‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t quite recall.’
‘Perhaps we met on business? At a party? May I ask what it is you do?’
‘You may well ask, but I’m not sure I could answer!’ Crake brayed, falling into his role. ‘I’m sort of in between occupations at the moment. Father wants me to go into law, but my mother is obsessed with the idea that I should be a politician. Neither of them appeals much to me. I just want to be with my sweetheart.’ He smiled at Jez, who smiled back dreamily, bedazzled by her rich boyfriend. ‘May I ask what it is that you do?’
‘I work for the Shacklemore Agency.’
It took all of Crake’s control to keep his expression steady. The news was like a punch in the gut. Suddenly, he was certain that Cordwain was watching for a reaction from him, and he was determined to give none.
‘And what does the Shacklemore Agency do?’ asked Jez innocently, though she must have already known. Crake silently thanked her for the distraction.
Cordwain favoured her with a patronising smile. ‘Well, Miss, we look after the interests of our clients. We work for some very important people. My job is to deal with those people, keep things running smooth.’
‘Hired guns and bounty hunters, that’s what they are,’ sniffed Crake. He was quick on his feet in social situations, and he’d already decided on the best tactic for getting away as fast as possible. ‘I must say, I find it very distasteful.’
‘Damen! Don’t be rude!’ Jez said, appalled.
‘It’s alright, Miss,’ said Cordwain, with an unmistakable hostility in his gaze. ‘There’s some that don’t understand the value of the work we do. The law-abiding man has nothing to fear from us.’
‘I say, sir, do you dare to imply something?’ Crake bristled, raising his voice. People nearby turned and looked. Cordwain noticed the attention their conversation had drawn.
‘Not a thing, sir,’ he said coldly. ‘I apologise for disturbing you.’ He bowed quickly to Jez and walked away. The people around them resumed their conversations, glancing over occasionally in the hope of further drama.
Crake felt panicked. Had there been a warning in the man’s tone? Had he been recognised? But then, what was the point in confronting him? Was it just monstrous bad luck that he’d run into a Shacklemore here?
The warm sensation of being surrounded by familiar things had faded now. He felt paranoid and uneasy. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
Jez was studying him closely. She was an observant sort, and he had no doubt that she knew something was up. But she kept her questions to herself.
‘Let’s go find Gallian Thade, hmm?’
Crake found him shortly afterwards, on the other side of the room. He was a tall, severe man with a hawk nose and a deeply lined, narrow face. For all his years, his pointed beard and black hair had not a trace of grey. His eyes were sharp and moved rapidly about as he spoke, like an animal restlessly scanning for danger.
‘That’s him,’ said Crake, admiring their host’s stiff, brocaded jacket.
Thade was in conversation with several men, all of them stern and serious-looking. Some of them were smoking cigars and drinking brandy.
‘Who’s that with him?’ murmured Jez, looking at the man next to Thade.
Crake studied Thade’s companion with interest. ‘That’s Duke Grephen of Lapin.’
Crake knew him from the broadsheets. As ruler of one of the Nine Duchies that formed Vardia, he was one of the most influential people in the land. Only the Archduke held more political power than the Dukes.
Grephen was a dour-looking man with a squarish build and a sallow face. His eyes were deeply sunken and ringed with dark circles, making him look faintly ill. His short blond hair was limp and damp with sweat. Though he was thirty-five, and he wore a fine uniform with the Lapin coat of arms on its breast, he looked like a pudgy boy playing at being a soldier.
Despite his less than formidable appearance, the others treated Grephen with the greatest respect. He didn’t speak often, and never smiled, but when he had something to offer, his companions listened intently.
‘Bet you never thought you’d see him when you came here tonight,’ said a voice to their right. They looked over to see a gaunt man with white hair and bushy eyebrows, flushed from alcohol and the heat. He was wearing a Navy uniform, his buttons and boots polished to a high shine.
‘Why, no, I hadn’t imagined I would,’ said Jez.
‘Air Marshal Barnery Vexford,’ he said, taking her hand to kiss it.
‘Bethinda Flay. And this is my sweetheart, Damen Morcutt.’
‘Of the Marduk Morcutts,’ Crake added cheerily, as he shook Vexford’s hand. Vexford wasn’t quick enough to keep the fleeting, predatory glitter from his eyes. Crake had already surmised what was on his mind. He was after Jez, and that made Crake his competition.
‘You know, ferrotypes don’t do him justice,’ Jez twittered. ‘He’s so very grand in real life.’
‘Oh, he is,’ agreed Vexford. ‘A very serious man, very thoughtful. And so devout. A credit to his family.’
‘Do you know the Duke very well?’ Jez asked.
Vexford glowed. ‘I have had the privilege of meeting the Duke on many occasions. The Archduke is also a personal friend of mine.’
‘Perhaps you could introduce us to Duke Grephen?’ Crake suggested, pouncing. Vexford hesitated. ‘We’d be honoured to meet him, and offer our thanks to the host. I know Bethinda would be very grateful.’
