The King's Man

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “We’ve been summoned to Magus Court,” Sir Griffons said. “Wake Caroline, then get into your dress robes. I don’t want to see a hair out of place.”

  “Yes, sir.” I poured a mug of coffee for Caroline and headed for the stairs. “How long do we have?”

  “We’ll be leaving in thirty minutes,” Sir Griffons said. “Hurry.”

  I nodded and practically ran up the stairs. Caroline was lying on her back, her eyes open and her skin glistening with sweat. I guessed she’d slept as poorly as I had. She sat up, heedless of her nudity, and took the coffee I offered with a grateful nod. I hoped it would wake her up. We didn’t have time to eat anything more than a ration bar for breakfast.

  “We’re expected at Magus Court shortly,” I said. “You’d better get showered and dressed.”

  Caroline finished her coffee, threw her covers to one side, jumped out of bed and ran for the shower. I allowed myself a chuckle, even though she’d make me pay for it later, and searched through the wardrobes for my dress robes. They looked as uncomfortable as ever. I pulled them over my tunic. If things went wrong, I could ditch the robes and fight in my trousers. Whoever had designed the robes clearly hadn’t thought the wearer might have to run.

  Toni used to say that dresses were designed to restrict women, I recalled. I could see her point. If it was impossible to run in a dress, a woman couldn’t escape if a man had bad intentions. Whoever designed the robes probably had the same idea.

  I checked my appearance in the mirror as Caroline hurried back into the bedroom, water drops flying in all directions. I shoved her robes at her, then went downstairs. Sir Griffons - somehow - had washed, shaved and changed into his dress robes in less than ten minutes. I wondered if we should be practicing that, too. I hadn’t bothered to shower or shave, and yet he was ahead of me. It didn’t make sense.

  There’s probably a trick to it, I thought. I could get into my regular clothes in less than a minute, but dress robes? Not a hope in hell. I’ll have to ask him. Later.

  Caroline joined us, somehow managing to make her robes look elegant. I resisted the urge to ask her how she did it as Sir Griffons led us onto the streets, locking and warding the door behind us. The streets outside were quieter than I’d expected, but there was a crowd in the distance watching the recovery efforts along with a small stream of aristos driving their carriages to Magus Court. I couldn’t help thinking they were being lazy. It wasn’t as if their mansions were that far from Magus Court. A middle-aged man in reasonably good health could walk from the furthest mansion to Magus Court in less than thirty minutes.

  They do it to show off their wealth, I reminded myself, as we walked into Magus Court and through a heavily-warded door. They want everyone to know they’re rich and powerful enough not to have to walk.

  The tension in the air was so thick I could have cut it with a knife. Armsmen were everywhere, making no attempt to hide their spellcasters and enchanted armour. It felt as if the merest cough would be taken as a sign to start something violent. Young aristos swarmed the corridors, making it clear to passing eyes they were important, while their fathers and grandfathers make their steady way to the central chamber itself. I shivered, noting the clients dancing attendance on their patrons. If my father had been a little less ambitious, or a little more ready to compromise himself, I could have been one of them. I spotted Akin, walking next to his father, and felt a stab of sympathy. It was clear he didn’t want to be there. Akin had never struck me as someone who enjoyed politics for its own sake.

  And his sister betrayed her entire family, I thought. I wasn’t clear on the details - people who knew the truth weren’t talking - but Isabella had been sent into exile. They wouldn’t have done that for a harmless little prank. Akin’s the only heir his father has left.

  I sucked in my breath as we walked into the central chamber. I’d never visited before, not even when Magister Niven had explained how the system actually worked. The only students allowed to visit were the heirs and their clients, the ones who would be politically important in the years and decades to come. I looked around, trying to reconcile what I’d been told with what I saw. There were one hundred chairs in the chamber itself, each representing a single tribe, but - above them - there were rows of seats for spectators. Normally, according to Niven, the spectator seats were largely empty. This time, it was standing room only.

