The Dog of the North (13 page)

‘Isola, we have discussed before how you only hurt yourself by repining.’

‘I will be in Mettingloom for ever,’ she said softly. ‘I will never see the sun again.’

‘You exaggerate, my lady. The sunshine may be rare in winter, but it is all the more precious when it breaks through.’

Since she seemed disinclined to offer him a drink, he helped himself from the flagon of langensnap, pouring one for Isola as he did so. ‘Your sufferings will soon be over,’ he
said.

She reached into her breast and drew out a letter, torn and ragged from handling.

‘This is from Davanzato. My father will not pay my ransom.’

Beauceron glanced at the crabbed hand on the page. ‘It is a negotiating ploy,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said, dabbing at her nose with a kerchief. ‘He says that since he has paid my dowry, and I was kidnapped within the county of Croad, I am Oricien’s
responsibility, and he is responsible for my ransom.’

‘The position is extreme, although it may be defensible. I am not an expert on betrothal law.’

‘Davanzato then asked Oricien to pay. Since he had not received the dowry, he refused, saying that my father must pay both ransom and dowry.’

‘The positions are not compatible,’ said Beauceron as he sipped his langensnap. ‘No doubt the court at Emmen would rule one way or the other, although the case would be
time-consuming. You must be patient.’

Isola flung her glass into the fire. ‘Do you not understand? Neither of them wants me! My father, and the man I was going to marry, and they are fighting to be rid of me. And you are the
one who took my dowry!’

Beauceron jabbed at the fire with a poker, as much to keep it out of Isola’s hands as for any other reason. ‘I needed the money. I did not imagine that you would not command a
ransom. I sympathize with your plight.’

Isola stepped over to him and looked into his eyes. ‘You did not realize what would happen to me. I know you meant me no harm; you protected me and kept your men from violating me. You are
not a bad man – can you not restore my dowry? Oricien would then pay my ransom.’

Beauceron broke her gaze. ‘That is not possible. You imagine an intimacy between us which does not and has never existed. You owe me no particular thanks for any forbearance. While I may
enjoy your company, my use for you has always been commercial. Your dowry allows me many possibilities.’

Isola slapped half-heartedly at him; Beauceron took both her wrists in one hand.

‘Possibilities!’ she spat. ‘You mean your precious invasion of Croad. Have you no eyes? Davanzato will never permit it. A child could see as much.’

Beauceron poured another glass of langensnap for her and led her to sit on the couch. ‘Drink that.’

He sat on a chair out of her immediate reach.

She drained the glass in a single motion. ‘Did you hear me? Davanzato will never let you take an army to Croad.’

‘Davanzato is not the King.’

‘He might as well be. It seems the Chamberlain will never recover, so he controls access to Fanrolio. You would do better in persuading Tardolio.’

‘The option is not practical. And although it comes from your mouth I hear Davanzato’s voice.’

‘Pah! I hate Davanzato as much as I hate you. He has used me throughout while pretending to be a concerned friend. And he will not drop one florin of the commission he is owed. He will
learn that fifteen per cent of nothing is nothing.’

‘No doubt that does not increase his regard for me.’

‘I do not care what he thinks of you. Ideally you would both kill each other.’

Beauceron crossed his legs. ‘I did not come here to give you advice, and I have nothing to gain from doing so. Nonetheless: it is important to make a distinction between the past and the
future. In the past, I kidnapped you and took your dowry. At the time you were understandably vexed with me. Understand that hating me cannot help you. I am no longer able to harm you; I may even
be able to help you, in a limited sense, although clearly that help cannot be financial. Forget the past, calculate where your advantage lies for the future, and act on that basis.’

Isola began to laugh, gently at first and then with increasing abandon. Soon she was howling with laughter and tears.

‘My counsel was not intended to be humorous.’

‘They say you are the least forgiving man alive, that you are gnawed with hatred of Croad, that the lord of the city gelded you, that every normal feeling and principle has been perverted
and subverted to your lust for revenge.’

Beauceron rubbed his cheek. ‘I do not recognize the portrait. I most certainly have not been gelded. “Revenge” is an emotive term. I nurture a resentment proportional to a
long-ago event, and would gladly see those who injured me suffer just penalty.’

