A Rational Arrangement, page 5
The black warcat shook his head glumly. “No, m’lord.” The smooth stone streets were well-lit by gaslamps in this part of Gracehaven. Tall trees flanked the streets, steelwood and marble buildings large and elegant on well-tended lots, light shining out through myriad wide glass windows.
“What’s the matter? You’re not still upset about the scramble on that roof, are you?”
“Oh, no, m’lord. It’s my life’s ambition to get you killed, y’know. I figure ‘splattered last employer taking stupid risks with his life’ will look great on a letter of recommendation.”
“Don’t be silly, Anthser. That fall wouldn’t kill me. What, forty feet? Nowhere near far enough to die.”
Anthser swiveled an ear. “Rrr. Maybe not.”
“Fracture some bones, sure. Perhaps break my neck or cause serious hemorrhaging. But die? Nonsense.” Nik waved aside the idea. “Almost certainly someone could get me to a man with an efficacious Blessing before the punctured lungs would prove deadly.”
The greatcat wrinkled his muzzle. “Thanks. I think.”
“Any time.” They reached Lord Comfrey’s courtyard – even at a walk, Anthser could outpace a man jogging – and Nik slid down at the top of the front steps. “Anthser.” The black greatcat would not quite meet his eye; Nik circled in front of him to catch it. “Thank you for taking stupid risks with my life to cheer me up. I appreciate it. Also, I did not fall, and I trust your judgment, and it wasn’t stupid.”
Anthser grumbled something about humans who were too foolish to know what was good for them, and bumped his head against Nik’s chest. “You gonna be here until some ridiculous hour like usual?”
“I expect so. Get some sleep at his felishome, or go home if you like – I’m sure I won’t leave before one at the earliest, and likely not until three.”
“Hrrf. Home’s a hundred thirty miles away.” Anthser glanced westward, to distant Fireholt. “I’ll get some catnip at Vendrigar’s and come back by one. Maybe with enough catnip in me, Comfrey’s greatcats will be bearable company.” He gave a mock shudder that made his dark fur ripple. Nik shook his head with a chuckle, and rapped on the door as his warcat strode away into the night.
Nikola was early enough that Justin wasn’t ready for visitors when he arrived; the butler showed him to a cozy parlor to wait. Nik selected a book at random from an end table and turned pages without following what he read, his mind elsewhere, until a noise at the door drew his attention.
“Hello, Striker.” Justin smiled as his eyes lit on Nik. “You don’t know how good it is to see you again. Thanks for coming.” He strode forward, clasping Nik’s hand as the other man rose to meet him. “I feel quite the heel, turning down your mother’s last two invitations, but I’ve been swamped. I need to delegate more or something. I don’t suppose you’d be seeking gainful employment?” His dark eyes sparkled.
Nik shook his head, his gloved hand still in Justin’s bare one. “I don’t think so. Just being in Gracehaven stirs up enough trouble for me.” At almost six feet tall, Lord Comfrey was a few inches shorter than Nik, but Justin’s powerful, muscular frame made Nik feel like a reed to his oak. Justin had long, straight black hair, the front section pulled back from his face and gathered in a herringbone braid, the rest left loose to flow down his scarlet jacket to the small of his back. A few silver hairs threaded the black, though at thirty Justin could not be considered to have earned them. His skin was the warm golden brown of Newlanture heritage; thick eyebrows gave his handsome angular face a closed, saturnine look even when he was smiling.
“Hah. Is your mother still trying to fix a wife upon you?” Justin clasped Nik’s shoulder for a moment before releasing him, gesturing to the chair behind him before seating himself.
Nik rolled his eyes and sank back into his chair. “Worse than ever. I daresay Mother set her own agenda back a few days by taking an instant dislike to her latest candidate.”
“Indeed?” Justin smirked as he took the chair opposite. “What did the poor girl do?”
‘I prefer a difficult truth to a convenient fiction.’ “She was honest.”
“Ah! An unforgivable failing in any woman. Or man, for that matter. Whatever would we do if people were honest? How would politicians garner votes, or courtiers curry favor, or business deals close? Society would collapse. I can see why such a fault concerned your mother.” Justin kicked up his feet to rest them on an ottoman, legs crossed.
