Crown Jewel Page 7

  Something flickered, then; an old memory. Surely not. The coincidence would be too much and they had parted ways with him … but Marco had never been pleased about that. What if they had met up again after Celeste had left Marco to immerse himself in becoming a jewel?

  "I need to look into some things," he said to Benito. "If you need Lazzaro, you know where to find him. My people are watching out for him. If you should need to contact me, best to leave a message there and someone will find me. I bid you good day." He swept Benito an absent bow and left.

  Outside, Celeste weighed his options, then summoned a rickshaw and told the driver to take him to the Entertainment Quarter quickly. He flipped the man a silver piece when they arrived and clambered out of the seat, brushing dust from his clothes even as he started walking. He did not bother going to the teahouses; while they would undoubtedly provide information, it would take too long and he would have to scrape the useful bits from the lies and half-truths people gave him. No, Celeste had better ways of spending time and coin. If he was hunting who he thought, then he would do better simply to head to the lairs where the monster likely lurked—the dream smoke dens. He hated the dream smoke dens; there was nothing like a room full of fools and lunatics with no control over themselves to put a man completely off humanity. But he had unwittingly helped make this mess and he would set it to rights.

  Celeste headed for the Theatre District again, walking away from the teahouses toward the far end of the Theatre District where only the inhabitants ever went. Visitors never saw that corner of the glamorous world of the stage—the shops and boutiques where costumes and paints and everything else was made, the warehouses that stored old sets, props, even entire buildings that had been torn down and hidden away until they could be used again for something else. Some of the buildings also granted access to the Catacombs.

  The crown had ordered the Catacombs sealed up once and for all several years ago, on the grounds that they were too dangerous for the average person and provided prime fodder for breeding criminal elements—all of which was true, since the authorities had a damned hard time hunting down the scum that hid in the Catacombs. They still had trouble with it, although much less than they'd had before. Those portions of the Catacombs that could still be accessed were mostly given over to the secret, opulent chaos of the dream smoke dens. The majority of those were right there in the Theatre District, because separating the dens from the Theatre District was like trying to separate sex from the Pleasure District.

  It took only a few coppers and the right smile to gain access to a den—but three hours and half a dozen dens later, Celeste still had not found any hint of the man he sought. He hung on the fringes of the latest den, looking on the dream smokers with contempt. They were everything he despised in people multiplied by a hundred—out of control, pretending to be shameless when they really came here to hide from their shame; people who tried too hard to be something they weren't and wasted all of their energy avoiding themselves. They were even worse than actors, and it did not surprise him in the least that most of them were of that profession.

  All of the dream smoke lingering in the air was making Celeste's head spin and his eyes sting. He was getting nowhere this way—it was time to try something else … he just was not certain what. Abandoning the den, Celeste fled the warehouse section altogether.

  Breathing in relatively fresh air, he contemplated what to do next—and stubbornly ignored the voice that kept urging him to return to the House of Peace and Lazzaro. There was absolutely no guarantee that Lazzaro would still be there; he had probably woken up and immediately set to work on finding the killer his own way. If he had not done that, then likely he would have returned home to face Santino's death, although Celeste hoped instead that Lazzaro was met with the good news that Santino would definitely live.

  Celeste also was not certain he was ready for the discussion that they would likely be having soon. He did not know how he wanted it to play, or even what he wanted to say—what he wanted to hear. To what he would agree, if Lazzaro asked. He was so close to his goals; a few months was nothing after years. Was he really stupid enough to throw all that away because he was enamored of Lazzaro?

  The fact he had just admitted he was enamored was answer enough and it was not an answer he liked— not even a little bit. In fact he rather hated it. Oh, to have never met the damnable Duke of Nascimbeni!

  Stubbornly ignoring the urge to return to his room and see if Lazzaro was there, Celeste headed for the teahouses instead. The back of his neck prickled, but he was so lost in thoughts of Lazzaro that he noticed it a moment too late. He froze as a knife pressed against his throat, the pressure not quite enough to break skin. "Beautiful evening, sweet," a soft, sibilant voice murmured in his ear. The voice was older, harder, colder, but the underlying evil in it had not changed a bit.

