Masks

  Chapter Twenty Two

  He wasn’t quick enough to translate in line. He had to write it out bit by bit. When he was finished decoding the page he went down the hall to the colonel’s office, too puzzled to let himself leap to any conclusions, though what he’d gathered worried him.

  The colonel turned away from his ship manifests when Mark settled in the doorway of his office. “Well?” the colonel asked.

  “It’s a ship manifest, written so that it appears to be a letter complete with return address on the exterior when it’s folded along the lines,” Mark told him. It was a clever device. That false return address listed the ship, its captain, the departure date and main cargoes in a place where it would be readily visible in a file.

  “That’s it?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Is it in the code you brought back from the mainland?”

  Mark shook his head. “It’s similar, but not identical. This one is an older, more primitive version. It must have been used between people who did business directly with each other with little fear of anyone intercepting the letters or taking them from storage. Winsome miscopied some of the symbols, but I worked it out.” Or maybe that had been a deliberate ruse on the writer’s part. Mark had a hard time imagining that she would make a mistake with something so important.

  “Winsome copied it herself?”

  That worried him too. “I don’t know how she managed to get this, but she clearly had to copy it and put it back before it was missed.”

  The colonel stood up, agitated. “It can’t be Juggler. I despise him, but I know him. He would never do it.”

  “What about her father?”

  “Of course not. That makes even less sense. His wealth is tied to the islands—has been since his great-grandfather settled here.”

  “Who else could she have such ....” Her servant’s disguise. She was quite certain of it.

  “What?”

  “I had Philip get me an old copy of the Wishful Moon Gazette. That servant girl who was shot for spying—Winsome was certain they thought it was her somehow.”

  The colonel paled and sat heavily, then stood up sharply once more. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because I don’t know anything. I can only guess. You have to talk to her. She doesn’t trust me, but she trusts you. At least, I hope she does. Even if she doesn’t, we need more.”

  “Show me.”

  Mark handed him the manifest.

  “Weapons and supplies.”

  Mark bit his lip. “And men.”

  “I don’t recognize the ship.”

  “That’s good. That means it’s not one of yours.”

  The colonel grimaced and he leaned against his desk. “I wish I had your certainty. It could be a nickname. I’ll ask my captains.”

  “Don’t.” Mark had a thought. “We have to be careful now. You can’t appear suspicious.”

  “Suspicious? I want to find whoever is responsible and tear out their throats.” The colonel’s skin flushed with life and Mark saw for the first time that terrible blood lust he’d been dreading.

  “What if it is one of your captains? What if several of them are involved?”

  “Then I have all the power to end this without having to wade through political swill.” The bright and eager look in his eyes would have given even Gutter pause.

  “I’m still not certain what these supplies and men mean,” Mark reminded him. “A military takeover? You honestly believe that’s their intent? Perhaps guards after the fact, or security for the arrival of someone important. Have you forgotten that Dellai Bertram dashed to the mainland recently? That couldn’t have been just on business of mine.”

  “He was on business of yours? I’d heard that he left.”

  “I told you he left. Don’t you remember? We really must—never mind.” Mark thought for a moment. “See if you can’t get something more from Winsome. It may be too dangerous for her to copy more of these letters. Maybe I could go in her stead, if she’s willing to tell us where she got this.”

  “I don’t want her spying anymore, and I certainly don’t want you spying either. Here, we execute spies, regardless of who they are and who they’re spying on.”

  Would you really allow me to be executed as a spy? Mark feared he already knew the answer.

  The colonel’s shoulders settled. “If we’re to have a party, we’ll need more than three servants. But I don’t want anyone that I don’t trust in my house.”

  The change of topic suited Mark just fine. “We’ll start with men you knew in the war, and their wives. Anyone you can think of that might appreciate three or four days of hard labor for a handsome wage.”

  “Three—what exactly do you have in mind?” No anger this time, or even irritation. If anything the colonel looked nervous. One of his hands trailed up to a button on his waistcoat.

  Mark took a deep breath and finally asked. “Exactly how much can I spend on furnishings?”

  “Why do you never answer my questions directly?”

