and his mail jingled ominously. Van Gast wondered again what he’d done with his bells. “You were late, didn’t leave us time to explain.”
“Yes, well, punctuality is not something I have a lot of time for.”
They were approaching the doors to the palace now, too late for more talk, for details. Van Gast would have to do what he loved best and fly by the seat of his rather fine breeches. The tingle in his fingers grew as he contemplated how much wealth was concentrated in this one place. The itch in his chest grew too. Josie cozying up to a son of the council…someone at the palace after his blood…someone ready to turn him over.
Enough. Concentrate on the twist. No point second-guessing her now, you’ll always lose that game.
The palace stretched above them, a vast blocky stub of a building decorated with frescos and statues of mermaids and sharks and the like. Not particularly good ones, it had to be said. Estovan was known for mercenary trade, not art. Black wooden doors studded with iron stood open at the head of a shallow flight of steps. Merchanters milled about, reacquainting themselves with old trading partners or finding new ones. The way they moved through the crowds, some still, some swooping past groups to hail another, some homing in on a likely target, reminded Van Gast of reef sharks patrolling for scavenge, the way they’d lurk about a stricken boat, just waiting for the meat they knew would be theirs in the end.
Two figures stood by the doors. It took a moment before Van Gast realized the woman was Josie, all prim and proper in a dress again, her hair pinned in a bun. She watched Van Gast and Skrymir approach with a blank face and set lips, but a sly wink in Van Gast’s direction made his heart squeeze painfully. She was giving him his chance, probably the only chance he would get. Lady number three wasn’t her, it couldn’t be, he wouldn’t believe it. He’d just staked his life on it.
Van Gast and Skrymir came up the steps, and Skrymir greeted his “wife” with a chaste peck on the cheek. Van Gast bent low over her hand, lingering just that little too long as he appreciated the cleavage that became available at eye level. He could almost hear her voice in his head, tinged with laughter. Andor Van Gast, is that all you ever think of? And the only truthful answer. With you in the room, Josienne? Yes, yes it is.
A night that seemed a lifetime ago, before everything had turned to shit, an easy togetherness he might never get again.
A pointed cough from Skrymir jerked him back.
“As always, Lord Brimeld, your wife quite entrances me.” Van Gast didn’t miss the grin, quickly suppressed, on Josie’s face.
“Yes, so I see. Mr. Ibsen, if I could introduce Rillen, a son of the council? He’s agreed to help us with our proposal.”
Van Gast looked at the man by Josie’s side for the first time and almost choked. No wonder the itch had grown as they walked up the avenue, closer and closer to this man. The guard who’d been right behind him at the temple, who’d called his name, shot at him and almost hit. The man Gilda had asked to see.
The man who knew his secret name.
* * *
Rillen had to admit that Van Gast hid his shock very well. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he might never have noticed the twitch as Van Gast recognized him. His surprise was soon buried under a smooth professionalism, a bland trading face like the rest of the merchanters. If Rillen hadn’t known it was him, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to link the renowned racketeer Van Gast, half glimpsed in an orange-black sunset, with this pompous trader, all fine cloth and perfumed kerchief.
Rillen smiled and chatted amiably with the three of them as they made their way into the palace, past the guards dressed in their finest, past vast murals that lined the two-story high walls of the atrium, tinkling fountains that cooled the air, and potted ferns that softened the stark corners of the room.
Of the three of them, only the big Gan seemed at all ill at ease. If Rillen hadn’t known…but he did, and they’d come to regret that.
“My father is very interested in your proposal,” he said, the first lie of the evening. “I’m sure we can all make a lot of money.”