The Duchess of the Shallows (18 page)

The sun was higher, near twelfth bell, and the estate was busier. Grooms were mopping out the carriage house and gardeners were clipping grass and trimming hedges. There were more guards around as well; she noted four on the main gate and two standing alert at the postern. The baron was not taking any chances, although he was keeping the Brutes out of sight, at least for the moment. The postern guards noticed her scrutiny and one of them, a tall man with a lazy eye, leered at her. She hurried to the sunken stairs and descended, her feet scuffing against the stone.

She shouldered through the heavy wooden door at the bottom and entered the small, chill stone room that sounded of running water and whose walls were lined with wooden shelves. On those shelves were bags and boxes of meat, fruit, cheese and other foodstuffs. No wine racks, but then the baron would probably not want to store his vintage here where any servant could get at it. A large channel, three feet wide and four deep, emerged from under an arch in one wall and disappeared into another on the opposite side.

Out of the sun, in the sudden chill of shadow she was six again on a
bright summer day when her brother Justin had led her down the stairs, down into the dark of the cold house on her father's country estate, to fetch a plum. That cold house had stood beside a river, cooled by the tunnels that channeled a part of the flow through and beneath the half-sunken building. Their father had forbidden them to go there by themselves - he feared they might fall into the water and be swept away underground - but Justin had never listened to what Father said. They had eaten the plum right there, the dark juice running down their chins, shivering even though summer heat reigned just outside.

She set the platter on one of the shelves and crept to the channel.
In the dim light that filtered down the stairs she could make out a steady flow of water, moving more swiftly than she would have guessed. Her father's estate had stood on level ground, but of course House Eusbius was on the great hill of Rodaas, so naturally the water in his cold house would run more quickly. Duchess guessed the water to be at least two feet deep. She eyed the channel warily, feeling a chill not wholly due to the cold. She looked around for a door that connected to the house cellars, but found none. The only way into the cold house was by the courtyard, which should be deserted by the time the party was in full swing. Or so she hoped.

She decided to get back to work before her absence was noted, but on the way out she paused to examine the cold house door. She was no Lysander, but the lock looked simple enough for her to handle on her own. Or so she
also
hoped.

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur. After Duchess returned from the cold house Malia set her to making pie crusts, and then fetching and chopping fruit for pies: apple, cherry and blueberry. The fruit was stored in the cold house, which gave Duchess the excuse for another look. Pies were harder than bread, but Duchess welcomed the distraction; the work kept her mind off the dangers to come. The kitchen help was allowed a quick mid-afternoon meal of bread smothered in bacon drippings and onions, and then it was back to work. Malia, having grumpily approved of Duchess' work with the pies, set her to the honeycakes, while the other girls washed potatoes, ground salt, and seasoned the spitted meat that was turning slowly over the fire. From time to time Ahmed would pop in, asking frantic questions. Had the flowers arrived? Where were the extra costumes? How many benches should be brought up from the cellars? The answers, invariably, were the same. "I don't know." "It's not my job." "Get out of my kitchen." Ahmed and Malia each wore a large ring of keys, she noticed, and she wondered if she might lift one of them in case Lysander was unable to smuggle in his lock picks.

The dough had chilled long enough, she judged, so before Malia could point that out she made her way back to the cold house. On the way back with a heavy tray of dough, she passed two girls who had been sent to polish silver, taking a
break in the spring air and hoping Ahmed did not catch them. Duchess slowed so she could listen to their talk.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it? I wish we could stay later and see the dancers," said a tall, willowy girl a bit younger than Duchess. She looked faintly familiar, and Duchess recognized her as the daughter of the butcher who sometimes drank with Noam. It was unlikely the girl would recognize her, but Duchess kept her head down just in case.

"They'll never allow it, I'm certain," replied her companion, freckly with bushy red hair. "Not with the empress coming." Duchess nearly dropped the tray.

"The empress is coming?"

"Isn't she? There's a throne set up in the ballroom and everything."

