THE SABLE SPY | TWENTY-ONE

  CADIEUX PROPOSED, AND LADY Janae— soon to be Mrs Cadieux, answered with a happy yes. And now she had to suffer through a celebratory lunch Georgie had managed to throw together when she just wanted to be anywhere else. But she had to plaster on a smile, because Cadieux deserved this happiness and she was fond of Lady Janae, who threw away her pampered life to help the poor and less fortunate, and actually managed to make a small difference.

Those thoughts, however, did not stop Cass from almost dozing off.

Her fault. She slept too late last night and woke too early this morning. It made her feel miserable, especially since everyone else was so joyous and happy.

Sat next to the window, she was so lost in thought she did not notice Marcus stopping besides her.

"Tired?"

She glanced up, momentarily taken off guard, before her expression turned blank again. "A bit. It is of no consequence. I simply didn't catch enough sleep last night, that's all. Should you not be celebrating?"

"Should you not be celebrating as well?"

She sighed. "Touche."

"It feels strange, doesn't it, for this house to be a place of celebration?"

"Number Five Borewood Street was not built for celebrations. This is a house where much bad news is shared. Perhaps this is the starting of a change to a happier future."

"Not bloody likely," Marcus replied, leaning against the window pane. "At least Cadieux isn't smiling like a bloody hellhound for once."

No, their mentor looked truly happy, next to his future bride. Lady Janae was not in the first brush of youth. She had to be at least in her late thirties, but she would still make a wonderful bride. Kiera, she had told them all to call her.

"I thought Cadieux said he wished to retire before marrying."

Marcus shrugged. "He's switching out field work for behind the desk. He's been planning on it for a while. He's handing most of his responsibilities to Seylace."

"He wants Seylace to be the next Head of the Service?" It was unsurprising. There were few people more suitable for the role than the man. Tyler was too young, so was Luke. Some of the older agents who were qualified did not want the work, preferring to work independently in foreign countries. St. Honore was a woman and already posted in Melique. The people would not respect a Head who was a woman.

"Seems so," Marcus shrugged.

"One must wonder why he is currently in Melique, then."

"Heads of Service, or those in training for the role do not go running around the world as an independent agent. They mostly stick in one place. You could say that Seylace is enjoying the last days of his... bachelorhood."

"Thrashing like a drowned rat. Hopefully not literally." He was in Melique, after all. They were not merciful to foreign spies in that country. She could not really blame them. All was fair in war. Arecian Secret Service tried to treat the foreign spies they caught with respect and courtesy, but they didn't always succeed. Some of them just refused to give up. They do not hold grudges, these agents of different crowns. None of it is personal. A good spy would treat a captured one with the highest respect, although they would be locked up. It might pay off someday. Empires fell and rose so quickly. Two enemies may become bosom friends in less than a decade. If one allowed the vengeance of a lost friend or family to consume them and lead their actions, they have become useless agents, merely seeking revenge and destruction with no clear goal otherwise.

She had seen quite a few of these agents forced into retirement. Many of them continued their hunt for their version of justice. Many of them died. She did not encourage that path of life. It always seemed to lead to painful death.

"Have they planned the date of the wedding?" She inquired, tilting her head.

"Looking forward so soon to leaving?" There was a hint of humour in his voice. She ignored him, simply waited for an answer. Finally, with a sigh, he said, "I believe four months."

"I was half-expecting them to elope. This engagement has been very long in the making."

"Cadieux is a spy. Lady Janae plucks stubborn orphans off the streets and makes them acceptable, honourable people. They have an abundance of patience. Most admirable. You'll have to stay here for four months, Cass."

"Once I have gotten Ciri and Laurence back, I will live with Lady Kuroki's girls, I think, until I can secure myself a temporary residence."

"You can stay with my parents. They don't mind."

"I do. It would be impolite of me to stay so long."

"It is impolite of you to assume we're so unwelcoming," he shot back. And for a moment, the two of them simply glared at each other, neither willing to back down.

And then they heard a snicker, and two pairs of furious eyes darted to Luke's amused expression.

"I say we flay his sorry hide," Cass muttered, eyes narrowed into slits.

"A most excellent course of action. When do we start?" There was no sarcasm in his tone. Marcus's voice was dead serious.

"After this little party, of course," she whispered back. "Wouldn't want the engagement to start with a bloody murder."

"It doesn't have to be a murder."

She scowled. "And here I was thinking you were the one with a heart who disliked torture. You do delight in proving me wrong, Dalton."

