18 #3
The trader drew breath. The nearby diners had fallen quiet, teacups paused halfway to their lips, trying to look as though they weren’t eavesdropping. Leo waited, stretching out the thread as far as it could go before it snapped. Then he smiled and pocketed the dust.
“Not to worry, dear. We can take them to that fellow in Lumenia Street. Remember him? He only charges twenty percent. Never seen a thing he couldn’t fix.”
The trader momentarily regained the power of speech. “Twenty percent of the value of the . . .” he said weakly.
“Mmm. Listen here, old chap, how about we step aside?” said Leo, clapping the man’s shoulder. Without waiting for an answer, he steered the unresisting fellow to the rail.
“Now, keep mum, but I might’ve exaggerated the value of that old necklace to the wife,” he said in a confiding tone. “It’s worth nearer twelve thousand, in truth, and I expect I can wrangle a bargain out of the repairer. What’d you say to settling the damage for . . . oh, two thousand–odd?”
“Two . . . thousand lyrin?” the man stammered, eyes brightening with hope. Myria fought to keep her thin-lipped expression in place. He’d reacted to the staggering price as if it were a lighthouse in a storm.
“Mm. Still, a chap like you must earn that much every morning,” said Leo, gesturing to the man’s embellished waistcoat. “Not to mention . . . I say, are you an Evendean boy?”
“Oh, ah . . . yes,” he said, glancing down as Leo gestured to a university pin on his lapel.
“Sterling stuff. Not one of those blighters who’s sold the family honor for coppers. So, two thousand and it never happened, eh?”
Hasn’t lost his touch, Myria thought with delight. Her friend struck like a good-tempered hurricane and carried the trader away with him. Within the minute, Leo was folding a crisp check into his pocket. He clapped the man on the shoulder, smiled, then took Myria by the arm and led her away.
Myria beamed at Felix as she slid back into her seat. The prefect shook his head in disbelief—half fascinated, half appalled, if she read him rightly. In the space of three minutes, they’d taken more money than a laborer earned in years.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” Cassia muttered, eyeing the fourth-floor gallery. “Looks like our blighter’s almost finished.”
Myria nodded, then beckoned Felix up and took his arm. Better to have a Carinth-looking fellow for the next bit. Though the Divitorium was a melting pot of traders from across the empire, a certain class of men still favored dealing with their own.
“Come. It’s time for our appointment,” she said. “Darling, behave yourself.”
“Of course, Mama,” Cassia chirped, reverting to her childish voice, and scampered off in a flurry of frilled skirts.
After a short battle through the crowds, they reached the advisers’ gallery. The place was forested with desks that bore the plaques of the most expensive law and accountancy firms in Carintheum.
Myria paused at the brink of the crowd, pretending to dither. Twenty feet away, Evander was rising from the rightmost desk. He shook hands with the lawyer there, then swept away into the crush. She immediately seized Felix’s arm and marched him toward the vacated seat.
“You’re my husband, by the way,” she whispered.
“Well. You dislike me, so I suppose that’s a fine foundation for a Carinth marriage,” he said. Caught off guard, Myria laughed. She’d been aiming for a baffled blush.
They reached the desk. The lawyer looked up in surprise at being so soon accosted, with the papers from his last appointment still strewn before him. Nonetheless, he folded his hands and smiled. The man was the picture of crisp efficiency, immaculately clad in navy and white.
“Good morning, sir,” she said in a breathless voice. “Have you an appointment free?”
“Of course, dear lady. Please, do sit.”
“Thank you.” Myria took her chair in a sigh of silk. “I’m Madam Angelius. This is my husband. I’ve—”
A panting boy ran to the lawyer’s side. He whispered a few words in the man’s ear and thrust a note into his hand. The lawyer tensed.
“Ah,” he said, turning back to Myria. “Would you forgive me, ma’am? This’ll take but a moment.”
Well timed, Cass.
“Of course,” she said. The lawyer came to his feet and whipped away into the crowd. He’d scarcely vanished before Myria swiped his notebook and flicked it open to the last page.
Ha. Bank accounts. Thank you, sir.
She ripped a sheet of copying paper from her cuff and pressed it to the ink.
It heated in her hand and took the print at once.
With that, she rustled it away and skimmed the lawyer’s notes.
Only one entry caught her eye: a symbol like a right-angle triangle with a diagonal line running up from the right-hand corner, beside the number 1137.
Myria thrust the notebook back into place, then took a pen and paper and began to scribble.
The lawyer returned a minute later, looking slightly vexed. He hurriedly rolled the velvet back over his countenance and gave her a genteel smile.
“Pardon me. A misdirected message. Now, ma’am, what might I do for you?”
“Well, you see, my late uncle appointed me executor of his estate,” she began. “I’ve tracked down most of his accounts, but there’s one entry in his books that’s been perplexing me.”
She produced the paper she’d been drawing on, now marked with the symbol from the lawyer’s notes.
“This was alongside the records of his other accounts, but it doesn’t match the crest of any bank I could find on the register.”
“Ah. LV,” said the lawyer, glancing over the paper with a professional eye. “The Lynxias Vault. Strictly speaking, it’s not a bank, so it doesn’t have to be registered.”
“Really? Then why would he be keeping money there?” she asked, all innocence. The lawyer gave a glassy smile and linked his fingers.
“They’re a . . . personal custody service,” he said. “They charge fees, and offer gratuities of a certain annual percentage of the value of deposits.”
Felix frowned, and Myria gave him an encouraging nudge under the table.
“They’re an unregistered bank?” he asked bluntly.
“I wouldn’t insinuate that, sir,” the lawyer said, lowering his voice. “Not within earshot of their agents, at any rate. They keep money, ah . . . very safe. Very private, if you catch my meaning.”
“I . . .” said Myria, feigning hesitance. She certainly did catch the man’s meaning. It was the kind of place that guarded money that those pesky men from Imperial Revenue didn’t need to know about. Frankly, she’d have been disappointed if Vixius didn’t have an account there.
“You needn’t worry, ma’am,” the lawyer went on. “Your uncle’s property will be perfectly secure. The Lynxias has an ancient pedigree.”