by Glen Cook
“Another one?” Dantice looked worried. “Mike, how many of them got away? Are they all out there laughing at us?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know for sure. Some hints out of the north Basin. Strange doings. Sound like the Old Meddler.”
“Couldn’t be. The King killed him. Norath is the problem. I need information from Al Rhemish. Please.”
“I’ll do what I can. It won’t be easy. The desert run is dangerous. Now I know why. Come on. Let’s enjoy.”
They strove valiantly, but the evening failed. They were not the men of years before. Michael had too much on his mind. Dantice kept letting a lost love’s face get in his way.
Josiah Gales shivered continuously, though the apartment was warm enough. He felt the cold breath of Death.
“You think he suspects?” Inger asked.
“No, My Lady. I think he knows. I think he has for some time. I think the wizard does too. And Trebilcock has a strong suspicion.”
Inger shivered too. “Damn,” she said softly. “We’d better be careful.”
“Damned careful. It could be worth our heads. I have a feeling he’s giving me the rope to hang myself now.”
“Back off. Stay away from everything. Be the ideal soldier.”
“I suggest we all take that approach. My Lady, not even you are untouchable.”
“Josiah?”
“Your husband is slow to anger, but he’s a hard man. He killed his best friend. You’re not immune. Not if he decides it’s in Kavelin’s interest.”
Gently, almost unconsciously, Inger made a sign against the evil eye. “Josiah, I think you’re right. It’s a filthy game we’re playing. Why did I let them push me into it?”
Gales shrugged.
“Back to your quarters. Pass the word. No operations without my personal approval. Don’t approach me unless it’s an emergency.”
Gales bowed, slipped out of the apartment.
Only Radeachar noted his going. The Unborn could not put a face to him. Gales was shielded from its probings.
SIXTEEN: YEAR 1016 AFE
A PLEA FROM THE EAST
Ragnarson dismounted outside Mist’s home in Lieneke Lane, greeted the guard seated on the steps. The man’s head popped up off his chest. He snapped to attention. “Good morning, Sire.”
“Are you keeping the vandals and thieves out?”
The soldier’s face reddened. “It won’t happen again, Sire.”
“I know.”
“The wizard arrived a half hour ago, Sire.”
“Uhm. Upstairs?”
“I suppose. Want me to take your horse, Sire?”
“Just loosen his cinch. Take him over to the park.” Ragnarson entered the house. “Varthlokkur?”
“In the cellar. Be right up.” Seconds later he came from the kitchen. “I found two portals besides the obvious one on the third floor.”
“Leave the one up top. She’ll want to visit her kids.”
“I did. I shut the others down. Radeachar is out looking for more.”
“What about Maisak?”
“Took care of it last night. Found four.”
“Think she was planning something?”
The wizard shrugged. “I’d guess they were for communication while she was getting her plot together. Not that she wouldn’t use them later if they were still there.”
“How’s the baby?”
“Perfect. Nepanthe is up and around, too. We decided to call her Smyrena.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“It was my mother’s. Nepanthe’s idea.”
“What about Ethrian? Anything?” Ragnarson stopped, startled by the wizard’s sudden dark, dangerous look.
“I said let sleeping dogs lie. I’ve finally gotten Nepanthe off the subject.”
Ragnarson decided to forget it. “I’ve got one problem you could help with. Mist’s kids. Kristen has work enough with mine.”
“Nepanthe mentioned them this morning. They’re her brother’s children. We’ll take them as soon as she can handle them.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.
“All right. What are your plans now?”
“There’s Norath. And the treachery here. How I long for the peace of Fangdred.”
“So go. Leave it to Michael. Once we cleanse the palace, Norath becomes moot. His interest should have ended when he delivered his assassins.”
“I can give Michael a few hints. What about Hammad al Nakir?”
“Michael and I can handle that. My big worry is still Shinsan.”
“Uhm. I’m done. Nothing to do but wait for Radeachar.”