‘Oh! It would be a dream come true!’ she gushed. She was getting to be quite the little actress.
Vexford’s reservations were obvious. You didn’t introduce just anyone to the Duke. But he’d talked himself into a corner, and he’d seem foolish if he backed out now. ‘How can I refuse such a beautiful lady?’ he said, with a hateful smile at Crake. Then he laid his hand on Jez’s back, claiming her as his prize, and led her over towards the Duke’s group without another look at her ‘sweetheart’. Crake was left to follow, rather amused by the Air Marshal’s attempt to snub him.
Vexford’s timing was perfect. The conversation had lulled and his arrival in the group caused everyone to take notice of the newcomers.
‘Your Grace,’ he said, ‘may I introduce Miss Bethinda Flay.’ After a pause long enough to be insulting, he added, ‘And also Damen Morcutt, of the Marduk Morcutts,’ as if he’d just remembered Crake was there.
On seeing the blank looks of his companions, someone in the group exclaimed knowingly, ‘The Marduk Morcutts, ah, yes!’ The others murmured in agreement, enough to imply that the Marduk Morcutts were indeed a fine family, even if none of them knew who the Marduk Morcutts actually were.
Jez curtsied; Crake bowed. ‘It’s a great honour, your Grace,’ he said. ‘For both of us.’
The Duke said nothing. He merely acknowledged them silently with nods, then gave Vexford a look as if to say: why have you brought these two here? The conversation had fallen silent around them. Vexford shifted uncomfortably and sipped his sherry.
‘And you must be Gallian Thade!’ Crake suddenly exclaimed. He took up Thade’s hand and pressed it warmly between his palms, then gave the older man a companionable pat on the hip. ‘Wonderful party, sir, just wonderful.’
Vexford almost choked on his drink. The others looked shocked. Such familiarity with a man who was clearly his social superior was unpardonable. The worst kind of behaviour. Nobody expected such oafishness in a place like this.
Thade kept his composure. ‘I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,’ he said frostily. ‘You should try the canapes. I’m sure you would find them delicious.’
‘I will!’ said Crake enthusiastically. ‘I’ll do it right now. Come on, Bethinda, let’s leave these gentlemen to their business.’
He took her by the arm and marched her away towards the canapés, leaving Vexford to face the silent scorn of his peers.
‘What was that about?’ asked Jez. ‘I thought you wanted to find out what Thade wa
s up to.’
‘You remember this?’ he said, taking a tiny silver earcuff out of his pocket.
‘Of course I do. You showed the Cap’n how they worked. He didn’t stop talking about them for two days. I think you impressed him.’ She watched him affix it to his ear. ‘Looks a bit tacky for this kind of party,’ she offered.
‘Can’t be helped.’
‘Where’s the other one?’
Crake flashed her a gold-toothed grin. ‘In Thade’s pocket. Where I put it, when I patted him on the hip.’
Jez was agape. ‘And you can hear him now?’
‘Loud and clear,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get some canapes, settle down, and see what our host has to say.’
Nineteen
Crake’s Stereotypes - Jez Is Betrayed - A Daring Show Of Cheek - Dreadful Information
An hour later, and Crake had begun to remember why he’d been so bored with the aristocracy. He seemed to be en countering the same people over and over again. The faces were different, but the bland niceties and insipid observations remained the same. He was yet to meet anyone more interesting than the clothes they wore.
The guests fell neatly into the pigeonholes he made for them. There was the Pampered Adventurer, who wanted to use Father’s money to explore distant lands and eventually set up a business in New Vardia. They had no real concept of hardship. Then there was the Future Bankrupt, who talked enthusiastically of investing in dangerous projects and bizarre science, dreaming of vast profits that would never materialise. They were often attached to the Vapid Beauty, whose shattering dullness was only tolerable because they were so pleasant to look at. Occasionally he spotted a Fledgling Harpy, spoiled daughter of a rich family. Unattractive, yet intelligent enough to realise that their fiancée was only with them for their money. In revenge for thwarting their fantasies of romance, they intended to make the remainder of his life a misery.
These, and others, he recognised from long experience. A procession of stereotypes and clichés, he thought scornfully. Each one desperately believing themselves to be unique. They parrot their stupid opinions, plucked straight from the broadsheets, and hope that nobody disagrees. How had he ever communicated with these people? How could he ever go back among them, knowing what he knew?
They’d moved into the magnificent ballroom, with its swirled marble pillars and copper chandeliers. The floor was busy with couples, some of them lovers but most not. They exchanged partners as they moved, men and women passed around in a political interplay, gossiping and spying on one another. Crake stood to one side with Jez, talking with a pair of brothers who had recently bought an aerium mine and clearly had no idea how to exploit it.
Gallian Thade and Duke Grephen stood on the other side of the room. Crake listened. It was hard to concentrate on two conversations at once, but luckily he needed less than half his attention to keep up with either. Jez was fielding the Aerium Brothers, and Thade and his companions were saying nothing of any interest. Their talk consisted of possible business ventures, witticisms and pleasantries. He was beginning to wonder if Frey had been wise to believe Thade might give something away.
