Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [213]
By morning, I had conceived of a plan. Except for the foolhardy part, I thought Phèdre might have approved of it. And so, mayhap, would my mother. From what I understood, Melisande Shahrizai had been nothing averse to blackmail if it served her purpose.
I tried not to dwell on that thought.
First I went with Anna to visit Gilot. We had purchased two votive-offerings, a hand and a torso, and hung them in the grotto where the effigy of Asclepius stood. I went there to give her time alone with Gilot, spending my own time thinking and praying. To Asclepius, who ruled over healing in this place; to gentle Eisheth, who brought the healing arts to Terre d'Ange and taught them to her children, along with the gift of music.
I found myself praying to Kushiel, too. His mercy is cruel, but it is just. I offered up my anger and desire for vengeance along with my pain, vowing to lay them all at his feet in exchange for Gilot's life. In my mind's eye, I beheld Kushiel's face, calm and stern, promising nothing. One cannot bargain with the gods.
Still, it made me feel better to try.
Before we left, I met with the priest of Asclepius. I gave him a sealed letter I'd written. "My lord priest, may I trust you with this? It provides for Gilot and the woman Anna, should aught happen to me. It need only be presented to Lady Denise Fleurais at the D'Angeline embassy."
The priest gave me a long, unreadable look. "You may."
"My thanks," I said to him.
He inclined his head. "Perhaps I will ask a favor in return one day."
Afterward, I met up with Eamonn in the Forum as we'd agreed. His face brightened at the sight of me. "You've a plan, haven't you?"
"I do," I said. "Mostly, it calls for you to be silent and imposing."
Eamonn patted the hilt of his sword. "I can do that."
We went to the wharf, where I found the dock-master to whom I'd reported the dead barge-hand. Allaying his impatience with a bribe, I questioned him about the man.
"The city cohort identified him," I said. "A petty ruffian, they said. But since the riot, I've discovered there's reason to suspect he meant me harm. And I've reason to suspect an old enemy of mine may be behind it. Surely you see everything that passes on the wharf. I thought mayhap you might give me a name. Who in Tiberium might employ a man for such a task?"
He glanced sidelong at Eamonn. "Sorry, my lord. I've no idea."
"That's a pity." I sighed. "I was hoping there would be no need to trouble the D'Angeline ambassadress with a personal matter. You see, she's a dear friend of my foster-mother's. Once I tell her, she'll be obliged to see the matter investigated, even if it means closing the wharf to question every barge-hand and dock-laborer in the city."
The dock-master developed a twitch in one eye. "The princeps would never consent."
"Oh, he would, actually," I assured him. "And hold you to blame for it. Did I mention that my foster-mother is also a very dear friend of the Queen's?"
He held my gaze a moment longer, then broke. "Ah, Jupiter! It's nothing any cutpurse in the city couldn't tell you. Like as not it's Ruggero Caccini you're looking for. He's the one they answer to."
"My thanks." I doubled my bribe. "Where might I find him?"
The dock-master pocketed the coins and jerked his chin. "Inn of the Siren," he said sourly. "A few blocks that way."
We found the inn without difficulty. Unlike the inns in the students' quarter, there was no sign of damage sustained during the rioting here on the docks. It was a nicer place than I would have expected; sturdily built, with windows that looked out over the river. The sign above the door sporting a buxom, bare-breasted siren was freshly painted, the colors bright and crisp.
"Huh." Eamonn gazed at it. "Very fancy."
"Crime pays." I clapped his shoulder. "In fact, I'm counting on it."
Inside, the Inn of