Kort winced, hesitated, winced again and finally leaned forward, clasping his hands. ‘There is no easy way to say this—’
‘Take the hard way, then, I am not made of glass.’
‘Regrettably, Lady Savine, I was obliged … to come to a new accommodation.’
‘And who has been so accommodating?’
‘Lady Selest dan Heugen.’ Savine’s expression didn’t seem to change, but Broad had the feeling it took a struggle. ‘Her cousin was kind enough to arrange for some permits—’
‘We had an agreement, Master Kort.’
‘We did, but … you were not here to fulfil it. Thankfully, Lady Selest was able to step into the breach.’
Savine smiled. ‘And you think you can just slip her into my breach without so much as a by-your-leave?’
Kort shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘The banking house of Valint and Balk was kind enough to act as her backer, and she was kind enough to act as mine. Lady Savine, I was really given no choice—’
‘I recently spent several weeks living like a dog.’ Savine still smiled, but there was something brittle in it now. Something jagged. ‘And I do not mean that figuratively. Starving. Filthy. Hiding in a corner, constantly afraid for my life. It has changed my perspective. It has made me see how very fragile we all are. Then I have been involved in a … let us call it an affair of the heart, which did not end to my satisfaction. It did not end to my satisfaction at all.’
‘I have nothing but sympathy, Lady Savine—’
‘Your sympathy is not worth a speck of shit.’ Savine fished an infinitesimal mote of dust from her sleeve and rubbed it away between finger and thumb. ‘It’s your canal I want. Just what was agreed. No more and no less.’
‘What can I say?’ Kort spread his big hands. ‘My canal is no longer available.’
Savine’s smile had hardened to a skull’s grin. The fibres in her neck stood out as she bit off the words. ‘The thing is, so much of business is a show. It is about the confidence people have in you. And confidence is so fragile. I am sure we have both seen it a hundred times. Cast from iron one moment, crumbling like sand the next. Following my misadventures in Valbeck, confidence in me has been profoundly shaken. People are watching me. Judging me.’
‘Lady Savine, I assure you—’
‘Don’t bother. I am merely trying to make you understand that, whoever your backers might be, I cannot afford the luxury of letting you and Selest dan Heugen fuck me on this occasion.’ And she glanced over at Broad, and caught his eye.
At least there’ll be no trouble, serving a fine lady, eh? Liddy had said. Broad had smiled. Aye. No trouble. He didn’t smile now.
He knew exactly what Savine wanted. He’d seen that look in her eye before, on some of the men he’d fought with. The ones you had to watch. The ones you had to worry about. He knew he’d had the same look. A kind of mad delight that it had come to this.
He didn’t understand business, or deals, or canals. But he understood that look. All too well.
So Broad took hold of the edge of Kort’s great desk and moved it out of his way. There was no room to push it into, so he just lifted one end. Papers, ornaments, a nice letter opener, all slid down the green leather as it tilted like a sinking ship, clattering off onto the floor beside it. He hefted the great thing all the way upright, leaving Kort oddly exposed in his chair, eyes wide and plump knees pressed fearfully together.
Broad took off his lenses, and folded them, and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Then he stepped forwards across the suddenly blurry office, a loose board creaking under his new boot.
‘I lost many things in Valbeck, Master Kort,’ came Savine’s voice, from what sounded like a long way off. ‘Several investments and several partners, a lovely sword-belt and an irritating but very capable face-maid. I also lost my patience.’
Broad stepped so close to Kort that their knees touched. He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of Kort’s chair, their noses just a few inches apart, close enough that the blur of his face resolved into an expression of extreme fear.
‘You displease me,’ said Savine. ‘And I am in a mood to see things which displease me broken. Broken in such a way that they will not go back together.’
Broad gripped the chair so hard that every joint in it groaned, breathing through his nostrils, like a bull. Bull Broad, they used to call him. He acted like he was only just keeping a grip on himself. Maybe he was.
‘Our agreement stands!’ squealed Kort, face turned away and his eyes screwed shut. ‘Of course it does, Lady Savine, how could it be otherwise?’
‘Oh, that is excellent news.’ And the bright tone of Savine’s voice was like a hand letting go of Broad’s throat.
‘You are the partner I always wanted!’ blathered Kort. ‘Our deal is forged from iron, just like my bridge—’
‘Your bridge?’
As Broad hooked his lenses back around his ears, Kort was giving a desperate, quivery smile. ‘Our bridge.’
‘Marvellous.’ Savine pulled on one of her gloves while Zuri slipped her hat back on with masterful precision and slid the hatpin home. ‘I would hate to have to send Master Broad to see you without my restraining influence. Who knows what might happen?’
Broad pulled shut the office door behind them with a gentle click. It was only when he took his hand from the knob he realised it was shaking.
Zuri leaned towards one of the clerks. ‘Master Kort may need a little help righting his desk.’
It seemed too bright outside as he followed Savine through the noise and bustle back to the carriage. ‘I’m not a coachman, am I?’ he muttered.
‘Much of what I do is to recognise talent,’ said Savine as she watched the workers struggle in the diggings. ‘I saw yours the moment you saved me from those men, on the barricade in Valbeck. Employing you as a coachman would be like employing a great artist to whitewash cottages. But don’t you feel better for it?’ She leaned close to murmur, ‘I know I do.’ And she glided off towards the carriage as if the whole world belonged to her.
‘You’re a natural at this, Master Broad.’ Zuri pressed something into his palm. A gold coin. A twenty-mark piece. More than he’d been paid for a month’s work at the brewery in Valbeck. More than he’d been paid for the assault in Musselia.
Broad looked up at her. ‘You believe in God, right?’
‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’
‘Thought he was dead set against violence?’
‘If he was set that firmly against it …’ And Zuri smiled as she closed his aching fist around the coin and gave it a fond pat. ‘Why would he make men like you?’
Good Times
Leo felt a bit of an outsider at his own party.
It was staged in the Hall of Mirrors, the most amazing room in a palace full of amazing rooms, silvered Visserine glass covering every wall so the richest, noblest and most beautiful the Union had to offer stretched away in every direction into the dim distance.
Certainly the introductions went on for ever. Damp hands were shaken and powdered cheeks kissed until Leo’s lips were chapped and his fingers raw. It was a flood of congratulations, admirations, well-wishes. An onslaught of long names and weighty titles scarcely heard and straight away forgotten.
The Ambassador from Here or There. The Over-Secretary for Whatever. The niece of Lord What’s-his-Face. Some bald old smirker someone might’ve called the First of the Magi, who blurted some magical nonsense about defeating Eaters in a Circle of salted iron being just like fighting Stour Nightfall in a Circle of grass. Leo assumed it was a joke, and not a very funny one. His cheeks ached from returning all the beaming smiles, the promises of never-ceasing friendship which ceased with the next breath.