He had been incredibly lucky, Kaldar realized. After kicking him in the gut, Fortune had finally presented him with a gift. And in the nick of time, too. Getting into this gathering without the boys would've been very difficult, if not impossible.
The ornate double doors swung open, and Morell de Braose entered, shadowed by the butler. Gnome's photograph didn't lie. The man was trim, with a cultivated tan and a body honed by constant targeted exercise, and he wore a Weird doublet, a deceptively streamlined but elaborate affair of pale blue, as if he were born to it. A precise blond beard framed his jaw. He walked in with a wide smile, a tiger who was everyone's best friend. Until he got hungry, that is.
"My lords, my ladies. Welcome! Welcome to my humble abode. I and my staff are at your service. They tell me there are refreshments in the other room. Personally, I think we should take advantage of this beneficial fact before they disappear."
A few polite laughs fluttered through the gathering, and people began to move through the doors. Morell nodded and smiled as they passed. Kaldar drifted closer, and Morell's gaze fixed on him. "Master Brossard. A moment?"
"Of course."
Kaldar lingered.
George glanced in his direction. Kaldar nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the brothers moved with the flow. Morell had noticed it and no doubt filed it away.
A moment later, Cerise and Audrey fluttered by, engaged in some sort of deep conversation. Audrey looked delectable. William brought up the rear, his face dark, looking like he wanted to strangle something. Or rather someone.
"A menacing fellow," Kaldar murmured.
"He's a saltlicker," Morell said. "Born and bred in southern Louisiana. You know what they say about the families on the south coast of the Dukedom."
"Hot food, hot women, hot temper." Kaldar permitted himself a narrow smile.
"Indeed."
The last of the guests passed through the door.
"Will you walk with me?" Morell asked.
"It would be my pleasure, my lord."
They strolled through the doors and down another hallway. Arches punctured the left wall, showcasing the ground and castle battlements far below. A pair of veeking warriors emerged from the doors behind them and followed, maintaining a short distance.
"So you are employed by Duke Camarine?" Morell asked. The robber baron's demeanor was perfectly pleasant. And if the conversation stumbled, Kaldar had no doubt Morell's demeanor would remain pleasant as the two veekings hacked him to small bits at the baron's feet.
Obvious subterfuge wouldn't work. The invitation they took from Magdalene had been numbered; he had to operate on the assumption that Morell had checked the invitation and knew it belonged to Magdalene Moonflower. Trying to project an air of innocence would get them killed.
Underneath all that good cheer and polish, Morell was a ruthless sonovabitch. He understood calculated cruelty and consummate professionalism. He would reject innocence, but he would accept a kindred soul.
"I'm employed by the duke's son," Kaldar corrected.
"Ah! I see. The Marshal of the Adrianglian Southern Provinces. And the children are his wards?"
"Yes."
"And you are on a holiday, you say?"
"Indeed, my young lords wished to tour the 'other' coast."
Morell chuckled. "I recall being their age. The world was full of adventure! California holds such excitement for a young man: there are corsairs on the coast, highwaymen on the roads, great magic beasts in the mountains. There are even reports of serpents in our modest lakes. So what are you doing visiting an old bore like me?"
Speak softly . . . "I must confess to mixing business with pleasure, my lord. As much as I seek to entertain and enrich the minds of my charges, I must heed the commands of their guardians. News of your auctions has spread widely, even to southern Adrianglia."
Morell frowned. "I had no idea the Marshal was interested in art."
"The Marshal displays only a passing interest, my lord. His wife, however, is most intrigued by the stories of your magnificent collections."
Morell's eyebrows crept up. "Mhm."
"A man of the Marshal's stature may not always find it prudent to admit curiosity in acquiring art outside his realm." Translation: the Marshal can't be seen buying stolen property on the black market. "Yet he dotes on his wife, who is a woman of a refined taste."
"I see. And you assist him."
Kaldar bowed lightly. "I simply do as my master bids. What kind of servant would I be if I couldn't accomplish a task my lord set before me?"
Morell nodded. "I commend you on your devotion. The invitation you presented to me was issued to Magdalene Moonflower. She hates me. I had sent it in jest to aggravate her."
And the conversation moved to a narrow bridge over the river of molten lava. "How shortsighted of her," Kaldar said.
"I've made some inquiries. It appears Magdalene had some mishaps and chose to, shall we say, retire instead of being run out of town."
"That's unfortunate."
"Indeed." Morell grinned. "Apparently her offices had been broken into in a very quick manner. Her guards were incapacitated, and she herself has been shot. A clean shot too, very professional. No major damage, but shocking to the system, of course."
"Of course."
"You are a very efficient man, Master Brossard."
"I'm simply a tutor."
"I'm sure you are. The kind of tutor one sends out with two children into the wilderness of California, where most travel in a company of a dozen armed men."
"Our party does contain a groom," Kaldar said.
Morell laughed. "I believe we'll get on splendidly, Master Brossard. Please enjoy the refreshments."
Chapter Fourteen
THE refreshments consisted of tiny pieces of things on toast. As they walked to their seats, Audrey stole one from the nearest platter and nibbled on it. Some sort of fish? She and Cerise sat on the chairs. William positioned himself behind them like some grim sentry.
The square room spread before them. Elaborate carvings decorated the walls, cut out of soft, pale stone and sealed with some sort of finish that made them shine. A large silk rug sheathed the floor of brown tile. Three enormous chandeliers dripped crystals in complex cascades, but instead of bulbs, the crystals themselves glowed with gentle radiance. Chairs set against the walls, in groupings of three or four together. A mahogany table in the middle, carved with the Weird's swirls and flourishes, supported a multitude of trays. Servants in pastel turquoise uniforms circulated through the room, carrying additional platters. Armed men stood by the doorways: the giant veekings, all over seven feet in height, all muscled like bulls, all watching the crowd like wolves looking for an injured sheep. Not one cracked a smile. It was as if Morell had kidnapped the University of Nebraska's defensive line, put them through Marine Corps boot camp, and given them huge knives to hack people to bits with. To make matters worse, the Texas sharpshooters with their musketeer hats occupied a balcony above. One stray movement, and she'd be down with a bullet in her brain. On the plus side, she would probably never feel death coming.