  Mark had to think about it. He could have come up with any number of clever excuses, but he realized the uncomfortable answer after only a few moments. “I’m afraid that if I try to explain everything you’ll question every item or worse, argue against it and I’ll realize I can’t meet this or any other challenge and I’ll fail. I don’t let myself think about the future beyond a day or three.” A cold shudder traveled down his spine into his belly. “Because then I realize it’s inevitable that I’ll be killed.”

  “Killed. By who?” Colonel Evan’s demeanor gentled so much he was almost unrecognizable.

  “Anyone. Everyone. I have disturbed the uneasy balance of power in Perida.” Mark steadied himself by running his hand along the smooth surface of the colonel’s lovely, red-toned desk. He didn’t plan what to say for once. The words came without a clear idea behind them, in a mess, from the heart. “I’m especially afraid of what Gutter might do. What other messages might he have sent here along with the one to me? I just ... I want to accomplish as much as possible before it all ends.”

  “I’ve greatly endangered you through this bond.”

  “No. Not exactly. No. I chose this, and I chose to ignore the consequences. If anything, you’re my best and only protection.”

  “I believe I understand.” The colonel settled into his chair and pulled open a desk drawer. “Take this.” He scribbled on several small pieces of paper. He handed five of them over.

  Blank notes with his signature. Where was the joy? He only felt dread at this show of trust.

  “Have no fear. I’ve had nothing to spend my fortune on. My hull accounts are full to bursting, the garden is doing well ... I only wish I could go with you into town, but I have a great deal of business to attend to.”

  “Thank you.” The words caught in his throat.

  “I won’t let him hurt you again.” The colonel reached, hesitated, then firmly settled his hand on Mark’s arm. Warmth spread from his touch, like something sacred but so carnal and needy it seemed immoral to consider it something of the soul.

  I won’t let him hurt you again. Kind words with no hope of ever becoming a sound promise. They still inspired him to settle his hand on the colonel’s shoulder in answer.

  The moment his gloved hand settled on the rich, matte gray silk he knew he’d made a mistake, one he’d been longing to make ever since he saw the colonel for the first time at the trial. His hand smoothed down the colonel’s chest. His heart thundered. He remembered that smooth skin, the scent of it, the glorious texture more fine than any fabric.

  The colonel braced up from his chair and gently took Mark’s wrist. A sensation like the pleasure of a luxurious stretch, but swift as a gasp, roared from below Mark’s heart and spread down all the way to his knees.

  “No.” The colonel spoke the word under his breath. The heart that pounded in time with Mark’s cried yes, but the colonel pressed past Mark and left him there with his notes and his
yearning and a lot of work that had to be accomplished in a short amount of time.

  “Can you help?” Mark asked.

  “I’m in no ways good enough to be a servant in a fancy house.” Grant put one foot up on his bed. His leg stretched easily long enough to reach from the table, where the remains of the wine and fruit and sausages Mark had brought were strewn like a badly-arranged still life.

  “I have a hard time thinking of you as a servant too, but not because you’re unsuitable. I think you’d do very well. I just would rather have you as a guest. In any case, I was hoping you could—” Mark’s breath stopped as a terrible idea came to mind.

  “What? Something wrong?”

  “No.” Mark forced the tension from his body. He still felt it, but he didn’t have to let it show. “Can you handle horses?”

  “I can’t ride but I can boss pack horses around, and I can steer a wagon.”

  “I have a lot of deliveries that will come in over the next several days. I have too much work to look after them, so if you wouldn’t mind directing the deliveries into the various rooms in the house, I’d be grateful. Also, at the party itself, I hope you’ll help provide security. You can have charge of the front of the house, or the back. The colonel will give several men into your charge.”

  “I s’pose I could manage that. Doesn’t sound so bad. But what’s that got to do with horses?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” The idea wouldn’t go away. “I’ve had all the deliveries earmarked. I’ll show you around the house, tomorrow if you have time, so you’ll have an idea of where things go. By then we’ll have a butler who can help you navigate.” The idea still wouldn’t go away. “You’ll be paid for your time, of course. An ar a day.”

  “A whole bloody ar a day?” He exploded as if it were a pittance for a pound of sweat, but he went pale and then pink and clutched at his chest. His legs drew in.