  The room filled with astonishing speed. Akin and his father occupied a box on the other side of the room. Beside them, I saw Alana and a dark-skinned man who had to be her father. I scowled as I realised he looked a lot like my father. It was easy to see, all of a sudden, just how people could believe I was a natural-born son. But it was silly. It wasn’t as if there were only a handful of dark-skinned people in Shallot.

  The other students know it gets to me, I thought, as the speaker banged for silence. I should have just ignored it, instead of starting fights.

  “I call upon Lord Dirac, Defender of the Court,” the speaker said. His voice was curiously flat, enough to make me wonder if he was a homunculus. It would be as illegal as hell, but we all knew the normal rules didn’t apply to Magus Court. “Let him now be called.”

  My eyes narrowed as Lord Dirac strode out of the shadows and took his place in the centre. I couldn’t help thinking of a man standing at the bottom of a pit, unsure if the watchers were going to help him up or start hurling rotten fruits and vegetables. He appeared to be looking straight at me, turning his back on the senior aristocrats behind him. I puzzled over it for a moment, then realised the chamber was charmed. Everyone presumably saw him that way. I wondered why the chamber wasn’t better designed, then realised - as I studied the seating - that it was intended to convey the impression that the members were equals. I doubted anyone really believed it. In theory, Magus Court could bring the Great Houses to heel like unruly dogs; in practice, Magus Court was kept divided by the aristos through careful patronage and blatant bribery. No one could get them moving in the same direction.

  Lord Dirac spoke quietly, but his words echoed through the chamber. “Yesterday, unknown forces unleashed the most cowardly and contemptible attack in the history of Shallot. The attack - a calculated burst of tainted magic, carefully primed to be redirected by emplaced wards - killed at least nine people. One of them was an innocent child.”

  I felt Sir Griffons tense. Nine people? He’d told me seven. Had they pulled more bodies from the rubble? Or had they run the figures and calculated that two more people should have been caught within the blast, even if nothing remained of their bodies? Or had they simply made the figures up out of whole cloth? My instructors had told me that early reports and estimates were almost always wrong. They often had to be adjusted down as the hysteria gave way to more accurate reporting.

  “The attack was carried out by the socialists,” Lord Dirac said. “They have a long history of cowardly attacks, of kidnappings and murders and brutal assaults ... all of which were carried out with the intention of weakening our resolve! I pledge to you that we will not weaken! I ask you to vote for a state of emergency, to grant me the powers to hunt down these vermin and bring them to justice. I ask you to take a stand against terror!”

  I shuddered, torn between the sense that strong measures were necessary and the fear that they would be abused. It was easy to demand newer and stronger laws, but equally easy to wind up abusing them. A law intended to hunt down terrorists could easily be turned against free speech, opposition politicians and activists ... activists like Louise. But no one was interested in my opinion. The debate appeared to have been rigged in advance. After Lords Aguirre and Rubén spoke in favour of the measure, no one seemed inclined to go on the record as opposing harsher laws. Instead, they fell over themselves in praising them.

  “Interesting,” Sir Griffons muttered. He used a subtle privacy ward to ensure that no one apart from us could hear him. “They must be worried.”

  I glanced at him. “Why?”

  “Aguirre and Rubén
don’t normally show their hand so blatantly,” Sir Griffons said. “Now ... they’re running the risk of arousing opposition in the long term.”

  “Bad news for them, I guess,” Caroline said.

  I said nothing as the vote was taken. The bill passed, ninety-eight to zero. Only two members abstained. I wondered why they’d bothered. Two abstentions wouldn’t make a difference. Sir Griffons touched my shoulder as the members started debating the precise measures to be taken against terrorists. Caroline and I followed him out, down the stairs and back to the entrance. Lord Dirac awaited us.

  “Sir Griffons,” he said. “In line with the state of emergency, I must ask you to stay out of the way.”

  I clenched my fists. How dare Lord Dirac speak to my master like that?

  Sir Griffons didn’t show any sign of anger. “Is that the will of Magus Court?”

