White-face regarded her with a lively flicker of the eyes. Then those eyes hooded in amusement. "Now there, there, Mondragon, beats the true dark heart of Merovingen, this sharp-eyed m'sera who doubtless provided us this fine brandy. You don't trifle with the under-city. It has a limited patience and it demonstrated that last night. I'm sure there are inquiries on her behalf right now. An honest woman. She would bargain. But how do I hold you, ser?"
Mondragon said nothing.
"So. You see, m'sera. He knows that I know his character. That he will never resist persuasion unless he cares to. If he swore and meant it today, tomorrow's circumstances would have him swear to my enemies with quite as complete a passion. Which is to say, none at all. I think he must once have been a great idealist. And out of those ashes, of course, a total amoralist. Nev Hettek put him behind bars—and see how that succeeded. He might be hired—mightn't you, Mondragon?"
Mondragon shrugged. "For sufficient."
"He'll deal with you," Altair said. Her heart beat away, harder and harder and her hands sweated. "Mondragon, f' God's sake—"
"Let's talk about coin," white-face said. "Let's talk about my resources. You say you don't know me. Do you, m'sera? No? Well, I should be offended. But then I doubt you'd know my father's face either."
Father. Uptown. Altair blinked and shook her bead desperately. Boregy? Is this another Boregy?
In a Revenantist house?
"Kalugin," white-face said. "Pavel Anastasi Kalugin."
My God. The governor's son. The governor. The Signeury. "Mondragon, he's—"
"Kalugin," Mondragon said in a faint, far voice. "Then this is official."
"Hardly." Kalugin crossed one leg over the other, set his hand on that booted ankle, "Tell him, m'sera."
"He—" Lord, what do I say and not say? "He's number three son. Lives up on the Rock, His brother and his sister live in the Signeury."
"You're too diplomatic, m'sera. What m'sera means to say is that my father and I don't get on well. Very old story, isn't it? Brother Mikhail is so amenable to papa's directions, brother Mikhail doesn't have a single interest except his clocks and his little inventions, couldn't find the lavatory if he didn't have a directive from papa and a councillor to guide him. Poor Mikhail won't last the week when he succeeds, and of course Council will vote him in. Tatiana's the next choice, Sister's so good with papa, so practical. Just like her mother, papa says. She certainly is. Tatiana knows where every body in the Signeury is buried and brother Mikhail will be one of them in very short order." Kalugin reached beside him, took the brandy and took a sip. "Not that I'm bereft of partisans. It's stale mate, you see. I see a certain danger in Nev Hettek. I favor the militia. That advice is not popular. And here are you. Do you see?"
Altair looked from one to the other—Kalugin smiled. Mondragon's face was quiet and cold as the Angel's.
"I begin to."
Altair gnawed at her lip. Tasted blood. "What's he want? Mondragon? Mondragon, it ain't good, is it?"
Mondragon set his brandy glass aside on the table at his elbow. "He's talking about a public confession, a trial. Public vindication for him. He gets a cause, he gets public opinion slanted his way, he gets power for the militia and his own partisans. I get the ax, I suppose, is that what they do here? But that puts us right where we were before. You can't leave Jones alive to contradict you. I know that. We all know it. Now, I don't know how long I can hold out if you apply persuasion—but then, you don't know that either. You won't be able to trust a thing I tell you."
Kalugin's eyes flickered. His mouth pursed in amusement, stretched into a lazy smile. "The last card down, is it?"
"You don't really know how many I have."
The smile grew colder.
O Lord, he's going to start on me, he is. What do I do? Killing him'd kill Mondragon sure.
But quicker.
"No," Kalugin said. "In fact I don't. But you betray something very interesting. It took m'sera to find it, didn't she, found a little undefended spot and there you are, a splendid amoralist all in ruins. You are capable of loyalty. Profound loyalty. All I have to do is keep her alive. All you have to believe is that I'll do it as long as I have the power to do it."
"Your word?" Mondragon asked, all soft and all false.
Lord, Mondragon, you know and I know that's a snowball in hell, ain't it?
Kalugin pursed his lips. "You doubt it, do you?"
"Of course not."
"Of course not. But I wouldn't impose that far on your credulity."
"You have a proposal?"
"God, you have no nerves."
"Not when I don't believe you, m'ser."
Kalugin lifted a hand, waved at the men about. "M'sera will need clothes. Something—for house. M'ser is in some better case, but hardly." He waved the hand a second time, lowered it to rest across his middle. "There, you see. Guests. An instant transformation. Easy as that."
What's he up to, Mondragon?
He's got tricks, I know he's got tricks, all over the city they tell stories on this Anastasi Kalugin.
"I got friends here," Altair said. "They alive? You going to let them go? Man's got a family. Got a wife and a kid—" Shut up, Jones, fool, this is the devil himself you're dealing with.
"The best of care," Kalugin said. "My own doctor travels with me. The one man was a bit chancy for a while this morning, wasn't he, Iosef? But he's doing quite nicely? Yes. You see? Nothing but the best. I daresay the boy can go as soon as the rain stops. The other two as soon as they're willing and able. No thanks, m'sera?"
"Thanks."
Kalugin laughed without a sound. His hand idly rotated the brandy glass by its stem as it sat on the table, A man came and filled it from the decanter by him, and Kalugin never looked to see. "M'sera came to Boregy last night. She made an appeal for your rescue. To Vega Boregy, of all people. His cousin lately murdered, his aging uncle in and out of coma—doubtless they haven't told the old man about poor Espoir. And Vega returns from his exile in Raj wade, quietly gathers the household into his hands in a matter of hours. Vega is my partisan, m'sera. A fact he's not at all made public, but one that has estranged him from his uncle. And your news so impressed him he sent straight to me here at Nikolaev. In the meantime the harbor was uncommonly busy with canalers—always a bad sign. I dispatched a message to the Signeury, of course: it never hurts to observe the forms, I hardly dreamed m'sera would succeed. But that slaver-craft comes and goes—pardon, did come and go with some regularity. The Signeury knows. It's just never been worth the bother."
Go to hell, Kalugin.
"So you were waiting in the harbor," Mondragon said.
"I was waiting. You see that not much passes by me."
"You make the point successfully."
"I'm glad. I plan to survive both my sibs. I want you to appreciate that fact. The terms, Mondragon. I'm going to turn you loose. Both of you. There's your skip, m'sera, tied to the Nikolaev yacht, in full view of God and everyone. I'm a guest of the Nikolaevs, no secret. There will be the gossip of your three companions. And should imagination utterly fail this town, my agents will loose certain vague rumors concerning your attachment to me and the fate of opposition who might think to lay hands on you. Do you see? If you serve my interests you'll find my arm is very long to protect you. Betray those interests in any particular or give me one false piece of information in our interviews and you'll discover the same. Does that satisfy you, m'sera? Will you not firebomb Kalugin?"