by A Van Wyck
At this unjustified praise, he raised his head to argue.
“Tea?” the keeper forestalled, not waiting for him to agree before adding a cup to the tray. The priest brought it over to the low table in the seating area.
He eyed the pristine divan dubiously, thinking of his filth stained clothing, and opted to sit on the floor instead. The keeper handed him a steaming cup. The familiar fumes made his eyes water.
“Now,” the priest said, kindly charcoal eyes alight, “tell me everything.”
Difficult as it was to believe, the keeper’s disapproval had weighed more heavily on him than the threat of imminent imprisonment or execution. With that out of the way, his other troubles came crashing back.
“I swear, father,” he rushed to reassure, “by Helia’s holy regard on my immortal soul, there truly was an assassin.” He stared at the keeper, willing the priest to believe him. “He hid himself with magic and–”
“I know,” the priest said over the cup’s rim.
His mouth dropped open.
“You do?”
The keeper nodded.
“The guards,” the keeper explained, “have been going over the grounds beneath the south-west wing with a fine tooth comb since late last night. The high arcanist was summoned to the royal apartments in the dead of night. Right now he must be trying to determine how the intruder was able to slip past the palace’s defenses and wards.”
He stared.
“Then what…? The invigilator…” he stammered, confused.
“Politics.”
He ground to a stammering halt.
“The invigilator,” the keeper began, “is a political animal. For all of that, his intentions are good. Not always pure, mind you,” the priest qualified reservedly, “but good. He told me what he could – precious little though it was – and led me to infer what he could not share. He is quite a brilliant man,” the keeper mused.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted. The keeper looked up from his musing.
“Nestor’s first loyalty is to his kingdom,” Justin explained further. “Right now, they find themselves having to straddle a very fine line. They cannot admit to an attempt on the life of one of the royal family. Especially not one that came closer to succeeding than any other in a century. To do so would send a threefold message.” The priest counted them off on ink-speckled fingers. “The allies of the crown would think the king weak and withdraw their support. His enemies would think him vulnerable, inviting more attempts on his life and that of his family.”
Marco blinked. He hadn’t realized the king had any enemies.
“Lastly,” the keeper continued, “and perhaps most importantly, the public would lose faith in the government. A system that cannot protect its own leader leaves a door open to a hundred different kinds of social unrest.”
He stared at the priest with wide eyes. It was one thing to learn of these complicated political realities from scrolls and books. To actually consider them immediate concerns, with tangible consequences, was… frightening. And, he thought guiltily, just a little bit exciting.
“You see why they can’t admit to the existence of an assassin?”
He nodded mutely that he understood.
Where does that leave me?
“But then,” he began hesitantly, “why all the talk of treason and execution?”
“They don’t know you the way I do,” the priest consoled with a smile. “No doubt the invigilator thought the best way to ensure your silence was to intimidate you. He did not think I would tell you any of this. The fewer people who know a secret, after all...
“As things stand, our ambassador and the chapter master will have to be told. Apart from that, our hosts are going to try to keep this as quiet as possible. And for more reasons than just the ones I’ve mentioned. There is also the other – ahem – delicate matter...”
The priest peered at him over the rim of a glass cup, face partially obscured. “You were in the royal apartments.” It wasn’t an accusation. “The princess’s quarters?” the priest guessed.
Flushing guiltily, he nodded.
“It would be very embarrassing for her – and by extension, her father – if that fact came to light. A low-born suitor, paying midnight visits to her rooms? And an Imperial at that?” The priest’s head shook at the folly of it. “Helia forfend!”
His flush turned into a full blown fire.
“I’m not–” he stammered desperately, waving his hands in the negative.
“Oh, I know,” the keeper assured him. “But you can see how it looks?”
After a moment of thought, he had to admit it looked bad. He hung his head. He hadn’t wanted to cause the princess trouble. If he’d been just a little smarter, he’d have refused her. If he were really her friend, he would not have gone.
“And then, they’ve got the problem of you.”
He looked up, bemused. He wasn’t planning on being a problem for anyone.
“You were the only one unaffected by whatever magic the assassin wielded,” the keeper went on, “the only one to get a good look at the would-be killer. You have information they need. No doubt they would dearly like to interrogate you. As much as they would like to keep this an internal matter they are constrained by your diplomatic immunity. They can’t arrest you. They couldn’t even question you. To do so would have breached your immunity and perhaps caused incalculable damage to the peace talks. Did you not think it strange they kept you locked up the whole night, knowing who you are? There has been a heated debate, I would imagine, as to whether the benefit of interrogating you, regardless, would outweigh the potential damage to the summit. Luckily for us it seems they’ve invested too much in these talks to let this incident threaten it. But I would not have cared to make a wager on the outcome of that debate…” The priest treated him to a jaded eye over a steaming cup.
“Having said that, the Renali have no authority over you, making you something of a security risk. Under normal circumstances, were you a Renali citizen, you would probably have disappeared quietly by now, never to be heard from again.”
