Rigney’s sigh conveyed a vast amount of information about his approval, lack thereof, and the things he was expected to put up with. He stepped inside and held out his hand. “If you could remove the knives, for my own peace of mind.”
“As you wish.” Marguerite extracted the bodice dagger, while the secretary gazed politely at the ceiling, and then the one strapped to her calf. （Her hairpins were also more than sharp enough to kill a man, but she left them in place. There was no sense in giving everything away.） She placed them on the table.
“And now,” said the Bishop, “I believe you’re in my chair. May I trade places with you? And then you can tell me why you are here, when you have been content to be officially dead for the last three years.”
Marguerite took a deep breath and rose. “I need your help,” she said.
TWO
IF THE BISHOP WAS SURPRISED, she gave no sign. She sat down and leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers together. “It is very likely that your intervention saved the lives of my borrowed paladins, once upon a time. I had been wondering when you would call in that debt. Nevertheless, we serve the Rat and even if a debt is owed, we cannot go against His will. I will have to know more.”
“I thought as much.” Marguerite had researched Beartongue quite thoroughly some years back.
She was ethical to a fault, although her ethics were occasionally ruthlessly utilitarian. “I do not propose to keep you in the dark, although there are some limits on what I can say. I will not lie, my plan may put your people in danger. But I believe it is worth it.”
The Bishop made an inviting gesture with one hand. “I’m listening.”
“Well. I’m not sure how much of my history you managed to ferret out, but I took the name Marguerite from a fellow operative in Anuket City. I used to work for a consortium there, powerful merchants who…let us say…did not feel that the Merchant’s Guild was entirely representing their interests.”
Beartongue’s lips quirked. “I take it that matters did not end well, if you had to flee and take on a dead woman’s identity.”
“An understatement for the ages. My patron within the consortium was found hanging from a beam. It was ruled suicide, but it was not. His information network was thrown into shambles, and several were picked off before we knew what was happening.”
“And you’re certain it was murder?”
“I would bet my own life on it. And yes, I understand that when someone commits suicide, everyone stands around wringing their hands and saying, ‘But he would never have done that!’ But Samuel truly would not have. His sense of duty to his operatives would never have allowed it. He would have crawled over broken glass for one of his people, and too many of us were left exposed by his death.” It required no effort for her voice to fill with cold anger. The best roles had real emotion behind them, and this emotion was as real as anything she had ever felt.
Beartongue’s lips made a flat line. You understand, Marguerite thought. You would be right there on the broken glass beside him. You would never leave your people out to dry. And unless I have
lost my touch completely, it’s one of your fears, too—that someday you will become so politically inconvenient that an assassin puts a knife in you, and what will happen to your people then?
She took up the thread of her story again. “At any rate, we were in disarray. We fled in all directions. Some of us took jobs with other groups. I did so myself. It was only later that I discovered that I was working for a branch of the very people that had killed my patron, and that there was still a price on my head.”
“I can see how that would be uncomfortable, yes.”
“You have no idea,” Marguerite said dryly. “I was actually doing quite well in my new position when another branch of it showed up and tried to kill me. It was quite a shock to my employers as well. Fortunately I was able to escape while they were still thrashing out the details.”
“Are you at liberty to tell me the name of this group?”
Marguerite licked dry lips. And here is where you throw the dice and hope that the good Bishop is not already compromised. Though if they can suborn the head of the White Rat’s temple, what chance do you possibly have? “The Red Sail.”
Beartongue frowned, but not in a hostile fashion. “The merchant fleet company? I thought their primary business was supplying salt from Morstone’s Sealords to the rest of the continent. I can well believe that they want to keep abreast of Anuket’s dealings, but I am surprised that they maintained a dedicated spy network in this area.”
Her puzzlement seemed genuine. Marguerite relaxed slightly. The bishop might be a very good actor—almost certainly was, in fact—but if she had been in the Sail’s pockets, she would likely have chosen a different tactic than ignorance. And she was entirely correct in her assessment. Anuket City, the fabled city of artificers, was arguably the greatest power in the region, but the Red Sail had access to dozens of regions and had only a passing interest in a small group of inland city states. “It was not what I’d call a dedicated network until fairly recently. I was the only one in Archenhold, so far as I know, and they were content to keep it that way. I passed information from here to the Sail, and if they did not tell me otherwise, on to a few old contacts in Anuket City. When things became a trifle…ah…heated here,”—Beartongue’s lips twitched in acknowledgment that she had been some of that heat—“I became a traveling trader, moving among courts and sending information back. At least I did, until someone realized that ‘Marguerite Florian’ was a loose end and decided to kill me.”
The Bishop frowned. “Obviously I’m sympathetic. If you need help getting away, or assuming a new identity, I suspect I can be of service. But I confess, Mistress Florian, that I don’t see what the Temple can do for you that you could not just as easily do for yourself. Particularly since if we do it, there will be a paper trail and a dozen people who might accidentally let something slip.”
Marguerite was already shaking her head. “That’s not why I came. I’ve tried that. I’ve even tried simply going to my contacts in the Sail and asking for amnesty. They were suitably appalled and tried to help, but the Red Sail is an immense organization. There are a dozen individual fiefdoms who are all scrabbling for power. If one group wants me forgiven, another will want me neutralized simply to
spite them.”
“The right hand does not know who the left is killing,” murmured Rigney.
“Precisely. And unfortunately, the group that wants me dead have seen their star ascendant recently, so…” She spread her hands.
Beartongue sighed. “Just like politics between religious orders, then. Still, as fascinating as all this is, I am certain you did not break into my office merely to complain about a merchant company’s organizational flaws. Although given a bottle of wine, I’d be happy to expound on a few flawed organizations I know as well.”
“No, not just for that,” said Marguerite. Although I suspect that would be a delightful conversation. “Something is happening. The Red Sail has sent delegations here recently. Very recently. And it isn’t regular trade they’re after.”