“This must be why you get on with Mother better than I do.”
“No, I get on with her better than you do because I’ve never had to live with her. You know, Striker, you can always stay with me while you’re in Gracehaven. Savior knows I’ve space enough.”
“I know.”
“But you won’t.”
Nikola hesitated. You don’t have time to entertain another houseguest. My petitioners would be an imposition on both you and your staff. I don’t want to be your obligation. “My parents would never let me hear the end of it if I stayed with someone else while visiting the city.”
Justin shrugged. “Suit yourself. Or them, as you please. But you only encourage your parents when you humor them.”
“You humor them.”
Justin laughed. “They amuse me. Your problem is you feel some silly obligation to take their whims seriously.”
Easy for you to say, when your parents aren’t around to torment you. That would be unkind to say aloud, so Nik asked instead, “Who else is joining us this evening? I neglected to ask the messenger.”
Justin did not resist the change of subject. “Secretary Haskill and Mrs. Haskill, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Lavert – have you met them? – and Lady Dalsterly and her granddaughter, Miss Dalsterly.” He paused. “Great-granddaughter? I think great-granddaughter. Anyway, you understand. To make the genders even.”
Nik laughed. “Did you truly invite Lady Dalsterly to make the numbers?”
“Mrs. Haskill is Very Keen that such things be Done Properly.” Justin’s eyes glinted. “Besides, I figured you’d want someone you could talk to. Other than me.”
“I see. So is this little gathering business or politics?”
“If I admit ‘both’, will you flee?”
“It’s too late for me to make my escape. I already let Anthser go off to intoxicate himself. Have you ever ridden a ’nipped warcat? He tries to roll over and get me to rub his belly. While I’m on his back.”
Justin grinned at the image. “In that case – both. Sorry. I need to close this contract with Lavert so he can get his ships out of port, and we can’t do that until Customs clears his cargo, which they’re holding under a series of ridiculous pretexts which I suspect amount to ‘some tinpot bureaucrat has taken a dislike to Lavert and/or one of his underlings’. Hence: the hope that Secretary Haskill will expedite the matter.”
“Sounds exciting,” Nik said, dryly.
“It’s not my favorite—” A knock at the parlor door interrupted him, and Justin called, “Yes?”
“Secretary and Mrs. Haskill have arrived, m’lord,” the butler informed them.
Justin sighed. “Thank you. We’ll meet them in the stiff parlor.” He swung his feet off the ottoman and stood. “I promise the evening won’t be all business and politicking, Striker.”
Custom dictated that when seating a formal gathering for a meal, men must alternate with women and no one could be seated beside the person with whom they’d arrived. Justin and Nik were placed at the opposite ends of the table; Mrs. Haskill and Mrs. Lavert were placed to either side of Justin, then Lavert and Haskill in the center and with their wives on opposite sides, and then Lady and Miss Dalsterly bracketed Nik. It was a small enough affair that conversation was not strictly confined to one’s neighbors, though the tendency remained.
Miss Dalsterly was an attractive girl of seventeen, brown-skinned and auburn-haired, and with no more than the most minimally polite interest in Nik. Judging by the amount of time the girl spent gazing up the table, Miss Dalsterly would have given much to trade places with Mrs. Lavert and be seated beside Justin. Yes, well, so would I, girl. Live the life you’re born to, Nikola thought.
Lady Dalsterly was ninety-six, short, slim, stooped, and white-haired, with a face like a smiling golden raisin. She also had a ready laugh and a supply of stories about every major event that had happened in Gracehaven in the last ninety years. After a couple of glasses of wine, she could generally be persuaded to share embarrassing stories on almost anyone. Once a few polite efforts determined the extent of Miss Dalsterly’s disinterest, Nik abandoned the great-granddaughter to whatever joy she might glean from straining to catch the conversation of Secretary Haskill, Mrs. Lavert, and Justin. He turned all his attention to the elderly woman at his right instead. “What do you think of the wine, Lady Dalsterly? I understand it’s a splendid vintage.”