“Had breakfast? Come on over to Kristen’s.”
“Thanks. No. I’ll get back to Nepanthe.”
“See you later, then.”
Varthlokkur nodded curtly, a gesture of dismissal. Irked, Ragnarson stamped outside. The guard exploded off the steps, raced to retrieve his king’s horse. Bragi growled and grumbled and cursed till he was in the saddle.
Kristen waved from her porch. He turned in. “How’re you this morning?”
“So-so. Weren’t you going to stop?”
“Hadn’t made up my mind.”
“Somebody here you might want to see.” She gave him a saucy smile.
“She’s still here?”
“Sure.”
“Isn’t that a little…?”
“I’m going to complain? She helps with the kids, helps with the house, and lends me a crying shoulder. I need one lately.”
“I’ve got Derel and the Baron working on the succession thing, but don’t get your hopes up. It doesn’t look good. Think you could give the old man breakfast?”
“In bed?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Figured you for a good mood. Look out there. Is that a morning for grouchy?”
Bragi admitted that it was a beautiful day. A change. It had rained most of yesterday.
“Sausage and eggs do you?”
“With fresh bread, butter, and honey on the side? You’ve got a deal.”
“I’ll start cooking.”
“Cooking? What do I pay servants for?”
“I like to. I want to. This may not last. I have to keep in practice.”
“Humph. I’d think you’d enjoy it while you can.”
“Come on. You can break the eggs.”
Sherilee found them in the kitchen. “I’ve got them playing out back, Kris. Bunch of savages.” She looked at Bragi with a twinkling question in her eye.
“Morning,” he said.
“He’s doing his cranky bear imitation this morning,” Kristen explained.
“I know a cure for that.”
“What’s happening to young people today?” Bragi demanded. “Women weren’t this bold when I was your age.”
“They probably were,” Kristen said. “You probably were shy.”
“Come on….”
“Want to see the kids?” Sherilee asked. “I’ll call them.”
“Later. We have things to talk about.”
“Give me those eggs,” Kristen snapped. “Playtime after you eat.”
Ragnarson returned to the palace feeling sated and self-satisfied. What a morning! What a man. Who’d believe he had that much left?
Gales had the duty. “Ho! Majesty. Your man Trebilcock is looking for you. Yeah. Trebilcock.”
“Where is he?”
“His offices. Yeah. His offices.”
Ragnarson scowled at the Itaskian. His response was gratifyingly nervous. He had been the messenger between palace and Thing while the Estates were pushing their succession law. Josiah Gales was one semi-plausible excuse short of the mercies of Trebilcock questioners. He knew he was gone if he strayed far from the Queen’s protection.
Ragnarson encountered Dahl Haas a minute later. Haas relayed the same message. “Dahl, what do you think of Sergeant Gales?”
“Crude, Sire. But a first-class field soldier.”
“Not what
I was wondering. More like how deep do you think his treachery runs?”
“Sire?”
“Never mind. Have the kitchen send up lunch. And a quart of apple juice.
I’m dying of thirst.”
“Yes, Sire. Will you need me there?”
“Not today.” Bragi strode down the hall. After a half-dozen paces he halted, looked back. Something wrong with Dahl…. because he wasn’t allowed into the inner councils? That seemed to upset him. Why? He was not that senior. Maybe it was time he gave Dahl something more. He was a man now, not just the child of an old follower. And King’s adjutant was supposed to lead to better things.
“Mention it to Michael,” he muttered. “We could send him to back-check Inger’s people.”
Michael was conferring with aides when Bragi arrived. He dismissed them immediately. “You look like hell,” Ragnarson said. “What have you been up to?”
“Two days drunk. Aral talked me into visiting some of our old haunts the other night. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“None of us are.”
“Did you know he’s a big wheel in the underworld?”
“Smuggling. The difference between trader and smuggler is a matter of viewpoint.”