  “Are you all right?” Mark writhed between fear for his health and laughter.

  “I’ll quit fishing for that for sure.”

  “That seems unlikely, but thank you.”

  “What do you mean, clawing unlikely? I knew servants were full but fuck—pardon me, but fuck!” Uneasy laughter shuddered out of him.

  “I thought you loved fishing. I didn’t want to offend you by offering you servant’s work.”

  “I could fish all I wanted after work without worrying ‘bout storms and cuts and making rent.”

  “But you wouldn’t be free, sailing across the water—”

  “You sound like a sailor. I’m no sailor, remember? I fish. It’s business. It’s a damned sight better than some businesses, and sure I’m my own man, but it’s not like I’d stop being my own man doing honest work in the colonel’s house. But I’m clumsy and dumb and folk who do that sort of thing—”

  “That’s enough. If you want a permanent position I can get you one.”

  “Oh sure, and I’ll be the one that needs looking after and being told what to do because I haven’t any sense of it. I’m no beggar, and I wouldn’t do you the disservice. But I’ll do this delivery thing, and the security. I can do that.”

  “Maybe if you like it, you can stay, but it wouldn’t be for an ar a day. You’ll have a place in the household then, and food, and clothes. I wouldn’t offer less than five ar a week, though. And you’d be paid more during events, and traditionally servants receive a Yule gift.”

  “And no rent. I could live better than happy on that. Is it true servants get days off?”

  “A day off a week, and often they can get a morning or an afternoon here and there for the asking, or a week away if they want to visit a relative or some such. The days are very long, though, and the nights too short.” The colonel didn’t think about such things, of course. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to his staff as human beings, though he treated them kindly enough. Because he was so short-handed, Trudy, Norbert and Philip never had any regular days off. No doubt the colonel assumed that because he didn’t mind working every day and never socialized with anyone, that his servants were the same.

  “If I stop fishing, I stop eating. Got hurt once, couldn’t fish, starved for four days,” Grant marveled. His crystalline green gaze had softened with fantasies of a lush life.

  The idea nudged him again. Mark relented to it. “I ... there’s something dangerous that ...”

  Grant sat up with predatory intensity. “You got someone after you, I’ll beat ‘em down so hard there won’t be pieces left to find of ‘em.”

  Soldiers. He loved that purity and strength, though it made him feel small and weak. But not powerless. He could set Grant loose and it would be done.

  He could ask, and part of him hoped that Grant would say no. He had to be careful with that for both of their sakes, but especially to protect Grant. “This would be more of a danger to you. I suppose it might work better if you stay close to home anyway, so never mind about riding out of town.” Mark took a deep breath. “Do you think you could start a rumor?”

  Grant shifted back and he looked uncertain. “Is it a lie?”

  “Unfortunately, no, which is why it’s dangerous. It’s true, and the people who want it kept secret might hunt down its source.”

  “You.”

  “They’d first track it back to you. I have a feeling you’d do something awful like allow yourself to be tortured to death rather than give me up, but if they do find you, I want you tell them immediately. My fear is that they’d kill you anyway.”

  “Must be something really important.”

  He should consult the colonel first, but it would be better to start this as soon as possible, in case someone involved was a nominant. Taking a dangerous opponent out of the presidential elections before they’d even begun would spare them a lot of risk.

  “I dunno. I might foul it up.” Grant reached for his mug of wine, but seemed to think better of it. “What is it?”

  “If you make it sound as if you’d heard it from somewhere else, that would help. Do you think you could do that?”

  “What in the hells is it already?” Grant demanded nervously.

  “There are shipments coming from the mainland. Men and weapons. Men with false names—each man on the manifest had two names listed, and a third name that may belong to a jester, or a lord, or a division—I couldn’t tell. I think someone is gathering a small army on the island.”

  “You’re humping me.”

  “No.”

  Grant lurched forward and covered his face in his hands.

  “If word gets out, they’ll have a harder time going about their business, and the captains will keep a closer eye on each other. It might be that this cargo is being transported unconsciously, and that worries me too. It could get ugly. Neighbors will start to suspect each other. People could die. Innocent people. If you don’t think it’s wise, I won’t insist on this. I’m not entirely sure of it myself.”

