Balthasar

Ishmael di Studier’s menservants were father and son; there was no mistaking the resemblance. The father was past the prime of life, but straight-backed and alert, while the son appeared a fit and ready thirty. They both wore the practical styles and hard-wearing fabric of the Borders, rather than the livery of the city. They squared themselves before Bal’s bedside, their sonn cautiously respectful, their faces guarded. Telmaine sat beside him, not touching him, and Olivede waited beside the door. Merivan had loudly insisted she wanted nothing to do with any of this, but she had not, Bal thought, moved out of hearing.

“I am Balthasar Hearne,” Bal said. “Dr. Hearne. Lord Vladimer had, I understand, asked your master to consult with me. He escorted my wife to my door, and there found me beaten nearly to death—”

“He has told us of this,” the young man said.

“Good,” Bal said, before the older man could reproach his son, or apologize for him. “Then you know I owe your master for my life, his efforts to find my elder daughter, and quite likely my family’s present safety. I do not believe the charges against him—I believe they may have something to do with the matter that unfortunately has come to surround myself and my family. I do not care that he is said to be a practitioner; I do not in the least. I am prepared to do whatever I can in his defense, and my wife is prepared to lend that part of her financial resources that is under her control. Her maiden name was Stott; she is Minor Duke Stott’s sister and cousin to the archduke.”

“That is . . . very good of you, sir, my lady,” said Lorcas. He still stood very upright, but his stiffness had perceptibly eased as Balthasar spoke.

“We need to get a message to his legal representatives. We need to find out into whose hands we must lay bribes to make sure no harm comes to him.”

“By your leave, sir, the message to his lawyers is already sent,” Lorcas said. “This is not the first time that the master has met this kind of trouble, though it is the gravest.”

“That’s most welcome news,” Balthasar said. “How did you send the message? By messenger?”

“By messenger . . .” Lorcas said, then, “I understand, sir. Messengers can be waylaid. I should have thought of that.”

“I’ll send a message of my own,” Telmaine said, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Who represents him?”

“Mastersons, my lady. Lord Vladimer gave him an introduction the first time that the master had legal troubles in the city.”

“My family also uses Mastersons,” Telmaine said. “Bal, if he is accused of harming Vladimer, will they still represent him?”

“I believe so,” Lorcas said. “Lord Vladimer has been quite explicit in his expectation that the gentlemen who undertake difficult work in the state’s interest receive legal protection, even if the archduke or Lord Vladimer himself should appear unsympathetic or displeased.”

Bal appreciated the implications of such an arrangement, both for the kind of work that Vladimer’s agents undertook, and for their master’s integrity. He had met the famously reclusive Vladimer only briefly and not drawn his attention then. “Then the essential task now is to make sure that the message gets to Mastersons, and let ourselves be guided by them. Telmaine, I would ask you to do it on your way to Merivan’s. It would ease my mind greatly.”

He squeezed her hand, reaching for reason to persuade her—and knowing that all he was doing was layering word over emotion. To this day, he did not know what moved and persuaded his wife. But he tried: “A respectable lady, perhaps known to be softhearted and more open-minded than is good for her, can interject a voice of moderation. And, as cousin to the archduke and Lord Vladimer, sister-in-law to Lord Theophile, she is in a position to obtain information that might not come to the defense in any other way.”

Ishmael di Studier’s servants softly withdrew with that studied unobtrusiveness that experienced servants had.

“I’ve never been able to argue with you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Shall we have quarreled?”

“I’d . . . rather not,” Bal said. He had had that very thought, to increase her protection, but now that she had offered it, it repelled him. “No, best you seek the comforts of your family home after a distressing experience. Later you can become appalled at my activities, if need be.”

She took a breath, audible in her tight throat. “I remember how you used to pay for your studies by playing cards. I’m told Lord Vladimer is a consummate cards and games master.”

“It wasn’t for my studies that I played,” Bal said with a reminiscent smile. “It was for gifts and favors for my lady.”

She leaned toward him and stroked a finger gently from his forehead down to his chin. He rested in the last fading harmonics of her sonn, feeling a remarkable ease come from her touch, and the brush of her lips on his forehead. They lay a moment, side by side, in precious contentment, before she abruptly slid from the bed.