"Always, my dear Little Sable. Always." He took a sip from the glass he held in his hand. She had finished and placed down her own long before. "What do we have to do today?" Parrish had come back with a choke load of observations, as did Cordland. But it would still take more time before they could properly strike.

"We wait."

"My favourite activity."

"Do not be sarcastic. Waiting is the thing spies spend most of their time doing."

"Well, I hate it."

"Then do not be a spy."

They glared at each other again. They seemed to be doing that a lot.

"This conversation is pointless. Let us discuss something else."

"Such as?"

He shrugged, the movement slight, but she caught it with the corner of her eye. "Politics."

"You have become a dull person. I do not know if I am disappointed or not." But her voice was disapproving, and she had to fight back a snort. Their entire job revolved around politics, in a way. She had heard enough of it in a lifetime.

"The Meliqueans retook Anrim. It was in the papers this morning, and a few agents who are used against the Meliqueans were discussing it. Seylace isn't coming back for a while."

The place of the destroyed Saian consulate. Cass remained silent, thinking of the right words to say. "War is coming," she finally decided on. "This is not unexpected. Will you be sent to Melique?"

A small smile danced on his face. "Why do you care?"

"I am a curious person, as you'd know. And it would give me another reason to avoid going to Melique."

"If you go work for the Saians officially, you wouldn't have a choice in the matter. You're skilled. They'll throw you there immediately."

"I will not work for the Saians, I think. It will annoy you Arecians and I do not belong there anyways. I will remain as I am now."

"Not sure if that's clever or not."

"I do not seek your opinion on my life choices. It is an action that has caused nothing but disaster and grief so far."

She always became more Saian when she was annoyed, she had realised when she was fifteen.

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

"It is the truth." Liar.

He seemed amused. He knew she was fibbing. He chose not to call her out on it. She felt disarmed to be faced with such politeness. Marcus could be a marvel of sensitivity when he wanted to. It made him being blunt ten times worse.

"We have a treasonous painter to capture discreetly and two agents to rescue. We sit here partying."

"It is a celebration. Cadieux deserves as much." Just like that, they had switched roles.

"Doesn't mean I have to bloody like it. We're wasting time."

"Thank you for noticing." Cass kept her voice lowered. "What do you wish to do about it?"

Marcus gave it some thought, fingers brushing against the glass pane of the window, eyes trained on the view outside. "What do you say we scout out the studio."

She glanced up, an eyebrow raised. "Of your traitorous, smuggling painter?" Marcus's father had given them a sample of Norman Hightower's handwriting, and Georgie had worked her magic. They now had a convincing letter of Hightower's country great-aunt on her deathbed, requesting her great-nephew's presence, offering money from her will. He was short on money, as they all know. It would convince a few fools. All they needed was the routine of the guards so that they could sneak in and out without being noticed. Simple work. Lord Rochesdale had already been informed to tell his superiors to watch out for any official bolting in the next while for no reason. "You bring me to the best places."

"It's why you like me so much. Come on." Both of them exercised their spectacular talent of disappearing without catching notice. Marcus led her to the kitchen, which had been abandoned, and they slipped out of the back door. Since she did not know where Hightower's studio was, she let him lead.

They made their way through streets and alleys. He did not stop to hire a hackney, or anything like that. They were dressed as the haut ton today, rich enough not to require a hackney. So they walked. Sometimes they stopped and pretended to glance at shops, when they were really just catching their breaths.

They walked for twenty minutes, maybe more. She had never been good at keeping time and she had stupidly left her watch inside the house. She mentally slapped herself for that.

"The Service bribed an old woman to let us use her apartment, which has a perfect view of his studio. She's gone off to live with her daughter across town."

"Is Parrish there?" The woman was taking the day watch. Someone else went at night. Possibly Luke.

Marcus nodded. "I'll tell her she can head back and join in the celebrations. She'll want to." Not everyone had been able to make it to the celebrations. It seemed fair. Parrish had come back in the wee hours of the morning. She couldn't have gotten more than five hours of sleep. Cass wasn't worried that she had dozed off while on watch, but constant vigilance was not good for someone's system. She knew that. She'd been on guard and observation missions like these before. They weren't pleasant. Boring as all hell.

Norman Hightower lived in a fashionable but middle class district, close enough to the areas of the upper class aristocrat no one batted an eye at the two of them. His studio was located in a two-floor house. Both floors were his. He worked at the bottom and lived at the top.

