Jacqueline chimed, "May I assist?"
"You may not," Donskoy said firmly. He patted Marguerite's hand. "I have played many roles, my dear, but at the time in question, I was a procurer-no, a kind of savior. I made it my business to fulfill certain special and difficult needs of those who had the means to pay well. Great lords in name, some of them, though of course I was their equal by right. If not their superior."
"Don't you mean by rite. Lord Donskoy?" quipped Jacqueline.
Marguerite did not catch the meaning.
"I do not," he growled in disgust. "Such are your own concerns."
"Forgive me, Donskoy," said Jacqueline, in a voice as smooth as melted butter. "I could not resist the pun."
Donskoy sneered. "There is very little you resist."
"Touche, mon cher."
Donskoy added, "Besides, to linger on events long past is a mark of weakness. This is a time for looking forward."
"I agree entirely," replied Jacqueline. "The future is rich with possibilities."
Marguerite wanted very much to hear more about Donskoy's history, but she decided not to press the matter. Staring at Jacqueline's young face, she could not imagine that this woman had seen anything "long past"; Jacqueline was remarkably well preserved, doubtlessly by some dark magic. Donskoy steered the conversation toward more banal topics, such as the quality of the wine, which he described as "a recent import." The feast progressed; eventually the great pig arrived. It offered an obscene amount of meat. When Marguerite commented as much, Donskoy suggested she learn to enjoy such excesses, then informed her that Zosia had a way with old flesh; it would hardly go to waste. The body of the pig went to the associates. Ljubo planted the boar's head on the lord's high table. The mouth was stuffed with the ani-mal1s own heart. As Jacqueline and Donskoy smacked their lips noisily, Marguerite sipped at her wine, trying not to meet the boar's shriveled stare.
"So, Marguerite," ventured Jacqueline. "You are from Darkon."
"Yes, from a village near Martok."
"I've heard an interesting legend about Darkon," said Jacqueline. "Do you know it?"
"How could I," quipped Marguerite, "when you haven't described it." She felt emboldened by the — ine.
"They say that Darkonian soil leeches memories from those who tread upon it too long."
If they were correct, we'd all be amnesiacs."
'But how would you know?"
“I beg your pardon?"
"How does a man know what he has forgotten, after he no longer knows he knew it at all?"
An interesting point." Marguerite paused for a moment. "But an amnesiac understands his plight because he knows what he should recall, even though he can't recall it."
"You two are boring me," said Donskoy. "Since when did peasant lore and superstitions become the stuff of polite discourse? I visited Darkon many times, and I remember every moment."
"And are they pleasant memories?" asked Marguerite.
Donskoy drank heavily from his goblet, then let out a sigh. "Some. ." he murmured.
Both his companions awaited his next comment, but Donskoy had fallen silent, immersed in his own thoughts.
Jacqueline dabbed her lips, then cleaned her dagger and retired it. "Well," she said to Marguerite, "I have not visited Darkon, and I should like very much to go. I've heard that Castle Avernus, Lord Azalin's keep, holds many treasures that could turn one's head."
"No doubt," answered Marguerite dryly, thinking that Jacqueline would fit well with Azalin's reputed decadence. "But Darkon lies quite far from here. One needs the assistance of the Vistani to traverse the terrain with any certainty. And I'm not sure I could recommend the trip. My own passage was not very pleasant."
"It pains me to hear it," said Jacqueline, with only a trace of sincerity. "But then, in the hands of the gypsies, one wonders how you survived at all."
Marguerite laughed. "I understand your attitude. Yet I can't forget that it's the Vistani who brought me to Donskoy's attention. I think a few sinister caravans color the reputation of the entire race."
"You're much too generous. In my experience, the only useful caravans are those who swear fealty to gold. And Donskoy finds even their stench so strong he can barely abide it. Both he and I know just how deep the Vistani treachery can run, and what kind of misery they breed."
Donskoy slammed a fist on the table. Marguerite jumped, then stared at him, agape. The associates, who had been content to enjoy their own conversations, ceased talking as well. The hall fell silent, but for the crackling of the fire and the creaking of wood. It was as if the scene had frozen. When at last Donskoy spoke again, his voice was strained yet even. "Jacqueline," he said deeply. "You must choose your topics more carefully." His pale blue eyes had turned to ice.
Jacqueline arched a brow but said nothing, For a time, no one spoke at all. Then Donskoy excused himself from the table, saying that he would return momentarily. He strode out of the hall, and the associates resumed their rumbling.
Jacqueline smiled sweetly at Marguerite. "Touched a nerve, I guess. But he'll recover. He always does."
"What did you say to set him off?" Marguerite asked. "What treachery did he endure?"
"None but his own," said Jacqueline cryptically. She glanced furtively toward the men at the nearby tables, then leaned in close to her companion. "May I speak freely with you, Marguerite?"
"Of course." Marguerite braced herself for an indelicate comment.
Jacqueline's voice remained honey-sweet. "You think of me as a threat, do you not?"
"Why, no-"
"But you do, I fear. You think of me as some kind of competition. You mustn't, though. Donskoy desires a son. Moreover, he has become obsessed with the notion of sowing his seed on pure ground. It has been many years since I fit that description, and I can assure you, motherhood doesn't interest me in the least, nor does a permanent residence in this grim and primitive palace."
"And precisely what are your interests?" asked Marguerite boldly.
Jacqueline laughed. "Yes," she said. "Perhaps a more direct approach is best. May I share a secret with you, Marguerite?"
"If it pleases you,I' said Marguerite cautiously. She did not trust this woman any farther than she could sneeze. And certainly any «secret» this snake-woman shared would be some kind of lie, a manipulation.
"Do you not wonder how I came here?" asked Jacqueline.
"[assume you came in a carriage."
"How quaint. Yes, of course, in a carriage, But when the mists are heavy, it's very easy to lose your way. Some time ago I acquired the means to navigate almost as well as the Vistani themselves-the means, yes, but unfortunately not the mastery. I have spent many years trying to understand my treasure, tapping the finest minds in my pursuit. Mow I dare to hope my skills are improving."
"How nice for you," said Marguerite. "But I'm not sure I follow your story."
"The point is, it could be nice for you as well," replied Jacqueline.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Business, Marguerite. That is my interest. Your husband hopes to achieve a kind of spiritual renewal through you. I, on the other hand, would like to effect a more tangible renaissance-one that is measured in gold. Lord Donskoy once reveled in his business, but no more. Oh, he still dabbles, but he will never see things reach their full potential again. I, on the other hand, have both the means and the desire. Donskoy once relied on certain Vistani tribes for his mobility. Soon I could fulfiil the same role, and more. All I require is his support. And of course, the benefits would flow to him as well as to you."