Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [78]
This was what he missed. The casual elegance of music and literature. To be surrounded by wonderful paintings and sculpture, perfect gardens and complicated wines. The upper classes insulated themselves against the world outside, padding themselves with beauty. Without that protection, things became ugly and raw.
He wished, more than anything, that he could go back. Back to how it was before everything went bad. Before …
“Excuse me.”
He opened his eyes, irritated at the interruption. The man standing before him was taller than he was, broad-shouldered and bull-necked. He was fat but not flabby, bald-headed, and sported a long, thin mustache and expensively cut clothes.
“Sorry to spoil your enjoyment of the music, sir,” he said. “I just had to introduce myself. Fredger Cordwain is my name.”
“Damen Morcutt. And this is Miss Bethinda Flay.” Jez curtsied on cue, and Cordwain kissed her hand.
“Charmed. I must ask you, sir, have we met? Your face seems very familiar to me, very familiar indeed, but I can’t place it.”
Crake felt a small chill. Did he know this person? He’d been quite confident that nobody who knew his face would be here tonight. His crime had been kept out of the press—nobody wanted a scandal—and the Winter Ball was simply too exclusive for the circles Crake had moved in. Invitations were almost impossible to secure.
“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 favored her with a patronizing 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 who 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 apologize 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 recognized? 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 afterward,