His eyes stretched wide as the import of the keeper’s words became clear.
“Part of my bargain with the invigilator, securing your conditional release, is that I relate to him everything you saw and did in the royal apartments.”
He was in shock, realizing for the first time the vulnerable position he’d placed himself – and the summit – in. After all, his invitation to the royal apartments had been secret. No one from the Empire had known where he was. They could have just kept him in that little cell forever and no one would ever have been the wiser. In fact, why hadn’t they?
But no. The keeper had known. How–?
He looked up. The keeper smiled in reassurance, tapping meaningfully at his graying temple.
“Lucky for you, you have friends in high places,” the priest said with a ceiling-ward flick of obsidian eyes. “And,” he added as an afterthought, “they have me.”
“Did you sense the assassin too?” he couldn’t help whispering, aware that the keeper’s talents were a guarded secret here.
“I’m afraid not. By rights, I shouldn’t even have been able to sense you over such a great distance. I usually cannot. But our proximity over the years has left me especially attuned to you. I realize last night was an unpleasant experience for you and I am sorry for that. But if it hadn’t been for the extremity of your emotion, I might never otherwise have noticed you were in trouble.” Justin smiled. “You almost gave this old man a heart attack.”
This was too much to take in. His head was spinning. The keeper was especially attuned to him?
“Now,” the priest interrupted his musing. “I have answered a host of questions, voiced and otherwise. You’ve yet to answer mine. So,” the priest refilled his cup from the pot, “tell me exactly what happened.”
He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. He launched into the story, starting with the invitation from the
princess. Remembered embarrassment heated his face. The keeper watched him steadily as he told it, nodding now and then but never interrupting. Finally he got to the part where the assassin had jumped to his death from the roof.
“I see,” the priest said when he’d finally finished. The troubled cast to the keeper’s features boded ill. He remembered the comment about the guards, fine combing the palace grounds.
“They did find the body?” he insisted, holding a foreboding breath.
The keeper regarded him gravely.
“Not a trace.”
His stomach muscles clenched tight around a ball of fear.
No body? After a drop from that hight?
That meant the assassin could still be alive. That he had not fallen from the roof and onto his own sword, so to speak, but that it had been his exit strategy all along. But how?
He’d had a closer look at that drop than he’d liked. The south-west tower abutted a natural precipice, hugging its edge uncomfortably close. Far below, trees and a stream nestled in a wide cleft – an extension of the palace gardens. Unless you had wings, it was suicide.
He tried to share a worried look with the keeper. But the priest’s attention was elsewhere, his head cocked and his eyes far away.
“We’ll have to continue this later,” Justin told him, getting up, “the ambassador has apparently gotten wind of your adventure and is on his way to… speak to me.” The keeper looked a question at him. “Unless you’d like to talk to him yourself?”
He’d caught the hesitation in the priest’s voice and cast a panicked glance at the door. If the keeper could perceive the ambassador at this distance… He had a sudden vision of one of the ambassador’s crazed rants – directed at him. He shook his head emphatically.
“Then you’d better get in your room and stay quiet. Sleep if you can,” the priest added. “You look exhausted. I’ll have some wash water brought up later.”
He darted through the narrow door to his room and shut it behind him, leaning against the polished wood. He was just in time. He heard the door to the main room burst open and the ambassador enter withouFt waiting to be announced.
“Priest!” the man shrilled at the top of tall lungs.
He could imagine the round little man shaking with the anger that sizzled the air.
“Ambassador Malconte,” the keeper greeted easily. “I see you’ve heard of this morning’s misunderstanding?”
“Misunderstanding? Misunderstanding?! This is a complete disaster!”
The thick carpet buzzed angrily beneath the ambassador’s short steps.
“We must salvage this situation at once! One of our junior delegates!” the man moaned, sputtering in his rage. “I hold you personally responsible, priest! If this becomes public knowledge it will kill the summit and you won’t be far behind!”
He bridled at hearing Keeper Justin addressed so.
“I don’t believe it will come to that.”
The keeper seemed serene, not upset at all by the high lord’s fit. Glass clinked as the little tray was carried back to the stove.
“Tea?” the keeper offered.
“No, dammit, I don’t want any tea! Explain yourself, priest! You seem entirely too calm, considering the severity of the situation.”
“I am unconcerned,” Justin began, demeanor unchanged, “firstly because the kingdom wants the summit to succeed even more than we do. It is, after all, their king’s pet project. And secondly, because they would never allow this incident to become public knowledge. You of all people, ambassador, must know that this kind of thing is best kept quiet.” There was an undertone to the keeper’s words, as though they held some special import for the ambassador.
The ambassador was quiet for a time.
“True,” the round man admitted at length, sounding much calmer. “Better to have the boy quietly executed and then apologize. Privately. Everybody’s happy, honor is restored and we forget about the whole thing.”