  Handsome. Clever. Arrogant. He was everything that Lazzaro had described the killer as being to Celeste all those weeks. Celeste had hoped never to see him again, the evil young man who had joined his band of thieves for a very short time, before Celeste had lost all patience and thrown him out.

  Closing his eyes, Celeste drew a deep breath, steadying himself. Slowly opening his eyes again, he turned his head, the kiss of the blade stinging sharply as it drew the barest line of blood. Meeting the dark blue eyes he had fervently hoped never to see again, Celeste greeted, "Beautiful evening, Ezio."

  *~*~*

  Lazzaro did not do idle well. Neither did he take well to being thwarted. Unfortunately, he found himself enduring both of those, when the only three things he wanted to do at present, he could not. He wanted to see Santino; Benito's note informing him that Santino was alive and chances were good he would survive through to morning had made Lazzaro all but weep in relief. He had wanted nothing more than to race home and see Santino for himself—but Santino needed rest, and so it was better to leave him alone.

  The killer needed to be found; Lazzaro very much wanted to find the bastard and slit his throat and be done with him once and for all … but to find him, Lazzaro needed Celeste, and he had no idea where Celeste had gone.

  More than anything in the world, even seeing Santino, he wanted Celeste.

  There was very little point in going home; Lazzaro was better off waiting at the House of Peace for Celeste's eventual return. Having no other means by which to spend his time, Lazzaro decided to be nosy. The paperwork scattered across Celeste's table proved to be mostly financial in nature—Celeste's accounting, that of the House of Peace, and the wages and contract details of the other jewels in residence. He also found a long list of names; it took him a few minutes to realize the names were all false, some sort of code to hide the real names of the individuals who visited the House of Peace. It also detailed the monthly average each one paid. Given the number of sovereigns involved, Lazzaro thought it would not be hard to decode the list—but his interest was not in the sexual appetites of his peers.

  No, his only interest was in Celeste and doing whatever was necessary to keep him. A couple of hours after nosing through all of the documentation, he rang the little bell at his elbow. The door opened a moment laterand the green-eyed woman stared at him. "Yes, your grace?"

  "Sorry to bother you," Lazzaro said. "I wonder if you know best how I can arrange to have three people brought to me?"

  The woman smirked. "That depends on what you be wanting them to do, your grace, and how long you expect them to do it."

  Lazzaro threw his head back and laughed. "Even in my youth, I was not that adventurous. No, I need my solicitor, a notary, and to see the mysterious Pio who apparently owns this establishment."

  Her brows shot up to her hairline. "What do you want him for? Your grace," she tacked on belatedly.

  "To relieve him of the House of Peace," Lazzaro replied.

  "I see," the woman said. "You want it? Celeste will not be pleased with you. He's never admitted it, but everyone knows he's angling to buy it from Pio."

  Laz
zaro just smiled. "Celeste will be pleased with me when all is said and done, even if he will be quite put out to begin with."

  She laughed. "You really have him twisted, your grace."

  "It is probably more accurate to say we are twisted together. What is your name, by the way?"

  "Tula, your grace," she said, and swept him an impressively graceful curtsy. "I am the Master of Pain in the House of Peace. All sadists and masochists must be vetted by me, jewels and customers alike, before they can work here or patronize the establishment."

  Lazzaro smiled. "That is not a test I would want to undertake."

  Chuckling, Tula replied, "I will see your people are fetched, your grace. What is the address of your solicitor? Have you a particular notary you would like summoned?"

  Lazzaro rattled off all of the information she required and thanked her as she left. He fervently hoped his idea worked; if it did not, his only fallback was to kidnap Celeste, drag him home, and tie him to Lazzaro's bed until he succumbed. That plan had more than a few flaws.

  He went over the paperwork again, making certain he had missed no minute detail, and then began to draft the necessary paperwork. His solicitor was more than capable of it, but everything would move much faster if he only had to polish up what Lazzaro had already written.