“Telmaine,” he said, his sonn bursting forth to outline her. “If you need me, if you need anything . . .” He knew even as he spoke that he was opening himself for the answer that would reveal his promise a lie: I need you to come with me.

She did not give it, whether out of anger or scruple. She just said, in a stifled whisper, “All I need is things as they were. You will tell me if there is word, will you not? Of Flori?”

He listened to the women’s voices outside as they gathered up their baggage and Amerdale. It was testament to Telmaine’s state of mind, and perhaps her anger at him, that she did not contradict Merivan’s pronouncement that waking Amerdale to say good-bye would only upset the child. Merivan did not believe in a father’s attachment to his children, having in her possessiveness blighted her husband’s. He heard the outer door closing behind Telmaine, Merivan, Amerdale, and the servants Merivan had mustered. The sound pierced him so intensely he was hardly aware of Lorcas’s return for willing himself to believe that he had done the right thing in sending them away.

“Sir, I thought you should know: Your sister insisted upon leaving. She says she knows the area near the prison, and the people in it, and is going to learn what bribes can be laid. She said I should tell you that she would then go on to the Rivermarch.”

Guiltily, Bal realized that he had not even noticed his sister slipping away. Lorcas continued, even more formally. “I could not dissuade her, I regret, sir, but I sent my son with her. He will not leave until he is satisfied she has found protection. I trust that this meets with your approval, sir.”

“Your action does,” Bal said, feeling beset. “Not hers.”

There was a brief hesitation. “She is a mage, sir,” Ishmael di Studier’s manservant said. “They are not always sensible people.”

Bal was startled into a laugh, which cost him in pain, though less than hitherto. Lorcas moved around him, straightening his blankets and ordering his pillows, helping him lie more comfortably, in body if not in spirit. The man had clearly had a certain amount of practice.

“Perhaps you would care for some soup, sir? I do not doubt the kitchen could be persuaded to produce something suitable.”

“Thank you,” Bal said, made hungry by the very mention. “I would very much like some soup.” Hunger engaged duty in a brief struggle before he said, “And if you could please let Mr. Blondell’s staff know that I would like to speak to him at his earliest convenience, I would appreciate it.” He could only hope that the soup and Vladimer’s lieutenant did not arrive together, and make the first wait on the second.

As it transpired, they did not. He was two plates of soup—a savory consommé—and a roll ahead on his hunger when Lorcas announced that Mr. Blondell was asking to be received. Lorcas covered the bread dish, stacked the soup plates, and carried them away.

“You have no one from your own household to attend to you?” Blondell said, head turned suspiciously after Ishmael’s manservant.

“It was a hurried departure.”

There was a silence. Bal recognized the waiting game, and decided he’d gain rather than lose by promptly conceding it. “The baron’s servants have been good enough to wait on me, as I am still not able to rise from my bed.”

“I had the physicians’ reports on your injuries, before they went on to attend Lord Vladimer.”

Unhappy Lord Vladimer, Bal thought disrespectfully of his illustrious seniors in the medical arts.

“A most unpleasant and unfortunate experience,” Blondell remarked, “to come from an act of such simple decency as giving a lady succor. I had an account from Strumheller, though his had a number of elements I personally found implausible.”

Well, if he had sought the measure of Blondell’s attitude to Ishmael di Studier, he had it there. “If you mean the infants’ sightedness, I can tell you that I am fairly confident that I am right in my inference—I have an interest in the properties of sight. There was no mention in my training or even in my reference books of sight among the Darkborn. I had meant to consult the Physicians’ College library, but was struck down before I had a chance. There are always speculations about forerunner persistence in Imogene’s land, or this ‘third race.’ ”

“Speculations, you say; wild rumors, I say.” The tone of voice conveyed a closed mind on the matter.

“How is His Grace, Lord Vladimer?”

“He has lain senseless for two nights now.”

“Is there truly evidence of sorcery?”

“When a man as careful of his safety and cautious in his diet as Lord Vladimer is stricken senseless within hours of spending cloistered time with a known mage, it is sufficient for suspicion, and suspicion is a legal charge. Ishmael di Studier has been confined so that evidence may be sought.”

“My wife returned from the ducal estate the very next night, and there had been no mention of Lord Vladimer’s illness then.”

