Lord?"
CHAPTER THREE
How utterly foolish of him, Suzette Whitehall thought, looking at the petitioner.
Lady Anne leaned her head on one hand, her elbow on the satinwood arm of her chair. Her levees were much simpler than the Governor's, as befitted a Consort. Apart from the Life Guard troopers by the door, only a few of her ladies-in-waiting were present, and the room was lavish but not very large. A pleasant scent of flowers came through the open windows, and the sound of a gitar being strummed. The cool spring breeze fluttered the dappled silk hangings.
Despite that, the Illustrious Deyago Rihvera was sweating. He was a plump little man whose stomach strained at the limits of his embroidered vest and high-collared tailcoat, and his hand kept coming up to fiddle with the emerald stickpin in his lace cravat.
Suzette reflected that he probably just did not connect the glorious Lady Anne Clerett with Supple Annie, the child-acrobat, actress and courtesan. He'd only been a client of hers once or twice, from what Suzette had heard—even then, Anne had been choosey when she could. But since then Rihvera had been an associate of Tzetzas, and everyone knew how much the Consort hated the Chancellor. To be sure, the men who owed Rihvera the money he needed so desperately—to pay for his artistic pretensions—were under Anne's patronage. Not much use pursuing the claims in ordinary court while she protected them.
". . . and so you see, most glorious Lady, I petition only for simple justice," he concluded, mopping his face.
"Illustrious Rihvera—" Anne began.
A chorus broke in from behind the silk curtains. They were softer-voiced, but otherwise an eerie reproduction of the Audience Hall singers, castrati and young girls:
" Thou art flatulent, Oh Illustrious Deyago
Pot-bellied, too:
Oh incessantly farting, pot-bellied one! "
Silver hand-bells rang a sweet counterpoint. Anne sat up straighter and looked around.
"Did you hear anything?" she murmured.
Suzette cleared her throat "Not a thing, glorious Lady. There's an unpleasant smell, though."
"Send for incense," the Consort said. Turning back to Rihvera, her expression serious. "Now, Illustrious—"
" You have a toad's mouth, Oh Illustrious Deyago—
Bug eyes, too:
Oh toad-mouthed, bug-eyed one! "
This time the silver bells were accompanied by several realistic croaking sounds.
I wonder how long he can take it? Suzette thought, slowly waving her fan.
His hands were trembling as he began again.
* * *
"Are you well, my dear?" Suzette asked anxiously, when the petitioners and attendants were gone.
"It's nothing," Anne Clerett said briskly. "A bit of a grippe."
The Governor's lady looked a little thinner than usual, and worn now that the amusement had died away from her face. She was a tall woman, who wore her own long dark-red hair wound with pearls in defiance of Court fashion and protocol. For the rest she wore the tiara and jewelled bodice, flounced silk split skirt, leggings and slippers as if she had been born to them. Instead of working her way up from acrobat and child-whore down by the Camidrome and the Circus . . .
Suzette took off her own blond wig and let the spring breeze through the tall doors riffle her sweat-dampened black hair. It carried scents of greenery and flowers from the courtyard and the Palace gardens, with an undertaste of smoke from the city beyond.
"Thank you," she said to Anne. There was no need to specify, between them.
Anne Clerett shrugged. "It's nothing," she said. "I advise Barholm for his own good—and putting Raj in charge is the best move." She hesitated: "I realize my husband can be . . . difficult, at times."
He can be hysterical, Suzette thought coldly as she smiled and patted Anne's hand. In a raving funk
CHAPTER THREE
How utterly foolish of him, Suzette Whitehall thought, looking at the petitioner.
Lady Anne leaned her head on one hand, her elbow on the satinwood arm of her chair. Her levees were much simpler than the Governor's, as befitted a Consort. Apart from the Life Guard troopers by the door, only a few of her ladies-in-waiting were present, and the room was lavish but not very large. A pleasant scent of flowers came through the open windows, and the sound of a gitar being strummed. The cool spring breeze fluttered the dappled silk hangings.
Despite that, the Illustrious Deyago Rihvera was sweating. He was a plump little man whose stomach strained at the limits of his embroidered vest and high-collared tailcoat, and his hand kept coming up to fiddle with the emerald stickpin in his lace cravat.
Suzette reflected that he probably just did not connect the glorious Lady Anne Clerett with Supple Annie, the child-acrobat, actress and courtesan. He'd only been a client of hers once or twice, from what Suzette had heard—even then, Anne had been choosey when she could. But since then Rihvera had been an associate of Tzetzas, and everyone knew how much the Consort hated the Chancellor. To be sure, the men who owed Rihvera the money he needed so desperately—to pay for his artistic pretensions—were under Anne's patronage. Not much use pursuing the claims in ordinary court while she protected them.
". . . and so you see, most glorious Lady, I petition only for simple justice," he concluded, mopping his face.
"Illustrious Rihvera—" Anne began.
A chorus broke in from behind the silk curtains. They were softer-voiced, but otherwise an eerie reproduction of the Audience Hall singers, castrati and young girls:
" Thou art flatulent, Oh Illustrious Deyago
Pot-bellied, too:
Oh incessantly farting, pot-bellied one! "
Silver hand-bells rang a sweet counterpoint. Anne sat up straighter and looked around.
"Did you hear anything?" she murmured.
Suzette cleared her throat "Not a thing, glorious Lady. There's an unpleasant smell, though."
"Send for incense," the Consort said. Turning back to Rihvera, her expression serious. "Now, Illustrious—"
" You have a toad's mouth, Oh Illustrious Deyago—
Bug eyes, too:
Oh toad-mouthed, bug-eyed one! "
This time the silver bells were accompanied by several realistic croaking sounds.
I wonder how long he can take it? Suzette thought, slowly waving her fan.
His hands were trembling as he began again.
* * *
"Are you well, my dear?" Suzette asked anxiously, when the petitioners and attendants were gone.
"It's nothing," Anne Clerett said briskly. "A bit of a grippe."
The Governor's lady looked a little thinner than usual, and worn now that the amusement had died away from her face. She was a tall woman, who wore her own long dark-red hair wound with pearls in defiance of Court fashion and protocol. For the rest she wore the tiara and jewelled bodice, flounced silk split skirt, leggings and slippers as if she had been born to them. Instead of working her way up from acrobat and child-whore down by the Camidrome and the Circus . . .
Suzette took off her own blond wig and let the spring breeze through the tall doors riffle her sweat-dampened black hair. It carried scents of greenery and flowers from the courtyard and the Palace gardens, with an undertaste of smoke from the city beyond.
"Thank you," she said to Anne. There was no need to specify, between them.
Anne Clerett shrugged. "It's nothing," she said. "I advise Barholm for his own good—and putting Raj in charge is the best move." She hesitated: "I realize my husband can be . . . difficult, at times."
He can be hysterical, Suzette thought coldly as she smiled and patted Anne's hand. In a raving funk
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