Swordpoint (11 page)

Chapter XIV

Two more weeks passed in Riverside without word from the one-eyed nobleman. Richard and Alec amused themselves spending the last of the winter garden money. Minor swordsmen whose reputations needed improvement found that once again St Vier would fight them, if they offended his friend first. No one had done it so far and lived; it became the kind of wild sport that fashion imposes on the restlessness of winter's end. Alec seemed to sense them, before they'd even opened their mouths; it was he as often as they who led the attack. He said it amused him to give Richard something to do. But he provoked them even when Richard wasn't there, smelling out the bravos, the ones with violence in their blood, raising their flow of viciousness like the moon calling the tide. Sometimes it was only the reputation Richard had built for him that saved his life. It always made him savage.

Besides self-destruction, his newest obsession was the theatre. He had always loved it; for once he had the money, and someone controversial to be seen with at it. Richard had been to the theatre a few times when he first came to the city, but it was hard for him to understand the appeal: he found the plays contrived, and the spectacle unconvincing. Finally, though, to quiet Alec - and take his mind off Horn and Tremontaine - he agreed to go when the theatre opened soon.

'And I have just the play,' Alec said happily. 'It's called The Swordsman's Tragedy. You'll love it. It's all about people killing each other.'

'Does it have swordplay in it?'

'Actors.'

'They can't be very good.'

'That's not the point,' Alec informed him. 'They are excellent actors. Blackwell's troupe, who did Her Other Gown three years ago. They're better at tragedy, though. Oh, you will enjoy it! It will cause such a stir.'

'Why?' he asked, and Alec smiled mysteriously: 'Ask Hugo.'

He cornered Hugo Seville and Ginnie Vandall in the market that afternoon. 'Hugo,' he said, 'what do you know about The Swordsman's Tragedy?'

Lightning swift, Hugo drew his blade. Richard had time to admire Alec's viciousness and to reach for his own weapon when he realised that Hugo had taken out his sword only to spit on it, and was carefully rubbing the spit into the blade with his thumb. With a sigh he resheathed it, never having noticed what St Vier had been about to do.

'Don't', said Hugo, 'go messing with the Tragedy.'

'Why not?'

Ginnie looked at him closely. 'You've been here how long-six years, seven? And no one's told you about the Tragedy?'

'I don't pay much attention to the theatre. But it's playing now across the river. Alec wants to go.'

Ginnie's eyes narrowed. 'Let him go without you.'

'I don't think he wants to. Can you tell me about it?'

Ginnie raised her eyebrows in an expressive sigh. She leaned her head against her lover's shoulder and murmured, 'Walk off for a while, Hugo. See if Edith has some new rings.'

'I'm sorry,' said Richard. 'I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

'Never mind.' Ginnie pulled her velvet cloak more tightly around her and walked close to St Vier. She was scented with musk, like a great lady. She spoke softly, as though passing him stolen goods: 'Here it is, then. The Tragedy was first played about twenty-five years back. The actor playing the - you know, the lead, was killed in a freak accident onstage. They kept playing it, though, because it was so popular. And everything seemed all right. Then people started to notice - Every swordsman that's gone to see it has lost his next fight,' she hissed; then she shrugged, trying to make light of it: 'Some badly, some not. We don't go see it, that's all. It's a good thing I told you. If people see you there, they'll think you're unlucky. And don't say the name.'

Alec was right: it did make the prospect of going to the theatre more appealing.

Alec greeted Richard's decision jubilantly. 'We shall sit in the gallery where we can see everything,' he announced, 'and get a bag of raisins and almonds to throw at the actors.'

'Will people be able to see us, too?' He couldn't imagine that that wasn't the point in going.

"I expect...' said Alec evasively. Suddenly he turned to Richard with a dangerous gleam in his eye. 'Clothes,' he stated. 'You must wear something splendid.'

'I don't own anything splendid. Not what you're thinking of, anyway.'

'Then you must get something.'

He did not like the fashionable tailor's. It made him nervous to stand still while the man attacked him with chalk and tape and pins for his measurements, muttering strange formulae under his breath. Alec was perfectly composed; but then, Alec had nothing to do but finger bolts of cloth presented by the goggling staff.

'There,' Richard pointed with all he had free, his chin, 'that one's good.'

