Vespera Page 22

  House Ostanes were at the western edge of this district, off a small square just where the hill peaked and fell sharply again towards the Avern, perched above a row of far less exclusive shops on the northward side.

  The offices were in a building of the same era as Estarrin Palace, with flowers on the balconies and a restaurant on the ground floor. It was generally held that House Ostanes were here, with the inconvenience of all that noise below and behind, because of the Old Man’s incredible thriftiness.

  It didn’t take Raphael long to guess the real reason.

  He was shown up to the elegant panelled waiting room on the first floor and sat down on one of the chairs to wait. The Mons Ferratans preferred sturdy wooden chairs to divans, which made sense because, on the whole, the Mons Ferratans were considerably taller and bulkier than Thetians.

  ‘Raphael!’ Bahram said, appearing through an archway. ‘Glad you found some time to spare from your investigation!’ He smiled gravely, and took Raphael’s hand in the Mons Ferratan greeting. ‘Come upstairs. No need for you to wait here, my office is far better appointed.’

  It was, though what he meant was that it had expensive wine and was on the other side of the building. The decoration was an odd mixture of Mons Ferratan, Thetian, and indefinable Archipelagan, designed to make any client feel at home – and feel that these were bankers who knew what they were doing. It was also shielded from anyone else who might have been trailing Raphael. He was being followed by several people, all professionals.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Bahram asked, closing the door. ‘Thetian blue? Qalathari red?’

  ‘Red, please, but only a little. I’m on business, though I came early.’

  Which gave them some time to catch up, for Raphael to hear how House Ostanes was doing – prosperous, as usual – and hear a few of the successes of Mons Ferratan Intelligence over the last year or so, the ones Bahram was prepared to tell him about.

  ‘So, what brings you to my door?’ Bahram asked. ‘How are things here for you? The truth, not what you’d say in front of the Estarrin.’

  ‘Challenging,’ Raphael admitted. ‘I never quite appreciated how complicated the City was. It’s one thing when you’re outside and involved in the affairs of some of its people, quite another to be here where all the plots start.’

  ‘But such plots, Raphael. The air teems with them. It’s not good for bankers, we don’t like uncertainty.’

  ‘A good thing then that you have a second career to fall back on. Is it enough of a challenge being here?’

  ‘Definitely. I learn something new every day, which at my age is something to be enjoyed. I’d never quite realised how many of my people live here – it’s something like fifteen or twenty thousand, which gives me plenty of opportunities to keep myself in shape.’

  Raphael grinned. Senior members of Mons Ferratan Intelligence with impeccably oligarchic backgrounds weren’t supposed to enjoy disguising themselves as something quite else and wandering the streets of Vespera. It didn’t surprise him at all – Bahram wasn’t one to be tied to a desk.

  ‘Do you get to do more than just commercial spying? It’s not all figures and deals?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. There are at least three groups of dissenting exiles here, and all the clan intrigues concern us. We bankers want to know who’s up, and who’s coming, and who’s past it, and it’s all so delightfully convoluted.’ He became more serious. ‘And, of course, what happens here in Vespera genuinely does affect almost everything we do. But how are you coping with Silvanos and his people?’

  Raphael paused for a moment. This man was one of a few he counted a genuine friend, even though he worked for a foreign power.

  ‘Cold,’ Raphael said at last. ‘Silvanos is darker than I had any idea of. And the Empire’s hiding something. Something huge.’

  It had been the house. He’d never really noticed, growing up, the way things never changed, but coming back had been a shock. How had he even lasted fifteen years in that mausoleum? Raphael would never have discussed Silvanos in front of someone he couldn’t trust absolutely, but for all that he worked for Mons Ferratan Intelligence, he knew Bahram wouldn’t break this confidence.

  ‘Does it make him difficult to work with?’

  ‘It’s an uneasy relationship. There are things I’ve discovered I’m not entirely sure I can share with him, since he’s not open with me.’