"Oh, that. I heard one of the gardeners say something about the baron fancying himself above his station." Duchess missed the rest, hurrying back to the kitchen. The empress in attendance meant the White, and that meant trouble beyond her worst nightmares. The White were by all accounts well trained, well armed, and poorly disposed towards thieves and other miscreants. If one of them even thought she was up to no good…but no, Eusbius was too low-ranked to merit an imperial visit, and in any case if the empress meant to attend Lysander would have heard about it. The second girl had the right of it, she told herself. The baron had either built the throne out of arrogance or as some accessory to his costume.

Still, she wondered and worried even as she put the loaves in the oven and turned to the apple tarts Malia had ordered. She ought to take some look at the rest of the house, but she needed an excuse to get out of the kitchen. Spying a near-empty sack of flour, she saw her opportunity. It might earn her a crack from Malia's spoon, but a bruise would be worth it. Feigning carelessness, she knocked the sack to the floor, and flour puffed out in a white cloud. Tanee gasped and Kenna smirked, eager to see Duchess beaten. Malia, however, was relatively complaisant; evidently Duchess' work on the tarts had pleased her. "Get a broom from the hall and clean that up sharp. You have more tarts to make," she grumbled. "Kenna, stop grinning and get back to that broth or you'll feel my spoon again."

Resisting the urge to wink at Kenna, Duchess ducked into the wide, paneled hall where she found the two girls who'd been gossiping, now standing on stools dusting portraits of what she assumed were past members of House Eusbius. "Are there brooms out here?" she asked.

"They're probably in the ballroom," the redhead replied, pointing with her dust cloth. "But don't ask me to get it; I'm busy here." She rolled her eyes at the willowy girl and they both laughed, but Duchess had what she needed from them. She hurried in the direction the girl had pointed.

She'd been ready for almost anything regarding the interior décor of the manor house. Between Brenn's description and what she'd already seen outside, she knew the ballroom would be anything but understated, and she was not disappointed. The room was enormous, clearly the largest in the house, and could have accommodated Noam's shop five times over with room for his market stall besides. Gold seemed everywhere. The ceiling, which rose nearly thirty feet above her, was covered with whorls of gold in religious patterns. The windows, more than twelve feet tall, were framed with rich, gold-threaded drapes. The marble floor was inlaid with swirls and lines of gold. Gilded mirrors glinted from walls, gold knobs and hinges gleamed on oaken doors, and cloth-of-gold covered the long tables set up for the food Malia and her crew had labored all day to produce. Gold leaf graced the banister and newel posts of a wide staircase that swept grandly up to the second floor and gave access to balconies that overlooked the ballroom. A golden chandelier hung above it all, outfitted with fresh, pearly white candles for the evening. Opposite the stairs stood a dais of three steps, on which sat the throne the red-haired girl had mentioned, also gold-inlaid and sparkling in the late afternoon sun that slanted through the windows. Duchess gawked like a child at the size, scope and luxury of the ballroom, until she remembered that, not three streets away, the Old Mater and whatever ragged child she had adopted this week begged passersby for alms. At sundown they would return to a life of squalor in the Deeps while the baron and his guests spent the evening in obscene splendor.
It was the kind of thought her father might have had, she reflected with a pang.

A small army of servants was at work
here as well, putting the finishing touches on the party preparations. Four boys around Duchess' age had just finished setting up the tables, and were now bringing in chairs and benches. Some of Ahmed's girls were mopping the floor, and others were polishing the wood until doors, banisters and lintels glowed magnificently. The enormous hearth had been stacked with fresh wood, drapes had been washed, ironed and hung, and scented candles had been lit, filling the air with a sharp, fresh smell. No one paid Duchess any attention as she found a broom and headed back to the kitchen.

As she was sweeping up the flour, Ahmed entered. "Malia, her ladyship will
not
put in an appearance at the party this evening.
She'll take supper in her day room." Malia rounded on him and the girls flinched, but it seemed that a day of work and worry had made Ahmed bold. "And don't tell me that's not your job. You don't bring in flowers, and I don't serve supper." Malia glanced darkly at the still-bloody meat cleaver and Ahmed scuttled quickly away. Duchess felt a stab of sympathy, for Agalia, not Ahmed; if she'd been forced to sell herself like a horse to a merchant of questionable background…well, she didn't blame the lady one whit for not wanting to attend this farce of a party.

