CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
Hands touched his face, and Aaron shouted in panic, waving his arms in an effort to get them away from him. “Aaron, it’s okay, it’s me!”
A woman’s voice, one he recognized. “Adina?” He asked, holding a hand to his head and the side of his face, feeling dried blood beneath his fingers. His thoughts were fragmented, confused things, and with the pain he felt in the side of his face and his head—awful, terrible pain—he couldn’t seem to put them into any logical order. “Gods be good, did someone hit me with a smith’s hammer?”
“Not … far off,” a new voice said, and Aaron turned to see the Parnen captain, dried blood still coating the side of his face.
I’ve done what I could, Aaron, Co said, her voice sounding strained, but I can do no more for the pain. I’m sorry.
It’s alright, Co, he thought back, thanks for what you’ve done. Something I learned a long time ago. Life’s pain—you learn to live with it or you die. I‘ll manage.
“No permanent damage, at least,” Leomin said, his white-teethed smile not managing to hide his own obvious agony, “you’ll keep your looks, though whether that’s a blessing or not, I’m sure I can’t say.”
“Oh, gods, Aaron,” Adina said, her fingers soft against his face, “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Aaron managed, “I’m the one can’t keep his damn mouth shut.”
Aaron felt gingerly at the back of his head and saw that someone—Adina, he was sure—had wrapped cloth around his head. He thought of Captain Francis, of the cruel smile on his face, visible in its pettiness despite the bandage across his nose. A bandaged head, a bandaged nose. Oh, what a pair we make. He sat up, wincing, and put his back against the wall, glancing around. The light was poor—almost nonexistent—the only illumination coming from a sputtering torch somewhere further down the hall, but it was enough to see that they had all been thrown into a dungeon with hard-packed dirt for a floor and stones for walls. “And here I’d been hoping for a nice inn, maybe a palace,” he said.
“What’s that, Aaron?” Adina asked.
He shook his head, “Nothing. How long have I been out? How long have we been here?”
“An hour,” Adina said, “maybe two, but why are we even here? They didn’t tell me anything.”
Aaron glanced at Leomin who appeared as curious as the princess. “They think Leomin here is a murderer and since he came with us….”
“A murderer?” Adina said. “That’s ridiculous!”
“That’s what I said,” Aaron said, still staring at Leomin who watched Aaron with a shocked look of confusion on his face—if the man was faking, he was doing a damned good job. “Thing is, they’ve got witnesses—three of them.”
“Three witnesses?” Adina said, turning to Leomin, “but how?”
Leomin shook his head, his eyes wide, “Mr. Envelar, I swear—”
“Oh, come off it, Leomin,” Aaron said, “I know you didn’t kill anybody. Point is, they don’t. Someone’s set out to put us in a spot, and they’ve done a damn fine job.”
Leomin gave a ragged sigh of relief, as if he’d expected Aaron and Adina to accuse him. “Thank you, Mr. Envelar. May I ask, however, who I murdered?”
Aaron sighed, glancing at the two of them, both of them staring questions him. “The old man, Mirmanon. Brandon told me somebody killed him while he was asleep.” Actually, from what the sergeant had said—as much as what he’d not said—Aaron got the idea that it had been a whole lot worse than that. Brandon had no doubt seen some things in his past, his a profession that made a man well acquainted with blood, but even he seemed to pale when recounting it. The scholar hadn’t just been killed—he’d been butchered.
They both gasped in surprise. For a few moments neither spoke, and Aaron let the silence linger, giving them each a chance to come to terms with it.
“That’s horrible,” Adina said finally, “Who would kill such a kindly old man?”
“Not just a man,” the Parnen said, and Aaron thought he could see tears gathering in the man’s eyes, “A genius. One of the wisest men of our age.”
Aaron shrugged, “It gets worse. According to Brandon, three witnesses saw you,” he said, looking to Leomin, “walk out of Mirmanon’s bed chamber with blood on your clothes, a bloody knife in your hand. Give it a day, there’ll be twelve people swearing they were sittin’ in the room having a whiskey when you walked in and cut the man’s throat.”
