He made a show of examining the parchment before shaking his head. “The signature is too similar to his earlier ones to ignore, mistress.”
She slapped the paper on the desk. “I’m telling you my father didn’t sign this bill. Nor would he. Even he knows such a venture would fail. A cargo of ice shipped from the north in the height of summer? Really?” The ridiculousness of the investment scheme assured her of its fabrication. “What did he say before you sent your catchpoles for him?”
“The same thing you did. Don Jimenin, however, produced a witness who gave sworn statement he was present when your father signed the bill.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” she said. “Throw around enough coin, and people will swear they rode a flying cow at sunset.”
The magister sighed and gathered the papers together, smoothing and sifting them into an orderly pile. “Regardless of your opinion of Don Jimenin’s business practices, the debt is open. Mercer Hallis will remain incarcerated in the debtor’s tower until payment is settled.” He paused and scooted his chair back from his desk. “Don Jimenin has stated his offer of debt forgiveness still stands if your father agrees to a marriage between him and your sister Cinnia. He’ll pay the bill of exchange as the bride price.”
Extortion not so subtly buried in a falsely magnanimous gesture. Hildebrandt tensed in his seat as Louvaen stared at him with narrowed eyes. She wondered how much of a fight the magister would put up if she reached across the desk and wrapped her hands around his throat. Then again, there was no benefit in killing the messenger. Thanks to Ballard and Gavin, her best revenge came in knowing she had defeated Jimenin a second time.
She reached into the pocket of her cloak and dropped the full purse on the desk. It struck the surface with a satisfying thunk. “Draw up an article of endorsement. I brought payment.”
She smirked as Hildebrandt’s hollow eyes rounded. He gawked as she counted out the required amount. “That’s a great deal of money, mistress. Where did you get—?”
“Your only concern, magister, is that I can pay the debt.” She paused in her counting as he watched her, entranced. “Are you planning to draw up the endorsement and call in a witness? Or do I need to go out there and trap a clerk or two?”
His thin lips disappeared into a tight line, and he rose to call in three scriveners. Louvaen waited impatiently while one of the scriveners drew up copies of the article of endorsement. Once signed, witnessed and the money exchanged, the magister sealed the document with the Merchant House’s seal. He passed one to Louvaen. “You may present this to the bailiff who will then release your father. As before, one copy will remain with the Merchant House. Another will be given to Don Jimenin.” He looked as relieved as she felt at having their transaction concluded.
Louvaen stood, tucked her much lighter purse into her cloak pocket and held onto the endorsement as if her life depended on it. Her father’s freedom did. “Are there any other ransoms—oh, sorry—debts besides this one I should know about before I go?”
Hildebrandt waved his minions out of the chamber. They scattered like frightened birds before a hawk. His eyebrows knitted together, creating a furry white caterpillar over his eyes. Louvaen might have laughed if she didn’t want to slap him. “I’ve had enough of you sharpening that tongue on my hide, mistress. This unpleasantness could have been avoided if your father had agreed to a betrothal.”
“If Jimenin wasn’t such a pip tarse with an unnatural obsession for my sister, this unpleasantness as you so gently describe it wouldn’t exist.” Louvaen took juvenile pleasure in the magister’s pinched disapproval of her vulgarity. She took even greater pleasure in his shock when she told him “Besides, my father can’t agree to a betrothal. Cinnia was married day before yesterday. You may know of him. Gavin de Lovet? She is Lady de Lovet now.”
Hildebrandt’s mouth fell open, closed and opened again, reminding her of a dying fish. He finally snagged the frayed edges of his dignity and wrapped himself in a cloak of undisguised disdain. “Please extend my congratulations.”
Louvaen snorted. “Our business is concluded, magister. I better not see a single one of your buzzard catchpoles lurking about my doorstep, or I’ll shoot him on sight.”
She marched out of his chambers, nodded to the clerk peeking at her from behind his ledgers and slammed the doors behind her.
Sparrow whickered, and she gave him a quick hug in celebration of her victory. She had mounted and was in the midst of guiding the horse away from the hitch rail when the voice of the man she most despised spoke behind her. “Mistress Duenda, no one told me you’d returned to Monteblanco.”
Louvaen’s hands clenched the reins as she turned Sparrow and found Jimenin standing in front of her, a shark’s smile pasted on his banal features. She fancied an oily darkness watched her from his empty eyes. She shuddered but refused to reveal her fear. “Obviously someone told you, or you wouldn’t be here,” she countered.
He stretched out a hand as if to lay it on Sparrow’s neck. The horse’s ears laid flat against its head. Louvaen liked Sparrow even more. Jimenin ignored the warning and reached for the bridle. “Leaving the Merchant House? Nasty business in there. I heard about your poor father. Maybe I can help.”
With those words, Louvaen snapped. She swung the spare length of both reins, lashing as hard as she could. The leather whistled through the air, cracking across Jimenin’s smirking features. Blood splattered Louvaen’s hem. He screamed and staggered away, clutching his face. Louvaen followed, using Sparrow’s bulk to shove Jimenin until he fell to his knees. The crowd milling around them halted and stared.
Louvaen shook in the saddle, rage tempting her to trample the fallen Jimenin in the streets. Her voice rang in the quiet. “I’m done with you, you loathsome toad. Come near my family again, and I’ll kill you.”
She’d likely signed her death warrant with that declaration before half the town; she didn’t care. As a final insult, she leaned from Sparrow’s back and spat on Jimenin before wheeling the horse around to gallop out of the square.
Once she assured herself she wasn’t followed, she slowed Sparrow to a brisk trot and set out for the debtor’s tower. The last standing portion of an ancient fortress, the four-story prison with its fortified walls and double gates had served as both short and long-term residence to several of the town’s citizens. Louvaen had hoped never to visit it for any reason. She left Sparrow at the nearby stables and slogged across the muddy street to the entry gate and guard post. The guard on duty directed her to the warden’s office in a bored voice and promptly turned a longing gaze toward the closest pub. Louvaen wondered how many detainees had escaped the tower and ambled right past this particular guard.
The warden’s office was tucked into a narrow corner where guardhouse met tower. She rapped on the oak batten door, and a boisterous voice bade her enter. Illuminated by the morning sun pouring through one window and a brace of candles perched on a scarred and worn table, the office was as plain and humble as the Merchant House had been pretentious.
The man charged with the governing of the tower was a scruffy sort, with a bedraggled beard Louvaen suspected worked as a comfortable nest for fleas. He peered at her from rheumy eyes. “What do you want?”
“My father’s release.” She handed him the copy of the endorsement. “Debt paid for Mercer Hallis.”
He opened the endorsement, read the signatures while picking his teeth with dirty fingers and returned it to her with a grunt. “Take a seat. I’ll get him.”
He left her in the office to worry and pace. It was only minutes but seemed like hours before the door opened and Mercer shuffled into the office. Louvaen leapt up and threw her arms around her father. “Papa!”
“Louvaen?” Mercer returned her hug before stepping back to stare at her. His tired features drooped in dismay. “My darling girl, you shouldn’t be here.”
She blinked, stunned. Of all the greetings she might have expected, this one caught her completely by surprise. She took his hand, noting the cracked skin and black dirt caked under his nails. “Don’t be silly, Papa. Where else would I be?”
