Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [214]
The barkeep raised his brows. "Are you lost, lad?"
"I'm looking for Ruggero Caccini," I told him.
He laughed. "Oh, indeed? What business might you have with him?"
"I'm quite curious myself," offered a smooth voice behind me. "Stand me a jug, D'Angeline, and I'm willing to listen."
I turned around. "Messire Caccini."
He went still, and I knew he'd recognized me. Like the inn, he wasn't what I'd expected. Ruggero Caccini was tall, dark, and lean, well-dressed and clean-shaven, with neatly barbered hair. I met his gaze steadily. He was some forty years of age, healthy and prosperous, but there was a shadow of old hunger in his eyes, a memory of gauntness in his face.
"Well, well," he said softly. "You're a brave little cockerel." He laid one hand on the hilt of a poniard he carried, and a dozen chairs shifted behind him, men preparing to come to his aid. "Come to beard the lion in his den, have you? Unwise. What makes you think you'd get out alive?" He nodded at Eamonn. "Yon strapping friend?"
"No." I smiled pleasantly. "A letter to be delivered to Lady Denise Fleurais detailing my whereabouts, should I fail to return. 'Tis a gambit I learned from my foster-mother long ago when someone else wanted me dead. But I'm pleased to hear you're inclined to be frank. You're a man of business, I understand. I come bearing an offer."
Ruggero stared at me, then uttered a sharp, barking laugh. "Stand me a jug, D'Angeline! I'm willing to listen."
The barkeep drew us a jug and Ruggero led me to a corner table. I motioned for Eamonn to stay where he was. He shrugged, watching attentively. Ruggero filled two cups, sliding one across the table.
"So," he said. "Offer."
I sipped my wine. "Here's the crux of the matter, Messire Caccini. It seems there have been two, perhaps three, ill-fated attempts on my life. The last occurred during the riot, in which my attacker divulged the name of an old enemy. It made me suspicious of the other occurrences. I've made inquiries among the city cohort and elsewhere, and I believe at least one can be traced to a man in your employ."
"Mayhap." He smiled sardonically.
"Mayhap." I nodded. " 'Tis a gamble. I'm willing to take it if I must. But I would prefer to buy out House Trevalion's contract with you."
Ruggero said nothing, but there was a spark of interest in his gaze. He was greedy. From what little Claudia Fulvia had told me, I'd guessed as much. Now that I beheld him, I could see it was born of the old hunger, a childhood of poverty. Ruggero Caccini hungered for wealth, hungered for security. Nothing would ever be enough to allay those old fears.
He raised his winecup, wetting his lips. "Say that I know whereof you speak. And yet I'm a man of my word. I don't renege on a contract."
"Nor have you." I spread my hands. "Attempts have been made."
"For which you bear no grudge?" he asked with candid disbelief.
"If I bore a grudge, you would be dead." The words emerged so coolly that I nearly startled myself. "I could have chosen to come here with a squadron of D'Angeline guards. I did not. Messire Caccini, you are merely a weapon in a quarrel between two of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange. I no more bear you a grudge than I would an enemy's blade."
"I don't believe you," Ruggero said, but there was doubt now.
I shrugged. "I, too, am a man of my word. Permit me to buy out Trevalion's contract, and I promise you no charges will be brought against you."
"And if I don't?" he asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at Eamonn. He grinned at me, a fierce battle-grin. "Well, messire," I said to Ruggero. "Then the matter would become personal, and I would indeed bear a grudge. You and your comrades can take your chances with my friend and me, here and now. Eamonn is very good with his sword, and I'm quite fast.