“But … that’s ridiculous,” Adina said, “Mirmanon was the only one on our side. What possible reason would we have to harm him?”
Aaron raised an eyebrow at her, and her eyes went wide with realization. “They think we’re here working for Belgarin.”
“It’s likely,” Aaron agreed, “I mean, consider, princess. We made no attempt to hide that we’d come from Baresh—the very city and kingdom your brother has just taken over and, if I’m not mistaken, weren’t you allied with Eladen before his assassination?”
“Yes,” Adina said, “but what….” She paused again, then brought a hand to her face, “gods we look guilty.”
Aaron nodded. “The thing I don’t understand, Brandon said there were three witnesses. The captain, the general—apparently they were having words or measuring cocks outside in the hallway for all I know—and a servant, cleaning the place. I can see why the captain and the general were lying, but a cleaning lady?” He shrugged, “Only thing I can figure, they must have bought her off or threatened her. Still, that’s risky.” He shook his head, “I just don’t know. Seems like a lot of risk only to get another witness they don’t really need. I mean, let’s face it, the two of them managing to agree on something would be enough to convince damn near anybody it was the truth.”
Adina shook her head, “Something’s still not right. Aaron, I know Isabelle. She can be petty and immature, sure, but she’s also vain. She believes that, due to her royal blood, she deserves to be treated differently, and I share that same blood. She wouldn’t have me thrown in this dungeon, I know it. And once I get a chance to talk to her, I’m sure that I can get her to release you,” she said to Aaron. “And don’t you worry, Leomin,” she said, turning to the Parnen captain, “we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Aaron frowned, “You’re right. The queen wouldn’t let her own sister be thrown in the dungeon—her vanity wouldn’t allow it. Then why….” He cut off as a troubling thought came to him. Brandon had said that the captain and general had ordered them arrested. He’d never mentioned the queen at all. What if, whoever framed them, had never been trying to get them all executed. Whoever it was, surely they knew that Adina, a princess, wouldn’t long sit in her sister’s dungeon. Why, then, go through all the trouble of having them all arrested? The captain and the general were in on it that was almost certain. Either that or they’d been fooled somehow and the figure leaving the scholar’s chambers truly had looked like Leomin.
Aaron was mulling over this, trying to figure out what exactly was going, when he heard the sound of footsteps further down the hall. Someone grabbed one of the torches from their bracket, and orange light and black shadow shifted on the walls like something alive as the person drew closer. Who would it be? Vander, come to gloat? Or Francis, come to take what revenge he could? That, to Aaron, seemed the most likely. The man didn’t strike him as the type to take embarrassment well.
“Get behind me,” he said to Adina as he rose to his feet, shaking his head in an effort to clear his blurry vision. The footsteps drew nearer, and Aaron tensed in expectation. Then the figure carrying the torch stepped into view, and Aaron grunted in surprise. “Brandon?” He said, wincing and holding his hands up in an effort to block the light from his dark-accustomed eyes, “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” the sergeant said, “just thought I’d come to check on you all. I’m glad to see you up and about, Mr. Envelar. What the captain did … it wasn’t necessary. I’m sorry for that.”
“No need for you to ap
ologize,” Aaron said, “I’ll get an apology from the captain himself, next time I see him.”
“Tell me,” Adina said, stepping forward, “does my sister know that you’ve locked us in here? That you’ve locked her own blood in the dungeon?”
The sergeant’s face showed a pained look, “Forgive me, princess, but the queen hasn’t been feeling well since last night. The healers have examined her and seem to think it must have been something she ate. They assure me she’ll be okay,” he added hurriedly, glancing at Adina, “but we haven’t been able to speak with her about the … current situation.”
“So you took it upon yourself to throw us in the dungeon anyway, without your queen’s consent? Brandon, you know me. Surely you must understand that we did not do this.”
