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To all appearances, it was a love-missive, written in a feminine hand, tied with ribbon and
scented with perfume. It was delivered to the barracks of the Dauphine s Guard.
It wasn t the first of its kind. We d both gotten them; it was a popular pastime at Court. This one
was unsigned. It contained an innocuous love poem written on thick vellum . . . but there was a series of
subtle notches and lines etched along the edges of the vellum. I fingered them, thinking back on the day in
the Temple of Asclepius when the priest had taken my hand and shown me similar notches etched in a
clay medallion.
 Who delivered this? I asked.
Claude de Monluc shrugged.  Some Tsingano lad. He said a lady in Night s Doorstep paid him.
He grinned.  Not intrigued, are you?
 Gods, no! I laughed and showed him the letter.  It s not signed, that s all. One never knows if
it s a prank.
 Like as not it s just another high-spirited young noblewoman, he suggested.  Drunk enough to
take a dare, sober enough to realize she d regret it in the morning.
 Like as not, I agreed.
Since Sidonie was in conference with her mother, I went straightaway to the townhouse. Phèdre
and Joscelin were still in Montrève, but Eugènie admitted me to Phèdre s study without question. I knew
Phèdre had found a reference for the blind priest s system of notation, but it took me forever to locate
the moldering old Hellene medical tome in which she d found it. Doubtless Phèdre could have laid her
hand on it in a heartbeat, but she wasn t the most organized archivist in the world.
Once I finally did, I laid it open on her desk, studied the maddeningly intricate chart of slashes
and crosshatches it contained, and set about transcribing the message.
It was painstaking work and I daresay I made a few errors, but eventually the gist of it came
clear.
I do not hold the answer you seek, but one of Carthage does. If the Queen receives their
tribute, he will tell you.
 Carthage, I muttered.  It had to be Carthage.
Giving Eugènie my thanks and a fond embrace, I took the letter, the transcription, and the musty
old Hellene volume, stowed them in my bags and headed for Night s Doorstep, where the portly Emile
presided over a tavern called the Cockerel. He was a Tsingano half-breed who had been one of
Hyacinthe s boon companions many years ago, and he was unfailingly loyal to House Montrève.
 I need a quiet word, I said to him.
 For you, my gadjo pearl? He clapped my back.  Anything.
Emile listened while I told him I d received a mysterious love letter delivered by a Tsingano lad,
that I wanted to talk to the boy and learn what he could tell me of the woman who d given it to him. And
that I wanted it done in secrecy.
 I will find out. Emile studied me with disapproval.  Already you philander?
 No! I shook my head.  But I fear mayhap it s a plot to make her highness believe otherwise.
 Ah. The lines of reproach smoothed from his fleshy face. Emile laid a finger alongside his nose.
 Like the other time, eh? Do not fear. The Tsingani will always keep your secrets and seek to ferret out
the secrets of those who would harm Phèdre nó Delaunay s son. We do not forget who freed Hyacinthe
from his curse.
 There s another matter, I said.  Can you find someone discreet to ride to Montrève and fetch
Phèdre and Joscelin? Emile hesitated, and I fumbled for my purse, setting it on the table.  For a
generous fee, of course.
The purse vanished.  Of course I would do it for free. Emile smiled broadly.  But all things are
possible for a fee, chavo.
 My thanks, I said, rising.
Strange but true, I trusted the Tsingani more than I trusted most of my peers. Most D Angelines
held them in a measure of suspicion, although it is better now, I am told, than before I was born. In
fairness, the Tsingani did take a certain delight in bilking outsiders whenever possible, but they could be
fiercely loyal friends. Of a surety, they d been that to Phèdre and to me. It was a Tsingani kumpania
that had reported seeing Carthaginian slavers with D Angeline children in tow long, long ago. If not for
that, I would have been dead years ago.
I rode back to the Palace and awaited Sidonie.
When at last she entered her quarters, she took one look at my face and stopped dead.  What is
it?
I showed her the letter.  Word s come.
Nine
Ysandre took the news better than I would have reckoned. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]