"The guards are not visible."

"Parrish says they are through the window. Come on." No one was looking. The two of them slipped into the garden, and Marcus swiftly unlocked the door. It swung open and the two of them walked in.

"Where did you get that?"

"Cadieux left it on the table. Come on. Parrish!"

The honey-haired woman appeared a moment later, face twisted in a silent question. She was in her early thirties, perhaps. The widow of an agent. She had been here for many years.

"Dalton, Diao. Is something up?"

Marcus shrugged. "We got bored. Thought you might want the break. They're enjoying lunch and celebrating Cadieux's engagement. We can take over for a few hours if you want. Nothing else for us to do anyways."

"Considerate as always." Parrish's sense of humour was drier than the deserts in Dumah. "I'll be back in three hours."

"Take your time."

"I'm more worried Diao would gouge your eyes out. Not that I blame you." Parrish tilted her head, regarding the two of them. Cass flashed her a reassuring smile.

"I'll keep my violent hands off him and make sure he doesn't run headfirst into trouble. Don't worry. Go relax with Cadieux and his future bride."

"Laurence is going to be pissed he missed this." Marcus smiled. Parrish nodded and headed out of the door. The two of them made their way upstairs. In front of a window, a chair was placed, a table next to it with a half-filled mug. Marcus grabbed it and headed back downstairs to the kitchen while Cass stayed put, careful not to cast a shadow as she regarded the house Marcus had pointed out as Norman's.

They were right. She could see the guards now. There were two sitting behind the tall bushes in the garden. She could spot one patrolling the inside through the window. Anyone else would just see a paranoid artist. A spy would see treason in the making.

"There is no doubt he knows what he's doing is at least wrong," Cass said when Marcus returned. "No man with nothing to hide would hire so many bodyguards."

"The King has that many bodyguards," he suggested gently.

"I said a man with nothing to hide. At any rate, Norman Hightower is not a king." She said that firmly, taking the cup Marcus handed her and taking a long sip. Warm water. Parrish must have had that prepared. "Parrish reports that our artist rarely leaves, yes? Except at night, in which he returns at the wee hours of the morning."

"Correct."

"Georgie already has the letter forged. Tomorrow night, we will break in, avoid the guards and take the man away. With our luck, they'd just think Hightower has fallen into a whore's bed and is too tired to get up. But after a while, there will be suspicion."

"I think that's the point."

"Cadieux says he wants this to be kept quiet."

"He's not an idiot. Hightower's a public figure. He has friends who'd ask questions. The news will spread and the mole will run. Cadieux knows that."

"Then he would have said so instead of making us so concerned about keeping this quiet."

"Ah, but we do need to keep this quiet. Just not to the mole. We can't let them know who took him."

"You were all so subtle and smart and full of yourself. It makes me sick." She rubbed her forehead. "Even Cadieux, the master of these lies is going to retire from this game of spies. And who can blame him?"

"You don't want to retire. And you're just as much a master as any of us are. Perhaps even better."

"Aya, you flatter me." Her inner Saian was coming out. She didn't bother hiding it. "Just because I am good at it does not mean I enjoy it. It is why I work alone now."

"Not this time."

"I was not exactly left with a choice." A pointed glare in his direction before she returned her attention to the house across the road. Soundlessly, Marcus dragged a chair to the other side of the window, careful not to show himself to onlookers as well. But no one would question it. The old lady who lived here was considered an eccentric and no one bothered her. This was a neighbourhood filled with busy, mostly honest people who did not have time to gossip about their next-door neighbours.

It was exactly the kind of space she'd rent for a mission. Here, you were invisible. You blended in to the neighbours, and no one batted an eye at you. A singular, boring street. No one would glance twice. If she was Hua Jueying, this was the neighbour she'd have picked to hide Ciri and Laurence, not the middle of the god-fucking Sial Corner.

Amateurs loved their dramatics and irony.

"We can't get Ciri and Laurence out without hurting people badly."

Marcus was reading her mind, she was sure of it.

"I know."

"We'll have to flush them out. Scare the man enough for him to take them out and try to move them. We lie in wait."

"And pray that he was not already prepared to flee but was just biding his time, and hope that he would not slit our friend's throats. Someone was sent to check his finances, yes?"

"Our man should come back tomorrow if according to schedule. Don't fret. We'll get them out."

"I know that." She sounded annoyed. She did not mean to sound annoyed, so she sucked in a quiet breath and lowered her tone. "I still worry."