  ‘Trust your intuition,’ Bahram said firmly. ‘I could have told you about Silvanos, if you’d asked, but he’s your uncle, so I wasn’t going to volunteer anything. As for the Empire’s secrets – you think what they’re hiding as a bearing on the Jharissa?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. It’s getting very personal for Aesonia, she hates without a reason that I can see.’

  ‘Be careful of her,’ Bahram’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. ‘It’s a stroke of luck for us that you’re involved, but you’re in very deep waters.’

  ‘I’m beginning to realise that. And I’m nowhere close to seeing all of it.’

  ‘I hope for all our sakes you get somewhere soon. Vespera is a flashpoint, you must have seen that by now. My people will be in trouble, if the Emperor makes a bid for Vespera, but nowhere near as much as Thetia.’

  Raphael looked sharply, at him. He hadn’t mentioned a word of his worries, of the signals he’d been getting from Silvanos and the Exiles on Valentine’s intentions.

  ‘Is that the impression you’re getting?’

  ‘Not yet. But things are getting worse, particularly now the Jharissa are behaving so strangely.’ Even Bahram wouldn’t go so far as to accuse Iolani of treason, but his words pointed in the same direction Raphael’s thoughts had been heading.

  On the other hand, she was also the best scapegoat – or cover – anyone attempting to cause chaos of their own could wish for.

  ‘But you’ve been here before – was it the same then?’

  ‘Not as ugly, I’m afraid. Ten years ago, things were changing, but there wasn’t the tension, the pressure.’

  ‘How well do you know the Estarrin?’ Raphael asked suddenly. It was a risk, but they both knew Raphael wouldn’t ask Bahram to betray a confidence, and he could go a long way in helping him to trust Leonata.

  ‘I’ve banked for them since we opened our first office here. I gave Leonata the loans she needed to rebuild when she became Thalassarch over twenty years ago. Quite a risk, but it’s paid off ever since.’ He paused. ‘They’re good people, Raphael. I’d stake my reputation Leonata has nothing to do with this.’

  Raphael nodded. It wasn’t something Bahram would say lightly, and if he friend was prepared to trust the Estarrin without reservation, perhaps Raphael ought to.

  ‘How much power do they have?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to find that out,’ Bahram said. ‘But never underestimate Leonata’s charm, or her ability to run rings round men. She’s a formidable woman, and she has plans for the City. Now, you asked for quite a chunk of my time yesterday, not to mention some of my men, and I want to know everything before I let you use my delicately balanced intelligence network as a blunt instrument and get us all into trouble.’

  ‘And I thought finding an excuse to string this out would be difficult,’ Flavia muttered.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying the chance to to visit all your favourite shopping haunts,’ Raphael asked, staring at the seemingly endless displays on the Street of the Tailors, winding its way northeastwards up the hill away from the Exchange.

  ‘I would be, if you were actually shoppping,’ Flavia said, stopping to examine a maroon wrap under the watchful eye of a small, birdlike woman. For an aide to a Thalassarch, she had quite a tongue and very expensive habits in clothes.

  ‘I do need a costume.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve already decided where you’re going to get it, so this is all so much window-dressing.’

  ‘Leonata will consider it a sign of your dedication to the Estarrin,’ Raphael said, a little smugly. And
he had, after all, managed to persuade both Leonata and Bahram that helping him was in their interests. Which was why Leonata had lent him Flavia as cover, and four Mons Ferratan agents were trailing them through the press, taking note of everyone who might possibly be following Raphael. That was all they’d be doing, for now.

  The two of them worked their way down the street, which was a brilliant blaze of colour. These were mostly high-class shops, their displays relatively restrained and the colours brilliant. Too brilliant, apparently.

  The next shop was one of those Flavia had marked out in advance, but after what seemed like the merest glance around she came back out and shook her head. ‘Too ostentatious. You’re not a peacock. Unlike some I could name.’

  She kept her voice down, but she was looking at the garishly dressed young man swaggering the other way down the street, accompanied by two hulking friends, or possibly bodyguards. All three wore blue ribbons prominently pinned on their chests.

  ‘Who is he?’ Raphael asked.