“It was kept from the staff and guests at first. Then, of course, the gossip and uproar started. Very poorly managed.”

Yes, Balthasar thought, and were he in Blondell’s place he might inquire as to the source of that mismanagement. “How do you plan to disprove the charge? Are there other mages in Lord Vladimer’s employ who can testify?”

Blondell stiffened, and fleetingly Bal thought he might have to press for an answer. “Lord Vladimer has no other mages in his employ.”

Interesting, Bal thought. “Then how,” he said, “can the charge of sorcery be proven or disproven? Do you plan to engage outside talent?”

Blondell rose, offended. “Sir, I bid you good day. I do not believe you can give me the help I require.”

“Sorcerous harm is a capital charge,” Balthasar insisted politely. “I am not easy with the thought that a man might be put to death on mere surmise by those who have no means of knowing whether magic is involved or not. Would Lord Vladimer accept that his loyal servants might be convicted on such scant evidence?”

“I don’t need t’be told my trade by a noble parasite who lives off his wife’s fortune,” Blondell said, stung, his accent lapsing.

“I am a trained physician and a scientist,” Bal said, intrigued rather than provoked by the insult. He diagnosed an afflicted conscience. “I believe in observation and evidence. You know, I presume, the identity of the lady involved?”

“I know it. I know, too, why she came to you. I would have a care, sir, for the peace of your marriage.”

That made Bal flinch involuntarily. Blondell smiled slightly, and Bal realized he had interpreted the flinch as the noble parasite imagining being plucked off his comfortable latch.

He said evenly, “And guilt for her death, too, has been laid at Baron Strumheller’s door.”

Blondell’s sonn, deft but oddly sour in its timbres, swept over him, probing, Bal thought, for something. “Yes,” Blondell said. “There is a witness, and the witness places Strumheller in that house at the time of the murder. I believe, also, that Strumheller had visited the house earlier, in the company of a lady whose identity I expect, presently, to discover.”

Balthasar kept his breathing steady and his face unchanged with an effort. “If your witness bears burn marks across his face or body, then he is one of the men who battered me. Any testimony he gives will be suspect.”

“He bears no such marks.”

Bal breathed out, admitting his relief that he must not yet confront his assailants. “Those men—”

“I have di Studier’s description.”

“And I may be able to verify that description. As a physician, I am a trained observer of human traits.”

“I will send a clerk to collect your testimony,” Blondell said, stepping back.

“One last question,” Bal said quickly. “The fire in the Rivermarch. Were there many casualties?”

He touched Blondell lightly with his sonn and for the first time recognized a deeply worried man. Blondell gripped the back of the chair he had risen from, leaning upon it, the knuckles of his hands prominent with work-hardened bone and tendon. “If you call a hundred fifty, hundred sixty, many.”

“I do,” Bal said. “Too many.”

There was a silence; then Blondell said, “You’ve been an Intercalatory Councilman, I understand.”

“I’m due to sit again in the winter.”

“There are ugly rumors directed against the Lightborn. It’s said they wanted that land for themselves, to build on, and the council did not agree.”

“That’s entirely wrong,” Balthasar said, growing chilled. “There’s been no such request entered in the annals of the council in the last thirteen years.”

“You’ve not served that long.”

“Even before my first sitting, my father had me following the proceedings.”

“Well, that’s what’s said, and worse.”

“Building toward violence, do you think?” Bal said, pushing himself up. “There’s been peace in the city for over a hundred years, peace between our races. We cannot let that lapse.”

“There’s no ‘letting’ about this, Hearne. There’s ugliness about, plot and rumor. His Grace was working against it, and now he’s down, and I’ve got to do whatever I can—” He broke off, then said heavily, “If Strumheller is deemed innocent, the Lightborn themselves will be the next accused, and the city will crack, from prince’s palace to ducal estates.”

“Sir,” Balthasar said somberly, after a long moment, “I have misjudged you.”

“Y’thought it was because I’d taken against Strumheller personally that I arranged that he be arrested,” Blondell said, unsurprised. “Better one man suffer than the peace of the city—and I think my lord and master would agree.”

You have misjudged me, Bal thought, if you think I would collude in an injustice, even for the sake of peace. He weighed his next words carefully. “I will give you all the help I can, as an Intercalatory Councilman, to keep the peace.”