The Gilded Scarab (36 page)

W
E
ARRIVED
at Stravaigor House in Kensington fashionably in time for dinner—that is, slightly late. The Stravaigor was waiting for Ned in the portico, of course, and heavens, was it satisfying to sweep in there at Ned’s side and bask in a little reflected glory. I found I was seated at the head of one of the tables running at right angles to the top table where Ned was, opposite him. I suspect I was in the place originally intended for Peter and the servants had done a little swift rearrangement to reflect the House’s new understanding of my friendship with Ned. Peter was so far below the salt, I needed a telescope to see him. He spent the entire meal rivaling John Lancaster in glaring at me.

They were rank amateurs in intimidation when compared to Sam Hawkins. He stood behind Ned’s chair, cold and dark and wary. In deference to it being a wedding, rather than a fully-fledged war, he was only lightly armed. His favorite harquebus was nowhere in sight, though he had a pistol in a holster tied low on his right thigh. He stood with his hand on the gun butt and scowled magnificently for the entire meal. Ned, of course, was the soul of courtesy to everyone. If he exchanged grins with me half a dozen times through the meal, at least he didn’t roll his eyes at the way the Stravaigor tried to monopolize him, and he looked positively attentive throughout the tedium of the after-dinner speeches and toasts. The Convocation Houses must give their sons special training.

I suspect it must have hurt like fury not to rake me over the coals the instant he saw me, but the Stravaigor held off dragging me into his office until the ball was well underway. Ned was dancing with Eleanor Lancaster, the bride’s younger and more voracious sister, and I had escorted Cousin Agnes to admire the display of wedding gifts set out in the library, when the Stravaigor appeared beside me.

His tone was very affable. “Rafe. A word, if you please. I know you’ll excuse us, Agnes.” He kissed her hand. “You look charming, my dear.”

I wouldn’t sigh loud enough to give him the pleasure of hearing me. All I could do was bow and acquiesce, excusing myself to Agnes, who was all aflutter at being spoken to so kindly by our House princeps. But in truth I wasn’t looking forward to the discussion that would follow. It was all right for Ned to declare that he didn’t like pretense; he wasn’t the one the Stravaigor would be lecturing in his study. For the first time that day, a little of the gilt started to wear off the gingerbread.

John Lancaster was already in the study, prowling between the desk and window. He barely gave his father a short bow before launching into an instant attack.

“What in damnation do you think you’re doing? How dare you not tell us! How dare you, you conniving, deceitful, dishonest—”

“John.”

The Stravaigor’s tone was soft, so very, very soft, but it stopped John in his tracks. It would have stopped a runaway steam engine.

John pressed his lips together so hard they went white. His head lifted up, his chin jutting forward toward me, his hands on his hips. His stare was direct, hostile, his eyes glaring out from a reddened face. He visibly took a deep breath. “Rafe, you have to see that this is an important issue in which you have been less than candid. It is not well done of you. I am disappointed in you.”

I glanced at the Stravaigor. He hadn’t paused in his progress to his desk and was taking his seat. He watched John and me, his expression mild. Even disinterested.

I hoped my tone indicated how little moved I was by the First Heir’s disappointment. “Well, now, John, in what way have I been uncandid and all those other harsh words you flung at my head a moment ago?”

“Don’t be a fool. You know how important it is that we build our links with Gallowglass. And all this time you’re friends with Edward Winter! Good God, I had to bow to that man like a lackey, and you—you!—are on first name terms with him! How can you stand there and pretend it isn’t the most outrageous imposition on us? And that’s besides the fact you also apparently know Tane Stafford. And yet you have never mentioned any of it!”

Well, now he’d drawn my attention to it, I realized I
was
still standing. That wouldn’t do. I went to the chair opposite the Stravaigor and pulled it slightly away from the desk. The old man’s eyes met mine, and his mouth twitched. I took that for assent and sat down.

Time for a declaration of independence. “I know a great many people, not one of whom do I consider I need to parade before you for approval, John. My friendships are not House matters.” I glanced again at the Stravaigor, but the old man might have been carved from Aberdeen granite for all the ability I had to read him.

John spoke with such sharp emphasis he had to be grinding his teeth down to the bone. “He. Is. The. Gallowglass. First. Heir.”

I inclined my head. “I know.”

