Follow the Donna closely.

Among the Houses Noble, Montressi rated only as a House Resolute, one of the minor independent houses owing their allegiance to none but themselves and their allies of the moment. As Katarina opened the door of the coach and moved quickly to the side to assist her mistress’ stepping down onto the cut stone of the outer courtyard, the coachman, Malvolio, swung his misshapen form over the side of the seat, clambering down the small steps set there for him, and curling his lash around his waist, where it became his belt. He hopped around the far side of the coach, careful to remain unseen by his betters as the small goblin hurried to unload the two large bags his mistress had packed and set in the luggage van at the back of the coach. Katarina took in the outer courtyard of the house, waiting for her mistress’ bodyguards to dismount as she watched other coaches arrive and disgorge the rich and powerful, and those who wished to become so.

Like all tietros, the outer courtyard was mostly utilitarian, existing merely to provide an entrance and waiting place for visitors. It was surrounded on all sides by thick steep stone walls, topped by turreted revetments manned by the house troops. Two low but expansive wooden pavilions had been built beside the house’s stables, in order to provide a temporary location for the guests’ coaches, and a small barrage of tents by the back, partially hidden by a tall curtain built for the occasion, did little to hide the carousing and noise from the coachmen’s waiting place. There in their tents, they would listen to loud peasant music, on fiddles and mandolins, while they gorged themselves on the leftovers from the nobles’ feast, as well as whatever delicacies might secretly find their way out to them, liberated by the kitchen staff, who would no doubt be joining them as soon as the feast was done. Then the debauch would begin in earnest; Katarina had experienced her share of those fumbling gutter affairs during her training, before she was judged ready for more sophisticated caresses.

She saw Umberto and Rodrigo, the Harlequins, slide catlike to stand on either side of the road, their eyes solid black orbs, their muscles alchemically refined, chiseled like stone. Attractive in form, as most Harlequins were, they still seemed ugly, malformed of spirit, and it was widely rumored among the peasants of Katarina’s home village, outside the walls of Monte Scuro, that the Harlequins’ souls were forfeited at their creation only to pass up into the night sky with the sulfurous smoke which bellowed from the heart of the volcano which also bore the city’s name.

As if he knew she was thinking of them, Rodrigo stepped closer, his blunderbuss glistening in the light from the gas lamps along the tietro’s walls. Katarina, knowing that her part was to be the insignificant servant, slid away to take the bags from Malvolio, who, as a goblin being prone to odd odors and imperfect dress at best, would never be allowed into the inner courtyard. Instead, he was already looking longingly toward the coachmen’s tents, licking his lips in anticipation of earthly pleasures usually denied his kind. Even he can find a woman when the wine is flowing full enough, Katarina thought, stifling a laugh.

After they had looked carefully around the coach and inspected the figures dismounting from other nearby carriages, Rodrigo held out his perfectly manicured fingers toward Donna Vittoria; she took his hand and alighted from the coach with a graceful sweep of her skirts, quickly folding down into a curtsey before the rapidly approaching form of Duc Merito d’Montressi, who broke into a wide smile as he received her, his wife Rosalee just slightly behind him. She, too, was smiling, for her husband’s dalliances with Donna Vittoria had brought much political and social value to her household; it was widely whispered among those in the know that her husband was not the only senior d’Montressi to enjoy Donna Vittoria’s legendary charms, and, from the way in which she took Katarina’s mistress’ hand and held it just so, Katarina guessed there must be some truth in the rumors. It was entirely too long a grip to be modest, and there was a hint of a smile on both women’s faces as they greeted each other with kisses on the cheeks. Like all women of the Sicariot, Donna Vittoria had been chosen for her open-minded willingness to enact, and enjoy, almost any fantasies a client of either gender might require. Those girls who were found to be unwilling or unable to give themselves to either man or woman found themselves no longer training, and were relegated to lower positions as servants in the households of the High Ladies.

The Duc was a tall man, sturdily built, with curling brown hair which cascaded in the current fashion down the back of his neck, even as his hairline began to show signs of receding. There was a slight sprinkling of gray mixed among his hair, and creases along his eyes and the corners of his mouth where he had smiled often. His waistline had expanded with both age and prosperity, but not enough to make him unattractive; his mannerisms were expansive and friendly, and those who knew him socially claimed that this was, rare for a noble as well placed as he, actually genuine. Katarina took in the well-worn hilt of his rapier, and the calluses along his sword hand, and gauged him at least proficient with his weapons.

