Jeschonyk’s eyes came back to him. “A ‘hostage’? And so what? Tomsien’s incapable of understanding the thing, because his own daughters are nothing more to him than bargaining counters. But you—”
It was Demansk’s turn to look away. Corrupt those old eyes might be, but they were still wise.
“You refused to pay ransom for her, now didn’t you?”
Demansk rose abruptly from his couch. “I don’t see any point to this.”
Jeschonyk made a little rueful gesture. “You’re probably right. Just do me a favor, when the time comes?”
Demansk stared down at him. Jeschonyk chuckled again. It was a very harsh sounding chuckle. “Remember that I am not incorruptible, when it comes down to it. So there’s really no need for knifework. A little stipend will do the trick.”
He glanced at the ceiling. “Well . . . not that little. I do have appearances to keep up. And I’m sure you wouldn’t deprive an old man of the chance to find his own preferred way of dying. At my age—tired heart, all that—a healthy young girl is likely to work better than a sword anyway. Especially several at once.”
Demansk studied the ceiling. The frescoes really were phenomenally well painted. And phenomenally detailed.
“Done,” he said softly. Turned, and left.
Chapter 5
When Demansk left Jeschonyk’s villa, it was still before sundown. The villa was on the northern outskirts of the capital city of Vanbert. Demansk realized that he still had time to make another visit before he left the next day on his journey back to his own estates. Which meant that an issue he’d postponed in his mind had to be settled.
After passing through the gate of the villa, he hesitated. The soldier holding his velipad—one of Demansk’s personal household troops, not a regular—began bringing the mount up to him. Then, hesitated himself, when he realized the Justiciar was irresolute about something.
Some part of Demansk’s brain was mildly amused at the way the soldier’s jaw seemed to sag a little. Demansk was famous among his troops for his decisiveness. As well as notorious for it. Seasoned veterans appreciated the trait, on campaign and especially in a battle; generally detested it, at all other times.
He could see the Knecht villa from here, he realized. Given that it was the largest and most splendid villa in the Confederation, perched atop the most prestigious hill in the city, that was not entirely surprising.
“Just do it,” he said to himself firmly. “Druzla’s shade will never forgive me if I don’t.”
He took the reins from the soldier, who was the sergeant of the Justiciar’s little escort, and nodded toward the distant villa. “We’re headed there.”
“Ah, yes, sir. Ah—” The soldier, as was true of all the men in his squad, was not very familiar with the capital. In fact, to the best of Demansk’s knowledge, this was his first visit to Vanbert. Like all provincials, he was feeling overwhelmed by the place. With a population of a million residents, the city was six times larger than any other in the world.
“Don’t worry, Sergeant, I know the way.” Demansk smiled. “Just pretend you’re riding ahead of me.”
“Ah, thank you, sir.” The sergeant scurried to his velipad. By the time he’d mounted, Demansk had already started trotting off.
It had been years since Demansk had visited the Knecht villa, and in times past he’d always approached it from another direction—the southeast, where he and Druzla had maintained a large villa of their own in the capital. After his wife died, Demansk had maintained the place—having a prestigious villa in the capital was a necessity for prominent noblemen of the Confederacy—but had henceforth spent little time in the capital.
Druzla had loved Vanbert, with its endless rounds of salon discussions, artistic pursuits and dramatic diversions. So Demansk and his wife had visited the city often, and their villa had become in fact as well as in theory their second home. Demansk had been quite willing to indulge his wife’s tastes, even if he didn’t particularly share them.
As he moved toward it, down one of the spacious boulevards which graced the richest parts of the city, Demansk studied his destination. The Knecht villa was magnificent, not simply grandiose, and the setting sun illuminated it beautifully. Toman Knecht had employed the finest architects to design it, the best craftsmen to build it—and had then spent a large fortune to fill it with what was, without question, the finest and largest collection of art in the world.