"Don't."

At that, she glared. "You make it sound so easy. Do not be patronising, Dalton. It is a great nuisance and makes me want to gouge your eyes out."

"Go ahead."

She chose to ignore him, taking another sip from her mug of water. He smirked, leaning back against his chair. "Parrish's first report says that they work in shifts of three hours each, with five minutes break in between. First batch at six, then nine, twelve, three, six, nine. After that, two different men come in."

"We use that. Hightower does not hire these men. His contact in your government does. He does not have the money. Do you know they realise what he does?"

"They look like retired soldiers, so no. Lied to, probably. Good reason not to want to hurt them. Innocent bystanders." They kept civilians out of their crossfires, not just to keep them safe, but also to avoid awkward questions. This game of spies relied on being sneaky and secretive. Civilians babbled, and no matter how unimportant the detail you reveal was, it would come back to bite you in the ass.

"That is a problem."

"It is indeed."

They settled back into a pause, neither saying anything. In a few minutes, one of them— most likely Marcus— would think of something interesting to say and a short and curt conversation would occur. Life was full of patterns. Part of the spying game was waiting for and spotting them. You didn't have to be a codebreaker to need to do that.

She was correct. Marcus said, "I see him."

She did not lean forward in an attempt to see better. She was more experienced than that. She let her eyes glide over the windows, following Marcus's gaze, locking on a red-haired man who was moving an easel towards the window.

"He makes our job so much easier." She did not bother hiding the emotion in her voice.

"A creature of habit. Parrish said he did much the same yesterday. Did you not read the report?"

"I skimmed it," came her simple reply. She had woken up late, having been pampered by these agents who demanded nothing from her. "I was dragged down by Georgie to help her prepare before I could properly read it. She is a tyrant and treats me abominably, did you know that?"

"It's how she shows she cares." Marcus offered a one-shoulder shrug. "I've grown used to it. You should have by now as well."

"I have. It does not make it any less annoying. Our painter returns to the window, now holding a bottle of paint and a brush in the other. Do we know what he is painting?"

Trivial details. Probably unimportant, but who knew?

"A portrait of the Dowager Countess of Marshburry. Ghastly old woman. Not even Norman Hightower's talents can make her pleasing to the eye."

"Perhaps he is hoping the sunlight would blind him." She knew the line would amuse him, and she expected his laugh. He did not disappoint.

"I would if I were him." When Marcus truly laughed, he held nothing back. It was a glorious sight. Once upon a time, she'd have bathed in its glory. Now, she turned away. It was strange, remembering the people they had been when they were younger. Those were happier days. Days she could and would not return to, even if given the choice. She would choose dull adulthood over carefree childhood every day of the week. At least she was more useful now, and mature. She did not think she liked who she had been at fifteen, or sixteen. That girl had been too sure of herself, too irresponsible, too reckless. None of the disciplined elegance she had now. That child had been wild, thinking herself immortal, above the grasps and changes of time.

"But we do not come here to mock him. Let us continue to observe like hawks."

But that was a poor choice of word. Laurence was known as the Hawk, after all. The atmosphere turned somber. They would rescue him, yes, but they would not stop worrying. People saw agents as cold, detached and lonely. They were. It was why they protected their friends so strongly and remained so loyal. A true friend was as rare as crown jewels in their career. In any career, really, but especially theirs. In most other professions, a false friend would not betray you and your country and lodge a knife under your sternum, right into your heart.

"Our traitorous painter is not doing anything interesting, so let us plot. We fake a rescue attempt. Make it look real. Perhaps we do not even break past the locks. Sterling and Jackson say the guards don't ever leave long enough for us to sneak in and sneak out. We leave signs that show we know exactly where they're kept. Send out a few scouts who are easily spotted and suspicious-looking."

"We lay in wait for a few days outside the tavern. He will immediately try to move them somewhere else. It is not easy to move such a tall man. Ciri would be easier, I think."

"They might just split them."

"While moving? Possibly. Permanently? He is not as clever as that." They had to remember that Hua Jueying, for all his treason, was not a trained agent or assassin or even a kidnapper, if there were establishments that trained kidnappers. It did not seem like a career one could rely on permanently. Perhaps that was why the man dabbled in a healthy dose of treasonous activity that would earn him a one-way trip to the gallows.

"I wish he was. Makes him more predictable."

"Life is rarely fair. We shall have to endure."