Luckstones (6 page)

Then her fingers reached the hollow of her throat. The
Archangel, an enormous sapphire given by a long-dead king to some long-dead
Corse forebear and, since then, the sign and magical underpinning of her
family’s power and position in Meviel, was gone.

Velliaune had begged to wear it the night before, noting how
beautifully it would set off her gown, silver-blue silk chosen to complement
her fair, blue-eyed beauty, the bodice cut low across the breast, tight-fitted
from shoulder to hip, where the skirt blossomed in a froth of lace. Her mother
had hung the jewel, set in a cunning filigree of gold, around Velliaune’s neck,
and the girl had sworn upon her life to guard it as she would her virtue.

About which the less said, the better.

Velliaune sat up and plunged her hand frantically into her
bodice, hoping the jewel had simply fallen into the gown. Finding nothing, she
shed her clothing—dress, under-gown, stay-cover, petticoats one, two and three,
stays, and chemise. When she stood naked in the ruins of her toilette, she had
nothing to show for it but a love bite on one breast. Velliaune sank into the
pile of fabric and despaired.

When she had cried her fill, she slept a little, having
slept not at all the night before. When she woke, hope and commonsense
reasserted themselves. Col would have found the stone amid the sheets. He would
keep it for her; he might even now be wondering how he might discreetly return
it to her. She had only to write him a note, and find someone to carry it to
him and bring the jewel back. Someone who could be trusted, both to return the
Archangel to her and to keep her parents uninformed as to Velliaune’s several
lapses.

Velliaune rose up, fetched her dressing gown and writing
desk, and wrote a note to an old schoolmate.

~o0o~

To say that Nyana me Barso was surprised to hear from
Velliaune me Corse understated the matter. Since they had left school, Nyana’s
path had so far strayed from that prescribed for young ladies that a continuing
acquaintance between them would have been unlikely. Nyana’s parents had died
under an overturned carriage; a cousin had inherited the entire estate and
Nyana, a resourceful girl, took rooms in the Dedenor district and learned to
fence. She had progressed so far as to become an assistant teacher at a fencing
studio where fashionable gentlemen found it agreeable to be coached by a pretty
girl. As her livelihood was known by her former schoolmates, it was not
surprising that they did not recognize her when they passed in the street. On
the whole, Nyana preferred it that way.

The note delivered to the studio was on heavy rose-scented
paper.

Dearest friend:

I have a commission I can entrust only to you. Will you come to
my house this afternoon? I shall be waiting; do not fail me!

Velliaune

Here’s melodrama.
Nyana
wiped her blades and sheathed them. Of course, she remembered Velliaune me
Corse, the prettiest and most desirable girl of her year. They had never been
friends, let alone
dearest
friends.
Still, Nyana was intrigued by the suggestion of mystery and desperation: if
Velliaune had thought to summon Nyana and call her friend, her need must be
dire indeed.

Nyana arranged to take the afternoon off. Since she was
attired in her work garb—leggings, blouse, and leathern tunic—she went home to
make herself suitable for the drawing room of a wealthy schoolmate. Some time
after the fourth chime, wearing a plain walking dress of green twill, she
presented herself at the Corse house. She was shown directly upstairs, not to a
parlor, but into Velliaune me Corse’s bedchamber.

Her schoolmate cast herself directly upon Nyana’s breast. “My
dearest,
dearest
friend, thank you!”

Nyana breathed in the lavender scent of the other girl’s
hair for a moment, then disentangled herself. “I was never your dearest friend
before. What makes me your intimate now?”

Velliaune me Corse looked briefly disconcerted. Then, “You’re
quite right. I did not value you at school as I ought to have done. I tell you,
if you will help me now, you will be my dearest, dearest,
dearest
friend forever!”

Or for as long as you
remember,
Nyana thought. “What help could I give you?”

“First, you must promise me you will tell no one! I know
that sounds like something from an opera, but if my parents learn—”

Nyana found mild satisfaction in her schoolmate’s anxiety,
but thought it unfair to tease. “I’m unlike to meet your parents.”

Velliaune shook her head. “No one,” she repeated. “Not my
parents, nor any of our friends from school—”

“I have no friends from school, Vellie. You’re the first I
have spoken to since my parents’ funeral. But if it makes you feel better, I
will vow silence.”