“Not just smuggling. The whole spectrum. People on Arsen Street call him sir. People who wouldn’t do that for us.”
“Interesting.”
“Certainly worth remembering.”
“Don’t let friendship put you in a compromising position.”
“No problem. Aral’s more concerned about that than we are. He’s really got his life divided into compartments.”
“People say you want to see me.”
“Yeah. Got an interesting report out of Sebil el Selib.”
“So? Go ahead.”
“El Murid has abdicated. Yasmid has taken over. The Throyes thing did him in. Yasmid came in with a roar. Big purge. Military reorganization. Stepped-up attacks against the Royalists. She reformed the Invincibles, disbanded the Harish, and started a cult of her own called Al Dawa. Means The Call. As in call to arms, Derel says. He says she’s ignited a fundamentalist resurgence.”
“That sounds like Derel. I thought they’d had that pounded out of them.”
“A new generation. You can sell the same old snake oil forever if you change the label once in a while. My contact says Al Dawa will eventually replace the Invincibles.”
“What’ll it mean to us?”
“You’ve got a bond with Yasmid. Stronger than that with Megelin, now Norath is in Al Rhemish. Derel and I think it should be nurtured.”
Ragnarson thought a moment. “All right. Send her everything we know about Norath, Megelin, and Throyes. Any luck getting somebody back into Throyes?”
“Aral will cover it. Some of my sources survived the riots, but I want to husband them. They could get more important.”
“Sleepers?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to waste them. Hammad al Nakir is our main interest now anyway. Right? Shinsan should be no trouble till they settle accounts with Matayanga.”
“You’re doing better, Michael. I’m more comfortable with you this way. Try to relay that package through Habibullah. He’s a friend of Kavelin, more or less.”
“Sure. Sire?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
The match with the Panthers had been on Ragnarson’s mind since he’d conned the judges into a postponement. “What’re they saying about the Guards-Panthers match?”
Trebilcock was baffled by the switch. “People are mad about the delay.”
“How about the betting?”
“What betting? Nobody will go Guards. Not unless you give them three goals.”
“How about to win?”
Michael looked more baffled. “Name your odds. You could get ten to one anywhere.”
“How come?”
“The word is, Charygin Hall took steps. I hear they’ve paid off some of your players.”
Bragi grinned. “Aral into gambling?”
“It looked like it.”
“Here’s what I want. I’ll have Derel release a hundred thousand from the treasury. Sneak it to Aral. Have him pass it to his people and get all the bets he can against us. Have him hold the bets. None of this word of honor I’ll pay if I lose. I want him to go after the high rollers in the Estates and get every crown he can.”
“Are you sure? Our finances are so bad… the whole Thing would turn on you. That’s betting the longest shot….”
“If he needs more to cover all the bets, let me know. I’ll even make loans if I have to.”
“Why? Why risk everything on a ball game?”
“We’re going to win, Michael. The take will retire a few debts. We owe almost two hundred thousand nobles. If we average five to one return on a hundred thousand crowns, less say five percent to Aral as commission, we’d retire a quarter of it. If we drive it higher, and get the barons to bet big, we can strip them of a lot of their wealth. And wealth is power.”
“In other words, you’re going to backstab them for what they pulled when we weren’t looking.”
“There. You’re starting to see it. Another debt we’re going to pay.”
“How can you be so sure you’ll win? The experts say you’ll be lucky to score two goals. The Panthers are taking this one like it’s the match of the century.”
“I’ll win because I have to.”
“Suppose word gets out and the odds plunge?”
“That’s what Aral gets his commission for. If we win. The more we win, the more he makes. Right?”
Michael smiled. “I like it. Basically. I’ll work on it. Though it hardly seems meet work for a secret service.”
Ragnarson scribbled a note. “Give this to Derel. Your first hundred thousand. And authorization to draw more. Tell Aral to keep his pigeons from talking to each other. I want to hit those bastards hard.”
