My Man’s as True as Steel

"Admired Miranda!"

February 1st

One look at the street on which the Palamon brothel stood sank Puck's heart. If Hermia had seen where her beloved cousin had been going all these months, she would have lost her mind. It was hardly the worst place to be found in the Old City, but it was dark and lined with nooky buildings and alleys in which people could be easily lost. For all Puck knew, every building could have been filled by honest people. His gut told him otherwise, and his mind told him to keep walking.

The inside of the brothel was a relief: it was calm and relatively clean. Puck had aimed for the common supper hour, that the place might be as empty as possible. There was only one other person in the room. The young woman behind the counter had a gimlet eye turned on him. Self-conscious, he smoothed out his coat.

"Can I help you?"

Puck approached her, grateful that she was not advertising herself to him. He had an irrational but convincing fear that Hermia was watching him. It was not every day that a wife sent her husband to a brothel. "I would like to speak to Master Palamon, please."

Her eyes narrowed. The stranger spoke with a nobleman's affect. "Master Palamon is a busy man. Can I help you with something?"

"You must be his sister?" Although Puck was sure Miranda had mentioned the woman's first name, he couldn't remember it. It wouldn't have been polite to use it, but it might have helped his case. "I'm here on behalf of a mutual friend, Mistress Palamon - a lady. May I please speak to him?"

"Wait here." Nerissa briefly disappeared through the door behind the counter. When she came back, she had a man with her.

Recognizing the pale, glossy hair and white complexion of Miranda's description, Puck offered the newcomer his hand. "Master Palamon, can I have a word with you?"

Pan ignored the offered hand. "Who are you?"

"Puck. I'm a friend of Miranda's," he added more quietly. Neither Pan nor Nerissa gave up any hint of recognizing the name. Puck wondered at Nerissa's staring at his eyes until he remembered that Stephen Norman also had violet eyes. Lifting his hood to reveal his coppery hair and pointed ears, he said, "The husband is a blond and definitely not Fae." Carefully, he put his hood back into place, smoothing it down over his distinguishing features. The shadow it cast was just enough to hide his face if he looked down.

None too gently, Pan swiped his fingers across Puck's cheekbones and studied the tips for ink stains. When they proved clean as ever, Pan reached for the handshake he had refused. Miranda didn't tell him everything, but she had many times mentioned her favorite cousin and the cousin's Fae husband. "Sorry, but I had to make sure. Is she all right?"

"Yes." From an inner pocket, rather than the pouches on his belt, Puck produced a note. "She gave me this for you."

Pan gingerly took the note, touching it as little as he could. "Uh, Nerissa, could you?"

Nerissa immediately broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. It was a short, concise note written in simple letters. The only fancy strokes on the page belonged to the signature: a solitary, flowery 'M'. "She wants you to go with him so she can meet you." Handing the note back to her brother, she asked, "Will you get my cloak for me? It's hanging with our coats. I'll go ask Dull to work the front until we come back."

Pan hesitated. "Nerissa..."

Nerissa pulled her brother away from Puck. "No, you listen to me." Her grip was strong, but her eyes wavered with an unusual anxiety. "Nothing he said means he absolutely isn't come to cut your throat and dump you in the river, Pan."

"Sis, I'll be fine," he assured her. "You know me. At the worst, what's one nobleman after all we've survived, huh?"

She wouldn't be moved. "You're so fond of telling me you only have one sister left when you want me to do something. Well, I only have one brother. I'm not letting you go off into the night with some nobleman by yourself. Either we both go or no-one goes."

Puck, although beyond the polite distance for overhearing a conversation, smiled at being taken for a possible assassin. As far as he was concerned, Mistress Palamon would be welcome to come along. If he and Hermia were taking Pan's measure, Pan's sister was entitled to take theirs.

