Rogue Spy by Joanna Bourne

Author:Joanna Bourne
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-09-24T21:00:00+00:00

Twenty-four

Three things a man must have to live well—good bread, good wine, good friends.

A BALDONI SAYING

The flowered ice cream cups stood empty at the side of the table, the spoons sitting in them like upright flags. Pistachio ice for him. Bergamot water ice for her. Gunter’s was open and airy, the windows full of light. Waiters in white aprons lingered at the tables to flatter old women and be indulgent to the children who kicked the chair legs and whined and were arrogant with their nursemaids.

Cami watched steam gather on the surface of her teacup and wondered what to do. It was an unusual sensation, this being uncertain. She didn’t care for it.

Pax had left his tea untouched. His hair fell across his temple to his cheek, straight and emphatic. She wanted to lift that pale line and stroke it back, behind his ear. It was very distracting.

“You aren’t drinking,” she said. The tea was excellent. Everything at Gunter’s was excellent.

“I don’t want to leave you to go piss. You might decide to not be here when I get back.”

“How well you know me.” Since she wasn’t going to arise and flee, she drank some tea. “Are you quite certain this is the Merchant? There was universal rejoicing when he died. There was no doubt.”

“Now there’s no doubt he’s alive,” Pax said. “I saw him.”

“He didn’t show himself to Cachés. None of us knew what he looked like.”

“I do.”

Such coldness when he said that. It was as if shadows flew in thin ripples between her and the sunlight. She was left with no doubt Pax knew the Merchant very well indeed.

At a table nearby, under the benevolent eye of a governess, two beautifully dressed little girls giggled together, licking ice cream from their spoons, innocent and greedy as young goats. Beyond them, a boy of thirteen or fourteen sat alone, reading Latin, giving his ice cream and the book equal attention. That could have been Pax, when she first knew him, if the scholarly boy had been white haired and starved thin and knew fifty different ways to kill somebody.

Revolution and war seemed a long way away.

Pax watched her without seeming to do so. “I don’t know why the Merchant is in England, but he’s going to kill people. Will you tell me when and where you’re meeting him?”

She sighed. “When I was walking from Brodemere to London, I made extensive plans to deal with a blackmailer and I felt very clever.”

“That sounds like you.”

“I had intended to hire four men with guns and conduct a simple ambush. It would seem I underestimated Mr. Smith’s ruthlessness and his resources by several orders of magnitude. I am now very afraid.”

She stirred her tea. They fell silent while a waiter came to remove the empty ice cream cups.

Pax watched the street outside, the waiters, the long counter where men and women entered the shop to buy pastries and carry them away. He’d be able to sketch any of those people if someone asked him to.

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