  Just as he was finishing, the door opened. The slovenly, hungover, hard-eyed man who slowly walked into the room without even a half-hearted knock could only be Pio. "Who the hells are you?" Pio demanded. "Why are you here without Celeste, and where is Celeste?"

  Lazzaro sat back in his seat, arms falling to rest lightly on the arms of the chair, acting as though he owned everything he saw. His voice dripped arrogance as he said, "I am 'your grace' to you, and I would have thought the man who owned the House of Peace would recognize the Duke of Nascimbeni when he saw him. You need not concern yourself with the whereabouts of Celeste. We have other matters to discuss, you and I. Sit."

  Terrified as he realized who he had treated so rudely, Pio sat. After the silence stretched on long enough to make Pio even more uncomfortable, Lazzaro finally spoke. "You are going to sell me the House of Peace."

  Pio jerked in his seat, nearly shooting out of it. "Like hells—" He snapped his mouth shut, then said with only a touch more respect, "The House of Peace ain't for sale."

  Acting as though he had not spoken, Lazzaro said, "Your name is Pio di Caprio and I've a long list of crimes associated with that name. Blackmail, the giving and receiving of bribes, violence, drug use … and that is only the start. Do I need to continue?" He was guessing on all of them, but from the way Pio's face darkened, he was hitting every mark. "It will be easy enough to summon the guards and have you arrested. That will then make it simple to see that when your assets are seized, the House of Peace is given to me."

  Pio's mouth pinched, and Lazzaro knew he was stewing over the fact that Lazzaro was right—it would be a very easy thing for Lazzaro to exercise the full weight of his authority and relationship with the king to get exactly what he wanted. It was his for the asking and they both knew it. "So do it then," Pio finally spat.

  "I would rather pay you ten thousand sovereigns, with an additional thousand to ensure you never trouble the House of Peace or anyone associated with it ever again."

  "What—" Pio's eyes widened comically, before he hastily said, "Fine. Tell me where to sign."

  Lazzaro almost sneered, but managed not. He had wondered if Pio even knew the true value of the House of Peace. Just the House itself, given its location, age, and condition was worth fifteen thousand sovereigns. Taken together with the people still contracted to it, the base worth of the business that came with ownership of the House …

  Well, Pio should have been smarter or at least less hasty.

  "The papers are being drafted," Lazzaro said. He paused as the door opened and Tula entered, followed by Lazzaro's solicitor and his preferred notary. "Here are the men I was waiting upon and now we can conduct our business." He made the introductions, explained his intentions, and after that, it was hours of writing, arguing, rewriting, and finally signing the papers.

  Tucking everything away and accepting the refilled wine glass that Tula handed him, Lazzaro turned to Pio and said, "You may stay here the rest of the night, but come sunrise you will pack your belongings and leave. You will be able to fetch your money from the bank in the morning and know where to find me should you have any problems."

  Pio tucked away the note granting him the promised eleven thousand sovereigns, stood, and walked off without a word. Tula, called as a witness, blew out a breath. "I don't even know what to say, your grace. Damn."

  "I believe that suffices," Lazzaro said with a smile. "Thank you for all of your help, Tula. Gentlemen, I appreciate you coming so quickly and on such short notice. I am in your debt."

  Chuckling, the men bid him good night and followed Tula from the room. Lazzaro began to put away the rest of the paperwork and plan out how exactly he would begin the conversation he would soon be having with Celeste. He glanced at the bed, reliving every bit of the short time they had spent together in it, before forcing his mind away from the distracting images.

  He was just finishing up putting away the paperwork when Tula came bursting back into the room, looking like a terrified cat. "Your grace! A d-delivery for you!" She held out her hand, which trembled slightly.

  Lazzaro felt his heart drop into his stomach as he looked as the long tail of Celeste's braid. A ribbon secured each end, and to the topmost was pinned a note, his name written on it in livid red ink. "I will take care of it," Lazzaro told Tula firmly. "Go. Calm yourself, calm the staff, keep everything under control. I will save Celeste."

  "You had better," Tula said. She turned and left, door closing sharply behind her.