'It's brown,' Alec said acidly, 'just like everything else you own.'

'I like brown. What's it made of?'

'Silk velvet,' Alec said with satisfaction, 'that stuff you said you wouldn't have.'

'Well, I don't have any use for it,' he said reasonably. 'Where would I wear velvet?'

'The same place you wear brown wool.'

'All right,' he conceded the colour. 'What about black, then?'

'Black,' Alec said in tones of deep disgust. 'Black is for grandmothers. Black is for stage villains.'

'Oh, do what you like.' Richard's temper was considerably shortened by the tape and the hovering hands. 'So long as it's not gaudy.'

'Is burgundy gaudy?' Alec asked with aggressive meekness. 'Or blue, perhaps?'

'Not that peacock colour you liked just now.'

'That was an indigo,' the tailor observed. 'Very fine. Lord Ferris had a coat made in it at the start of the season, sir.'

Alec smiled wickedly. 'Then by all means, Richard, you must have one too. It matches both your eyes.'

St Vier's fingers drummed on his thigh. He pointed to a bolt draped over a chair. 'That?'

'A very fine wool, sir, not much like it left this year. It's a russet, known this season as Apples of Delight, or Autumn Glory.'

'I don't care what it's called,' Richard said over Alec's sniff, 'I'll have that.'

'It's brown,' Alec said. '"Apples of Delight",' he further scoffed as they left the establishment. 'Peaches of Misery: another brown, like bruised fruit. Pears of Pomposity. Woeful Walnut. Cat's Vomit Pink.'

Richard touched his arm. 'Wait. We didn't get you measured for anything. Didn't you want that blue?'

Alec continued down the street. Affluent shoppers moved aside from the tall shabby figure. He said to Richard, not lowering his voice, 'It's probably called Hypochondriac's Veins this season. Lady Dysentery ordered a coat for her dog in it.'

'Don't you want anything new for spring? I've still got the money.'

'There is no point', he said, 'in trying to better the bested. Nice clothes only point out my inadequacies. And I slouch: it pulls the shoulders out.'

'Green,' Richard insisted, having nothing against bright colours provided he didn't have to wear them, 'for your eyes. And gold brocade. With a high neck, and a ruffle. You'd look elegant, Alec.'

'I'd look like a painted pole at a fair,' Alec said, giving his robe a tug. 'One Autumn Glory is quite enough.'

But on the day of the performance, Richard had his doubts. His new clothes were much more comfortable than he'd expected them to be: the richly coloured wool was soft, and moved with him like something he'd had for years. Alec's scholar's robe looked even more frayed by contrast, and it covered most of his new shirt and boots. He hadn't even used the enamel clasp for his hair; it was caught back with an old ribbon.

Richard didn't bother to argue. 'Sit down,' he ordered. 'And stay there.' And he disappeared into the bedroom.

From the front room he could hear Alec saying, 'What are you doing, trying to change your socks? They're perfectly clean and no one can see them anyway...."

He reappeared with a plain wooden box, the kind used for keeping letters or bills. He opened it so Alec couldn't see in, and brought out its first treasure.

'God,' Alec said, and that was all he could manage.

Richard slipped the ring over Alec's finger. It was a massive black pearl, set in heavy silver scrollwork.

Alec stared at his own hand. 'That's beautiful,' he breathed. 'I didn't know you had taste like that.'

'It was given to me. A long time ago.'

He took out the brooch next, and laid it in Alec's palm: a gold dragon clutching a sapphire. Alec's hand closed on it, hard enough to feel the edges; then he pinned the collar of his shirt closed with it.

'That's very, very old,' he said at last.

'It was my mother's. She stole it from her family.'

'The banking St Viers?'

'That's right. She didn't like them very much.'

He found a small diamond ring that fitted Alec's little finger, and a gold band inlaid with a red-gold rose.

'Clients', he said, smiling down at the rose, 'who liked my work. The diamond was a woman's, a nobleman's wife who gave it to me privately because she said I saved her reputation. I've always liked it, it's so fine.' He reached into the box again. 'This next one I got early on, as partial payment from a man with more jewels than money. I've never known what to do with it; I should have known it was for you.' He brought out a square-cut emerald as big as his thumbnail, flanked by citrons and set in gold.

Alec made a peculiar noise in his throat. 'Do you know what that's worth?'