The Ducesse was almost his opposite, willowy, naturally blonde from her Eiger heritage, her features refined and angular, and her manner quiet and confident. When her husband had announced his intention to wed for love, and not for political gain, it had been the social gaffe of the season, and at first the harpies of the courts wagged their tongues about what a disaster was sure to befall the house now that the then-Baron had so clearly lost his sanity. And to marry a foreigner, too? Unheard of. But then, after the of Duc Merito’s father, there had been a series of beneficial alliances, tricky business propositions which had turned out to be lucrative beyond anyone’s fair expectation, and the sudden fall of enemies who made decisions that later seemed almost intentionally self-destructive. Soon it was rumored that Rosalee d’Montressi might in fact carry a bit of the old serpents’ magics in her blood, for what other reason could there be for such a disastrous marriage to turn out so well?

Perhaps being in love with their spouses allowed them to concentrate their energies, mused Katarina. It was almost unheard of among either nobles or peasants in Monte Scuro, for business and family came first, and marriage was a contract arranged long before a girl was old enough to love anyone but her stuffed pets. And that was the very basis of the courtesans’ position among the nobles. One married for wealth and family, for strong sons and betterment of position. One took lovers for gain or guile. Only courtesans, paid freely with gifts and trinkets, could be trusted to love without wishing for further recompense. There were men who held the same position, courtesans to the rich and powerful women who craved a similar arrangement, or to the powerful men for whom a woman’s caresses were not as enticing as those of another man’s. But the Sicariot, the secret society of killers, was said to take only women into its service, and Katarina had never seen or heard of any such organization among the men of their profession.

In the background, Duc Merito’s own Harlequins paced, watching the crowds gathered in the outer courtyard, waiting their turns to pass through the outer defenses of the tietro. Katarina inspected the crowd, glancing casually, her eyes dull and vapid, the look of a bored and perhaps magically or chemically muted servant of no particular value. It was a common practice among nobles to ensure loyalty and obedience, sometimes without the permission or consent of those so neutered. Katarina was glad her own mistress found the practice disgusting, and promised herself that, after tonight, if she survived and was allowed to form her own tietro, that she, too, would forbid it among her own retainers.

“Vittoria, my darling,” said Merito, one hand tucked into his belt by his rapier as he held out the other for her to hold as they walked. “It has been too long a time, hasn’t it?” He was speaking loudly, for the benefit of those waiting entry into the inner courtyard, his way of calling polite attention to her arrival. Although he no longer directly sponsored her, Duc Merito made it clear to all that he valued her friendship, and her invitation to and presentation at this event would be his way of helping her to find another well-to-do sponsor to fill her purses with ducats and her home with pretty trinkets.

“Oh, certainly too long, indeed, my lord,” she answered in the same clearly audible tone. “Though, to be honest, a few weeks away has given me a chance to recover myself and my senses.” She smiled, her fan out, wavering in front of her face as the three of them strolled by the waiting crowds of nobles and retinue from the Houses Helot, those who were important enough to invite, yet not enough to be allowed instant access to the Montressi homes, Katarina reflected, as she walked a respectful distance behind them, lugging the two heavy bags for her lady.

Both Duc Merito and his wife looked pleased at the compliment, and Rosalee smiled deeply and laughed. “Your skills have only improved my husband’s own, Vittoria,” she said, her arm tucked into Vittoria’s, their eyes meeting momentarily. Katarina’s training allowed her to notice the subtle finger movements along Donna Vittoria’s wrist, a House Code, secret communication between herself and Katarina’s mistress. Interesting, Kat wondered. My lady is privy to the Montressi House Code? Are we in retainer to them, and I wasn’t told?

The idea made many things about this night more sensible, when she thought about it. Although the Order specifically prohibited any Sicariot High Lady from taking permanent employment with one of the Houses, there was nothing in the Laws of Love and which prevented close relations, and many High Ladies formed lasting alliances with powerful families, as the d’Serenissa had with the d’Giovannis, or the d’Sanbenito with the d’Medicis. If we are allied with them, then that would make the Ribisis and the Paravoni our enemies, she thought, filing the information for possible later use.

As they chatted, Katarina was studying the layout of the Tietro d’Montressi. Having been here many times before, her mistress had provided her with a detailed floor plan to memorize, but Katarina had learned very early and very painfully in her training that one never assumed information gathered by another would be accurate. Therefore, as they walked, she counted steps and memorized sight lines, the placement and movement of the guards, and even which guests they passed were armed and what House colors they might be wearing.