  ‘His father is Correlio Rozzini, who’s on the Council, and as venal as they come,’ Flavia said.

  ‘What do the ribbons mean?’ Raphael commented, watching the young Rozzini scion pass.

  ‘They’ll be a brotherhood of some kind,’ Flavia said tightly, and Raphael remembered Fergho and his thugs in the Portanis a few nights ago. If sons of Thalassarchs were involved, this could get a lot uglier than he’d anticipated.

  They moved on – at a snail’s pace – past a break in the cloth stalls, a small booth that served coffee and pastries, presumably more for the traders’ benefit than the customers. Raphael caught the evil scent of Porta from somewhere, and winced.

  Another two shops were dismissed, and Flavia stopped at a large stall in a cavernous archway selling only women’s clothes – they obviously did well enough to have built a wooden mezzanine to make the most of the ceiling space and display more goods. Flavia seemed more interested in chatting with two of the assistants than anything else. She introduced Raphael and then, after the two had eyed him up, returned to the conversation.

  ‘Did you actually talk about anything?’ Raphael asked curiously, when they eventually moved on.

  She looked at him with exaggerated pity. ‘Poor thing. You really aren’t used to civilisation, are you?’

  ‘Are you going to rub that in all day?’

  ‘Of course. I don’t often get the opportunity. Or the captive audience.’

  He sighed theatrically, then caught sight of another familiar figure at a stall just ahead, pretending to examine a bolt of gold-threaded maroon cloth, but keeping his eyes very firmly on something or some one a little way further along. He glanced in their direction briefly, and hastily held a finger up to his lips.

  ‘First rendezvous,’ Raphael said.

  ‘I know what to do,’ Flavia replied. ‘Bahram,’ she said in almost the same arch tone she’d used to tease Raphael, ‘what might you be doing here?’

  ‘Ah, Flavia, what a surprise. Raphael, too.’ No-one would be surprised to find a man as well-dressed as Bahram attending to his outfit.

  ‘Leonata was kind enough to lend me Flavia’s services,’ Raphael said. ‘I have no formal robes for the ball.’

  ‘But you have a mask?’ Bahram asked, moving them into a doorway to one side where they could talk freely and see anyone loitering too close.

  ‘Yes.’ They’d found that earlier, a genuine necessity in the circumstances. It was only this part of the expedition that was staged. ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Six men trailing you. One’s Estarrin, two are definitely Imperial, another might be. One Jharissan, and one Salassa.’ He added brief descriptions, for both Raphael and Flavia to commit to memory, though they’d only be properly useful today.

  ‘Salassa?’ Flavia frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ Raphael asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Flavia said, too quickly. ‘Odd that he’s having you followed, that’s all. Why not any of the other princes?’

  ‘They’re not in the City.’

  ‘They’ll stand or fall by what happens here,’ Bahram said.

  ‘You’re sure about the agents’ identities?’ Raphael asked.

  ‘As sure as one can be, in our line of work,’ said Bahram. ‘You want to deal with them? Where?’

  ‘There’s a side-street at the end of this one, connects by a narrow flight of steps,’ Flavia suggested, pointing as if recommending a shop to Bahram. ‘Have your people block the steps behind us, mine the street at the bottom. We’ll go ahead as fast as we dare and be over the hill before they can follow us.’

  ‘Make sure you stop the Imperials,’ Raphael said. ‘They’re the ones who could do the damage.’

  Bahram nodded, a grave look in his eyes even as he smiled. ‘Well, I should be off. I have a meeting with Clan Nalassel in an hour, and I still have to find myself a mask.’

  He inclined his head and disappeared into the throng. Someone jostled Raphael’s arm as they set out and he half-turned, hand straying down to the stiletto strapped to his leg, before he realised it was only a casual passer-by in a hurry.

  ‘You’re too jumpy,’ Flavia said. ‘Look bored.’

  He did his best, but he was on edge all the way up the Street of the Tailors. He’d never expected Silvanos would set so many agents to trail him, and why Petroz? What had Flavia’s hesitation meant?

