Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

his garret. There was almost an hour before noon, when he would have to meet Coeccias at the White Grape, so he had the drudge heat water, and washed himself in his room, shaving as well. Then he put on one of his new sets of clothes, a deep blue tunic with soft breeches of owl gray. His good boots and new cloak completed the outfit, and he wished for a mirror to admire himself. There was none, so he went downstairs.

The drudge was the only person in the kitchen, and she stared at his new clothes fearfully. When asked, she stammered that she did not know where his landlady was.

"Well, then, could you tell her that I probably won't be in this evening, so she should not worry. Will you tell her?"

He wanted to laugh at her eager, wide-eyed nodding, and went to the White Grape.

As usual, the tavern seemed empty, though the common room was more than half full. The lunchtime conversations were quiet, and the tables were placed well apart so that sound did not carry. The serving girl recognized Liam, and gave his clothes a second, approving look before coming to his table.

"I doubted you'd come," Coeccias said when he arrived, standing behind his chair for a moment before sitting. "You've tricked yourself up nicely, Rhenford."

"New clothes," he responded, waving a hand in dismissal.

"Well, then, what news?"

"I met with Ancus Marcius this morning."

Coeccias seemed to be waiting for something, edging around a question.

"Anything come of it?"

"Enough to buy lunch, but not much else."

While they ate, he described his conversation with the merchant, and the Aedile listened with occasional murmurs of comprehension.

"I think the warning is genuine," Liam finished. "I think he killed Tarquin over the Teeth, and wants me off the scene because he thinks I may have some information."

"Or he took you for the fool you presented, and played you out your own fears, so you wouldn't deal with Necquer. Your suspicion wilts under that complexion."

It did indeed. Once again he swung back to thinking he had wasted the morning, and his only interview with the proud merchant prince.

"And Marcius expects me to leave Southwark," Liam added gloomily.

"Aye, he does. Naught bettered, Rhenford, and maybe much made worse." The blandness with which the Aedile announced his failure stung him, and he hung his head over his untasted food.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it," he muttered. "Truth, nothing. So we'll not nag at it. Let's consider something else, such as where you flew off to last night, eh?" Frank disapproval rode the Aedile's heavy brow, and Liam winced.

"I ... I was not feeling well."

"The play was not so poor as to be sickening, Rhenford. No excuse. Have you a better?"

"No."

Liam raised his gaze to Coeccias's, and held it against the Aedile's probing stare. After a long moment of tension, the heavy man sighed and relaxed.

"I trust y'are feeling better," he said with heavy sarcasm.

"Much, thank you," Liam replied in the same manner.

There was another tension, but it broke when both smiled tentatively. Coeccias spoke first.

"If y'are feeling well enough, we've other business." He began to describe what he had found out. His men had not discovered the barmaid Donoé, but they had not been searching the rich quarter. He had reserved the best taverns there for himself, and expected to go the rounds the next morning.

"They're good men all," he explained, "but I'd rather they not fright the poor girl. I'll handle it, and assure the outcome. You may want to attend me."

It was agreed that Liam would go with him, as he knew what he wanted to ask the girl, and might think of more questions when he saw her.

The Aedile had also arranged to be informed if the rent on the mysterious hooded woman's lodgings was paid.

"We'll know by tomorrow noon whether Tarquin was keeping her or no. But more than all this," he went on, growing brisk, "is the player. When we thought him a minstrel, and did not know his face, I was not so hot to clap him in. Now we have his face and his station, and as an actor, he'd've had access to the sort of knife as killed the wizard. He seems most likely to me."

"Then you want to arrest him? "

Frowning, Coeccias tugged at his beard and spoke thoughtfully. "No, truth, I don't. See him, yes, clap him in, no. Strikes me, all proposed to the killing were clever enough to fix the blame elsewhere. And of the choices, the player would be first in my mind to sacrifice—he's the basest. Viyescu's respected, the woman unknown, Marcius nigh untouchable without good cause." He stopped, as though there was more.

"And ... " Liam prompted.

"And ... he doesn't look the sort. Truth, did you see him stab that villain in the piece? Now, certain it is that duke earned his death more than Tarquin did his, but the pretty boy winced at it—and that only in a play! Did see?"

"I was watching the girl."

"Aye," Coeccias laughed. "Aye. Well, l think he couldn't have done the real deed, if he blanched at its counterfeit." "I agree. I've seen him elsewhere, and he doesn't seem the type to fight." At the rise of the Aedile's eyebrows, Liam briefly outlined bis sight of Lons at the Necquer's party.

"All Necquer had to do was start for the door, and Lons was off like lightning. He wouldn't fight unless he was pushed, I guess. Too afraid his handsome face'd get hurt. And Tarquin wasn't the kind to push too hard."

"Still and all, it'd like me to see him, and maybe fright him a little. If he is our man, he's been cool enough till now, staying the time in town, and acting his plays. We'll talk with him, and set a man to watch him. He may try to take his leave after our little discourse. If he does, we'll have him."

"And if not, we may still scare him enough to make