“Look,” Evie whispered in Owen’s ear. “Mancini!”
Owen turned and saw the fat Espion approaching the king and Ratcliffe. He was gazing hungrily at the piles of food on the trestle tables, but he approached deliberately, one hand resting on his enormous belly.
Ratcliffe’s eyes were still clouded, but he was staring fixedly at the king, and he looked to be near tears. The king folded his arms and gave Mancini a shrewd look as the big man made his approach.
“Ah, the man who has increased the expenses of my kitchen,” he said.
Mancini bowed with a flourish. “Your Grace honors me by noticing such trifling details,” he said graciously. “I do have an appetite, it is true. But what I hunger for more than honeyed bread and sack wine is gossip and secrets. And what I have just learned I thought Your Majesty would wish to know straightaway.”
Ratcliffe whirled at the sound of Mancini’s voice, his face flushed with anger. It was known throughout the palace that he preferred for his underlings to report their news to him—and only him. Mancini was breaking protocol, and everyone in the room knew it. The king looked intrigued.
“What news, Master . . . ?”
“Mancini, Dominic Mancini. I’m Genevese, if you didn’t know it. We love our food!”
“I didn’t,” he said, giving Ratcliffe an unidentifiable look.
“Well, Your Grace, I thought you would wish to hear this straightaway.” The big man took another step forward, pitching his voice softly so that it would not carry through the hall. Ratcliffe leaned forward, straining. Owen and Evie sidled a little closer.
“I thought it would be worth mentioning,” Mancini continued, “that John Tunmore was spotted in the sanctuary of Our Lady conferring with the old queen. Well, she isn’t that old, but she is the previous queen. I used to be stationed at Our Lady, Your Majesty, and have some acquaintances there who are not part of the Espion. They thought I would be willing to . . . ahem . . . pay for such news. Of course, I keep a purse of florins on my person for just such a moment.” He jiggled his coin purse and wagged his eyebrows at the king.
The king’s expression changed to wonderment and respect. He completely ignored Ratcliffe. “How did he manage to get through the gate?” the king demanded. “Did he sneak away in disguise? The gatekeepers did not see anyone matching his description.”
Mancini grinned, cocking his head conspiratorially. “I understand he was seen disembarking from a little boat, Your Majesty. It is dangerous, as you know, maneuvering boats so near the falls, but that is what my contacts told me. There are many secret places here in the palace, as you know.”
“I do,” the king agreed briskly with a hint of anger. “Well, that explains the disappearance. What remains is to decide what we should do about it.”
“He’s claimed sanctuary,” Ratcliffe interjected, shouldering his way into the conversation. The look of resentment on his face was implacable. “There is nothing that can be done except guard the gates and wait for him to try and slip away. He’ll hunker down there for months to try and lull us—”
“This may be presumptuous,” Mancini said delicately, interrupting Ratcliffe, “but I have a suggestion.”
The king chuckled and put a hand on Ratcliffe’s shoulder. “Let’s hear him out.”
“Your Grace, let me speak with him first. It would—”
“This is where you lack in understanding,” the king cut him off. “When you fear having underlings who are better than you, you drive away the most capable men. If you claim credit for their efforts, they resent you. Too often, you keep your Espion to yourself. This man clearly doesn’t lack in ambition or presumption. Let him speak. Trust me, Dickon. I have my own opinions and always will. What is your advice, Mancini?”
Owen saw a fleeting smile on Mancini’s mouth, but it was gone faster than a blink. “My lord, the master who trained me put it this way. Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed. If you merely offend them, they take vengeance. If you injure them greatly, they are unable to retaliate, so the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared. There are ways of removing people from sanctuary. I know men there who would . . . how shall I say this delicately . . . ?”
“Then don’t say it delicately,” the king said with a snort.
“I know men who would pizzle in the Fountain of Our Lady if you gave them a coin. If you say the word, my lord, Master Tunmore will be groveling before you in time for supper.”
The king brooded on Mancini’s words.
“The risk is too great,” Ratcliffe hissed. “If the people found out . . .”
“The people are always supposing one thing or another,” Mancini said with a shrug.