‘How, then, do you differ from me in hating those who have taken my life?’

‘My programme is rational and constructive. Every day I take steps to bring it about. In so doing I give myself useful occupation. Were I of religious bent I would argue that I advance
along the Way of Harmony. Your own bitterness, if I may say so, has become directed inwards rather than put to constructive use. You are unlikely to benefit from such an approach.’

Isola rose from her seat. ‘Your arrogance is breathtaking! You allow yourself to nurture grudges in the name of “Harmony” while I am told to see sense and accustom myself to my
daily humiliation of owing my bread to Davanzato. I should even look upon you in a friendly light! Be assured that I do not. Kindly leave immediately.’

Beauceron bowed. ‘As you wish, my lady.’

As he turned and left the room, Isola was already filling her glass with another measure of langensnap.

5

On leaving Isola, Beauceron resolved to pay a call on Cosetta. She had taken an apartment overlooking the Grand Aquavia in the Metropolia, a respectable address.

When he arrived at the apartment, Cosetta was fastening herself into a dress in preparation for a ball that evening. It sagged loose at the front and Beauceron made an effort to look
elsewhere.

‘I am honoured to see you, Beauceron,’ she said, ‘although, as you see, time presses. Please, help yourself to refreshments if you choose.’

Beauceron sat and looked around the apartment. It was spacious and airy, the couches and tables tricked out with fashionable gildings.

‘I have just come from the Lady Isola,’ he said. ‘She has received some bad news about her ransom.’

‘I have not seen her for several days,’ said Cosetta. ‘I have had many affairs to occupy me. I take it that Sprang is declining to pay.’

‘Not just Sprang – Oricien also. They are arguing over whose responsibility she is.’

Cosetta pursed her lips. ‘Better that she should learn Oricien’s character before she marries him. A man who is parsimonious in such circumstances is unlikely to prove an open-handed
husband.’

‘She does not take quite that view. And Oricien is not so much parsimonious as proud. He worries that Sprang is trying to play him for a fool. I do not know which of them has the right of
it.’

‘That is scarcely the point,’ said Cosetta.

‘Isola said much the same.’

Cosetta gave a half-smile which could have meant anything. ‘Here, can you tie my dress at the back? It is so difficult without a maid.’

Beauceron stepped across and tied the red fabric to cover her exposed back. Her skin had the limpid purity of the mountain source of the Emmen. It would be stimulating to see more of it. He
returned to his seat, and Cosetta sat and faced him.

‘I am surprised that you have not been more in Isola’s company,’ he said. ‘Indeed I am surprised that you no longer share an apartment.’

Cosetta shrugged. ‘Neither of us was drawing comfort from the other. Isola was always expecting her ransom to arrive; I merely hoped for mine, and resolved to make plans in case it did
not. In this I was wise, for my father’s refusal arrived yesterday.’

‘Cosetta! I am sorry.’

Cosetta’s eyes flashed for a moment. ‘“Sorry”? Is that polite sympathy, or do you regret kidnapping me and setting a price on my head? The two are very
different.’

Beauceron gave a rueful grin. ‘I find it unproductive to regret past actions, since they cannot be undone. There are no meaningful amends I can make, so you will have to accept my remark
as expressing formal, if sincere, sympathy.’

Cosetta laughed. ‘You are wonderfully free of hypocrisy, Beauceron. You kidnapped me for gain and you hold to your purpose with firmness and vigour. But you never pretend otherwise.
Davanzato oozed sympathy and consideration when he received the letter. “If there was anything I could do for your suffering” . . . Does he think I am a child, not to realize that he is
profiting from the situation?’

‘You should be careful, Cosetta. Davanzato is a dangerous man. He has the ear of the King, and he is ruthless when crossed.’

Cosetta shrugged. ‘He is more interested in Isola. The commission on my ransom is only 1,500 florins, and he has never expected to gain it in any event. Isola is worth rather more to him.
That is another reason why I left the apartment.’

‘Do not make an enemy of him.’

‘He knows better than to trifle with me. How do you think these apartments are paid for?’

‘I have wondered ever since I have known of them,’ said Beauceron.

‘Prince Brissio maintains them. Do you remember the night we danced? Brissio was most jealous. After the duel he escorted me back to my apartment in Hiverno. I owe you some gratitude for
piquing his attention in that way.’