“Thank you.” There was no mistaking her relief, and as
Velliaune began to explain her predicament, Nyana understood its reason.

“You wore that great vulgar sapphire to the opera and
lost it?”
Nyana reflected that the years
since school had increased Velliaune’s beauty but done very little for her
sense. Or her parents’, for that matter. What had they been thinking, to let Velliaune
borrow the talisman of family power? “How do you expect I can help?”

Velliaune, who had stood throughout the embarrassing recital
of her seduction and its result, dropped to her knees before Nyana. “I need
someone to go to Col ha Vanderon and retrieve the Archangel from him.”

“He has it? And will give it to me?”

“Of course he will!” Velliaune looked shocked. “How could he
not?”

“Is the sort of man who invites a young woman to a midnight
supper and relieves her of her virtue likely to relinquish a famous jewel she
dropped among the bedsheets?” Nyana’s tone was dry.

Velliaune flushed. “I am certain that Col waits only for a
way to return the Archangel to me. Please, Nya, will you help?”

Nyana considered. “What do you mean to pay me for this
service?”

The expression upon Velliaune’s face was comical. She was
used to paying for bonnets and gloves, Nyana realized, but not for services
done her. “What would it cost?”

“That rather depends upon how difficult your errand is. At
least—” Nyana paused to calculate a day’s wages. “At least 20
senesti
, perhaps more.” Then, in answer
to Velliaune’s moue of anxiety, “I shan’t charge you more than you can pay, I
promise.”

The tiny crease between Velliaune’s brows smoothed. “Will
you do it at once? Mama thinks I’m abed with a headache and hasn’t troubled me,
but I can’t play sick forever.”

“You must write a note to Col ha Vanderon; if I appear upon
his doorstep asking for sapphires, I doubt he’ll indulge me otherwise.”

A short while later, Nyana me Barso left the Corse house,
heading for the apartments occupied by Col ha Vanderon. The rooms were in a
large granite block that loomed blankly over its smaller brick-and-plaster
neighbors, a modern building in an area otherwise known for charm, elegance,
and the money of the past. She gave her name to the porter and was shortly
ushered up the stairs to the third floor.

Nyana had never met Col ha Vanderon. She had imagined height
and saturnine charm; what she met was a fair, stocky, open-faced fellow with a
cheeky smile and a look of bewilderment. The bewilderment was replaced by
understanding when he read Velliaune me Corse’s note.

“I cannot recall that I have ever heard your name,” he said
at last. “Yet Velliaune entrusts you with a delicate matter.”

“We were at school together,” Nyana said shortly. “The
sapphire, sir?”

If her directness offended him, ha Vanderon gave no sign. “I
wish that I had it.”

Nyana examined him, trying to gauge truth. “Do you know
where it might be?”

Ha Vanderon’s brows drew together in a frown. “Do you think
I slipped that great, heavy thing off the young lady’s neck while we were—” he
broke off with a suggestion of delicacy.

“I know nothing more than Velliaune told me, sir. Do you
recall having seen the Archangel when Velliaune arrived for your supper?”

Ha Vanderon appeared to think. “Yes, I noted it when she
arrived, for the gem caught the light from the candles.”

“And later, when her clothes were removed?”

“Oh, they were not all removed,” he said genially. “She kept
on her shift, at least half-way, and—” He broke off at Nyana’s frown. “Yes, I
recall that she wore it still. I was afraid it might gouge me when—” Again he
stopped. The man was far too pleased with himself, Nyana thought.

“And after?” she prompted.

“I don’t recall. She rose and dressed in a hurry, to get
back to her parents’ house before dawn. I went back to sleep for a time, then
rose and went on my way. I did not,” he added, “feel any lumps in the bed as I
slept.”

“How comfortable for you.” He had not escorted his lover
home, either. “You understand the importance of that gem to her family, sir. If
I cannot return it to Velliaune, thence to her parents, your tryst with her
will likely become public knowledge.”

Ha Vanderon shrugged. “It was a very enjoyable evening, a
memory I shall cherish, but all I had for it was the pleasure of Velliaune me
Corse’s body. I do not have the Archangel, and while I would be very sad to
hear of Velliaune’s discomfiture over the gem, I cannot produce what I do not
have.”

Nyana rose. “That is your final word?”