John would have hit me, I think, if he dared. His hands curled into fists, and his breath came short. I tensed, ready, and slid my hand into my right-hand pocket to touch the butt of my little hideaway gun. There was no way on God’s earth I’d allow John to threaten or strike me. He had to know it, because he wheeled away from me instead and stormed over to the window to stare out into the dim dusk of a glorious June evening. His arms jerked and his hands remained clenched. He took a moment to compose himself while I stared at the Stravaigor, who stared right back.

After a strained moment of silence, John turned back to face me. “You said at church that Sir Tane visits the shop you own. Is that where you met Winter?”

Well, I could hardly tell him the truth, now could I? Ned might not like pretense, but he agreed that some things had to be glossed over. A sodomy conviction and Pentonville did not appeal to either of us. “He comes there,” I conceded. “And I really do not own a shop, John. It’s a coffeehouse, as I keep telling you, and as you’d have known if you’d bothered to read the papers I wanted to show you in January.”

At this, the Stravaigor stirred. “Rafe, did you buy the Jongleur’s coffeehouse near the museum?”

“What?” said John, sounding stunned. “The Jongleur?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I see.” The old man paused, frowning slightly. “I know you have a small amount of House funding approved by my Heir.”

I nodded again. The angry red in John’s face had ebbed to an unhealthy pallor. He licked at his lips.

The Stravaigor turned his attention to his son. “John, when I asked for an intelligence report on House Gallowglass, why was it not updated to show this important fact? To show that we had another route to Gallowglass?”

John raised his hands, let them fall again. He shook his head.

“Ah.” The Stravaigor’s tone was very, very soft again. “Perhaps you would be so good, John, as to leave me to speak to Rafe alone? Thank you.”

The old man and I looked at each other while John, stuttering, said something neither of us took any notice of. Something along the lines of
D-didn’t know… c-couldn’t tell… he didn’t tell me… I didn’t think
, but the Stravaigor may as well have been deaf for all his reaction. He held my gaze and didn’t change expression until the door behind me opened and closed again. When we were alone, he unclasped the hands that had been folded on his desk all the while and pulled a silver tray toward himself. He poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to me. It burned a little on the way down, but heavens, did I need it.

“I take it John wasn’t very interested in the details of why you wanted to borrow from the House bank?”

I opted for a little direct honesty. “I believe that he was concerned only to have me under an obligation to the House. To further your own plans there, I think, sir.”

The Stravaigor’s mouth curved up. “No, you really aren’t a fool, are you?” He pushed the cigar box over to me and waited until I’d chosen one before taking one himself. “I do want to bind you closer to the House, Rafe. Buying your mother’s jewelry and offering a small loan were intended to do that. You asked for little in the scale of things. Certainly not more than I was prepared to pay. I believed that in the current uncertainty in House politics I would find a military aeronaut to be an asset. I didn’t realize quite how right I was. Do you remember our conversation at Christmas?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. Quite clearly.”

“What I am going to tell you now is in the strictest confidence, Rafe. Your word, as a gentleman.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I said at Christmas that things were getting more difficult for the House, and that the Cartomancer was retrenching. That’s happened before of course. His influence in the Convocation waxes and wanes as the Imperium’s priorities change. And it’s certainly true that the Queen, old as she is, is still a formidable presence, and she is notoriously chary of diplomacy.” The Stravaigor’s smile grew wintry. “Given how many of her grandchildren are now strategically embedded in Europe’s monarchies, she is far more likely to send them a matriarchal letter than put her faith in any of the Cartomancer’s embassies.”

I drew on the cigar. It was excellent, the smoke subtle on the tongue. “I can see how it must make the Cartomancer’s role a difficult one at times.”

“It always has been. But in the past, it’s had a limited and temporary effect on his allied Houses, and he has been scrupulous in ensuring the pain was shared equally amongst us.”

“In the past?”

Another wintry smile, and one that denoted a little approval. “Yes. But at this moment, the Cartomancer is pulling away from alliance with us. The cutbacks have all impacted this House with disproportionate force. Hence Peter’s recall. And you will have noted the Cartomancer’s absence today. A calculated slight.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what on earth the old man had done to have the Cartomancer so angry with him, but, you know, I really am not a fool.

