Read Online Leopard in Exile by Andre Norton, Rosemary Edghill - Free Book Online
Authors: Andre Norton, Rosemary Edghill
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generation might sport… but a highly unique
one which, as Wessex knew for a fact, did not belong to Warltawk.
An antiquary who'd once seen it had suggested that the stone itself was possibly Roman—a disk of ruby
roughly two inches in diameter, with a silvery flaw in its center whose shape had given the gem its name.
The ruby called the Mirror Rose had been reset several times, though always as a quizzing glass. There
were five bands along the handle engraved with letters in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin alphabets. Once
the rings were set in combination, the quizzing-glass became the engine to cypher—or uncypher—any
document. Unbreakably.
The Mirror Rose was the property of Sir Geoffrey Hanaper, personal private secretary to Endymion
Childwall, Marquess of Rutledge.
And Rutledge served the White Tower.
"How did you come by this?" Wessex demanded roughly.
It would be too much to say that there was a look of fear upon Warltawk's face, after the threats Wessex
had made, but there was certainly a look of… caution.
"I am an antiquary. I recently purchased this item. And you, sir, are a most peculiar highwayman."
Wessex was fast ceasing to care whether Warltawk recognized him or not. Hanaper would not have
given up the jewel while he lived, for whoever possessed it could translate England's most secret
correspondence.
Wessex cocked his pistol and pressed it against Warltawk's thigh, prepared to deliver the wound he had
promised. "Tell me how you stole this from Geoffrey Hanaper," he said.
"One cannot steal from a dead man," Warltawk answered coolly.
"Why should I believe you?" Wessex said.
"An impasse," Warltawk agreed. "Very well, sirrah, let me offer you this to match it: the late Mr.
Hanaper's employer, one Endymion Childwall, is making a hasty trip to the Continent under cover of the
nuptial celebrations. Perhaps it was occasioned by the discovery that his secretary had uncovered that
which he ought not to've. Perhaps it is the desire to ally himself with the winning cause. His blood was
never what it ought to be, you know."
Wessex took a silent step backward, raising his pistol and releasing the hammer. Warltawk's words
made a terrible kind of sense. If Hanaper had been murdered and the death disguised—If Rutledge were
the Judas-agent whose activities had so vexed the White Tower, and Hanaper had discovered that
fact—
There was nothing more that could be done here, short of shooting Warltawk. And Wessex would leave
that work to another. Wessex turned away, gesturing for Merlin to precede him.
"I bid you good evening, Your Grace of Wessex," Warltawk said, his voice pitched for the Duke's ears
alone.
Wessex did not look back.
Wessex and Morgan rode until the lights of Town were visible. Whatever Warltawk knew—or thought
he knew—was a problem for another dawn. For now Wessex put it behind him. At the edge of Town,
Wessex drew rein and turned to his companion. Both men had rearranged their dress as they rode, giving
themselves a more respectable appearance. If luck was with them, it would be hours before Warltawk
could report his encounter with a pair of highwaymen. And it would be best for all concerned if the
Prince de Minuit could prove he'd been entirely elsewhere, for Warltawk's reach was long.
"If I were you, my lad, I'd get Malhythe to send you somewhere safe—such as Paris," Wessex said with
a faint smile.
"I was thinking more of Coronado," Merlin said fervently. "I'd rather live under the Dons than be torn to
gobbets by that wizened old hellgrammite."
"Coronado might be far enough," Wessex allowed. He passed Merlin a heavy wallet that bulged with
stolen gold. An experienced gentleman of the high toby such as Merlin would find ways to spend the gold
napoleons without attracting undue attention. "This should see you there and more. If I were you, I'd
leave now."
Merlin smiled a crooked smile and touched two fingers to his hat-brim. "And so I shall. And I
one which, as Wessex knew for a fact, did not belong to Warltawk.
An antiquary who'd once seen it had suggested that the stone itself was possibly Roman—a disk of ruby
roughly two inches in diameter, with a silvery flaw in its center whose shape had given the gem its name.
The ruby called the Mirror Rose had been reset several times, though always as a quizzing glass. There
were five bands along the handle engraved with letters in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin alphabets. Once
the rings were set in combination, the quizzing-glass became the engine to cypher—or uncypher—any
document. Unbreakably.
The Mirror Rose was the property of Sir Geoffrey Hanaper, personal private secretary to Endymion
Childwall, Marquess of Rutledge.
And Rutledge served the White Tower.
"How did you come by this?" Wessex demanded roughly.
It would be too much to say that there was a look of fear upon Warltawk's face, after the threats Wessex
had made, but there was certainly a look of… caution.
"I am an antiquary. I recently purchased this item. And you, sir, are a most peculiar highwayman."
Wessex was fast ceasing to care whether Warltawk recognized him or not. Hanaper would not have
given up the jewel while he lived, for whoever possessed it could translate England's most secret
correspondence.
Wessex cocked his pistol and pressed it against Warltawk's thigh, prepared to deliver the wound he had
promised. "Tell me how you stole this from Geoffrey Hanaper," he said.
"One cannot steal from a dead man," Warltawk answered coolly.
"Why should I believe you?" Wessex said.
"An impasse," Warltawk agreed. "Very well, sirrah, let me offer you this to match it: the late Mr.
Hanaper's employer, one Endymion Childwall, is making a hasty trip to the Continent under cover of the
nuptial celebrations. Perhaps it was occasioned by the discovery that his secretary had uncovered that
which he ought not to've. Perhaps it is the desire to ally himself with the winning cause. His blood was
never what it ought to be, you know."
Wessex took a silent step backward, raising his pistol and releasing the hammer. Warltawk's words
made a terrible kind of sense. If Hanaper had been murdered and the death disguised—If Rutledge were
the Judas-agent whose activities had so vexed the White Tower, and Hanaper had discovered that
fact—
There was nothing more that could be done here, short of shooting Warltawk. And Wessex would leave
that work to another. Wessex turned away, gesturing for Merlin to precede him.
"I bid you good evening, Your Grace of Wessex," Warltawk said, his voice pitched for the Duke's ears
alone.
Wessex did not look back.
Wessex and Morgan rode until the lights of Town were visible. Whatever Warltawk knew—or thought
he knew—was a problem for another dawn. For now Wessex put it behind him. At the edge of Town,
Wessex drew rein and turned to his companion. Both men had rearranged their dress as they rode, giving
themselves a more respectable appearance. If luck was with them, it would be hours before Warltawk
could report his encounter with a pair of highwaymen. And it would be best for all concerned if the
Prince de Minuit could prove he'd been entirely elsewhere, for Warltawk's reach was long.
"If I were you, my lad, I'd get Malhythe to send you somewhere safe—such as Paris," Wessex said with
a faint smile.
"I was thinking more of Coronado," Merlin said fervently. "I'd rather live under the Dons than be torn to
gobbets by that wizened old hellgrammite."
"Coronado might be far enough," Wessex allowed. He passed Merlin a heavy wallet that bulged with
stolen gold. An experienced gentleman of the high toby such as Merlin would find ways to spend the gold
napoleons without attracting undue attention. "This should see you there and more. If I were you, I'd
leave now."
Merlin smiled a crooked smile and touched two fingers to his hat-brim. "And so I shall. And I
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