Best Served Cold

“Mostly Talinese troops.” Cosca waved at them with the eyeglass. “Some regiments from Orso’s older allies-flags of Etrisani on the right wing, there, near the water, and some others of Cesale in the centre. All regulars, though. No sign of our old comrades-in-arms, the Thousand Swords. Shame. It would be fine to renew some old friendships, wouldn’t it, Monza? Sesaria, Victus, Andiche. Faithful Carpi too, of course.” Renew old friendships… and be revenged on old friends.

“The mercenaries will be away to the east.” Monza jerked her head across the river. “Holding off Duke Rogont and his Osprians.”

“Great fun for all involved, no doubt. But we, at least, are here.” Cosca gestured towards the crawling soldiers outside the city. “General Ganmark, one presumes, is there. The plan, to bring us all together in a happy reunion? We presume you have a plan?”

“Ganmark is a cultured man. He has a taste for art.”

“And?” demanded Morveer.

“No one has more art than Grand Duke Salier.”

“His collection is impressive.” Cosca had admired it on several occasions, or at any rate pretended to, while admiring his wine.

“The finest in Styria, they say.” Monza strode to the opposite parapet, looking towards Salier’s palace on its island in the river. “When the city falls, Ganmark will make straight for the palace, eager to rescue all those priceless works from the chaos.”

“To steal them for himself,” threw in Vitari.

Monza’s jaw was set even harder than usual. “Orso will want to be done with this siege quickly. Leave as much time as possible to put an end to Rogont. Finish the League of Eight for good and claim his crown before winter comes. That means breaches, and assaults, and bodies in the streets.”

“Marvellous!” Cosca clapped his hands. “Streets may boast noble trees, and stately buildings, but they never feel complete without a dusting of corpses, do they?”

“We take armour, uniforms, weapons from the dead. When the city falls, which will be soon, we disguise ourselves as Talinese. We find our way into the palace, and while Ganmark is going about the rescue of Salier’s collection and his guard is down…”

“Kill the bastard?” offered Shivers.

There was a pause. “I believe I perceive the most minute of flaws in the scheme.” Morveer’s whining words were like nails driven into the back of Cosca’s skull. “Grand Duke Salier’s palace will be among the best-guarded locations in Styria at the present moment, and we are not in it. Nor likely to receive an invitation.”

“On the contrary, I have one already.” Cosca was gratified to find them all staring at him. “Salier and I were quite close some years ago, when he employed me to settle his boundary issues with Puranti. We used to dine together once a week and he assured me I was welcome whenever I found myself in the city.”

The poisoner’s face was a caricature of contempt. “Would this, by any chance, have been before you became a wine-ravaged sot?”

Cosca waved one careless hand while filing that slight carefully away with the rest. “During my long and most enjoyable transformation into one. Like a caterpillar turning into a beautiful butterfly. In any case, the invitation still stands.”

Vitari narrowed her eyes at him. “How the hell do you plan to make use of it?”

“I imagine I will address the guards at the palace gate, and say something along the lines of-‘I am Nicomo Cosca, famed soldier of fortune, and I am here for dinner.’ ”

There was an uncomfortable silence, quite as if he had contributed a giant turd rather than a winning idea.

“Forgive me,” murmured Monza, “but I doubt your name opens doors the way it used to.”

“ Latrine doors, maybe.” Morveer gave a sneering shake of his head. Day chuckled softly into the wind. Even Shivers had a dubious curl to his lip.

“Vitari and Morveer, then,” snapped Monza. “That’s your job. Watch the palace. Find us a way in.” The two of them gave each other an unenthusiastic frown. “Cosca, you know something about uniforms.”

He sighed. “Few men more. Every employer wants to give you one of their own. I had one from the Aldermen of Westport cut from cloth of gold, about as comfortable as a lead pipe up the-”

“Something less eye-catching might be better suited to our purpose.”

Cosca drew himself up and snapped out a vibrating salute. “General Murcatto, I will do my straining utmost to obey your orders!”

“Don’t strain. Man of your age, you might rupture something. Take Friendly with you, once the assaults begin.” The convict shrugged, and went back to his dice.

“We will most nobly strip the dead to their naked arses!” Cosca turned towards the stairs, but was brought up short by the sight in the bay. “Ah! Duke Orso’s fleet has joined the fun.” He could just see ships moving on the horizon, white sails marked with the black cross of Talins.

“More guests for Duke Salier,” said Vitari.

“He always was a conscientious host, but I’m not sure even he can be prepared for so many visitors at once. The city is entirely cut off.” And Cosca grinned into the wind.