  For Petroz’s spy to see him go where he was going would be merely inconvenient. If the Empire saw, and followed, the situation would become a lot worse.

  Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, they reached the upper end of the street, where a towering Mons Ferratan mercenary in armour waited, apparently on the lookout for someone.

  ‘Let’s take a short-cut,’ Flavia suggested. ‘Down these steps, I think.’

  The steps, simply a passage leading under a house to the next street down, were empty except for a single man at the bottom, who nodded as he saw them and disappeared. Raphael sped up, and heard voices above them at the top.

  ‘Oriush! Oriush! You think you can walk past me like that? You left me to die!’

  ‘You deserved it,’ replied another bass voice, and some of the light was blocked out as the second man turned down into the steps.

  ‘Why, you son of a mangy . . .’

  A second later the argument was in full flow: two enormous and apparently enraged Mons Ferratan mercenaries pursuing their blood-feud at the top of the steps, blocking any chance of passage. In the lower street, cries of ‘thief’ were already being raised, and a knot of struggling people blocked the way down.

  Silently thanking Bahram and the Estarrin for the disturbances, Raphael walked briskly away as if unwilling to become involved. The street bent a little way along, allowing them to take a side-turning and increase their speed again, easier now they were close to the ridge and leaving the main shopping district.

  ‘Let’s hope we got them all,’ said a breathless Raphael, as they crested the hill down into Avern. Damn his lungs, he hadn’t thought such a small thing would bring this on, but perhaps his nervousness was exacerbating it.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Flavia said, a note of concern in her voice.

  ‘I’ll be fine when we slow down again,’ Raphael said. He could keep going for a few more minutes yet, the breathlessness was only a warning that things might get worse if he pushed himself too far. ‘Now that we’re away from listening ears, do you want to tell me where else you’ve found the Empire’s hand stirring up hatred?’

  The place they had apparently ended up at, in desperation at the formal robes on offer in other shops, lay at the uppermost fringes of the City, on the edge of High Avern. They were far enough up for the Avern to be silver-blue in the sunlight, even to see Triton and the Hub across the ridge on which Bahram’s offices sat.

  The houses up here were subtly different, perhaps not to someone who was used to the place, but Raphael had seen Ralentis, and the odd spacings of the windows, the slightly steeper
pitch of the roofs told him he’d found what he was looking for. The streets were emptier up here – there were fewer shops, mostly of the kind one had to know about, or markets serving the houses. And the siesta was close, as the journey had taken longer than Raphael anticipated. The sky was still cloudless, so at least there wouldn’t be an afternoon storm, but they’d still have to walk back through near-empty streets, with far more potential for mischief.

  No, take a boat to Leonata’s palace on Triton, then back to Silvanos’s headquarters in Ulithi Palace by foot.

  ‘Which is it?’

  ‘Just here,’ Flavia said.

  She led him up a steep side-street to a shop-front that took up most of the ground floor of one of the ingeniously built houses – close-up he could appreciate just how good a use they’d made of the land. The sign and the shop seemed smart enough, if quiet.

  Flavia pushed the door open and they went inside, into a surprisingly cool but very small room with cloth spread on tables.

  Sitting behind a small table, stitching, was a grave girl with very pale skin and black hair, her features typical of the far north. She looked up sharply as they came in, her look of intense concentration becoming a mask.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said quietly, standing up. A grown woman, after all, her clothes plain but without the drab shapelessness that religious fanatics were prone to force on their families.

  ‘We’re looking for formal wear for my friend Raphael,’ she said, gesturing. ‘I have an account.’

  ‘Flavia . . . you’re Flavia, of the Estarrin,’ the woman said, her features relaxing a very little. ‘You are welcome, as is Messer Raphael. For what sort of occasion?’

  ‘The Ulithi masked ball, two nights away.’

  ‘You leave us little time,’ said another woman, without doubt the mother of the first, coming into the room from the back. Equally pale, her hair was only frosted with grey. ‘Does he have a mask?’

  Flavia motioned to Raphael, who brought the mask out of its box and showed it to the tailor.