“I have no others to offer. You might check at the inn; no
chambermaid in her right mind would keep such a bauble as the Archangel; if the
stone was found there, it is likely still in the possession of the innkeeper.”
Col ha Vanderon bowed over his visitor’s hand.

As she left the building, Nyana considered. She had done
what she promised: taken the note to Col ha Vanderon and attempted to gain the
Archangel from him. She had been unsuccessful. She thought of Velliaune,
sitting in her chamber awaiting the return of the sapphire. At last, and
sighing, Nyana turned her steps in the direction of the Sign of the Bronze
Manticore.

Houses of accommodation—particularly those as handsomely
fitted out and expensive as the Bronze Manticore—were entirely outside Nyana’s
experience. She approached the place with her most respectable demeanor and
asked to speak with the housekeeper.

“You wantin’ a job?” the tapster looked her up and down. “We
got none at the moment.”

“No, I have other business. A matter of something left behind
which I wish to retrieve.”

“Huh.” The tapster scratched the wen on the side of his nose
with a thumbnail. “Then it’s Jass you’re wanting. Hey, boy, go fetch Jassie
down. Tell her there’s a woman here for something she left behind.”

Nyana’s reflex was to say that it was not
she
who had been here, but she stilled
it. If Col ha Vanderon had followed what she believed to be the usual protocol,
he would have hired the room and the supper, then brought in Velliaune, as
cloaked and hidden as a springtide priest. If playing a role would help get the
Corse sapphire back, she could do so for a short time.

“Yah?” Jass was the tallest woman Nyana had ever seen,
red-haired, red-faced and bony, wrapped in a vast canvas apron.

“I—I was here last evening, and I believe a . . .
possession . . . of mine was left behind.”

The tapster, having passed Nyana safely to her proper
resource, turned away. Jass motioned Nyana to follow her to a small empty
coffee room. “You hardly look the type. Wha’s this youn lost?”

Did one just out and say
I’ve
lost a spectacularly large sapphire, have you seen it?
Nyana did not think
so. “I’ve lost a necklace of my mother’s,” she said at last. “I’d borrowed it,
and it came off when I, when I went, when—”

“When yer man tuck the clos off you,” Jass offered
helpfully. “Well, I stript the beds this morn and found no necklaces. Wha rhum
was you in? You mi go look.”

Of course neither Velliaune nor Col ha Vanderon had told
Nyana which chamber they had occupied. “Might I?” she said, thinking quickly. “The
problem is that I was, um, cloaked, and I don’t recall—”

Jass shrugged. “Look n’em all, if you like. What’s it look
like, this necklace?”

“It has a big blue stone in a gold setting. There would be a
reward,” Nyana suggested, hoping Velliaune would agree.

“F’I see it I’ll tell you.”

Nyana spent an unprofitable hour looking through every empty
chamber. She found three earbobs, an empty wallet, a small box of the sort made
to hold sheepskins, and two opera playbills stuffed under mattresses. Of the
Archangel, no sign.

As she was leaving the inn, she passed Jass dusting a bronze
figure in the hallway: a manticore, of course. “Fin’ your bit o’ sparkle?” the
maid asked.

“No, alas. I do not think anyone would have stolen it. It’s
quite remarkable, and anyone who tried to sell it would instantly be turned
over to the magistracy.” Nyana hoped the maid would remember this if the
Archangel suddenly appeared. What else could she do now but leave?

House Corse was in the midst of preparation for dinner;
Velliaune was being dressed, and Nyana—whose supper usually comprised a bowl of
soup in her landlady’s kitchen—was forced to sit through the dressing and
combing of her friend’s hair before they were suffered any privacy.

“At last! If Mama asks for the necklace—” Velliaune held out
her hand to receive the Archangel. Nyana shook her head and braced herself:
Velliaune, balked of a desire, had been known at school for her voluble
tantrums. Instead, the girl turned milk-pale.

“You
must
have it,”
she wailed.

For the first time, Nyana felt truly regretful. “I wish I
did.”

Velliaune started to pace back and forth. After a dizzying
minute of watching her, Nyana took one of the girl’s hands in her own in an
attempt to stop the pacing and make Velliaune focus. “Col ha Vanderon says he
does not have it. He may be lying, but I could not prove it. The inn says it
was not discovered there;
they
may be
lying, but I could not prove it. Think, Vellie. Could the necklace have fallen
off at any time after you left the Bronze Manticore?”