"How would you like to make another sou?" Startled out of her thoughts, Duchess jumped, turning to find Malia close behind her wearing a strange expression. It took Duchess a moment to realize she was smiling. "If I have to take the lady her supper, I could be up there half the night, getting her more of this, or reheating that, and I don't have the time." She lowered her voice. "You seem smarter than most of what Ahmed brought me, so if you want the extra coin…" She lifted her eyebrows. Duchess was elated; taking the lady her supper was the perfect excuse for getting upstairs without attracting undue notice. She nodded, but she felt a needle of guilt. Malia was trying in her way to be generous – a sou was extravagant pay for such a small job – and Duchess was taking advantage of her. Would Malia get in trouble when the baron's dagger went missing? Duchess put that thought aside. The work in the kitchens might bring her coin for a few days, but no closer to the Grey, or answers to her endless questions.
Naria of the Dark would not have wasted time on useless sympathy, she was certain.

Malia looked relieved. "Lady Agalia doesn't usually require much, and she won't want you in the room while she's eating, that’s for certain. Just put the tray in the study, wait outside by the door, and do whatever she tells you." Malia regarded her critically. "But she can't see you in that," she said, indicating Duchess' floured and food-stained clothing. "Go out to the baths in back, past the cold house, and I'll have Marta bring hot water, soap, and something clean to wear. Nothing fancy, but it'll do for tonight."

Duchess got moving. As she headed to the baths, she realized it was already early evening. The guests would be arriving shortly, which meant that Lysander was on his way. The thought that she
would have a friend at hand was comforting. Marta arrived and soon enough Duchess was bathed, brushed, dressed, and as presentable as she was likely to get. Malia had provided a simple linen dress, dark green and more flattering than Duchess would have expected. She almost regretted throwing away the green ribbon, which had been nearly the same shade as the dress. Marta, who was quiet but seemed nice enough, helped get her hair into some semblance of order.

By the time they got back to the kitchen, Malia was marshaling a group of boys, some of whom Duchess had seen in the ballroom, although now they too were scrubbed and more neatly dressed. They had either used a different bath than Duchess, or they'd bathed before she arrived. Tanee, Kenna, and the other girls were gone, having already been paid and dismissed, so it fell to Duchess and Marta to help arrange the trays of food the boys carried into the ballroom. There were more trays than boys, however, so Duchess and Marta hoisted a heavy platter of roasted meat between them and followed the parade of servants down the hall. Pipes sounded, harps sang, and costumed figures were already streaming into the ballroom, gathering at the tables, eating and drinking. Baron Eusbius' party had finally begun.

Chapter
Eleven:
A fox and a rabbit

She immediately recognized Eusbius both by the ostentation of his outfit and his position on the dais. Lysander hadn't been certain of the season's fashion in costumes, but looking around the room Duchess saw that the theme was gods, goddesses, and sundry spirits. Eusbius himself was clearly Ventaris, and like the ballroom itself he was covered with gold. He wore a circular golden mask with rays emerging from all sides, and voluminous robes of gold with long, dagged sleeves and embroidery at the hem. Duchess thought he would have made a more impressive sight without the enormous belly that pushed at the front of his costume. He arose from his throne to greet the guests who had queued up in an impromptu reception line, and she saw that two other, smaller chairs had been placed on the dais. One was empty, and clearly meant for Lady Agalia, but the other was occupied by a slender young man wearing a domino mask and the ears of a fox spirit. Unlike the baron, his long blond hair was the only golden thing about him;
his doublet and tight satin breeches were red, black and white. The man seemed utterly disinterested and only nodded at the guests as they filed by.

A number of guests had already gone through the reception line and were making themselves at home, picking at the food, sipping drinks and talking amongst themselves. Marta scuttled off after they had set down the tray, but Duchess lingered, pretending to straighten a tablecloth so she could listen to their talk.