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Kel studied the Ragpicker King’s face, but there seemed nothing hidden in it, no second meaning to his words. He felt a wave ofrelief—the secret of Conor’s whipping, it seemed, had been successfully contained.
“I’m well aware of that,” said Kel. “But I doubt you sent Ji-An to fetch me because you wanted to discuss Sarthe.”
“True. I want to know about Beck. Did Jerrod bring you to him? What did he say to you?”
“I did speak to him,” Kel said, carefully. “I do not think he is the danger the King spoke to you of in his letter.”
Andreyen’s eyes glittered. “Has Beck gotten you on his side, then?”
“No.” Kel supposed he should be afraid. He knew there was more to Andreyen than the slightly absent, friendly enough façade; he had caught glimpses of it here and there, in moments when the Ragpicker King was unguarded. But he was too tense, too weary to be anxious. “I have been watching the nobles of the Hill for fifteen years now,” he said. “They are no different from your criminals. There are the schemers and the plotters, the ones willing to go along with a plan for expediency’s sake, and then—then there are the opportunists. Beck is an opportunist.”
Andreyen shifted his grip on his cane. “Go on.”
“I do not know where Beck came from,” said Kel. “I can tell you he is not a noble. I made several deliberate mistakes when discussing the nobles on the Hill with him, and he neither cared nor noticed. For someone like him, there is no real benefit in playing about with business on the Hill. Beck wants to run gambling dens and bawdy houses in the Maze. He admits freely to being funded by someone important, but is uninterested in their eventual goals.”
“Someone important,” Andreyen echoed. “Someone in the Palace?”
“On the Hill, at any rate. Someone who set Beck up in business and put him in the position to play the game of debt with Conor.”
“What do you think that was meant to accomplish? Not simply to gain a bit of interest payment, surely.”
“I think it was meant to humiliate House Aurelian, and put them in the position of going begging to the Council of Twelve.”
“Or it could have been an attempt to draw out Markus,” said Andreyen. “Force him to act.”
“I don’t think either outcome is of real interest to Beck,” said Kel. “I am inclined to believe him when he says he has a patron on the Hill who wants to cause trouble for the Aurelians. Not because I trust him, but because it makes sense.”
“Why tellyou,though?” Andreyen said, his narrow fingers tap-tapping at his cane. He was looking at Kel in that unnerving way of his, as if he could see directly through him.
Because he wants something from me. Antonetta’s necklace.
Kel pasted his blankest, most Court-appropriate expression onto his face, and said, “I do not get the sense he likes the man who funded him much. He seems to feel that now that he has his own money, he no longer needs a patron, but I doubt his patron shares that view. I think he hopes I will discover who his patron is and cause trouble for him, perhaps get Jolivet to shut him down completely. And Beck will be free of obligation.”
“I see,” said Andreyen, and Kel had the unpleasant sensation that Andreyen did indeed see, far more than Kel wished he did. “What are you going to do next?”
“Look out for the patron,” said Kel. “Beck gave me no clues, but perhaps he or she will slip up in some way.”
He tried to look blank and credible; years of practice had given him an excellent face for card playing, but the Ragpicker King’s eyes were razors, cutting through the fragile edifice he’d built to protect himself. Still, he would not mention Antonetta or her necklace. He could not bear the idea of bringing her before the Ragpicker King’s searching gaze.
“Perhaps the King sensed a betrayal coming from someone on the Hill. From Beck’s patron, or from Fausten.”
“Alas,” said Andreyen blandly. “So many options. If not Beck, then Beck’s patron. If not the mysterious patron, then the Malgasi tutor.” He spun his cane in his hand. “I take it that you have not tried to speak again to Markus of his letter of warning?”
“The King is inaccessible,” said Kel. “You must trust me on that point. Besides, I half suspect that whatever danger he spoke of was some fever dream fed to him by Fausten and his lies about the stars.”
“But the Council are not loyal, are they? Not save where it is expedient. Merren always keeps an eye on old Gremont; it seems he’s been attending a number of shady meetings in the Maze district. Perhaps you might have a word with him about that.”
“Artal Gremont left a mess behind him when he fled Castellane,” said Kel. “Now that he’s returning, most likely old Gremont wants to clean some of that up. Besides, what does it matter to you, what benefits the Palace?”
Andreyen regarded him coolly. “I am a businessman, Kel, like any trader on the Gold Roads. I benefit from the stability that is provided when the machinery of Castellane runs smoothly. There may be flaws in the system—flaws I exploit—but the alternative is chaos, and chaos is the enemy of business. Chaos might profit Prosper Beck, but it does not profit me.”
“It is not my job,” said Kel, “to help you profit.”
“Then perhaps think on what your job is,” said Andreyen. “Not just what it is now, but what it will be. Now you protect the Prince, but when he is King you will be the head of the Arrow Squadron. You will be Legate Jolivet. And it will be your task, as it was his, to go to the Orfelinat and select from the frightened children there the next Sword Catcher. The nextyou.And it will kill a piece of you to do it.”
Kel put a hand against the carriage door, meaning to swing it open, but could not bring himself to do it. The brightness of the sunlight outside seemed to stab into his eyes.
From behind him, the Ragpicker King said, “I tell you, you cannot protect your precious Conor without my help.”