  Unpinning the note, Lazzaro opened it and read the brief message. Come to the Spring Blossom Teahouse. Ask for Ezio.

  Lazzaro dropped the note to the table, then ran a thumb over the beautiful braid of hair. Celeste would kill the bastard who had cut it if given just half a chance. If the bastard had harmed Celeste any further than cutting his hair, Lazzaro would exercise all of his power and authority to teach him the true meaning of suffering.

  Gathering up his belongings, Lazzaro pulled on his jacket and gloves, then quickly penned a note to Benito. He went downstairs and handed the note off to Tula, who came out of the parlor when she saw him. "See this is taken to Prince Benito. If you cannot reach him, give it to Princess Anastasia. Directly to them, not to any messenger."

  "Yes, your grace," Tula said, and tucked the note into her corset.

  Lazzaro squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, then departed. It took him only a few minutes to obtain directions and reach the Spring Blossom Teahouse. At the door, he waited until the hostess was forced to approach him. When she fluttered up to him, he said, "I am here to see Ezio."

  "This way," the woman said, dropping her fluttery demeanor. She led him through the teahouse, across the garden in the back, and stopped before a boardinghouse that was two stories tall and looked as though it contained roughly twenty rooms. Pulling a key from a hidden pocket, she said, "Up the stairs, turn right, third room on the left."

  He took the key without a word and walked on, moving silently up the stairs and down the hall. He tested the door when he reached it, examining the frame, the lock, the handle, the door itself; he was far too used to the tricks and traps that could be used. When all seemed well enough on this side, he slid the key into the lock and turned. After nothing further happened, he drew his sword and kicked the door open—

  A dark-skinned, dark-haired, tall, handsome man looming over Celeste, who sat huddled in one corner of the mostly barren room. Beyond them, there was only a table, a small heat stove, and a pile of bedding in one corner. The floor was composed of mats made from tightly-bound reeds, firm beneath Lazzaro's feet as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "The esteemed Ezio, I presume?"

  "Nascimbeni," Ezio gre
eted, letting go of the fistful of Celeste's hair to which he had been clinging, rising to his full height. He held a dagger in his other hand, loose and easy. His lips gleamed wetly and Lazzaro could not help but note that Celeste's did as well. What else had the bastard done to him, after cutting his hair?

  He held his temper in check, but only barely. "What is this all about?"

  "Men have brought requests to kill you before," Ezio said, ignoring his question. "Marco met with several men who offered to pay handsome sums to have me kill the King's pet bastard. But handsome is not good enough, with the risk involved. A pity, really, because you have killed and imprisoned several men who were fun to have around. Achille, Ovidio, Dafne, Gian. I really miss Gian."

  Lazzaro frowned. He knew those names. Achille had been a cut flower who had been blackmailing a friend of his mother's—and several other people, as it turned out. He was currently in prison. Ovidio was a murderer, another cut flower that Lazzaro had killed. Dafne was the youngest daughter of the Earl of Palmiro; she had contracted the death of a girl she hated. Lazzaro had never found the killer, but by chance discovered Dafne had purchased the death. Gian … Gian was the dead brother of Guido, the Duke of Mondadori, and had been guilty of much worse than murder. Guido had never forgiven Lazzaro for revealing his brother's crimes, resulting in his imprisonment. "Marco was your handler," he said.

  "Marco kept him in line," Celeste said. "It was the same when we were children. Ezio only listened to Marco and Marco did not mind the awful things Ezio did. I threw Ezio out of our little gang." He glared hatefully at Ezio. "I wish I had possessed the sense to kill you."

  Ezio laughed. "You do not possess the stomach for murder, pretty. Your only talent is spreading your legs. A pity that Marco was weak to your charms; but then, he whined for a long time after you parted ways. Don't move!" he snapped, lifting his dagger as Lazzaro started toward them. "Go sit on the bed, your grace, and leave all of your weapons by the door first, including any daggers you have secreted away. I will make you strip if I think you are hiding any. Remember that there is enough space between us that no matter how fast you move, I will kill him before you reach me."