He was angry. He hoped some deep-seated, unrealized rage was not compelling him to undertake totally foolish risks. There was no guarantee his plan for winning was not subject to prior detection.
“One more thing, Michael. Find out who was paid off.”
“You’d better believe. I’m riding this one with you.”
Prataxis read the note a fourth time. “He’s out of his mind.”
“I want to talk about that,” Michael said. Derel gave him a hard look. “Really. He’s getting weird. Playing too many long shots.”
Prataxis leaned back in his chair, folded spidery fingers under his chin. “Tell me about it.”
“Look. The thing with Mist. We lucked out.”
“He’s a lucky man.”
“He’s been a lucky man. Luck turns. Then there’s this girl. He’s making no secret of her. She’s staying at his country house.”
“An ancient and revered custom.”
“I know. I’m a little prudish. But so are these Kaveliners. They won’t care that he’s got a leman. Who doesn’t that can afford one? What’ll shock them is, he’s keeping her there where his kids can see it. That’s a big deal here. We’re from farther west. We don’t see it that way. But….”
“Enough. I agree. I’ve dropped a few hints. He doesn’t listen anymore.”
“Now there’s this. Betting the whole treasury on a ball game. It’s plain crazy. There’s no way he can win. It’s like he’s trying to destroy himself.”
“He’s cagey. Some ways, he has fewer scruples than a Tervola. Captures is for cheaters. My guess is, he’ll outcheat the Panthers.”
“Oh, he’ll win on the field. I’m talking about off it. We can’t keep this quiet. Suppose he does fleece the Estates? They’re going to smile about it? What’ll people say about him risking public moneys?”
“So don’t do it.”
“You kidding?”
“Actually, yes. I do hope to get out of Kavelin with a whole skin once my work is
done.”
“So what do I do?”
“I can’t help you.” Prataxis pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You’re right. He’s getting strange. We have to rein him in. We have to convince him, first, that he’s not favored of the gods, and, second, that he can’t keep laughing in the face of fate. What’s happening is, he’s got a touch of that old royal megalomania. Since he wasn’t raised to it, it’s taking some odd twists.”
“Can we educate him? He hasn’t learned from his lapse with the succession.”
“Uhm.” Prataxis rose. “Let’s get you that money.”
“That’s it? Go ahead?”
“What can we do?” As they neared the doorway, Prataxis mused, “His biggest error may be the way he’s handling his wife.” He looked Trebilcock directly in the eye.
“You’re onto that too, eh?”
“It’s pretty obvious. It’s just as obvious that he knows. And he’s doing nothing. Nothing.”
“Think somebody should act for him?”
“That would be between a man and his conscience. Maybe. If the somebody could be sufficiently circumspect. But not right away. Let it ride a while.”
Michael nodded. He respected Prataxis’s political sense. Timing was everything. Since returning from Al Rhemish he had been trying to come up with a way to carve out this cancer without getting carved himself. Maybe Varthlokkur would help….
Bragi was having dinner when Dahl intruded, apologizing profusely. He bore a note. Bragi read it, frowned.
“What is it?” Inger asked.
“Mist is back. Wants to see me. All right. Bring her up, Dahl.” The woman arrived a few minutes later. She looked older by a decade. “Been rough?” Bragi asked.
She nodded. “Could you spare a meal for a tired old woman?”
Inger gestured. A maid departed. Bragi eyed Mist uncertainly. He’d planned on a heart-to-heart with Inger. Mist’s appearance had killed the chance. Something always got in the way.
Or was he just finding excuses?
Mist sagged into a chair uninvited. “I’m exhausted.”
“You asked for it.” Ragnarson frowned. This was out of character. What was she up to? “Excuse me if I’m blunt. What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for help. Again.”
“I thought you got what you wanted.”
“It’s that mess in the east, Bragi. I didn’t know how bad it was till I got a closer look. Now I know why the Tervola are spooked. It could mean the end of the world.”