“Is it? I would say that fine wine was wasted on my dull old palate, but I believe it was wasted on my sharp young palate seventy years ago too. I’ve never been able to taste all those flavors that are supposed to be in wine: smoky and fruity and nutty and whatever all else. It’s dry, though, I can tell that much, and I like my wine dry.”
“Then it is not wasted on you, m’lady.” Nik moved to refill her glass from the decanter.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Lord Nikola?” Lady Dalsterly teased, though she held out her glass anyway.
“Of course. How else am I to take advantage of you?” Nik topped off her glass.
Lady Dalsterly laughed merrily. “I must warn you, that if you are looking to add a centenarian to your string of conquests, Lord Nikola, then I still have another four years to go.”
“Then I’d best get started now, hadn’t I? No doubt it will take me at least that long to wear down your virtue.”
She shook her head at him and took another sip. “Now, you scamp, what are you truly after?”
“Well, if you insist on doubting the impurity of my intentions – perhaps I hope for some tale of Lord Comfrey’s wayward childhood, by way of retaliation for letting him trick me into attending one of his business suppers.” At some point during the soup course, Nik had been struck by the unpleasant realization that it was likely he, and not Lady Dalsterly, who’d been invited to make up the numbers. Justin would have had to invite some lady to bring the party from five to six, and he could not have invited either Lady Dalsterly or her young houseguest without including both.
“Mmm.” Lady Dalsterly looked thoughtful. “This Lord Comfrey, I imagine, and not his father or grandfather?”
Nik considered. “As this is but a cover for my nefarious designs upon your person, I don’t suppose it matters. How long have you known the Comfreys?”
“Oh, I met Lord Langston Comfrey, saints watch his soul, back when he was Lord Langston and I was still a girl, a year or two younger than Rebecca here. He was a very stern upright gentleman then, and very round too. Pie was his one great vice, you understand.”
“Pie?”
“Any kind, fruit or pudding or savory. There was a little hushed-up scandal between him and his cook, and I am quite convinced it was solely from the poor woman smuggling him late-night pastries against his wife’s wishes. The old lord was never the same after the cook’s dismissal. Wasted away to a mere oval instead of a sphere.”
At Justin’s end of the table, the conversation had turned from the minutiae of customs and tariffs to a more general discussion of policies. Nikola’s attention was caught from Lady Dalsterly when Mr. Lavert spoke his name. “Beg pardon?” Nik said, shifting his gaze from the lady to the gentleman beside her.
“I was just saying, Lord Nikola, that if we’re to discuss the appropriate compensation of Blessings, we ought to ask a man who bears one.” Lavert spoke clearly, the rest of the table falling silent.
Nik gave the group a nonplussed look. “I daresay the Code settles that question.”
“The Code begs that question,” Mrs. Lavert responded, ignoring Mrs. Haskill’s satisfied expression. “‘A gift for a gift’ – it gives no true guidance as to what the recipient ought to pay. And the Code’s insistence that ‘any who may be helped, must be helped’ offers precious little incentive to make the payment adequate.”
“Adequate to what?” Nik asked.
“Adequate to human greed, Lord Nikola. Pay no mind,” Mrs. Haskill interjected, while Mrs. Lavert scowled.
“Adequate as compensation,” Secretary Haskill said. “The Code has already been set aside for those with a Blessing in plants or stone. It’s archaic to insist those Blessed to heal body or mind – priceless skills! – must follow it.”
“‘Priceless’,” Nik repeated. “Rather the point, isn’t it?”
“A figure of speech. It ought to have a price; the existing system is unfair to the Blessed.”
“It’s as the Savior intended, Brennan,” Mrs. Haskill said.
At the head of the table, Justin cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, it’s a system that offers no incentive for a Blessed man to develop his talents. Certainly some—” he inclined his dark head to Nik “—do so anyway. But how many Blessed content themselves with the easy cures they are born to, and never exert themselves to do more? If the Blessed were permitted to charge a realistic fee for their services, they would be far more motivated to expand their powers. Learning to regrow a man’s leg when sailors will repay you in grog…well, it’s not much of a trade.”
