Baffled though she was, Lune nodded. “If that is what you desire—then certainly.” Her expression turned speculative. “In fact, it might be of some help to Ktistes, whose efforts have been sadly neglected while we addressed the problem of the comet. I wonder—”
Then she broke off with a laugh. “No. The academy, yes; but I will not trap you here discussing troubles. Not on such a happy occasion.” Lune approached, holding out her slender hands; Galen took one, and Delphia the other. “My felicitations to you both, Lord Galen, Lady Delphia. Enjoy your wedding day, and may many more days of joy follow it.”
Despite the myriad of good reasons he had to refrain—his wife’s presence; the formality of the moment—Galen murmured what he had never dared voice before, not to the Queen’s face. “Thank you… Lune.”
Irrith was not at all sure of the directions she’d been given. Bow Street was easy enough to find, and a carved Turk’s head hung above the lintel of one well-lit door, but the interior looked like a coffeehouse—not the place she sought. London had plenty of Turk’s Heads, most of them selling coffee; perhaps she’d been directed to the wrong place.
Still, she went inside, and was accosted before she’d gone three steps. “How can I be of service, my fine young sir?”
Irrith transferred her suspicion to the smiling man at her elbow. “I don’t think you can. I’m looking for a bath-house.”
His smile only broadened. “Why, it’s here, good sir!” One hand swept an inviting arc toward a door in the far wall. “The bagnio is right this way. Though I regret to say that this evening it is occupied by a party of illustrious gentlemen and their companions. I would be happy, though, to serve you an excellent supper, and some—”
Her glare stopped him before he could say “coffee.” Gentlemen and their “companions”? I’m in the right place, sure enough. But not well-enough dressed to pretend she belonged with illustrious folk. And she wasn’t good enough to lie her way past, even if she changed her glamour.
A simple faerie charm did just as well. Irrith dug around in her pocket and produced a golden guinea. The man’s eyes bid fair to pop out of his head at the sight of it; she wondered wryly if they would sink back into his skull when he found a dead leaf tomorrow. “I bear a gift for one of the ladies,” Irrith said, patting her other pocket. “On behalf of my master. I won’t impose on them long.”
The man made the coin vanish so fast he might have been a faerie himself, and laid a sly finger along his nose. “For Kitty Fisher, perhaps? She made quite a name for herself by that riding accident in the Mall—I’ve heard two songs about it already. Quite the beauty they say she is, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your master will have to strive against some important men to win her charms, though.” And so saying, he opened the door to the bagnio.
Now it was Irrith’s eyes that threatened to fall out of her head. Oh, she’d heard of these places, but had been so occupied with other matters that she never found the time to visit one. She found herself in the midst of an Oriental dream. Tiled pools, coyly separated by carved screens, sent steam wreathing through the air—a wholly inadequate veil to cover the many half-clad or altogether naked people lounging about the space.
Not so many, she realised once her initial startlement passed. Perhaps a dozen in alclass="underline" three ladies, and the rest men, all enjoying a thorough debauch. One fellow floated blissfully in a pool; two others sprawled with wine and candied fruit, conversing upon some topic with much laughter. A blonde woman sat on the back of a fourth, kneading his shoulders while she whispered in his ear. The other two ladies—to grant them a title they did not deserve—were dallying upon cushions with the remaining men. And it was there, of course, that Irrith found her target.
Once again, Carline had made no particular effort to disguise herself, aside from a thin veneer of mortality. No reason she should; her lush beauty was perfectly suited for this kind of pastime. Seduction had always been her favourite game, and she played it very well. Irrith was not surprised that her last farewell to London should be a night in a bagnio with as many handsome and wealthy men as she could manage.
Her dark-haired friend was devoting her attention to a rather unhandsome fellow, with a wide mouth and unfortunately bulbous eyes. He must have a great deal of wealth, Irrith thought cynically. Carline had taken the finest of the set, a strong-jawed man with shoulders that would look well in a tight coat and looked even better out of one. He so occupied her that she didn’t look up as Irrith approached.
The unhandsome one did, though, and frowned. His companion wrinkled her upturned nose. “A friend of yours, George?”
He shook his head. Irrith offered a deep bow to them all and thought fast. The “gift” had just been an idea to get her past the owner of the bagnio, but now she had more attention than she wanted, and no good way out of it. “Good evening, my most excellent lords,” she said, delaying while she scrambled for a fresh idea. Sweat was already soaking through her shirt into her coat, and nervousness did not help. “I’ve come in search of a, er, a lady—”
Derisive laughter greeted her stammering statement. “Miss Fisher,” one of the men said in cool tones, “is not available this evening. As you can no doubt see.” He gestured at the woman with the upturned nose.
“Not her,” Irrith said, and pointed at Carline. “That’s the one I seek. My master sent me with a gift for her.”
Carline still had not looked up from her giggling play with the broad-shouldered man. “Tom,” the ugly George called, and Kitty Fisher jabbed the fellow with her toe. “Competition for your Caroline’s charms.”
The two broke apart, and Carline, pouting, finally turned to face Irrith. The sprite watched as understanding came to her, stage by stage: she saw first a gentleman, then someone under a glamour, and then apprehension settled in. Not knowing who lay beneath the disguise, she would be fearing the worst—as if Lune had the attention to spare for one turncoat faerie lady on her way out of London.
But Irrith could use that fear. Her hand brushed her pocket, and a dreadful notion came to her. Bowing to the broad-shouldered Tom, she said, “May I present the gift to her?”
He scowled, but Kitty jabbed him again. “Go on, Tom. Or are you afraid your, ah, purse isn’t deep enough to keep her?”
His scowl shifted targets, but George lifted a quelling hand, and Tom slid backward with ill grace, leaving Carline alone on her couch.
Irrith knelt before the faerie lady and pulled the box from her pocket. Then cupping it in her hands so no one but Carline could see, she cracked the lid upward.
All the blood drained from Carline’s face. While Kitty and the others hooted and began speculating about the gift, Irrith murmured, “Five minutes of your time—and a bit of information. Then you can go wherever you please.”
For a moment it seemed Carline would be unable to move. Then she shoved herself off the couch so fast Irrith almost fell onto her rump. “Five minutes,” she said in a strangled voice. “No more.” And she stalked into the far corner of the bagnio, bare feet thudding hard against the floor.
The laughter faded, and Tom regarded Irrith with undisguised suspicion. “Pardon me,” she said, and went hastily after Carline before anyone could decide to interfere.
Carline waited with her arms crossed tight beneath her breasts, straining the damp fabric of her shift. Had Irrith been interested in such things, it might have been an effective distraction, but Carline hardly seemed to be trying. “Who sent you?” she demanded, before Irrith had even come to a halt.