from the House Reime.”
“That is correct.”
“You chose that fief as your supposed locale because it is so remote,” Karsten said. “And thus would not be known by the city’s militia.”
“We did not choose anything,” Edlyn replied. “As you well know.”
He drummed his fingers on the leather-topped desk. “All right. I’m listening.”
Alembord said, “The question is, who else might be doing the same?”
“This is the only room in the house where eavesdropping is forbidden.”
“In that case”—Edlyn gestured to Dally—“allow me to introduce Lady Dahlrin, Seer to the Lady Shona, new queen of the human realm.”
Dally stifled her protest. Though Edlyn had warned her that this would be required, she detested this elevation of her status. She felt as though her title and abilities, even this alteration to her name, were little more than loudly spoken lies.
Astonishment fractured Karsten’s tightly assured gaze. “Can you offer some form of confirmation?”
He crossed the room and extended one fist. In it rested Shona’s personal seal. “Do you recognize this?”
“I . . . yes.”
“Lady Dahlrin is here as the queen’s personal representative,” Edlyn said. “You will listen. And then you will obey.”