Nikola tightened his fingers against the stem of his wineglass, then forced them to relax. “If you were standing on a dock beside a life preserver, and a man was drowning in the water before you, would you throw the life preserver to him?”
Justin’s dark eyes met his across the table. “Lord Nikola, this is not—”
“I ask,” Nik interrupted, “Would you give him the life preserver? Or would you first calculate the value of his life in marks and eighths, and demand that he ransom himself with the appropriate sum? If he were a beggar or an orphan, would you leave him to drown? If he were an old man, would you give him a discount because he didn’t have much life left anyway?”
“It is very well to be moved by a higher calling, but not all men are. Surely you as much as anyone are aware that the Blessed desire shelter, clothing, and to provide for their families?”
“Lord Comfrey.” Nikola leaned forward, raising his voice. “If I were penniless—” and you know how near that is to truth, don’t you? “—and drowning, would you save me?”
Justin looked at him as if he were a particularly obstinate pupil. “You know I would. But that is not a fair comparison—”
“It is the only fair comparison.” Nik leaned back in the ornate dining room chair. “The Savior has seen fit to give me an ample supply of life preservers. To hold that supply for ransom, only to be given to those who could meet some arbitrary price, would be an abomination.” Everyone was watching him now, some with pity and some with a shining respect bordering on hero-worship, and Nik felt a bone-grinding weariness at being misunderstood. Enough. I am neither a saint nor a martyr.
He was rescued from the silence that followed by the dessert course of spiced baked pears nestled in pastry and drizzled in chocolate. It was delectable enough to distract the company and restore an amiable mood before they adjourned to the gaming room.
Nik was an indifferent billiards player at best. He’d had some practice at carom billiards, but in the pocket billiards variant that Justin played, Nik couldn’t even remember which maneuvers scored how many points without a refresher. Justin, Secretary Haskill, and both Laverts were keen to play. “To two hundred points, my lord?” Mrs. Lavert asked, selecting a cue stick.
“Certainly. Ten marks a point as usual?” Justin said, blandly.
The Laverts and Secretary Haskill agreed without hesitation. Nik did his best not to look appalled.
“We’ll just watch,” Lady Dalsterly said firmly, leading her great-granddaughter to seats along the wall. A disappointed Miss Dalsterly whispered something to her elder relation.
“We can play in teams,” Justin offered.
“That’s quite all right, my lord.” Lady Dalsterly answered, polite, firm, and unmoved by her descendant’s pleading look. Mrs. Haskill likewise declined.
“Would you like to alternate games?” Secretary Haskill asked Nik.
“Oh no.” Nik gave an easy smile that belied his relief. “Keeping three lovely ladies company while watching others do all the hard work is far more my style.”
Justin chuckled. “Suit yourself.” The four players divided among Justin’s two billiards tables, winners to play winners and losers to play losers after the first game. Nik amused himself bantering and flirting with the three women, although he reserved his most outrageous lines for the elderly Lady Dalsterly, who took them as seriously as he offered them.
Miss Dalsterly watched the game – or more accurately, Lord Comfrey – with transparent longing. Everyone politely pretended not to notice. Nik wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wish her luck, offer his condolences, or warn her off. It was certainly no hardship to watch Justin move gracefully about the billiard table, extending his tall, powerful frame to full length for the occasional shot. As with everything he put his mind to, Justin played well. Between turns, he would laugh and tease his guests, but his attitude when making a shot was concentrated and intent. He won his first two games, at which point Lady Dalsterly took the opportunity of the hour and the timing to excuse herself and her great-granddaughter, leaving only Nik and Mrs. Haskill remaining on the sidelines.
Mrs. Haskill, a stout fortyish woman with handsome Newlanture features and a pleasantly rounded figure, had consumed enough wine to shed her veneer of stuffy reserve. She proved an attentive companion when she had Nik to herself, full of interested inquiries about how his Blessing worked, as well as cheerfully returning his banter. After a couple more games, her husband begged off from further play to take his wife home.
“But it’s not even eleven-thirty yet,” Mr. Lavert protested. “Surely you can stay for another game?”