‘You and Prince Brissio are—’

‘No indeed!’ laughed Cosetta. ‘A man of that stamp does not prize favours once they are yielded to him. I keep him in a frenzy of anticipation. He does not realize it, but he
enjoys the situation more than if he possessed me every night. Clod that he is, he has some imagination, even if of a base sort.’

Beauceron looked sideways at her. ‘Again I must warn you to be careful.’

Cosetta laughed again. ‘You may speak with authority of the treacherous currents of Fanrolio’s court, but where dealing with a man like Brissio is concerned I have nothing to learn
from you. Indeed, perhaps I should ask him to hire me a maid . . .’

You are dealing with circumstances differently from Lady Isola.’

‘Isola is always expecting to go home tomorrow, so she never plans for events here. I hope we are both redeemed soon but I should hate to rely on the prospect.’

Beauceron paused a moment. ‘I wonder how much influence Brissio has with his father.’

Cosetta smiled. ‘Do not even consider what you are implying. First, I have no reason to help you; second, I do not wish to become embroiled in making Brissio a rival to Davanzato; and
third, if Brissio had the influence you suggest, he would use it to thwart rather than help you.’

‘He has confided as much to you?’

‘We have other things to discuss than our sentiments towards you, Beauceron. Nonetheless, he is envious of your accomplishments, both on the battlefields and as a duellist. He suspects
that I entertain a partiality for you – as if such a thing could be countenanced in the circumstances – and this does not prompt warm feelings in his breast either.’

‘I care nothing for Brissio’s feelings towards me. Since he is neither able nor willing to help me I will not pursue the matter further.’

‘There is also the point that I am unwilling to help you.’

Beauceron smiled. ‘If I ever needed your help, Cosetta, I am confident that one way or another I would be able to secure it.’

Cosetta narrowed her eyes. ‘I think, Beauceron, that we shall never know.’

6

Beauceron left Cosetta’s apartment and immediately saw the man who had been following him, standing on the frozen aquavia pretending to read a religious tract.
Beauceron walked slowly but purposefully out on the Grand Aquavia and thence to the frozen lagoon. A walk of forty-five minutes or so brought him to the nondescript waterside tavern where Monetto
was to be found in the afternoons.

‘You are early today,’ said Monetto. ‘Will you take beer?’

‘On this occasion, no,’ said Beauceron. ‘I am weary of being followed. I think we shall take some more deliberate action.’

Monetto nodded, draining his mug as he rose. ‘My rooms are nearby. They will do as well as anywhere.’

‘You know what he looks like?’

‘Of course. I have seen him too.’

Beauceron stepped back out into the street, pulling his cloak around him, for the wind was now in his face. He walked back in the direction he had come, past the man who had been following him.
Once he had got far enough to be sure that his pursuer would be in motion, he turned and walked back towards the tavern. The man had nowhere else to go and looked around in confusion. Before he
could reach any conclusion, he found his way blocked by Monetto.

‘Come, friend,’ said Monetto. ‘You have been keen to make Beauceron’s acquaintance, if a little shy. I will introduce you.’

‘Ah – you – you mistake me, sir. I merely take the air on this glorious afternoon.’

Monetto stepped closer and leaned into the man. ‘Do you feel my knife?’

‘Ah – yes. There is no cause—’

‘There will not be if you do as I say. Follow me – don’t tell me you don’t know how. Beauceron will be behind us to make sure you do not try to slip off. Then the three
of us will become better acquainted. What is there to worry about?’

In a few minutes they were in a lodging house in a low part of town. Monetto led them up a narrow twisting flight of stairs to the garret where he made his home.

‘Is this really where you live?’ asked Beauceron, for the room was cramped and the light indifferent under the midwinter sky.

Monetto shrugged. ‘I have no taste for luxury,’ he said, ‘and I can keep an eye on the men. They are less inclined to dissipation if they know I am on hand.’

The third man stood smirking in the doorway. The room was not large enough to accommodate three in comfort.

‘You, inside,’ said Beauceron. ‘Who are you?’

The man sat down in the least worn of the three chairs.

‘My name is Nissac,’ he said. ‘I would have volunteered as much without this charade.’