Best Served Cold

Morveer swallowed as he processed down the blood-red strip of carpet. Orso’s eye held a look of the most withering command. It reminded Morveer unpleasantly of his meeting with the headmaster of the orphanage, when he was called to account for the dead birds. His ears burned with shame and horror at the memory of that interview, more even than his legs burned at the memory of his punishment. He swept out his lowest and most sycophantic bow, unfortunately spoiling the effect by rapping his knuckles against the floor in his nervousness.

“This is one Castor Morveer, your Excellency,” intoned the chamberlain, peering down his bulbous nose.

Orso leaned forwards. “And what manner of a man is Castor Morveer?”

“A poisoner.”

“ Master… Poisoner,” corrected Morveer. He could be as obsequious as the next man, when it was required, but he flatly insisted on his proper title. Had he not earned it, after all, with sweat, danger, deep wounds both physical and emotional, long study, short mercy and many, many painful reverses?

“Master, is it?” sneered Orso. “And what great notables have you poisoned to earn the prefix?”

Morveer permitted himself the faintest of smiles. “Grand Duchess Sefeline of Ospria, your Excellency. Count Binardi of Etrea, and both his sons, though their boat subsequently sank and they were never found. Ghassan Maz, Satrap of Kadir, and then, when further problems presented themselves, his successor Souvon-yin-Saul. Old Lord Isher, of Midderland, he was one of mine. Prince Amrit, who would have been heir to the throne of Muris-”

“I understood he died of natural causes.”

“What could be a more natural death for a powerful man than a dose of Leopard Flower administered into the ear by a dangling thread? Then Admiral Brant, late of the Murisian fleet, and his wife. His cabin boy too, alas, who happened by, a young life cut regrettably short. I would hate to prevail upon your Excellency’s valuable time, the list is long indeed, most distinguished and… entirely dead. With your permission I will add only the most recent name upon it.”

Orso gave the most minute inclination of his head, sneering no longer, Morveer was pleased to note. “One Mauthis, head of the Westport office of the Banking House of Valint and Balk.”

The duke’s face had gone blank as a stone slab. “Who was your employer for that last?”

“I make it a point of professionalism never to mention the names of my employers… but I believe these are exceptional circumstances. I was hired by none other than Monzcarro Murcatto, the Butcher of Caprile.” His blood was up now, and he could not resist a final flourish. “I believe you are acquainted.”

“Some… what,” whispered Orso. The duke’s dozen guards stirred ominously as if controlled directly by their master’s mood. Morveer became aware that he might have gone a flourish too far, felt his bladder weaken and was forced to press his knees together. “You infiltrated the offices of Valint and Balk in Westport?”

“Indeed,” croaked Morveer.

Orso glanced sideways at the man with the curly hair. “I congratulate you on the achievement. Though it has been the cause of some considerable discomfort to me and my associates. Pray explain why I should not have you killed for it.”

Morveer attempted to pass it off with a vivacious chuckle, but it died a slow death in the chilly vastness of the hall. “I… er… had no notion, of course, that you were in any way to be discomfited. None. Really, it was all due to a regrettable failing, or indeed a wilful oversight, deliberate dishonesty, a lie, even, on the part of my cursed assistant that I took the job in the first place. I should never have trusted that greedy bitch…” He realised he was doing himself no good by blaming the dead. Great men want living people to hold responsible, that they might have them tortured, hanged, beheaded and so forth. Corpses offer no recompense. He swiftly changed tack. “I was but the tool, your Excellency. Merely the weapon. A weapon I now offer for your own hand to wield, as you see fit.” He bowed again, even lower this time, muscles in his rump, already sore from climbing the cursed mountainside to Fontezarmo, trembling in their efforts to prevent him from pitching on his face.

“You seek a new employer?”

“Murcatto proved as treacherous towards me as she did towards your illustrious Lordship. The woman is a snake indeed. Twisting, poisonous and… scaly,” he finished lamely. “I was lucky to escape her toxic clutches with my life, and now seek redress. I am prepared to seek it most earnestly, and will not be denied!”

“Redress would be a fine thing for us all,” murmured the man with the curly hair. “News of Murcatto’s survival spreads through Talins like wildfire. Papers bearing her face on every wall.” A fact, Morveer had seen them as he passed through the city. “They say you stabbed her through the heart but she lived, your Excellency.”

The duke snorted. “Had I stabbed her, I would never have aimed for her heart. Without doubt her least vulnerable organ.”