“Sorry, just thinking.” The apology was unnecessary, but in the past, he’d been made to wait by officers emphasizing their rank. He considered it a disgusting habit. Grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment, he dipped his quill in the ink pot. “Report.”
Each man detailed what their teams had learned that day about the grand house and its people, routines, and surrounding land. Quinn covered the page with information and started another before they finished. Finally he tossed the quill down, flexing his right hand. “Very good. Some gaps, but over time everyone will get better at knowing what’s useful.”
He leaned back in his chair and chewed his lip before continuing. “Servants are often the best sources of information, so have your teams act helpful and ask questions. They can flirt with the maids, but no trifling. Which reminds me…” He sat forward to search for a particular parchment. “Here’s Mouse’s notes on the ladies. Memorize the names and put them to faces tomorrow.”
Casseck took the page and scanned it. He frowned at the bottom. “Is there a reason there’s so much written on this last one, sir?”
“Mouse actually talked to her one on one. She was in the library, and he took food to her there.”
Cass eyed him over the sheet before passing it to Gramwell. Quinn ignored the look.
Robert squinted over Gramwell’s shoulder. “It says she was writing notes on people. What does that mean?”
“She was copying notes on various nobles—likes, dislikes, descriptions, properties, that sort of thing. Nothing to cause concern.”
“Sounds a bit concerning to me, sir.” Cass raised one eyebrow.
“I thought so, too, at first,” said Quinn. “But then I considered that she’s the lowest lady, so maybe she’s trying to ingratiate herself with the matchmaker by doing some work for her. Mistress Rodelle’s pushing fifty, so maybe it’s getting hard to record everything herself.”
Gramwell nodded without looking up. “Makes sense, sir.”
“That’s all I have.” He looked down to signal their meeting was over, but he could tell Casseck had remaining questions. Still, his friend came to attention and saluted with the others. When Robert and Gramwell left, however, Cass stayed and closed the door behind them. He sat in the chair across from Quinn and waited as he pretended to sort a few parchments. They dropped formalities when they were alone, but Casseck always waited for Quinn to initiate it.
Finally he sat back. “What, Cass?”
Casseck shrugged. “I was just thinking Mouse hasn’t made a solid contact in the group. I thought that was the goal.”
“He hasn’t met everyone yet. What’s your point?”
“Why not Lady Broadmoor?”
Quinn shifted in his seat. “We planned on one of the maids.”
“I think she’d be better. By your own assessment she’s got the matchmaker’s ear. Could be handy if there’s trouble.”
Cass was right. His eyes drifted to Ash’s summary of the last couple days of extended patrols. There was evidence of another Kimisar group out there. He’d have to report it when the next courier came.
“Besides,” Casseck continued, “it said she struck up a conversation with him. I’m surprised Mouse didn’t jump on that opportunity.”
“The conversation ended when she implied the army is full of simpletons.”
“So I read.” Cass leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “But, Alex, that doesn’t make sense. It said she started out friendly and shared her dinner with him, so why the sudden disrespect? Sometimes Mouse is a little oversensitive. Wouldn’t be the first time he jumped to conclusions.”
Quinn grunted. “Maybe you’re right.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and scratched the back of his head. “He left in a huff, though. I don’t imagine she’s eager to speak to him again.”
“I might be able to intercede, explain that Mouse is a little touchy about schooling because he never learned to read.”
Quinn considered this for several seconds. “You know, that has potential. If he ever takes her dinner again, she’d feel safe leaving that ledger open around him. He could get a better look at it.”
“I thought you weren’t worried about it.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Of course not,” Cass agreed. “But then, maybe you doubt Mouse’s ability to hold his own around her. Is she pretty?”
Quinn bristled. “My soldiers are not here for flirting, and certainly not with Concordium brides.”
“Of course not,” Cass said again, this time with a hint of a smile. “So should I talk to her tomorrow? Try to smooth things over on Mouse’s behalf?”
Mouse had made a mess of things. Quinn sighed inwardly. “All right. Give it a try. If it works, we’ll use her as our contact.”
Casseck stood and stretched. “Just make sure Mouse is ready for his role.” He turned to leave. “And get some sleep, Alex. The next few weeks will be tougher than you think.” He paused with one hand on the door latch. “She’ll need a code name of her own.”
Quinn tapped his quill on the table as he read over Mouse’s notes for the tenth time. They were like a flock of gabbling birds, these ladies, following the lead of the one in front. “Starling.”
Cass nodded as he opened the door. “Starlings are smart birds.”
“I know. Annoying as hell, too.”
16
PORTERS CAME FOR the ladies’ trunks early the next morning. Sage was up and ready, but many of the ladies took some prodding. With servants bustling around everywhere, she resisted the urge to get involved and followed her trunk to the outer ward where the line of wagons awaited. The morning was chilly, and she hugged her cloak tighter as she studied every face milling about for the one she’d met last night. After a few minutes, she found him tugging a broad cloth over one of the wagons.
The rose patterns sewn into the fabric indicated the special status of the travelers, as the design was normally reserved for royal use. There was always a princess named Rose, and many families used variations on the name to imply royal connections—they had a Rosalynn in their own group. Rather ironic that otherwise plants and flowers indicated illegitimate or very low birth, except in her case, but Father had taken pride in flouting convention.
Sage watched Ash Carter tie the canopy to the frame. His name declared he was either a bastard or a peasant—or both. Neither bothered her. He was taller than she’d realized, and broad across the shoulders, though not bulky. The subordinate posture he’d worn last night was gone; he moved about his work with confidence and efficiency. She edged around a pile of baggage, wanting to get close enough to speak to him without attracting too much attention. Surely he wouldn’t be rude if she approached with so many others around.
A rider’s black uniform appeared in front of her, and she looked up into friendly blue eyes on a face capped by straw-colored hair. A lieutenant, judging by the silver bar on his collar.