Behind the door, he stiffened, his eyes stretching wide. He would most certainly not be happy!
“Ambassador, please,” Justin’s tone was only mildly disapproving. “Even if there were a case to be made against him – which there isn’t – they couldn’t execute him. Or even imprison him. Not without doing irreparable damage to their fledgling diplomatic bonds with the Empire. Even though he’s only a junior member, he still falls within the ambit of a foreign delegate. That entitles him to the same immunity we enjoy. The worst they could do, is send him home.”
He relaxed slightly, controlling his rush of relieved breath.
The ambassador made a disgusted sound.
“Besides,” the keeper continued as if he hadn’t heard, “even if we were to take it into our own hands, just to show willing, what kind of message would that send? Giving ground, even on this unrelated matter, could be detrimental to our firm position in the talks.”
He could hear the ambassador’s pacing peter out.
From beyond the door came the characteristic bubbling of the little stove. He hadn’t heard the sound of the flint and striker. The keeper must have relit the flame by streaming. He smiled.
Just a little reminder, for the ambassador, that the title of Keeper wasn’t to be taken lightly.
“It would also be precipitous of us,” the keeper continued, “what with the investigation not even being a day old.”
When the ambassador spoke again, the tone was a bit more civilized.
“How so? I was under the impression it was a simple case, open and shut.”
“I fear not,” the keeper sighed, echoed by the steaming kettle.
There was a knock on the main door.
“Master Bulgaron to see Keeper Wisenpraal,” came the announcement, doubly muffled by the two intervening doors.
“Enter.”
A door opened and closed. The chapter master’s long strides whispered across the carpet.
“Ambassador,” came the rumbling greeting. “Keeper. I am told we have a crisis on our hands.”
“Hardly,” the keeper reassured. “Please have a seat, both of you,” Justin invited. “I have much to tell you both.”
There was the rustle of cloth and the scrape of furniture.
“Tea?” the priest offered again.
He smiled despite the lingering foulness on his tongue. If either of the keeper’s guests were fond of their taste buds, they’d decline.
“Here is what I know…” the keeper began, over the sound of tea being served, and told them all of it. He even related the bare bones of the conversation with invigilator Reed. Some of which was news to Marco.
“A fantastic tale,” the ambassador said at last. “Surely you don’t believe a word?”
“I know Marco better than he knows himself,” the priest assured them. “It isn’t in him to make up a story like this. Nor to attempt the thing he’s been accused off.”
“How is it,” the chapter master enquired in his deliberate baritone, “that your scribe was the only one to perceive this assassin’s spell?”
He pressed his ear to the door. This was something he’d been wondering himself.
The priest answered smoothly.
“Marco has undergone some rather unique training in streaming,” the priest answered, “no doubt that played a roll.”
He hadn’t expected that. Unique training? If by that the keeper meant they’d tried absolutely everything to get him to stream, then technically it was true.
“He is a… choir boy?” the chapter master sounded genuinely surprised.
“Not in the traditional sense, no,” the keeper explained. “He has no magical power to speak of. He is, however, very observant.”
He marveled. Without speaking a single untrue word, the keeper had led them in completely the wrong direction.
“I would like to speak to the boy myself,” the chapter master said at length.
“Myself as well,” the ambassador added quickly. “I would like to hear this story from the hor
se’s mouth, so to speak.”
His shoulders dug into the smooth wood. He’d have a tough time imagining two more intimidating people than the ambassador and the chapter master. His throat drew tight about his heart.
“He’s resting at the moment,” the keeper deflected.
He breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.
“As you can imagine,” the priest continued, “he’s been through a difficult ordeal. I thought it best to give him something to help him sleep.”
Huh?
He swirled his tongue around his mouth, trying to put a name to the foul taste of the tea. He should have known better than to trust the innocuous cup. He shook his head and his vision blurred around the edges.
At least it wasn’t a needle…
He put his ear back to the door.
“But if you’d like,” the keeper was saying, “I will send word when he’s in a fit state to answer your questions.”
There was the scrape of a chair and he assumed the keeper had stood, signaling the end of the interview. Other scrapes and bumps echoed as the priest’s guests followed suite.
“Until later, then.”
The main door opened and closed.
Later?
He slowly slid down the narrow portal until he sat on the ground. He eyed his narrow cot, wondering idly if he’d fit beneath it.
“You can come out now,” the keeper called. There was a streak of humor in the dry tone.
He stood on shaky legs, drawing open the door. He leaned weakly against the frame, fatigue making itself felt.
The priest regarded him with half a smile.
“Father,” he began, voicing one of the many questions that still filled his muzzy head, “why was I the only one to see that cloud – that spell?” he corrected.
The priest frowned.
“I have a few theories on that, some more likely than others. I wasn’t lying when I told the ambassador and the chapter master that your streaming training had been unique. I designed some of those exercises specifically for you. It is possible that, somewhere in there, we may have cultivated in you an ability to perceive certain magicks.”