  “No.” Grant dragged his hands off his face and sat back. “No, it’s gotta be done. I think I can do this. I’ll do it. I even know where to start it.”

  Mark drew out his purse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Get them drunk.” Mark shook out the coins and sorted out the cupru. “Don’t bring any ar with you if you still have some. Use more than one pocket, so it doesn’t sound like you have a lot. No one will notice if you have to draw from more than one pocket in a given night. If they get drunk, they might even forget the rumor started with you.”

  “You do things like this all the time, don’t you.”

  “No, I don’t. I just know my history. This will actually be the first time I’ve attempted something like this.” Mark put the ar away. “And I’m doing it backwards. In a lot of ways it’s less dangerous and more profitable, and wiser to keep secrets. Revealing secrets, even an enemy’s secret, can cause more problems than it solves. For example, you’ll find that when a military secret is discovered it’s not printed in the paper or spread among the ranks. Generals
hold tight to them to control the situation as much as possible. They often don’t want the enemy to know that they know. They’ll spring it on them at an ideal time, when the force of it causes the most damage.”

  “So why are you doing it this way?”

  “Partially because the colonel and I are isolated. We’re alone, politically and socially. He can rally people around him, but it will take a lot of time, and the presidential nominations will soon be announced. There’s no time to gather political strength.”

  “I think you’re doing the right thing. People need to know. We didn’t lose our friends just to get ambushed before we even get a president.” Grant took a swig of wine from his mug. “By the which, I went to the postmaster and wrote my name, my whole name, in with a nomination.”

  That drew away the dark curtains from his mind and let in almost too much brightness to bear. “Really. Who did you nominate?”

  “The rules say, I don’t have to say.” Grant’s eyes sparkled with delight.

  “Keep your secret, then.” Grant’s pleasure only warmed Mark’s own.

  “If they find out, what do you think they’d do to you?” Grant asked.

  “That depends on when they find out, if they find out at all.”

  “But just supposin’ they figure it out, say, before this grand party of yours.”

  “The damage will be done. If I were in their position, which is hard to imagine because I don’t know their strength and numbers, but I think I would either try to win me over, try to turn the colonel, or if not him, the colonel’s friends against me. That always steals the wind from a jester’s abilities.”

  “But you wouldn’t kill ... you.”

  “I have a hard time thinking that way, Grant. Blame it on my inexperience, my youth, my lack of determination—it doesn’t matter.” Mark drank more deeply into his cup than he had all night and filled it again. “I know they will consider it. I think it would depend on whether they predicted the colonel would be in a stronger or weaker position after my death. It will also depend on how much more trouble they think I could cause for them. With this act, I’m declaring myself direct, clumsy, and un-inclined to maintain control of the situation. From where I sit, it seems I’ll be able to do little more damage to them unless the colonel is elected president, and he could do that without my help.” Of course he probably wouldn’t try without Mark. If anyone knew that, they’d certainly rid themselves of Mark if they could. “If anyone asks, tell them that as far as you know, the colonel wouldn’t agree to be president.”

  “Why in the hells not?”

  Mark’s mind translated his words to say in the hell’s knot, and it snapped him briefly into that confusion of vines and flowers. He shivered and took another swig of wine. “He doesn’t want it.” Mark guzzled from the cup and set it aside. That would be more than enough wine for now. “I happen to agree with you. He would do well. Not just because of his character. He’s sturdy. You have him beaten in physical strength, but I’ve never met anyone with his spiritual strength. No bribe, no threat, no danger of failure will turn him aside from the right course.”

  “Here’n here.” Grant raised his mug. Mark lifted his own, they clunked, and they drank to the future president, the people willing.

  Mark rode home, or rather Bindart took him home, well after midnight. “I’ve got to stop drinking so much,” he told her as he removed her tack. He rubbed her down a bit and walked unsteadily to the house. He stopped by the well pump near the stables on his way and drank until he felt overfull. He craved more wine but he dreaded waking with a headache again, which he’d have whether he drank more water or not.

