Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Bladework
The sky had blackened by the time the two men emerged from the gatehouse onto the streets in Cordeliers.
Night had to be their companion if they wanted to fill their net with the bounty they were looking for.
Such was when their biggest suspects would be out, and the die of surprise cast. Nothing spelled overbearing like an evening kit examination; the bounce in Jehan’s step spoke to some degree of pleasure in it.
The night was blissfully clear, save for a few stray clouds that tracked along the heavens and shone grey from the moonlight.
The celestial glow allowed for the Provencal buildings to retain their colors, even in the dark.
Patterns of dark pinks, reds, and siennas made up the blocks of their escapade into the district.
How lovely Aix was, and how wretched too it stood to be because of it; an enticing enough trap could catch any creature.
A beautiful stream was better off having a visible depth, lest those who wander in drown.
They hooked down from the north. Now that the workshops were closed, the main streets had a more muted stench from the tanneries and dyes.
It was almost unnoticeable once they got used to it along the jaunt, and enough citizens seemed much the same, for some still milled about.
The coolness from the evening hour welcomed any number of social calls and festivities that the peak of day hadn’t been ideal for.
Oste was pleased for it. A bigger crowd usually repelled a number of miscreants who relied on silence and secrecy.
Their killer certainly did.
“There,” murmured Jehan with a forward nod. “Camsas.”
Oste craned his neck and quickly spotted the watchman coming from the other direction.
His musket, polished and maintained to the nines, almost shimmered in the glow of the moon and stars.
It stuck up like a spear off his back, for the woodgrain blended better with the night.
Just from his walk, Oste would have assumed him a soldier.
Every step was taken with purpose, and his long, easy strides made short use of the rough cobblestones.
A hat obscured half the man’s face, smooth enough for Oste to have assumed he was younger than his forty years, and the large feather he wore to top it off matched the shades of his metal chestguard.
His heroic countenance made it difficult to remember who he’d marched with, and who he’d touched in back alleys.
Camsas’s blue eyes landed on the two of them, and his lips immediately parted in recognition.
His focus tightened, no longer spent canvassing the sides of the Cordeliers streets for trouble.
Oste felt a small measure of relief from his appearance before their interruption.
Evidently, the man had been doing his duty, at least tonight.
“Lieutenant,” Camsas saluted when he drew up to a halt. His brows knitted faintly together and creased his forehead. He seemed to be wearing the memories of Jehan’s interrogations as a garment.
“Monsieur,” said Jehan in turn. “We’re conducting kit inspections.”
That was when the watchman glanced sideways at Oste. Blue eyes met green, and whatever Camsas saw inside bid him bite his lower lip and tense his shoulders. Oste allowed his coolness to leak out, and the edges of his mouth tilted down in a frown.
“Is this about—” Camsas began, but he took on a level tone again. “What would you like first, Lieutenant?”
“Gun.” Jehan shot him a quick, haughty glare, then took the weapon when it was presented. This musket shamed the others in the armory. It looked newer than new, maintained like a precious treasure. Even Jehan couldn’t mask his impressed nod. He handed it back. “Sword.”
Camsas did as directed, but he again peered at Oste while the lieutenant went through the motions. He spoke in a low voice. “Docteur?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Mmh?”
“I have perhaps…” Camsas started, but steadied himself. Jehan flipped the sword over from the side. This, too, was without any tarnish. “I feel as though I ought to pass on an apology to your wife, if you’d deliver it.”
This earned a penetrative stare from the physician. “While I do believe such things are best delivered personally, I find myself wishing to ask what the apology is for, if I must pass it on.”
Jehan paused his examination to glance at Oste, who paid him no regard. He was stony and still, a far cry from the increasingly fidgeting Camsas, who was no longer standing at attention.
Yes, you brute. I know.
“I had not realized she was… Well, it was years back. I just did not know she was a respectable woman, and Maistre Galoup’s.”
“And if she was not respectable,” Oste continued, “would you still have been sorry for it?”
Camsas’s silence and uneasy rock back on his heels was answer enough. Jehan handed the sword back and frowned. “Boudiou, man, you didn’t force yourself, did you?”
