“Apartments for guards?” Cole asked.
“Mercy no.” Verdot chuckled. “High-end accommodations for prisoners willing to pay for an upgrade.”
Cole’s stomach churned. “You’re extorting incarcerated men?”
Verdot finally looked at him, his smile thin. “It’s called a business model, boy.”
Kurtz shifted in his chair. “Eric know about this?”
“He’s Lord Livna to you now,” Verdot snapped. “And no, I don’t believe he concerns himself with prison operations.”
“Which suits you just fine, I’ll bet,” Kurtz said. “You do your best scheming when no one’s looking over your shoulder, eh, old friend?”
Verdot slammed down the scroll and finally faced them directly. “What do you want?”
Cole’s stomach twisted. “Didn’t you get my letters? I wrote twice. And Nash Erlichman said he spoke to you about me.”
“Letters?” Verdot said, as though the question was absurd. “I have no idea. I’m terribly busy. Dozens of letters pass through my clerk’s hands each week, most from people begging favors.” He waved a dismissive hand, the rings on his thin fingers catching the light. “Tom knows I hardly have time to read them, let alone reply.”
Cole’s jaw tightened. “This was a simple question.”
Verdot sniffed, brushing something off his sleeve. “Then how fortunate you’ve come in person to ask it where I can hear you.” He arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Cole straightened, glanced at Kurtz. “I’d like to visit my uncle, Crispen West.”
Verdot stepped closer, looking down his nose at Cole. Something in his sneer brought to mind Drustan Fawst, Osrik Nath, the Eben warrior—all looming while he was too small to fight back.
Cole jumped to his feet, refusing to let Verdot tower over him. Even so, the man had a few inches on him, which only fueled his irritation.
Verdot’s smirk deepened. “We don’t allow visits.”
“Nash implied there were ways,” Cole said.
“Nash Erlichman does not work here.” Verdot waved his hand. “Truth is, nothing is free, boy. You might think you have friends in high places, but I have a business to run. You want to see your uncle? You make a donation.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”
Verdot shrugged as if the number meant nothing to him. “The going rate for an hour-long visit is two golds.”
“You filthy crook.” Kurtz shot to his feet, knocking his chair over. “Let’s go, Cole. We’ll see what Eric Livna has to say about this, we will—and about that construction.”
“Wait,” Verdot said, raising his hands. “Calm down, and I’m sure we can come to an agreement. I’ll waive the fee if Master Tanniyn and his pretty cousin play a concert at Ice Island.”
Heat flared in Cole’s chest. So the man did know about them? And Mistel? “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t want Mistel out there.”
“There’s no danger, I promise you,” Verdot said. “Not when you’re with me.”
Cole shook his head. “I don’t think?—”
“I’ll personally vouch for her safety. And yours.”
Cole glanced at Kurtz, who grimaced and flexed one shoulder. Yeah, he didn’t like it either, but he didn’t see any other option. “One performance.”
“One hour-long performance for an hour-long visit,” Verdot clarified. “And if you want to visit again, you perform again.”
Cole took a deep breath. “Agreed. Shall we play tonight?”
Verdot laughed. “Mercy, no. I need time to arrange things. Plus, I’ll need to hear you first. Nash said you’ll be at the Black Boar soon. If I like what I hear, I can arrange something next week.” He flashed an oily smile. “I’ll send word.”
