The Masked City (The Invisible Library #2)(50)
Ten minutes later, shrimps with polenta had been negotiated, and the cheerful landlady Maria (who fortunately spoke English) had brought round another bottle for their table. ‘Always good to have new customers in during Carnival,’ she said, with an approving nod towards their masks. ‘We may as well enjoy ourselves before it’s Lent, eh? And I’ll have you know that my little place is good enough to host the Council of Ten themselves—’
Martha was opening her mouth to say something, and Irene feared that it wasn’t to say Yes, please do go on telling us all about your customers, when the tavern door banged open. A man in plain livery entered, bowing as he did so and holding the door wide open for two more figures, a man and a woman in heavy black velvet drapes and matching silver-and-black masks. They entered together in a drift of fog and stood in the doorway, surveying the tavern.
Irene saw the crest on their mantles and was seized by an unpleasant suspicion. A pair of silver gloves, crossed on a black background. Her hands clenched on the table edge. Could the story have turned against her? Was this the part of the narrative where the heroine in disguise is confronted by her arch-enemies - or possibly where the protagonists find and dispose of the villainous spy, all depending on the reader’s viewpoint? And the power of story had been so useful up till now …
‘Now, will you look at that,’ the landlady said. She marched forward, dropping a floor-brushing curtsey. ‘My lord and lady Guantes. Welcome to my tavern!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘My dear.’ Lord Guantes led Lady Guantes into the room, seating her at one of the larger tables, before turning to the landlady. ‘We always enjoy your establishment, Donata. The usual, if you please.’ His masked gaze swept across the room, taking in Irene’s table. He had a deep voice, bass though not basso profundo, and his English had just a hint of an accent, though Irene couldn’t identify it.
Everyone at Irene’s table was scrambling hastily to their feet to bow in the general direction of the new arrivals. Irene rose with the rest of them, feeling her heart go through the floor.
That’s it. I am totally doomed. Even if they don’t call us over, the others are certain to suggest introducing ourselves. And Lady Guantes at least must know what I look like. She might even recognize me through the mask …
Her mind was whirring like a nuclear-powered hamster wheel, suggesting and rejecting plans at a speed that would have made Irene’s supervisors proud. If she ever saw them again.
If this is really the Guantes’ story, and I’m just a minor enemy character within it, this could happen - I get discovered and dragged off in chains, end of chapter. And it all finishes with a triumphant auction featuring a dragon, then a war.
She needed to leave. And for that, she needed a distraction.
Everyone’s attention was still on the Guantes. Irene picked up her mostly full glass, murmured, ‘Wine, increase in strength ten times,’ into it, and leaned across to switch it with Zayanna’s nearly empty wine glass.
Sterrington was turning to look at her. Had she seen?
Irene quickly picked up her own glass. ‘A toast?’ she suggested.
‘A toast to Lord and Lady Guantes!’ Athanais agreed. Everyone picked up their glasses and drank. Irene watched out of the corner of her eye as Zayanna swigged with abandon.
‘How very polite.’ Lady Guantes sounded positively mellow. ‘Donata, do send over another bottle of your best to that table over there.’
Hadn’t the landlady said earlier that her name was Maria? But she was nodding in agreement, without the slightest complaint. Perhaps, in this place, if you were human you were a piece of stage dressing - and then your name was simply whatever the Fae chose to call you.
The group resumed their seats. ‘Should we go over and introduce ourselves?’ Athanais said eagerly and predictably. ‘It would be courteous to thank them for the wine.’
And you’re on the lookout for another patron, Irene decided, however much you’re trying to put the rest of us off.
‘Proper courtesy would be to drink the wine and then present thanks,’ Atrox Ferox said curtly. ‘To thank without appreciation is not to show due regard for the gift.’
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Irene thought silently as she nodded in agreement. She was watching Zayanna unobtrusively, but so far the other woman was resolutely upright.
‘I’m surprised they came in here,’ Sterrington said. She glanced around the room again. ‘It’s good, but I wouldn’t expect it to be one of the best restaurants in the city.’
She was cut off by Zayanna giving a long gurgling sigh of satisfaction. The other woman carefully put her empty glass down, then slumped forward onto the table. Damn. Overdid it.
‘I didn’t think she’d drunk that much,’ Martha said, visibly distancing herself from the situation.
‘Zayanna?’ Athanais laid a long-fingered hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. ‘Zayanna, sweetheart, my little honey-flower, wake up?’
Irene glanced nervously over to the Guantes. They didn’t seem to be paying attention.
‘Perhaps some cold water,’ Athanais suggested tactfully. ‘Clarice, can you ask the landlady—’
‘Stop shaking me,’ Zayanna slurred. ‘Gonna be sick …’