'Half a job.'

'You wear it. What are you giving me these for, anyway?'

'I like the way they look on you. They don't look right on me, and they don't feel right, either.'

Entranced despite himself, Alec lifted his hands, now heavy with gold and silver and precious stones.

'That', said Richard, 'is the way to dress you.'

'You've missed a finger,' Alec said, and Richard answered, 'So

I have,' and drew out his newest acquisition, still in its pouch. 'Here,' he said, 'you open this one.'

Even in the room's dull light the ruby glowed with liquid colour. It was a long red bar that spanned two knuckles, flanked on either side with diamonds set in white gold.

'Where did you get this?' Alec asked, his voice dangerously shaky.

'From another nobleman. It's my latest bribe.'

'I think you're lying,' Alec said tightly. 'I think you got it from a thief.'

'No, really,' Richard said patiently. 'It's from Lord Ferris. He wanted me to wear it to our next meeting.'

'Well, wear it, then!' Alec shouted, thrusting the ring at him.

'I'm not comfortable in rings,' Richard said quietly, and didn't take it.

'This one in particular,' Alec growled. 'He had no right to give it to you.'

'No problem, then,' Richard said, trying to turn things light again: 'I give it to you, my lord.'

Alec's face, if possible, grew paler and stiffer, his eyes wider. Despite the danger, Richard lifted one jewelled hand and kissed it. 'Alec,' he said against the cold, heavy fingers, 'they are for you. Do what you want with them.'

Alec's fingers slowly tightened on his own. When he looked up, Alec was smiling, his eyes sharp and green with wicked pleasure. 'All right,' Alec drawled, 'I will.' And he slid the ruby onto his forefinger. It glowed there like a live thing, an icon for the hand that bore it.

They were a noble's hands, now, a foreign prince's, rich and strange. Against the transparent skin, the high-bred bones, Alec's coarse clothing and scuffed boots faded to nothing.

'That's good,' Richard said, pleased with the effect. 'It's a shame to keep them all in a box. I never wear them; this way I get to look at them.'

'They like to be looked at,' Alec said. 'I can feel them purring with delight, showy little bastards.'

'Well, let's take them for a walk - not that anyone will notice them, next to my new clothes.'

The two men were noticed all the way through Riverside. The afternoon was golden from the ground up; the snow being gone, their path was covered with mud and winter deposits. Word of what they were planning had got around; people lined up to see them pass like a parade. Richard felt like some hero, going off to war.

He caught sight of Ginnie as they were crossing the Bridge. He called to her before Alec could say something rude, 'Hey, Ginnie! What do you think?'

She eyed him up and down, and nodded. 'You look good. They'll be impressed.' Alec's hand flashed in the sun; she saw the jewels, and her face froze. Without a word she turned and walked past them.

'She doesn't approve,' Alec said cheerfully.

'Hugo wouldn't go see this play.'

'I imagine Hugo only likes the funny ones.'

Even in the city people watched as they went by. Richard kept wanting badly to giggle: all this fuss about two people going to see a play that probably wasn't even going to be very good. 'We should have hired horses,' he said, 'like the Council Lords, so people could see us ride by. My boots are muddy already.'

'Look!' Alec cried. 'The banners! We're almost there.'

'Banners?' But there they were, just like a story-castle's: made of bright cloth, painted with devices that appeared and vanished in the crackling wind: a winged horse, roses, dragons, a crown__..

Outside the theatre it was like a fair. Grooms were walking horses and clearing the way for carriages while girls walked amongst them, selling bouquets of flowers and herbs, cups of wine and packets of fruit and nuts. There were printed copies of the play, and scarves, and ribbons the same colours as the banners. Alec looked for Nimble Willie in the crowd but couldn't find him, although one or two of the other melting faces looked familiar. Two unknown swordsmen staged a quarrel and then a swordfight over and over in different corners of the yard. Against the wall someone was declaiming a speech from another tragedy and being drowned out by a blind fiddler with a dancing dog, which some young noblemen were distracting by throwing nuts for it to fetch. The nobles' costumes did indeed make Richard's look sombre. Even the middle city people, shopkeepers and craftsmen, were dressed extravagantly, trimmed up with bits of lace and ribbon. They were coming-early, to ensure themselves good seats.