"Well, this is promising," Nerissa muttered. The carriage ride had gone reasonably well - polite conversation, a few ideas for how to facilitate safer future meetings - and then had come the order to hide their faces before they paused at a well-guarded gate. The carriage stopped at the bottom of a long path to a manor house, but Puck led them around, across a dark park, and into a small, free-standing chapel above the crypt they had now entered.

In another part of the crypt, Hermia and Miranda were waiting for the trio. If the realm of the Capulet dead wasn't the best venue for a meeting, it was the safest for tonight. Hermia and Puck both thought the disused monk's quarters above the crypt chapel was the most promising location for private meetings between Miranda and Pan, if he passed inspection. As rarely as the chapel in the house was used, it was ten times busier than the crypt chapel. If a hooded monk's robe was acquired and a few small lies told to the guards, the plan would be sound.

"You're certain this is safe?" Miranda looked over her shoulder, as though someone would spring out of the wall behind her.

"The safest place in the Manor. Grandfather made his weekly visit yesterday, and I sent Tybalt off to present Georgiana with my proposal for living arrangements. Juliette always asks him to stay, and he always agrees."

Miranda's shoulders fell with relief. She felt a bit embarrassed that she had been so tense in the first place. She latched onto Hermia's words for a distraction. "So, you're asking them to live here? I thought you two would be glad to have Tybalt somewhere else."

"It's a big house, and there are benefits. The children will have their cousins to grow up directly beside them, and I will have someone to take back Juliette's share of the housekeeping." Hermia liked overseeing the operation of the house, but she hated many of the domestic tasks. "And, to tell the truth, I think it goes toward safety to remain together." When Miranda asked what she meant, Hermia explained, "The guards are sworn to our house but these men are loyal to Grandfather. If Grandfather passes before the succession is decided, the house will split. I can't hold the Manor without the guards. This way, I'll give the men a man who understands them to rally behind." Hermia smirked at Miranda. She was trying hard to behave normally with her cousin. If Miranda was going to run wild, it was much better that she do it where Hermia could watch over her. "But don't worry, I won't let him get in the way of you and your forbidden lover."

Speak of the devil.

Hermia gave a somewhat perturbed look to her husband before she noticed the extra person. "Pardon me. I wasn't expecting anyone else." She extended her hand. "Hermia Capulet."

"Nerissa Palamon. Like I told your husband," she said as she gave a firm handshake, "I wasn't about to let my brother wander off with a strange nobleman." After barely enough time to say she understood the sentiment, Hermia was swept up in a second handshake, one more enthusiastic than was normally encountered.

"Pan Palamon, m'lady. Don't let Nerissa fool you; she's all soft under that crust. She just thought you might be out to kill me. Much appreciated that you aren't, of course," he quickly added.

"You're welcome." Hermia didn't know what else to say. This is either the most genuine or the most artful introduction I'll ever know, and I'll be damned if I know which it is.

Sensing disaster, Miranda took Pan's hand. "Why don't we step into the other room for a minute while Hermia and Nerissa get acquainted." Her look begged Hermia to behave in the meantime. Although Hermia's expression made no promises, she urged Puck and Nerissa on into the next corridor, which satisfied Miranda. She led Pan through an old, squealing gate into the nearest chamber of the crypt.

Pan wandered around the half-lit chamber with wide eyes. The crypt itself had not fully prepared him for its contents. The money and work that went into the large stone tombs, much less the stone and marble figures that adorned them, amazed him. "God Almighty, I'll be lucky to get a hole in the ground to myself." He turned toward Miranda, grinning. "Is this where you'll be, princess, while I'm rotting in a ditch full of poor people?"

"Of course not." Miranda raised her eyebrows innocently. "I'll be in one of the newer, nicer chambers."

Laughing, Pan pulled Miranda into him with both arms. "Oh, of course," he teased. "The tomb with the weeping statue isn't good enough. Nothing but the best for the princess. Maybe they can dip my dead body in gold, so you have a better weeping statue than that peasant in the corner."

"Maybe they should." Miranda tried to smile, but her face flickered with uncertainty. "That way, our baby can visit both its parents at once."

