Chapitre Vingt-Sept

L'art

Lucien

Lucien had been at the museum for hours, perusing the exhibits and conversing with his fellow lords.

Now, as he looked around the room he made note of his progress, as well as those places where he'd fallen short.

Twelve lords walked the museum, and he'd spoken to each of them, but only a few had agreed to vote for Lord Olivier rather than for Micaedon or Father Vaschel.

These are some of the most influential lords in Salia, he thought. I need more of them in my pocket.

But how to approach the situation? He'd need to use some of his more precious resources to get them on his side. What did he know about these people? What leverage did he have?

"Baron Dufour," he said, as he approached the older lord.

"I'm sorry, Duke Renart," said the baron, "But my decision's made. I'm voting for--"

"Oh, my friend," Lucien interrupted, chuckling. "I know that. I'm not here to speak of politics, I merely wished to direct your attention to a marvelous sculpture in the next room which reminded me of one of your son's works."

Baron Dufour smiled at the sound of this. "Truly?"

"Truly," said Lucien, gesturing for the baron to follow him. "Come and see!"

The two of them shuffled off into the next room, where stood a statue of two lovers, a man and a woman, completely nude and enraptured in each other's arms. Both figures were the ideal of the human body. The woman had such elegant curves, every feminine feature accentuated, even exaggerated. The man was all muscles, though not a bulky brute, and upon his face there was a short beard.

Baron Dufour smiled, looking over the statue. "This is... a truly amazing work... but, if I'm being honest, this is nothing like my son's work."

"It has the same heart," said Lucien. He pointed to the faces of the lovers with his cane. "See that look in their eyes? You can tell that these two are deeply, passionately in the throes of forbidden love. You can feel the moment, just like the sculptor intended. In that way, it is not unlike your son's art."

Baron Dufour shrugged and nodded. "I suppose I can see that, but my boy just doesn't have this sort of technique. Last time he wanted to show off his statues we had to pay people to attend his art show."

"Well, have you ever considered hiring the boy a mentor?" asked Lucien, placing a hand on Dufour's shoulder.

"I tried to contact Ludovic of Toutain," said Dufour, "But the connard charges a fortune for lessons."

Lucien scoffed. "Even for a lord's son? That's ridiculous!"

"I know."

"How much were you short?" Lucien asked.

Dufour looked confused by the question. "Pardon?"

"Well, you said he charges a fortune, by how much were you unable to meet his fee?"

"100 lirae," said Baron Dufour. "I simply can't spare that much money."

Ugh! 100 lirae was no small sum. Lucien glanced at the other aristocrats in the museum. Might any of them be a little less difficult to convince? Might any of them cost him less money? He couldn't bet on it, neither could he let this opportunity to buy Dufour's vote fall out of his grasp.

He had to do it.

"You know," Lucien began, raising his index finger. "I've been thinking, even though your son doesn't have the training he needs he has the heart. It would be a terrible shame for him to never be able to show the world what's really in his soul."

"What are you really saying?" Baron Dufour asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Simple," said Lucien, crossing his arms and leaning against the nearest wall. "I'd like to pay Ludovic of Toutain to mentor your boy."

Dufour stepped back. "I'm assuming you're of the persuasion that no good deed should go unrewarded?"

Lucien grinned. "Oh, indeed. Though I'm not one to hold debts over my friends' heads, so let's just say... If your vote should happen to favor Lord Olivier as marquis, then my money may find its way into your bank account."

Dufour thought about it for a moment, twisting the ends of his mustache. He bit his lip and shuffled his feet. "So, all I have to do is vote in your favor this one time..."

"And your boy can achieve his dreams, yes," said Lucien, twirling the end of his own mustache.

Baron Dufour chuckled. "Very well, Duke Renart. You've convinced me that Lord Olivier would be a much better choice than Father Vaschel."

Lucien clasped his hands together. "I'm so glad you saw reason."

He left the baron in that room, satisfied at the result of their conversation. That was one voter in his pocket, he'd need two more.

Across the museum he spotted his next target, Count Donnet, laughing with several acquaintances in front of a beautifully carved, wooden chest. Judging by the symbols upon it, this was a chest carved by someone from the barbarian tribes.

Lucien approached the group of them. "I say, dear friends, what is it you find so humorous?"

Count Donnet stopped laughing for a moment and gestured to all of the art around the room. "Look at all of this; paintings and sculptures from all over Salia, as well as from Piast, Shu, Bharat, and even Ellada. All beautifully done, sophisticated work by master artists." Donnet pointed to the box before them, "Then you have this, a simple chest captured by our soldiers when they attacked a barbarian town. No doubt this crude box held some warlord's most prized possessions, and it doesn't even come close to the same kind of craftsmanship you see in these halls!"