“No,” Oste answered for Camsas, “but he didn’t conduct himself as a gentleman ought to.”
Jehan held out his hand. “Dagger,” he said a little more gruffly.
Camsas obliged.
Jehan held it between himself and Oste, which allowed for them both to examine it closely.
He recognized it as a baselard at first glance, and straight in the crossguards, which he’d been looking for.
On instinct, he pushed his station by reaching out to handle the blade himself.
He managed it without trouble; Jehan’s hands fell harmlessly off it.
And while he wouldn’t have minded seeing Camsas bound and punished in some way, Oste still found himself partially relieved when he confirmed the dagger was just a touch too long, and that the guards were plain and too wide.
He shook his head and gave it back to Jehan, who, after another glance over, offered the dagger back.
“Your arms and armor are the epitome of perfection, Monsieur Camsas. You’ve earned the highest marks and exceeded expectations.
I shall use your kit as a model for the others.
” After Jehan reported it, Camsas began to lift his chin and let a little life back in.
“However,” said Jehan. Upon that, the watchman froze again.
“As a public defender of the city, you are meant to be a model to the citizens themselves. What you execute in work ethic, I do not see in conduct. I am less than pleased to have heard word of improper riffraff. Let me deliver an order: do better. You’re a fine soldier, Monsieur, so be the man I know you’re capable of being, and we’ll have no trouble. Is this understood?”
Camsas swallowed. “Of course, Lieutenant de Filhou.”
He smiled immediately, one of his aloof ones that was the very picture of ease. “Excellent. Onwards you go, Monsieur.”
The watchman dipped his head, then hurriedly brushed past the two of them.
He didn’t spare a single passing glance behind him, and Camsas was better for it; he’d have seen the pair scrutinizing every step he took until he was around the corner and out of sight.
Oste let loose a low whistle when it was over and done with, then looked Jehan up and down in an assessment of his own.
“Thank you,” said Oste. “You can be frightening.”
Jehan set his hand over his heart. “You’re too kind. But that’s not frightening, Oste. You don’t want to see frightening. It’s something not even the viguerie can teach.”
“I know what you mean.” And he hated that he did. “Still, that was well-handled.”
“Guilt can be a powerful yoke. He was easy. You were serious that he didn’t…?”
“No, no. Otherwise, you’d be trying me for murder. Who’s next?”
Jehan nodded down the road. “It might be the new recruit or the captain. Whoever we see first. You were sure the dagger didn’t match?”
“It was close, but I’m sure.”
“I know he has more than that one, so I’ll see about us laying our eyes on the rest, if we didn’t both spook him just now.”
They fell in step beside each other. Oste errantly picked at the silver cufflinks on his doublet, which today matched the earring he wore.
His gait felt just a little heavier and slower, and he tried to focus on his footfalls as he was instructed to when he began walking again.
He couldn’t help but keep on slightly crooked, however, due to his incessant fidgeting with the blade at his hip that he couldn’t seem to stop doing once he moved on from his cuffs.
Jehan’s eyes cascaded down him. “Tell me.”
Oste chuckled. Little slipped by his friend, especially when his scrutiny had been finessed with years of training. “Capitaine Tirel seeks to enlist again.”
“Indeed.” Jehan adjusted his hat and took them around the bend, which brought them into the thermal quarter. “Odds are he’ll be out of the city soon. Relatively unreachable and untouchable.”
“No one the wiser, perhaps.”
“With plenty of opportunity to put new cities to use,” Jehan hummed.
He let his face grow more grave when he regarded his companion again.
“It is suspicious. It’s a very good cover, if it’s him.
Camsas could be using it for the very same cause, if he goes on ahead with it. If they’re gone, well—they’re gone.”
“Will you have them both watched? Even if their blades don't match.”
“I’ll try to. Though, I don’t think murderers often apologize to the husbands of the girls they fondled.”
“Without murdering them.”
“Right.”
“What if I recognize the blade on Tirel?”
Jehan slowed his gait. “Then we immediately withdraw and fetch a couple more constables to make the arrest. I don’t intend to make a spectacle of this.”
“I understand,” Oste nodded.