Rogue Spy

Forty-five

Cami waited till Pax was out of hearing range. Then she turned to this Service agent, Mr. Hawker. She said, “If you have something to say to me you don’t want Pax to hear, this is as good a time as any.”

He leaned against the horse, arms folded. They had patient horses in whatever stable the British Service used. She wondered what the stable owners thought of all the horses lost and injured by Service agents over the years. Did the British Service come up with excuse after excuse or did they change livery stables with some frequency?

Hawker said, “There’s a puzzle that’s been bothering me. That house—Number Fifty-six—means nothing. Semple Street means nothing.”

She said, “That is a brilliant summation of my own views.”

“But the Merchant wants to meet you there. Why is that, Miss Baldoni?”

“Because life is not tediously predictable, Mr. Hawker. Maybe his tailor lives there.”

“Or maybe you were told to lure Pax out where he’ll be easy to kill.”

That hadn’t occurred to her, not once. “You think I’m setting a trap for Pax.”

“Who tells us what the Merchant said?” Hawker stepped toward her suddenly, ignoring the horse sidling behind him. “One person. You can say anything you want, can’t you?”

She stood with him, eye to eye. Not a tall man, Mr. Hawker. “More than that. I can say anything I want and be believed. I’m Baldoni.”

“And a liar from the cradle.”

“I sucked it in with my mother’s milk.” She faced him and waited.

“Pax moves around a lot and he works on his own. Hard to trace. Hard to predict. Maybe your job is to bring him out in the open tomorrow for the Merchant to kill.”

“A bit overelaborate, Mr. Hawker. Why would I do that?”

“You’re a French spy.”

“Not French, Mr. Hawker. Tuscan.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug and turned away. “And I don’t spy for the French.”

“You’re Caché.” Hawker’s voice was sharp as thorns. “That’s close enough. The only reason I don’t use this”—the knife was a blur of black that whipped toward her till it was a cold prick at her jugular—“is that Pax wouldn’t like it.” The knife stayed where it was. He leaned closer and whispered, “If you hurt him again, I’ll carve that pretty face of yours into ribbons.”

She said, “Look down.”

A second passed before he dropped his eyes. He’d already figured it out.

Her pretty yellow parasol with the delicate flounces now ended in a six-inch steel spike, sharpened to a dagger point. It touched his chest, right below the heart.

Baldoni don’t let their eyes talk about what their hands are doing. Whoever had spawned this dangerous boy held the same views. Nothing at all moved in his eyes.

He let the knife drop from one hand and caught it with the other. He stowed it away in the inner recesses of his jacket, point downward. He said, “If I came after you, I’d pick a moment when you’re not armed.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty fellow.” She slid the catch of the parasol back into place and retracted the spike. “If I ever decide you need killing—and I might make that decision any minute now—I’ll do it with a rifle from some distance. From behind.”

“Like a good Baldoni.”

“No. A good Baldoni would do creative things with your organs of generation while you were still breathing, then mutilate your corpse and leave it for your friends to find. Baldoni don’t waste a death.” She tapped the parasol lightly, making sure the trigger mechanism was locked.

“You’re good,” Hawker said. “If you wanted to kill Pax, he’d be dead. If you wanted to blind him, he’d be blind.”

“He’s safe from me.” Lifting her head, she saw Pax coming toward her in long, loose strides, looking neither left nor right. Coming to her. She said, “And I’m safe from you till I bring the Merchant out of hiding. After that . . . I fear I may suffer some unfortunate accident. Maybe you’ll get that job. You seem suited to it.”

“Is that what you think?” Hawker watched her steadily. “But you’ll be there tomorrow, won’t you, to do your dance with the Merchant?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once, as if he’d proved something. “Then I’ll get you away from Semple Street if the Service decides to arrest you. Be ready.”