The count laughed again, as did the sycophants surrounding him.

Lucien stepped closer and looked at the chest. "Well, I don't know if I would say it's crude. It reminds me, actually, of something you made once."

The count shook his head. "You must be mistaken, your grace. I'm no wood-carver."

"Truly?" Lucien feigned surprise, but made sure to show the count the glint in his eye so that he would know that he was up to no good. "Then that breeds a true mystery, does it not? For when I attended your soiree last year, after that terrible rainstorm, I found the most peculiar little wooden chest on your estate."

The count's face turned white at the sound of this and his hands began to shake. Those who'd been laughing at the barbarian artwork with him all exchanged looks, as if trying to silently ask each other if anyone knew what Lucien was talking about.

"I thought it simply discarded trash at first," said Lucien with a chuckle. "Not unlike this chest here, I imagine. So, I took it home and had my agents force the lock open. It was only then that I realized that the chest was something precious to you, something you'd meant to keep buried."

"A word in private, if you will?" said the count, sweat pouring down his temples.

"Of course, my friend."

Count Donnet and Lucien found a place in the museum where they were certain no one was listening in and none could see them converse.

"I had wondered what had happened to that chest," Count Donnet hissed.

Lucien shrugged. "Terribly sorry. I'd meant to give it back..."

"So, your spies uncovered my secret," whispered the count, again glancing back and forth to make sure no one was listening in.

"They did," said Lucien, leaning forward on his cane. "So, how do you think people will react to knowing that you still hold onto keepsakes and love letters from Count Aimon's wife?" By now the count was grinding his teeth. "Didn't that affair end years ago? I guess there's merit to what they say, 'true love never dies.'"

"How much will it cost me for you to keep quiet about this?" the count asked as he glared at Lucien.

"300 lirae," Lucien said, flatly.

"Damn you!" Count Donnet struck his fist against the wall. "You connard! You know I don't have that kind of money just lying around!"

"Well, then," said Lucien, gripping his cane tightly in case Count Donnet proved foolish enough to take a swing at him, "I guess I'll just have to send the box to Count Aimon and let him know of his wife's misdeeds. Do you think he'll challenge you to a duel?"

"He won't," Count Donnet whispered, "He'll kill her. Please, you don't understand, he's a jealous man, and doesn't deal with humiliation well! If this gets out he'll murder Appolline and make it look like an accident! You can't do this!"

The count reached for Lucien's collar, but Lucien pressed the end of his cane against Donnet's chest and gently pushed him back. "Now, we can't have that, can we? That poor woman... to get caught between an amorous lover and a jealous husband..."

"Please," Count Donnet dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together. "Please, give me the box! I... I can't..."

"I'm keeping the box," said Lucien. "And its contents. If you want it back you can pay my fee. But I'll agree to make sure that Count Aimon never sees it if you will do me one small favor."

"Anything!" Count Donnet said, biting his lip and sniffling.

"At the palace, tomorrow you must vote for my candidate, Lord Olivier Roche."

Count Donnet's hands fell to his side and his mouth fell open. "All of this was so I'd vote in your favor?"

"It may have slipped your small mind, but Duke Loup is a criminal. He's a bandit with noble blood in his veins. His candidate cannot be allowed to take the title of marquis!"

"Fine!" Count Donnet threw his hands in the air. "I'll vote for Lord Olivier Roche! But if I find out you went back on our deal and Count Aimon discovers--"

"Don't insult me!" hissed Lucien. "My word is my bond, and you have my word that Count Aimon will never discover the contents of that chest."

Count Donnet sighed with relief and Lucien helped him to his feet again.

Lucien straightened the count's collar for him and brushed dust off his shoulders. "Now, I believe they are serving fine cheeses here. Why don't you go help yourself to some?"

And that made two. Lucien only needed one more and he'd have the election in his pocket. He could only hope that the Empress truly hadn't already made up her mind about the matter.

Searching the room, he set his sights on his third target, Marquis Pichard. Over the years Fitzroy had reported so many scandals in the marquis' home that Lucien had nearly doubled his personal treasury with blackmail. Yet, he still had a few scandals up his sleeve which he'd not yet used to extort money from Pichard.

Marquis Pichard stood before a statue of a knight in full armor fighting a dragon; a depiction of the legend of Sir Alceste. Of course, the sculpture was carved long before documents were discovered which proved that Sir Alceste was, in fact, a woman in disguise.

Lucien slipped in beside the marquis and pretended to look over the statue and all its fine details. After they'd both been staring at the sculpture in silence for a time he said, "Are you certain I cannot persuade you?"

"I am," said the marquis, not taking his eyes off the statue.

"Come come now." Lucien chuckled, then whispered, "Have I not been a good friend, keeping your daughter's secret all this time?" He had to remember to thank Andre for his help with this negotiation.