The sergeant shook his head, “Not myself, princess, the captain. In the event of a crime within the palace, the captain of the palace guard is the ruling authority until the queen decides what is to be done. And since she’s indisposed….”
“Francis gets to decide what to do with us.”
“Nothing untoward, princess, I assure you,” the sergeant said, “he can only keep you here until the queen is feeling better. He cannot hold trial, nor choose a punishment. And as soon as the queen is well, I ‘m sure we will figure the truth out.” He glanced at Leomin, still sitting, his hands draped on his knees, “whatever that may be.”
Realization struck Aaron like a hammer blow, and he smacked a hand against his forehead, “Of course. I’m a fool.”
“What do you mean, Aaron?” Adina said, stepping forward.
“Don’t you get it, princess?” He said, his thoughts racing now, “whoever is behind this never meant for us to be executed. They meant for us to be out of the way. Like, say, in a damned dungeon. Whatever their plan is, I’d bet my life it’s going to happen today.”
The sergeant frowned, stepping closer to the cell, “What are you talking about?”
Aaron shook his head, frustrated that it had taken him so long to figure it out. “We’ve been framed, sergeant.” The man started to speak, but Aaron held a hand up, “just for the sake of argument, let’s say we were framed, alright?”
“Go on,” the sergeant said reluctantly.
“Thank you,” Aaron said, “you see, whoever did this has to know that Adina won’t be kept in a dungeon, not for long. They knew that, should the queen hear of it, she would take her out, want to speak with her. Imprison her in a room maybe, with guards, but throwing someone of royal blood, her own sister in a dungeon?” He shook his head, “Not a chance. And now, coincidentally, the queen ends up sick … tell me, Brandon, what do the healers believe did it?”
The sergeant frowned, “They’re not sure. They said the food might not have been fully cooked.”
“And did anyone else eat that food? The queen doesn’t seem to me like the type of person who likes to eat alone.”
“Yes,” the sergeant said, his frown growing deeper, “as I understand it, she dined with General Vander last night.”
“And is he sick?”
“No…” the sergeant hesitated then shook his head, “it doesn’t mean anything, Aaron. It could have been anything she ate yesterday and even if she did get sick because of that meal, it doesn’t mean the general was behind it.”
“No,” Aaron said, biting back a curse, “it doesn’t.” Whoever had set them up, they’d done a thorough job. The bastards. Another thought struck him, “Sergeant, in my room you told me that there were three witnesses. Is that right?”
The older man nodded, “Yes.”
“The general, the captain, and another.”
“A cleaning lady.”
“That’s right. And, this cleaning lady, is she new, maybe? Only just started working at the castle?”
The sergeant shook his head, “That’s where you’re wrong, Aaron. I’ve already spoken to Castellan Gregor, and he assured me that Matilda—the cleaning woman—has worked for the castle for years. One of his best, he said.”
Aaron cursed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And you spoke to her, this Matilda?”
The sergeant frowned again, “No. I sent some men to find her, to get a statement from her on exactly what she saw, but no one seems to know where she is; she’s supposed to be cleaning the west wing of the castle, but the guards and other cleaning staff say they haven’t seen her.”
Aaron banged his hand against the cell, “There it is. And if they do find her, Brandon, I’d bet just about anything they won’t find her alive.”
“You think she’s been killed too?” Brandon asked, “Why would anyone kill a cleaning woman?”
“Because she’s not needed anymore, Brandon. Her job wasn’t to testify in any trial, her job was only ever to be another voice during the confusion, another reason for you to round up Leomin and the rest of us. To make sure we were put here.” His eyes went wide, another realization dawning on him, “These people,” he said, “they’re not looking for a trial at all, Brandon. They’re looking to get us out of the way while they do whatever they’re planning.” Which makes us loose ends that need to be tied up.
“Look, Aaron,” The sergeant said, “it’s a good story, I’ll grant you, but that’s all it is. A story. I can’t let you all out because of some wild idea you had, and I certainly can’t take it to the queen—not in her condition. The captain is guarding her personally, along with some of his handpicked men.”