  “Damn I’m pounded.” He chuckled, but then quieted as he opened the nearest rear door. This one let into the formal cloak and tack room. He took the way through the drawing room and up the back stairs. He staggered out into the open spaces in the central part of the upstairs toward his suite.

  A band of light gleamed under the main doors leading to the colonel’s suite. Maybe he’d left a candle burning. Mark carefully made his way over and cracked the door open. The bedroom door stood ajar.

  The colonel sat on the floor. He leaned heavily on his window’s broad sill, staring at something in his hand. It looked like something braided, maybe dark hair and a narrow ribbon.

  Mark opened the door wider.

  The colonel’s gaze slid wearily to Mark before he shut his eyes. “Get out.”

  Mark stepped in and closed the door behind him. “Is it his, or hers?”

  “I said get out.” The words had no teeth among them.

  His, then. “This isn’t good for you.” Mark went to help him up but the colonel surged to his feet.

  “I shouldn’t have to ask you twice.” The colonel brushed his clothes straight. “If I have to ask a third time—”

  “You’ll have me flogged?”

  “You wouldn’t speak so lightly of it if you’d seen it done.” The colonel stuck the braid in his waistcoat pocket.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be asleep by now. I just didn’t want Hevether to burn down.”

  “No, of course this violation of my privacy is entirely altruistic.” The colonel glanced outside at the stars. “Since you’re determined to stay, perhaps you can explain why you were out so late.” He drew the curtains shut.

  “I was up to mischief, of course. Oh, and I’ve hired Grant to help us with the party.” He tried to keep his tone light.

  “Grant, is it? Mr. Roadman and you are close friends, then.”

  Something about the colonel’s tone and the way Mark’s heart ticked up its rhythm kept him from warming that jealousy with a little rubbing. “Not the sort of close friends you’re implying. How could we be? He’s more fond of women than wine. Besides, I thought you’d decided I was a liar and a whore.” He shouldn’t have said that last. It had to be the colonel’s own heart working against them both.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “And you’re jealous over nothing.” He stopped himself in time, but he still thought it. I would give you anything and everything if I thought you loved me. “Now if you and Grant could be made into one man—”

  Did I just say that aloud?

  The colonel stalked over to him. “What was that?”

  Maybe the colonel didn’t hear every word. Mark set a hand on his chest to halt him. “Never mind. You’re right. I’m drunk, and I’m going to bed.”

  “There is another, isn’t there. You’re seeing him in secret,” he growled.

  Ridiculous. “No.” Mark backed away. Something about his manner made Mark uneasy. “I best leave. Forgive the intrusion—”

  The colonel reached for Mark’s arm but Mark eluded him, his wine-slowed mind finally perceiving danger.

  “It’s not enough to tease me like a cheap harlot, but then to humiliate me, publicly—” The colonel’s voice murmured low with dangerous, sensuous tones. He put his hand on the door before Mark could escape.

  “I think you’re drunk.” Mark spoke softly, a little breathless from fear. Unfortunately the colonel didn’t smell drunk. Mark flinched as Hevether rumbled from a powerful wave slamming into the rocks. Fear started to mix with anger. “If you want me, you can have me. But you don’t. Did you think I’d want to be alone and miserable for the rest of my life, just like you are?”

  “I just want the truth.”

  Mark heard the pain this time. How could he have missed it? “Hush,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” He expected something violent when he touched the colonel’s face, but the colonel’s lashes lowered and the stoic man’s breath hitched. “It’s all right.” Stealing a kiss now would be a crime. Mark bit his lip. His heart pounded, but he felt a softer rhythm staggering, dragging broken across the shards of agony in the colonel’s eyes. “It’s all right.” Mark slid his arms under the colonel’s and drew him close.

  The colonel barely yielded—just enough that he was warmer than stone to hold. Mark slowly dragged his hands along the co
lonel’s tight spine. The colonel tucked his head and rested it near Mark’s face and his arms looped loosely around Mark’s body. Their hearts calmed.

  Mark wished he could surge over the colonel like the waves on the rocks, but he had to go away. The colonel ... he’d say Mark was drunk, that it was a ploy. He’d say anything to keep from being hurt again. Ha. And the colonel had been so concerned about protecting Mark from further hurt. As if such lonely protection saved anyone from pain.

