Page 125 of The Ragpicker King
“My mistake, Con,” said Falconet. “But—may I make an observation?”
Conor made ago ongesture. Outside the window, the Vigilants were dragging a net up the side of the bank again. Kel could not see what was caught in it.
“If youwereto be caught in a dalliance—and I’m not saying you have been, but who knows what might happen in the future— I would remind you of the wise words my father once shared with me. He told me, ‘Never make the mistake of fucking around in the foreground, Joss. You are meant to fuck around in the background.’ And that is even more true for you, Con. You are a Prince but she is aPrincess.She will expect discretion—”
A shout went up from outside. Falconet flung open the door of the carriage and the three of them peered out. The Vigilants had spread out their net. Lying in the center of it, already beginning to bloat, was the corpse of Ciprian Cabrol. Even at this distance, Kelrecognized his dark red hair, water streaming from it. His clothes were dank, sodden, clinging to his body.
Kel’s stomach lurched. It would do no good to tell himself that Ciprian had been planning treason against the Aurelians; his guilt was another thing that would need to go in the lockbox, down into the depths where he could forget it for now.
“May he pass through the gray door unhindered,” Falconet said gruffly. “Alys was right—”
Another shout went up. One of the Vigilants had got hold of something else that had been in the water, something heavy and dark. Others crowded around him to help, and Kel heard gasps of disgust. The faint salt tint carried on the air was tinged with something else now. The smell of rot.
“Another body,” Falconet said, hopping out of the carriage. He stood at the canal’s edge, his pink coat incongruous against the scene before him: the Vigilants rearranging themselves so that a new corpse could be laid out on the stones. A bigger body than Ciprian’s, rotted gray fabric stretching across bloated flesh, a slashed throat gaping like an eel’s mouth.
“By the Gods,” Conor said, leaning out of the carriage. “It’s Gremont.”
“I can’t help but feel this is our fault,” Merren fretted. “We tasked Cabrol with bringing us information, and the next day he was dead.”
“I really don’t see how that can be blamed on us,” Ji-An said. “Not directly, at least.”
Merren shot her a dark look. They were all in the Great Room, where a fire was blazing in the hearth despite the heat of the day outside. Andreyen, looking like a very thin, very tall scarecrow, was lounging in his chair, his staff balanced across his bony knees. His sharp green eyes seemed fixed on a point slightly in the distance. He had not spoken since Kel had come to tell them that Ciprian had been murdered and Gremont’s body found.
“Not to mention,” said Ji-An, examining her nails—currently painted a foxglove violet that matched her coat, “if he had not decided to involve himself in a life of crime and blowing up boats, nothing would have happened to him in the first place.”
“You’reinvolved in a life of crime,” Kel pointed out.
“Yes, but I know what I’m doing. It’s not for amateurs, now, is it?”
“I can only imagine that the death of two Charter holders will create chaos on the Hill,” Andreyen said, breaking his silence. “Not only will heirs need to be chosen, but the remaining Charter members will be watching their backs lest they, too, find themselves floating in the canals, laid low by an unknown enemy.”
“They’re going to want to know who did it,” said Merren. “Especially since Jolivet never heard about Gremont’s death—”
“I stayed by the canalside,” said Kel, “after the bodies were found. I was wondering why Belmany wanted these bodies found in the same place, because it was clear she did. She could have buried Gremont’s body under Tyndaris, or burned it away to ash, but she kept it to stage this scene.”
“What scene?” said Ji-An.
“When they dredged the canal, they found dueling swords. Both bodies had sustained stab wounds, though we know Gremont died of a slit throat,” Kel said. “Belmany is trying to make it appear that they killed each other in a duel.”
“Duels require seconds, and a witness,” said Ji-An. “Won’t they be looking for them?”
“King Markus made dueling illegal years ago,” said Kel. “No one would come forward to admit they were involved—even if there had been a real duel, which we know there wasn’t.”
“But will it fool anyone? Were they even known to have disliked each other?” Merren asked.
“Everyone disliked Gremont,” Kel said. “Falconet pointed out that Gremont always talked down to Ciprian, thought of him as a lowly merchant’s son whether he held a Charter or not.”
“For an improvised plan, it’s clever,” said Andreyen with a trace of condescension. “It will fool the right people. And as for the rest, well, those are the ones she wants to frighten.”
“The real problem we have is that with Ciprian dead, we’ve lost our lead,” Kel said.
“We could try to capture and torture Lady Alleyne,” Ji-An suggested.
“No,” Andreyen said. “She’s terrified of Belmany now; she won’t go anywhere unless she’s surrounded by guards.” He looked thoughtful. “How aware do we think Beatris Cabrol was of her brother’s alliances? Surely he couldn’t have kept his family entirely in the dark.”
“He might have,” said Kel, thinking of Beatris—though he had never looked closely at her, never really wondered what she knew. “If only we could find Belmany’s hideout. We could position ourselves outside and see who goes in and out.”
“Jerrod would have been able to find it,” said Merren. “He was so good at finding things.”