The marquis whispered back, "You have, but I hardly think you've been a truer friend than I for it. After all," the marquis looked Lucien in the eye, "I've not told a soul about the real reason Monsieur Artois confessed to Corina's murder."

Damn him! Lucien had to admit, the man was good. He'd somehow gotten wind of the arrangement he and Fitzroy had made with Artios to get Leon out of jail. Without that criminal's false confession Leon would have hanged.

"I do truly appreciate that," Lucien whispered. "From the bottom of my heart I thank thee. And, as reward for your discretion, I have been keeping silent about that atrocious gossip involving Monsieur Dashiell."

Sure, arranging to have a criminal take his son's place at the gallows was a terrible scandal, but far worse, Lucien knew, was to have a son who murdered a commoner in cold blood.

"I thank you for your discretion," the marquis whispered. He seemed almost unaffected by Lucien's threat, which caused the duke to brace himself for whatever came next. "If only you were so generous with your discretion with Duke Armand's secrets."

So, he knew Lucien was blackmailing Duke Armand. Lucien's tongue longed to speak every coarse and vulgar word he knew. If the marquis let this information slip into Jehan Armand's spy network then the Renart family would become Duke Jehan's targets. So far, he'd managed to stay out of Armand's sights, as far as he knew. He didn't need more bitter enemies pursuing him, especially considering what he stood to benefit if he could one day arrange a marriage between one of his sons and Jehan's many daughters.

Blackmail wasn't going to work here. Lucien didn't have anything worse on the marquis. He glanced around the room, assessing the others present. Was there anyone else he might be able to convince? No, too many had their votes set in stone. Some were clearly in the Church's pocket, others in Raul Loup's. The marquis was his only hope.

Should I call in a favor? Thought Lucien. No. The idea of favors is to hold onto them, not actually use them. You save those for an emergency.

But wasn't this an emergency? If Duke Loup's candidate became a marquis he'd control part of the border, and could freely trade with the barbarian tribes, trade Salian blood for gold. On the other hand, if Jehan Armand's candidate became a marquis then the Church would gain greater control over the military, which would surely help them in their hunt for witch-born.

He had to do it.

"See, this is why we're such great friends," said Lucien, smiling widely at the marquis. "Not only do we keep each other's secrets, but we help each other with expenses now and then. Money is no issue in such a friendship. Why, I remember like it was yesterday, that ghastly business with Monsieur Gaetan at the bank. Honestly, her majesty ought to make it illegal for the banks to call in debts so suddenly and without warning!"

"You're right," said the marquis, staring at the floor now. "She should."

Lucien leaned on his cane. "How much that connard could have taken from you if you didn't have friends to help you in your time of need... it makes me shudder just to think about it. Lucilla, my right hand, told me I shouldn't interfere, but you know what I told her?"

"No," said the marquis, defeat falling from his words, "But I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"I told her, 'Dear Lucilla, Marquis Pichard is a very dear friend of mine! I could never abandon him in such a time of need! Friends do friends favors, after all.'"

The marquis hung his head, and Lucien knew for certain he had him. "You have a point, Duke Renart," he said, nodding his head. "Friends do friends favors, and it seems I've been blind to the favor you've been trying to do me by informing me of Lord Olivier Roche's abilities. He truly does sound like a wonderful candidate, now that I think on it."

"Splendid!" Lucien clapped his hands together. "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

Lucien left the museum shortly thereafter, satisfied at his own efforts to sway the election in his brother-in-law's favor. He'd have a hand in the military and in border security, which opened all sorts of wonderful possibilities.

As he walked, lost in his own thoughts, a young man with short dark hair bumped into him.

"Oh, terribly sorry, my lord!" said the young man as he slipped a folded paper into Lucien's coat pocket.

"No, please, young monsieur," said Lucien, tipping his hat to the young man. "I apologize, it was I who was so clumsy just now. I really need to watch where I am going."

"You're too kind," said the young man.

Lucien reached into his pocket and produced a small bag of silver coins. "Tell me, what is your name, boy?"

"Bastien, my lord," said the young man.

"Bastien," Lucien repeated and held out three silver coins. "For your trouble, buy yourself and your family dinner on me."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" said the young man, taking the coins and hurrying off.

One of Fitzroy's agents, Lucien thought. He'd heard Amadeus Fitzroy mention Bastien who lived in Senon before. Now, to see what the message was. Lucien walked a few more paces before reaching into his pocket and drawing the slip. Making sure no one was looking over his shoulder, he read the message's contents.

"Andre has not followed your orders. He is currently cavorting with Josseline of House Bourdon."

Was that boy incapable of learning? Lucien crumpled the note in his hand and shoved it back into his coat pocket.