Pan started to reply before his mind caught up with his ears. The mirth fell out of his expression, leaving behind pure astonishment. His fingers curled, snagging Miranda's coat and locks of her hair. "We did it?" When Miranda nodded in response, he clutched her tightly enough to lift her and spin her around. "Ha ha! We did it! Hell, you did it! I just got lucky enough to be there, didn't I?"

Though grinning, Miranda pleaded to be let down. "Mercy, please! You'll make me sick, you madman." She thumped his arm even as her feet gently met the floor.

"You don't look sick. You look prettier than ever." He quickly glanced down at her stomach, though his eyes couldn't stay down for long. Miranda never came to see him in fine clothes or with her hair falling loose over her shoulders. Any time he tried his luck with her braid, she slapped his hand and told him she needed it that way for when she left. Everything about this Miranda was bright; it suited her. "Is... are you having the sickness already, though? You don't look it, is all I mean."

"According to all of the free-flowing wisdom I hear these days, I'll start to look it any moment now. I feel more swollen than I look. The sickness hasn't been too bad," Miranda shrugged, "not much worse than too much wine at a party, if one doesn't mind the random occurrence. On the positive side, I have been given carte blanche to torment my husband with every whim of my temper. Mother told him it was the man's part of the burden when he complained. He'll be twice as miserable as I have been from now until August, I swear it. Oh, Pan, you should have seen his rat face!"

"Fuck him and his rat face."

"Will you watch your mouth?" Miranda's mouth was twisted into an involuntary smile. "Some moralizing old skeleton will come out of nowhere and beat you silly."

Pan dropped to his knees and cozied up to Miranda. His eyes were on level with where he imagined the baby was. "Let her. She'll have to get used to a foul mouth."

"Oh?"

"Oh, she will. Her blood and my blood are mixed now. Isn't that right, baby? Now, if you're lucky, you'll be pretty and brave as your mother and quick as your Aunt Nerissa, and you won't be rotten inside like the man you get told is your father, and your mother won't let you grow up to have rocks where your brains should be like I do..."

As she watched Pan smile at her stomach from above, Miranda's heart lurched. She believed - she had to believe - the baby was his, but there was a chance it wasn't. Either way, the child would grow up seeing Stephen as its father. Any other possibility was a stupid fantasy. This was as close as Pan might ever be to his own child, and it hurt Miranda much more than she expected.

"...But if you aren't so lucky, you'll be lucky still. Your mother's a regular princess, isn't she? You'll still be hers, and nobody'll need more than that for a reason to love you."

"Well, are we all satisfied? Can we move forward?" All three had felt uncomfortable standing close enough to hear the echoes of Pan and Miranda's conversation, but Nerissa had quietly insisted. She knew no friendly gesture of her brother's would do half as much in the suspicious Lady Hermia's mind than his private manner with Miranda. Few people, sweet or sour, were as genuine in their behavior as Pan.

Hermia looked at Puck, who nodded, before answering. "I believe we are. Although, I would be interested in your answer to one more question." After Nerissa nodded her assent, Hermia continued, "Do you think the baby is the only Capulet your brother feels love for?"

Stalling, Nerissa shrugged and looked away. Her face scrunched up as if she was thinking, but she had already thought the question through. Pan had toned down his competition with Tucker for customers and hadn't yet dismissed her latest proposal to add another man to the staff. Pan wouldn't say Miranda's name aloud, lest anyone make a connection to his 'regular' who did everything to hide her face. But none of that was anyone's business but Pan's. "I really couldn't say."

"Could you say something to a little business arrangement, at least?" Seeing Nerissa's eyes light up made Hermia smile. "We have a mutual interest here. If you would be willing to manage affairs on your side to protect my cousin's privacy, my husband and I would be happy to provide any practical assistance you might need to keep you and your brother successful and at liberty."

"Extend the liberty portion to everyone in our employ and we have a deal, Lady Hermia."

"A deal, Mistress Palamon."

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