  “While I’m here,” Mark said softly, forcing a smile to warm his voice, “I should tell you that I have to move my room until the party is over. You don’t have enough space downstairs. We’ll keep this hall private. I’m blocking it off with an armoire and silk ropes.”

  “You shouldn’t sleep in ... you shouldn’t be next door.” In what would be his future wife’s quarters.

  “I know. I thought I’d take the room next to Philip’s downstairs.”

  The colonel’s hands slid up Mark’s back with unmistakable need. “That ....” He drew Mark up. Mark evaded his kiss and seized his lower lip in his mouth. He didn’t resist the second kiss. His body arched and the colonel was at his throat, wrapping around him, tightening, grasping. Pleasure so strong it hurt tightened in his chest and Mark cried out.

  The colonel covered his mouth with a hand and pressed him to the wall. “Hush,” the colonel gasped, and slid his hand away. “Hush.” He kissed Mark and worked at buttons. Mark’s hands trembled too much to help much with the colonel’s clothes. The colonel, Rohn, was steady though, steady and sure and potent. His breath and his racing heart betrayed his eagerness. Rohn traced an uneven trail down Mark’s bared chest, around his ribs, teasing while he worked at Mark’s belt.

  Something like panic rushed through Mark until lips and hands played over him. He arched into the wall, a strangled, animal cry caught in his throat. Hands and lips coursed up his body. They freed each other of anything hampering—clothes, fears, doubt. That painful pleasure peaked in Rohn’s strong grip and Mark fell into ripples and waves, washing endlessly in languor. His hands poured down clean skin, hardly distinguishing his lover’s body from his own. Every breath, every touch radiated delight. One part of them struggled while the other urged and urged until Rohn grabbed Mark’s hair fiercely and arched with grace and power. In that moment all that self-denial unmade itself, and Rohn was free.

  Mark’s strength slipped and he eased himself down the wall. Rohn knelt before Mark, his hands held flat together and trapped between his own thighs, head bowed, still panting, sweating. Sweat traced its way along Mark’s face and down his chest. He would have opened a window to let the sea air in, but it seemed better to swelter in luxury.

  The heart of what they’d done began to falter in its aftermath. They exchanged glances.

  Rohn stared at the polished wood floor between them.

  So different, in every way, from Lord Argenwain who would often hold Mark in his luxurious bed until morning. Mark wanted to say something, but he had no words, not of comfort, or assurance, or apology. He stood and kissed the top of Rohn’s head, gathered his breeches back up to his waist, and went to the door.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mark stopped, wounded to the spine. “You ought to be. Not for giving in, but for apologizing. You had love, and a lover. I never have, not like that. Your shame is my only treasure. If you’re sorry for yourself, then be sorry, but don’t you force your shame on me.”

  He walked out into the hall, disheveled and proud and confused and sorry too, but not for what happened. He was sorry they’d argued, and that he was drunk, and that Rohn was ashamed.

  Thankfully they hadn’t woken anyone. He saw no hint of Philip or Norbert when he passed the top of the stairs, nor any light at the end of his hallway where Trudy slept. The only thing that smothered the silence was the constant sea. He let himself into his room and found his bed in the dark. Mark crawled onto it and lay shipwrecked there until sleep dragged him down.

  A knock woke him to bright daylight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly and dreamlessly. Mark sat up. “Yes?”

  Trudy opened the door, squeaked and shut it again. “Excuse me, l’jeste. Grant Roadman is here, and there’s a delivery of furniture waiting in the entry. I’m very sorry to wake you, sir.”

  “It’s all right. Please see if Mr. Roadman wants any refreshments and tell everyone I’ll be there in a half hour at most.” Poor Trudy. Lord Argenwain’s maids weren’t in any way shy, and they had more reason to be, considering some of the things they’d stumbled into seeing. He hadn’t even considered Trudy might be modest.

  “Would you like some hot water, sir?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Trudy. I’m putting on a robe right now.” He had to laugh. Despite everything he felt wonderful, alive, and beyond happy.

  Today would be a beautiful day.