‘We should go elsewhere,’ he heard Thade murmur, through the silver earcuff. ‘There are things we must discuss.’
Crake’s eyes flickered to the host, who was talking to the Duke. Grephen nodded, and they excused themselves and began to move away across the ballroom. This was promising.
‘Miss Flay!’
It was Vexford, the rangy old soak who had taken a fancy to Jez. He gave Crake a poisonous glare as they made their greetings. He’d not forgotten his recent embarrassment at Crake’s hands. It hadn’t embarrassed him enough to keep him from trying to steal his adversary’s sweetheart, apparently.
‘Air Marshal Vexford!’ Jez declared, with false and excessive enthusiasm. ‘How good to see you again!’
Vexford puffed up with pleasure. ‘I was wondering if I might have the honour of this dance?’
Jez glanced uncertainly at Crake, but Crake wasn’t listening. He was concentrating on the sounds in his ear. Grephen and Thade were exchanging greetings with people as they passed through the ballroom towards a doorway at one end. The greetings were getting fainter and fainter as they moved out of range.
‘Damen?’ Jez enquired. He noticed her again. ‘Air Marshal Vexford wishes to dance with me.’ Her eyes were urgent: Save me!
Crake smiled broadly at the Air Marshal. ‘That would be fine, sir. Just fine,’ he said. ‘Excuse me, I must attend to something.’ He slipped away with rude haste, to spare himself Jez’s gaze of horrified betrayal.
He made his way towards the doorway Grephen and Thade were heading for, glancing around nervously as he went. He was searching for a sign of Fredger Cordwain, the man who worked for the Shacklemores. Crake hadn’t spotted him since their conversation earlier, and it worried him deeply.
When he was a child, he’d been afraid of spiders. They seemed to like his bedroom, and no matter how the maids chased them out they always came back. But frightened as he was, he found their presence easier to bear if he could see them, hiding in a corner or motionless on the ceiling. It was when he looked away, when the spider disappeared, that the fear came. A spider safely on the far side of the room was one thing; a spider that might already be crawling over the pillow towards his face was quite another. Crake wanted Cordwain where he could see him.
The sound of Thade’s voice strengthened in his ear as he drew closer to them. They passed through the grand doorway at the end of the ballroom and away. Crake followed at a distance.
Beyond was a corridor, leading through the manor to other areas: smoking rooms, galleries, halls. Guests were scattered about in groups, admiring sculptures or laughing among themselves. Crake was sweating, and not only because of the heat. He felt like a criminal. The casual glances of the doormen and servants seemed suddenly suspicious and knowing. He sipped his wine and tried to look purposeful.
‘Where are we going?’ Grephen said quietly to Thade, looking around. ‘Somewhere more private than this, I hope.’
‘My study is off-limits to guests,’ Thade replied. He halted at a heavy wooden door with vines carved into its surface, and unlocked it with a key. Crake stopped a little way up the corridor, pretending to admire a painting of some grotesque aunt of the Thade dynasty. Thade and Grephen stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
He waited for them to speak again. They didn’t. Wait: was that a murmur in his ear? Perhaps, but it was too faint to make out. The study evidently went back some distance into the manor, and they were right at the limit of his range.
Spit and blood! I knew I should have made these things more powerful, he thought, fingering his earcuff in agitation.
He looked both ways up the corridor, but nobody was paying attention to him. He walked across to the door that led to the study. If anyone asked, he could just say he got lost.
He tried the door. It didn’t open. He tried again, more forcefully. Locked.
‘I don’t think you can go in there,’ said a portly, middle-aged man who had spotted his plight.
‘Oh,’ said Crake. ‘I must be mistaken.’ He lowered his voice, and moved close to murmur: ‘I thought this was the lavatory. It’s quite desperate, you see.’
‘Other end of the corridor,’ said the man, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
‘Much obliged,’ he said, and hurried away.
His mind was racing. If Thade had anything worth hearing, he was saying it right now, and Crake was too far away to listen. This whole excursion would be wasted if he couldn’t get back in range, and quickly.
Just then he passed the foot of a staircase. It was relatively narrow and simple, with white stone steps and elegant, polished banisters. A manservant stood on the first step, barring entry to guests.
And suddenly Crake had an idea.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Would you mind terribly if I had a nose around up there?’
‘Guests are not allo
wed, sir,’ said the manservant.
Crake grinned hugely. His best grin, his picture-grin. His gold tooth glinted in the light of the electric bulb. The manservant’s eyes glittered like a magpie’s.
‘I’d be most grateful if you could make an exception,’ he said.
The corridors upstairs were cool and hushed and empty. The gabble of conversation and music from the ballroom were muted by the thick floors. Crake could hear a pair of maids somewhere nearby, talking in low voices, giggling as they prepared the bedrooms.