  “Yes,” Lord Dirac said. “The Kingsmen are to stay out of the affair. This is our problem.”

  “You couldn’t track down a kidnapped girl,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Let us help ...”

  Sir Griffons cut me off with a sharp look. “I apologise for my apprentice’s harsh words,” he said. “Rest assured, I’ll beat him this evening.”

  Lord Dirac nodded. “The Kingsmen are to stay out of the affair,” he repeated. “Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” Sir Griffons said. “The Kingsmen will do as you wish.”

  He turned and led us onto the streets. “The Kingsmen will stay out of the affair,” he said, as we made our way back home. “But you two aren’t Kingsmen. Not yet.”

  Caroline chuckled. “Will he accept that technicality?”

  “Probably not,” Sir Griffons said. “I need you to find out who was really behind the attack. Without getting caught. It could end badly.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “And I’ll be beating you at chess later,” Sir Griffons added. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the poor man, would we?”

  I shrugged. “I could live with it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I felt the tension in the air as Caroline and I crossed the bridge into Water Shallot. The people might not be sure of precisely what had happened - the broadsheet screamers were insisting that millions of children had been killed yesterday, which was unlikely to convince anyone - but they knew something had gone badly. The schools seemed empty, as if half the children had been kept home; the streets seemed suspiciously quiet. There weren’t many people in evidence, save for the stallkeepers and newspaper sellers. Even the prostitutes were nowhere to be seen.

  It is the middle of the day, I reminded myself. I could feel unseen eyes looking at us as we made our way down the street. Water Shallot doesn’t really come alive until nightfall.

  Caroline nudged me. “Do you know where to find your friend?”

  “Not directly,” I said. There was a Working Men’s Club on the edge of the gentrified region, but I doubted Louise would be there. They probably wouldn’t know where to find her, either ... and if they did know, they wouldn’t tell us. They didn’t know us. “But I think I know where to start looking.”

  I felt a rush of memories as we turned the corner and walked past a handful of stalls. They were selling everything from cheap food to books of magic and Objects of Power. The latter practically had to be broken or they’d have been taken to North Shallot and sold there. I cast my eyes over a bench of potions, brewed by an old hag who leered cheerfully and me, and shook my head firmly. I didn’t need potions that claimed to boost my potency or lengthen my lifespan. I was sure the potions would do the exact opposite of what they claimed. And yet, I suspected she probably had a lot of customers. There was a sucker born every minute.

  It felt ... odd to be walking towards Louise’s shop. Her father had concentrated on selling food and drink, unlike my father who’d bought everything he could in the hopes of finding something new. The shop window displayed meat and fish, wrapped in complex preservation wards. I thought I sensed Louise’s hand in the magic. She wasn’t as innovative as some of the other students I'd known, but she was very good at taking older spells apart and putting them back together so they’d do whatever she wanted. I felt a twinge of guilt as I pressed open the door. It felt as if I was betraying her. And yet ... I gritted my teeth. She hadn’t been named, as far as I knew, but it was just a matter of time. Too many people had seen her in the destroyed club for her to remain unidentified.

  Although the description might be a little vague, I thought. Blonde and beautiful. It could almost be a description of Isabella Rubén.

  I put the thought aside as I looked around. Louise’s father had done well for himself. There were rows upon rows of food, drink and spices, some common and some surprisingly exotic. The prices were lower than I’d expected. I wondered if someone was engaged in something underhanded, then decided it didn’t matter. Prices had been falling for years, as more and more ships entered the spice trade. It was about time some of the benefits trickled down to the poor.

  The shopgirl, standing behind the counter, waved. I studied her for a long moment. She reminded me of Louise, although her hair was a shade or two darker. Louise’s younger sister? It was rare for a shopkeeper to hire someone from outside the family if it could be avoided. Outsiders didn’t like the thought of working extended hours for a pittance. My father had had the same problem, before Toni had grown old enough to work the counter.

  “Hi,” I said, finally. “Can I speak to your older sister?”