“That I don’t doubt,” Aaron said. “Listen, Brandon, I don’t expect you to let us out—you’ve no way of knowing we’re telling the truth, I understand that. But you need to check on the queen. Personally.”
The sergeant nodded at that, his expression troubled. He started way, but Aaron thrust a hand out, catching hold of the sleeve of his tunic. “Sergeant,” he said, glancing back at Leomin and Adina, “there’s just one more thing….”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Ma’am?”
May turned, startled to see Nissa, a slight, pretty girl who sometimes sang at the club standing in front of her desk, the girl’s eyes wide and nervous. And how long has she been here, I wonder? She’d been so caught up in thinking of how it would go, of what words she could use to make Grinner and Hale see reason that she hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Relax, girl,” May said, speaking to herself as much as she was the young singer. “They’ll listen. They have to, and they wouldn’t be fool enough to start trouble here, anyway.” At least I don’t think they would be but who can tell with men such as those?
The girl nodded, but her expression remained strained, anxious. “Yes ma’am. Celes sent me. She told me to tell you it’s time.”
“So soon?” May asked, a chill rushing up her back.
“Yes ma’am.”
May took a deep slow breath to steady herself. Well, it wasn’t as if she had really expected them to wait until morning anyway. Men such as these conducted their business at night, in the shadows. “Very well,” May said, forcing a confidence into her tone that she didn’t feel. She stood, pausing in front of the full length mirror hung on the wall, studying herself. She stared at her face, her eyes, not liking the anxiety she could see in them, telling herself she had to stay calm, relaxed. Fear drew such men as these like honey to bees.
“Ma’am?” The singer asked, “what if they say no?”
May took another deep breath, staring at the mirror until the confident, no nonsense club owner was looking back at her then she turned to see the girl biting her nails. “They won’t say no,” she said. And anyway, she thought, saying no is not the worst thing they could do, girl. Nowhere close. “Now, why don’t you go up to one of the rooms and lie down for a bit? You look like you could use some rest.”
The girl breathed a sigh of relief but then paused, “I … ma’am, that is, Celes told me to stay with—”
May waved a hand, “Never mind what Celes said, girl. Just go and get some rest—everything will be fine.”
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She waited until the girl was gone through the door then glanced back at the mirror, smoothing the green dress she wore. “Everything will be fine,” she said to the woman looking back at her from inside the glass, but judging by her expression, the woman had her doubts.
***
May was sitting in the club’s main room with Celes when they came in. She’d sent the chamberlain, Gryle, out with Balen, ostensibly to speak with Festa about staying in Avarest, should they need him. The truth, of course, was that the first mate was a kind, clever man, but with his gruff, direct way of speaking, she didn’t think he was built for meetings like this, and the fussy, nervous chamberlain less so.
Grinner came in first, followed by his latest bodyguard—a massive, nearly seven foot tall man that had to duck to make it under the door’s frame. A giant of a man with a rugged, hero’s face that looked like he would have been more at home swinging a massive axe on a battlefield, soaked in the blood of his enemies, than anywhere near what could even loosely be considered polite society.
Grinner himself was an older, unassuming man, dressed in a simple robe that a priest might wear. A humble, simple appearance never mind the fact he was one of the richest people in Avarest if not the richest. He favored May with a grandfatherly smile as he walked over and had a seat at the circular table near May and Celes, his bodyguard taking up a stance behind him, his massive forearms folded across his chest.
“May,” Grinner said, bowing his head of long silver hair and speaking in a cultured, educated voice that was surprisingly soft, “I must admit, I was surprised to receive your invitation. I had thought we were not on the best of terms since our last … interaction.”
“By which,” May said, smiling, “you mean when your men tried to rob and kill Silent?”
The old man sighed, shrugging in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of way. “Not my men anymore, I assure you. No one’s men, in fact. Still, you must admit that Mr. Envelar is not the easiest individual to get along with. The man has a penchant for … disruptiveness. I wonder, is he here, now? I think there are a few words I would like to say to him.”
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