her money but to be acting in Casamir Blondell’s interest. Out of sympathy for the child, the coachman agreed. He was paid on arrival, and the cloak he had lent to keep the child warm returned. I received the information from Casamir Blondell that the child Florilinde Hearne had been restored to her parents. He knew of no female agent assigned to work the docks.”
Telmaine controlled her breathing and her expression with an effort. He waited; she had a sudden impression of a cat waiting by a mousehole, and felt a flare of unwise temper at the idea he should toy with her.
“I also received a message from the prison that Baron Strumheller had collapsed and expired at about the same time the warehouse burned. However, I now know that is not so.”
“In what way?” said di Brennan, frowning.
“He is not dead.”
“The order of succession has been dispatched, and we are making the arrangements required to execute the late Baron Strumheller’s will.”
It was, Telmaine thought, a cat-to-cat contest now, and she was very glad to crouch quietly in her mousehole.
“I would hold on that will,” Plantageter said, with a trace of humor. “Lord Vladimer Plantageter arrived by the train from the coast just after sunset tonight. By his account Lady Telmaine, her husband, and Baron Strumheller interrupted an attempt on his life and killed the sorcerer responsible. Strumheller had escaped prison with the collusion of the prison apothecary, whom I believe he had known in the past.”
“I am truly gratified,” di Brennan said after a pause. Telmaine heard genuine emotion in his voice, and her heart warmed to him. “I have known Ishmael di Studier, boy, man, and baron, since I was a student, and despite all his irregularities, I have never felt that by serving my client I was not serving justice.” Then the unguarded moment passed; the lawyer returned, keen-edged. “Then the charges are dropped?”
“We must discuss that at a later time, Master di Brennan,” Plantageter said.
Smoothly, the lawyer accepted that with a murmured “Of course.”
“The charges must be dropped!” Telmaine said, unable to restrain herself. “We know who tried to kill Vladimer and we know who killed—who must have killed—Tercelle Amberley.”
“Unfortunately, my lady, knowing and proving before law are two different matters,” Plantageter said, with some emphasis. “The remains of four men were found in the ruins of the warehouse.” A flush of heat washed over Telmaine as she remembered brushing by the foot of one of the corpses. That realization, that distraction, would have been the death of her and Florilinde, but for Ishmael’s sacrifice.
“Lady Telmaine, did you arrange for that fire to be set, to enable you—or someone else”—as di Brennan shifted in his chair—“to free your daughter?”
“Of course not!” Telmaine said, in what she hoped was the tone of someone hearing that outrageous accusation for the first time.
“Did you bribe anyone to set the fire, with the money in that reticule and your jewelry?”
“My husband gave me this when we were courting ,” she said in a thin voice. “It would be the last thing I would ever —”
“Did Baron Strumheller start the fire?”
Now she was genuinely appalled. “No! Baron Strumheller—” She caught herself; di Brennan’s hand signal was redundant warning. “Baron Strumheller was in prison , half the city away.” And, brazenly, “I know he has the reputation of being a mage, but I—I simply don’t believe it.”
“Baron Strumheller’s supposedly fatal collapse occurred at the time the fire began,” he noted, but without any real conviction. “Lady Telmaine, what did you plan to do when you confronted those men in the warehouse?”
She would not think of Ishmael’s agonized scream in her mind as he had reached across the distance between them to hold back the flames—an impossible effort for a first-rank mage. “I planned to bribe them to
Telmaine controlled her breathing and her expression with an effort. He waited; she had a sudden impression of a cat waiting by a mousehole, and felt a flare of unwise temper at the idea he should toy with her.
“I also received a message from the prison that Baron Strumheller had collapsed and expired at about the same time the warehouse burned. However, I now know that is not so.”
“In what way?” said di Brennan, frowning.
“He is not dead.”
“The order of succession has been dispatched, and we are making the arrangements required to execute the late Baron Strumheller’s will.”
It was, Telmaine thought, a cat-to-cat contest now, and she was very glad to crouch quietly in her mousehole.
“I would hold on that will,” Plantageter said, with a trace of humor. “Lord Vladimer Plantageter arrived by the train from the coast just after sunset tonight. By his account Lady Telmaine, her husband, and Baron Strumheller interrupted an attempt on his life and killed the sorcerer responsible. Strumheller had escaped prison with the collusion of the prison apothecary, whom I believe he had known in the past.”
“I am truly gratified,” di Brennan said after a pause. Telmaine heard genuine emotion in his voice, and her heart warmed to him. “I have known Ishmael di Studier, boy, man, and baron, since I was a student, and despite all his irregularities, I have never felt that by serving my client I was not serving justice.” Then the unguarded moment passed; the lawyer returned, keen-edged. “Then the charges are dropped?”
“We must discuss that at a later time, Master di Brennan,” Plantageter said.
Smoothly, the lawyer accepted that with a murmured “Of course.”
“The charges must be dropped!” Telmaine said, unable to restrain herself. “We know who tried to kill Vladimer and we know who killed—who must have killed—Tercelle Amberley.”
“Unfortunately, my lady, knowing and proving before law are two different matters,” Plantageter said, with some emphasis. “The remains of four men were found in the ruins of the warehouse.” A flush of heat washed over Telmaine as she remembered brushing by the foot of one of the corpses. That realization, that distraction, would have been the death of her and Florilinde, but for Ishmael’s sacrifice.
“Lady Telmaine, did you arrange for that fire to be set, to enable you—or someone else”—as di Brennan shifted in his chair—“to free your daughter?”
“Of course not!” Telmaine said, in what she hoped was the tone of someone hearing that outrageous accusation for the first time.
“Did you bribe anyone to set the fire, with the money in that reticule and your jewelry?”
“My husband gave me this when we were courting ,” she said in a thin voice. “It would be the last thing I would ever —”
“Did Baron Strumheller start the fire?”
Now she was genuinely appalled. “No! Baron Strumheller—” She caught herself; di Brennan’s hand signal was redundant warning. “Baron Strumheller was in prison , half the city away.” And, brazenly, “I know he has the reputation of being a mage, but I—I simply don’t believe it.”
“Baron Strumheller’s supposedly fatal collapse occurred at the time the fire began,” he noted, but without any real conviction. “Lady Telmaine, what did you plan to do when you confronted those men in the warehouse?”
She would not think of Ishmael’s agonized scream in her mind as he had reached across the distance between them to hold back the flames—an impossible effort for a first-rank mage. “I planned to bribe them to
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