“And death?”
“Not mine.” Now that he knew he was safe, for a while at least, Quire had regained all the pride his encounter with Montfallcon had temporarily taken from him.
“How many have you killed, Captain, in Montfallcon’s service?”
Quire became vague. “You ask me a political, not a personal question.”
“How many have you killed? How many lives have you taken, in your career?”
“An hundred, at least. Probably more. That is, myself. Score have died in fights and such. But I remember only a few.”
“My nephew’s?”
Quire cupped his hand to his hidden ear. “Aha. I think I detect you tuning for that song I mentioned.”
Lord Shahryar shook his head. “I’ll assume you recall his death, since it was so recent.”
“I remember only my best work, not the run-of-the-mill stuff There was a little girl-part of a family-whom I skewered whilst coaxing information from her dam. But it sounds nothing retold thus, and I haven’t the poetry to make it live for you.”
“By what morality do you justify these killings?” Lord Shahryar asked an honest question, though his tone was neutral. “I should like to know.”
“Morality? None. Morality plays no part in it. That would be offensive, my lord. I have killed for every possible reason-pleasure and gold and subtle sensation; curiosity, revenge, to preserve my skin, and so on-save one: I’ve never killed for a moral reason.”
“Montfallcon must pay you very well. Where does your gold go?”
Quire laughed reminiscently. “I’ve been asked the same question twice. It is a day for inquisitions. My poverty’s not spartan. If I possess nothing, I can lose nothing. I rent and I borrow my necessities of the moment. I disperse my money generously but rather whimsically-I cover possible retreats-paving a silver road back to safety, if you understand me. The money’s turned into the best possible asset I could have-power. And therefore I lend my money not so that I may be paid back, but so that I have someone in my debt.”
“I can see that.” Lord Shahryar was amused. “I wondered what weaknesses you had, Captain Quire, and now I know one of them. You tend to long-windedness, eh?”
Quire opened his mouth to reply, but Lord Shahryar returned to the original subject. “Your sword is good, I hear.”
“The best steel in all the world. Blood-forged steel from Iberia. My sword and my daggers are my only valuables. They are my tools-those and my quick brain.”
“So you have no other weaknesses, Captain Quire.” Lord Shahryar was frowning as he turned away, his finger still to his jaw.
“I am, as you say, prone to discourse on the nature and practice of my art. I am rather proud,” Quire added, by way of helping the Moor. “I am inclined to finish work even though it is evidently spoiled when half-completed. I require resolutions. I resent criticism, when sometimes I deserve it. Oh, I am sure I have more weaknesses.”
“But none of the conventional sort. Women?”
“I am satisfied in my sexual needs.”
“Position?”
Quire laughed.
Lord Shahryar gave up this line of argument. “What would you do to save your life?”
“Most things, sir, I think.”
“Relinquish honour?”
“Your interpretation of honour might not be the same as mine, my lord. I am true to myself, true to my art.”
Lord Shahryar began to brighten, as if inspired. “I do begin to understand. Montfallcon employs you for your special gifts, I see. You are not an ordinary assassin.”
Quire shifted his position on the table. “Lord Montfallcon employs me no longer.”
“What? I understand your initial words at last. He has put you out!”
“No, my lord. I have given up his patronage.”
Lord Shahryar nodded. “And that is why you thought he’d betrayed you to me.”
“Now I know he did not directly betray me-perhaps only carelessly. I expected greater loyalty.”
“From him?” The Moor flapped an airy hand. “Not Montfallcon. He respects no one. He has long since rejected humanity in favour of idealism.”
“I learned as much today.”
“So you require a fresh patron, eh?”
“I did not say so, sir. But I tell you this: if you agree to spare my life and let me go away from here unharmed, then I will perform any service you require, save regicide.”
“Any service, Quire?”
“One, sir. No more. A favour for my life. It’s fair.”
“You owe me at least that already. In return for my nephew’s life.”
“I did not say I slew him.”
“But you did slay him. I spent a good deal of money investigating the crime, once given the initial clue.”
“King’s in Newgate for it-or already transported.”
“And you and your valet are free.”
Quire shrugged. “Let’s say I agree to that bargain. A favour for his life, a favour for my own. You already make a profit of one hundred percent. Which two favours can I accomplish, Lord Shahryar?”
“None. I have agreed to nothing you propose. Yet I might be prepared to write off all debits and credits up to this moment. And offer you, instead, my patronage.” Lord Shahryar was laughing delightedly as he turned with arms outstretched, almost as if he displayed his breast to Quire’s knife. “A patron to honour you, Captain Quire! To offer you the greatest possible opportunities for the practice and enlargements of your Art. Montfallcon would not honour you. I shall.”
“But what’s the commission, Lord Shahryar?”
The Moor became ecstatic. Tears of joy were in his eyes as he looked upon his potential protege. “Albion,” he said.
Captain Quire set his hat back on his head and scratched his scalp. His luck and his mood had changed drastically in the last few hours. It was as if he had prayed for this opportunity and it had been delivered to him. He understood, in broad terms, what the Moor asked, but the commission very nearly daunted him.
“Gloriana?”
“She would be happier if wed to our Grand Caliph. The burden of State is too much for a woman.”
“Montfallcon?”
“Disgraced.” A shrug. “Whatever you wish.”
“Specifically, what shall I do?”
“It would be your business to corrupt the Court. The details, of course, would be in your hands-blackmail, charm, deception, murder, what you will-so long as you encouraged cynicism and despair, suspicion and vice, in Gloriana’s followers.” Lord Shahryar’s voice rose, a hymn, as he delivered a prospectus into which he, untrammelled by a Montfallcon’s conscience and doubts, could pour fire-and transmit that fire to Quire-offering him the one thing he desired: respectful sympathy for his greatness in his chosen trade. “We grant you this opportunity, Captain Quire, as well as your life. Also, our gold.”
Quire was excited and amused, wavering. “You win me by flattery, do you, my lord?”
Lord Shahryar said: “I have already praised your talents. The gold would be useful, even to you.” He had missed Quire’s meaning.
Quire stripped a black gauntlet from his hand and waved the conversation into a different course. “I asked for a specific commission.”
“If I tell you, you could tell Montfallcon.”
“Montfallcon’s no longer my master.”
“And I?”
“I still await the exact plot.”
“You swear silence?”
“I’ll say nothing to Montfallcon, if that’s what you mean.”
“The Grand Caliph desires to marry Gloriana so that Arabia and Albion are equal in all things. With this power, he would make war on Tatary and crush our traditional foe forever. But before he can do this, Gloriana’s own courtiers must see her as a weakling; her nobles must lose their faith in her omnipotence, as must the commons. The Court must be shown to be weak and corrupt. Montfallcon must be disgraced or made a fool in the eyes of the Queen-she listens only to him and the council. The Countess of Scaith must be removed from Court. All the Council, if possible, must be seduced in some way. Murders must occur which will be blamed upon the blameless. Contention, suspicion, countermeasures. You follow me?”