  The girl regarded us both with wide-eyed innocence. “Jeanette?”

  “Louise,” I said, trying to conceal my irritation. “I’m a friend from school.”

  “A boyfriend?” The girl smirked, then raised her voice. “Louise! Your boyfriend is here!”

  I cringed inwardly, trying to ignore Caroline’s snicker. I’d done that to Toni. Once. Her revenge had been epic. Louise wasn’t quite as violent as my older sister, I thought, but she had more than enough magic to punish her sister. I felt a twinge of pity for the younger girl, even though she deserved some punishment. Louise wouldn’t thank her for starting a whole string of newer and nastier rumours. I schooled my face into immobility as Louise clattered down the stairs. Under the circumstances, rumours were probably the least of her concerns.

  “Adam?” Louise sounded surprised. Her gaze flickered from me to Caroline and back. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk,” I said. “Is there somewhere we can talk alone?”

  “Leave the bedroom door open,” Louise’s sister said. “Or I’ll have to rat you out to dad.”

  “If you do ...” Louise lifted her hand in a spellcasting pose, then dropped it again. “Keep your mouth shut and I won’t tell him you went walking out with that bloke from across the street.”

  She turned, motioning for us to follow her up a claustrophobic flight of stairs. I felt uncomfortably trapped before we reached the top. The upper floor reminded me of my father’s shop, although it was a little more cramped. I reached out with my senses as Louise led the way into a small bedroom, marvelling at just how clean and tidy it was. Louise was just a little obsessive. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her sister. It was clear, from the simple fact there were two beds, that they shared a room.

  “Leave the door open, but cast privacy wards,” Louise ordered. She sat on the bed, her eyes cold and hard. “Who are you” - she looked at Caroline - “and what are you doing here?”

  I hesitated, suddenly unsure what to say. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. I hadn’t had any difficulty guessing where she might be, but ... but what was I meant to say? Louise had every right to be mad at me, given what we’d shared. And yet ...

  “There’s something I didn’t tell you,” I said. I’d already considered and dismissed the thought of lying to her. “When I left school, I didn’t go to work for my father. I went to join the Kingsmen.”

  Louise stared at me, then drew back her hand and slapped me. Hard.
I tasted blood as I reeled. I’d been punched and kicked before, back during training, but this was worse. She’d woven a hex into her palm. It felt as if she’d hit me with a firecracker charm. I could barely think straight. She drew back her hand to slap me again ...

  “That will do.” Caroline held up her hand, ready to cast a spell of her own. “I know he deserved it, but you can’t slap him again.”

  “Traitor,” I muttered. My teeth ached. “What ...?”

  “You utter ...” Louise’s mouth worked silently, as if she couldn’t come up with anything vile enough to call me. I was a little surprised. She’d grown up in Water Shallot. “You ... traitor.”

  I held up my hands, palms outwards. “I never joined your cause.”

  “And what were you thinking,” Louise demanded, “when you took me to bed? Who do you think you are? Sir Gadabout, Knight of the Realm?”

  Caroline snickered. Sir Gadabout, Knight of the Realm, was a popular series of novels for teenage boys. He spent most of his stories engaged in implausible fights, casting spells that never worked in real life, sleeping with the latest Gadabout Girl and breaking whatever rules stood between him and his target. I’d loved reading the books as a young man, before it had dawned on me that they tended to share the same basic plot and physically-impossible love scenes. Sir Gadabout had to be one hell of a contortionist.

  “No.” I kept my palms steady. “You kissed me first.”

  Louise produced a spluttering noise, but Caroline spoke first. “It doesn’t matter who kissed whom first,” she said. “And - as stupidly as Adam acted - it doesn’t matter either. What does matter is that you are the prime suspect in a terrorist outrage.”

  “I didn’t do it.” Louise glared at Caroline. “What the hell do I have to gain by killing hundreds of people?”

  “The official death toll is nine,” Caroline said. “I dare say that wasn’t dramatic enough for the broadsheet editors.”