He leaned back in his chair and watched his cigar smoke drift up to the ceiling. “We’re vagabonds, Rafe. We have never really fitted in the diplomatic mold. Too independent. I am looking to create and strengthen alliances elsewhere. I encouraged the Plumassier match for Emily for obvious reasons. It brings us into the Gallowglass ambit. Peripherally of course, but it’s a start. Gallowglass is well-known for its sense of responsibility toward its allied Minor Houses. I hope to build on that. And all the time, you had access to the Scrivener, the Jongleur, and, above all, Edward Winter.” He shook his head and turned his gaze to me, laughing softly. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “And now we have to decide what to do.”

And there it came. The sting.

“The Jongleur has no interest in the Houses,” I said.

The Stravaigor waved a hand. “I am aware. Except that he could still command the Gallowglass’s ear if need be, I don’t count him in the game.”

I nodded. “I agree, sir. The Scrivener keeps himself above House politics—”

The old man cocked an eyebrow at me, and his mouth twitched into a smile.

I shrugged. “All right. He is not, perhaps, as neutral in the game as all that. He is a powerful friend.”

“Very. And then there is Ned Winter.”

I had given this some thought while Ned talked with Flinders Petrie at the museum. How to present my friendship with Ned in a way that didn’t reveal one iota of the truth? Luckily, it’s generally held that the world would stop spinning on its axis before a Stravaigor passed up an opportunity to turn something to his own advantage. Most Stravaigors believe it more devoutly than they do Holy Writ. Seriously, our House mascot should be a jackal. Not only would the Stravaigor expect I’d have some sort of self-serving motivation for befriending Ned, but he’d be unlikely to believe anything else.

Of course, I had to approach this subtly. “I have my own reasons for maintaining a friendship with Ned Winter, sir. It has nothing to do with the House’s need to develop a relationship with Gallowglass, because I wasn’t aware that’s what you were doing. But equally, it’s nothing that will conflict with your ambitions there.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your reasons?”

He would expect reluctance on my part. A Stravaigor didn’t like showing his hand. “Are my own, sir.”

“Rafe.”

It was the same compelling voice he’d used on John. I sighed, let my mouth twist, hoped I looked as though I were thinking it over. I twisted my mouth a little further, then inclined my head, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug.

“Sir, are you aware that there is a thriving market in Aegyptian antiquities?”

He sat back in his chair and regarded me for a few moments, idly smoking his cigar. I felt not unlike a mouse, fascinated under the beady, hypnotic gaze of a serpent. It was a relief when he smiled. “Ah. Very enterprising of you.”

I grimaced and lifted the shrugging shoulder higher, ducking my head and aiming to convey deprecation. “It struck me forcibly when I was staying in the Bloomsbury hostel, just how lucrative the trade could be. A niche market, of course, but some of the players in it have deep pockets.”

Another long stare, his dark eyes unblinking. At last he nodded. “Explain how your activities there will not upset our efforts to woo Gallowglass.”

“Oh, I am not the salesman, sir.” I had no compunction in throwing Daniel beneath the wheels. I didn’t doubt but that the Stravaigor would have his head of security carry out some discreet inquiries, and Daniel’s activities would add a touch of verisimilitude to the hints I was throwing out. “I have no direct involvement. Another archaeologist of my acquaintance, Professor Meredith, has a substantial list of clients and patrons willing to buy antiquities. Private collectors are notoriously competitive, each eager to acquire the very best Meredith can offer. That keeps prices high.”

“Meredith?” The old man frowned. “Ah yes. House Estafette. One of the Justiciar’s allies.”

“I believe so, sir, yes. Meredith’s contacts are always keen to acquire new artifacts, and he is intent on increasing his activities in Aegypt in order to satisfy them.” I stubbed out my cigar. “Ned Winter, as you doubtless know, dabbles in Aegyptology. Staying close to him allows me some inside knowledge, shall we say.”

The Stravaigor’s eyes were narrowed. Perhaps against the smoke of his cigar. After a long moment, a very long moment, he nodded. “Very well, Rafe. Very well. I wish to think over the implications of your friendships with Winter and Sir Tane and how we may use your access to them in the difficult times to come. You’ve proved to be quite an asset. The fact we own a stake in your coffeehouse gives me considerable cause for satisfaction.”