The Agent

by Brock E. Deskins

  Garran skidded to a stop, looked back at the brutal mauling, and drew his reaping blades. “Aw hell.”

  ***

  Ada hurried down the crowded walkway, nervously casting glances over her shoulder every few steps. Those who kept Evelyn a virtual prisoner might hesitate to harm the Princess, but they would kill her maid in an instant if they discovered what she was doing. It was a risk she was willing to take to keep the girl she had nannied from the day she was born.

  She entered a glass shop and browsed its wares for ten minutes before hurriedly ducking into the apothecary next door. She had taken three different carriages across the city in hopes of preventing anyone from following her. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she felt she had good reason to be.

  The bespectacled chemist looked up at her entrance as he ground up dried roots in a mortar. “Can I help you, miss?”

  Ada bustled up to the counter, leaned forward, and whispered, “I need something to calm one’s nerves.”

  “Are you looking for something strong like laudanum?”

  “No, nothing like that. Just something to take away the jitters and ease stress.”

  “I can mix up a batch of chamomile with a five percent rapture root blend, but I don’t recommend drinking more than one cup per meal unless you are planning on some amorous activity.”

  Ada nodded. “That sounds fine.”

  “Did you need anything else?”

  Ada fidgeted and looked around the small shop. “Yes, I require some stop root.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “I sincerely doubt that you do.”

  The chemist raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s none of my business. Do you want that in an extract or ground leaves for tea as well?”

  “Tea, please.”

  “It will take a just a few minutes for me to mix it.”

  The chemist disappeared into a room behind the counter. Ada wrung her hands and constantly shifted her gaze to look out onto the street. Did the man across the way look familiar? Could he be following her, or was she simply being paranoid. She was certainly paranoid, but such an agitated state did not preclude the fact that someone was indeed keeping a close watch on her. The longer she gazed through the window, the more people looked like spies until she was certain everyone was watching her. She breathed a sigh of relief when the chemist returned with two paper-wrapped parcels.

  “I kept them both to similar potency,” he said. “For the stop root, take one teaspoon per cup once a day to prevent pregnancy. If the pregnancy has already taken hold, then two teaspoons twice a day until it terminates. You should not use it if the fetus has gestated for more than eight weeks. After that time, you should seek out a physic if you are unwilling to carry the child to term. For the rapture root blend, one teaspoon up to three times a day will reduce anxiety. If you want to increase your ardor, then you may double it but no more than that unless you wish to cast decency to the wind. You must be careful as too much can stop the heart.”

  “How much is too much?”

  “This is a weak blend, so you would have to mix and drink all of it in a day to be truly at risk unless you have a heart condition,” the chemist assured her.

  Ada slipped the parcels into her satchel. “Thank you. Please, you mustn’t tell anyone about the stop root no matter who inquires. A Lady’s life may depend upon it; likely more than one.”

  The chemist nodded sagely. “I see. This is not for you then. Do not be concerned. I provide my customers with absolute discretion.”

  “Thank you again.”

  Ada hurried from the apothecary, tried to differentiate the imaginary spies from any who might be real, and flagged down a carriage. She made several stops at stores and merchant stands; buying various things to excuse her absence from the palace should anyone inquire.

  Evelyn’s handmaiden returned to the palace lugging her bag of sundries. No one stopped her or questioned her comings or goings until she reached Evelyn’s chambers. A pair of guards stood sentry outside of the door, as was typical now, and blocked her entrance.

  “What’s in the bags?” one asked.

  “Groceries and such, you louts,” Ada answered. “What do you think is in them, a platoon of Hillmen mercenaries ready to spring out and rescue the Queen?”

  The speaker stripped her of her satchel and pulled out the parcels from the apothecary. “What’s this?”

  Ada snatched her bag back along with the bundles. “It’s tea. Perhaps you should drink a bit more of it and less of the whiskey, especially before coming on duty. If I can smell it on your breath, I’m sure your superiors can too. Are you going to let me pass, or do you want to keep me in the hall arguing until one of them shows up?”

  The guard stepped aside and opened the door. “All right then, don’t be such nag about it. I’m just doing my job.”

  “Sometimes what you do is far less important than who you are doing for,” Ada snapped as she pushed between them and entered Evelyn’s rooms.

  “Ada, thank God you have returned,” Evelyn said as her handmaiden entered. “How was your shopping? Were you able to find everything without a fuss?”

  Ada waited until the guard closed the door. “Everything seems to have gone fine. No one questioned where I went.”

  “Were you able to get the…tea?”

  Ada nodded and brought out the two bundles. “One cup of this in the morning as a preventative, and another cup of this one at each meal will help calm your nerves.” She cleared her throat to dislodge the distasteful words she was about to utter. “When Gordon comes to call on you, you might want to drink two cups or double the tea for a single cup to make it more bearable.”

  Evelyn looked at her dearest friend with confusion then understood. “I suppose it would not do if I vomited on my pillow in midst of it all.”

  Ada narrowed her eyes and grinned. “It might be an effective deterrent.”

  “Doubtful. The pig would likely just flip the pillow and go about his business. Besides, he would probably finish before the smell had time to assault his senses.”

  “Aye, I’d bet my mother’s dowry he’s more the sprinter than a marathoner.”

  Both women shared a laugh while Ada prepared Evelyn a cup of stop root. Ada emptied the special tea into a container, held up the paper it was wrapped in, and gasped.

  “Highness, look here!” she exclaimed and handed the paper to Evelyn.

  The newly crowned queen took the square and read the message someone had printed on the inside.

  Fear not, Highness, for you are not alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  “I can’t believe you threw me to a bear!” Adam seethed.

  “I can’t believe you’re still complaining about it,” Garran retorted as he checked the bandages wrapped around both of the Prince’s arms and head. “At least now you have a nice blanket to keep you warm.”

  “It’s the only thing that smells worse than you around here. Now I know what life must be like as one of your crotch lice.”

  “Not quite. I haven’t tried to crush you against the inside of a prostitute’s thighs. Maybe when we stop at a town we can work something out.”

  Adam made a choking sound in his throat. “I would rather have my head trapped in a bear’s mouth again.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty funny. It sounded like the bear was screaming like a girl. I really need to teach you how to fight.”

  “I cannot fight a bear, you moron.”

  “Maybe you can’t.”

  “You’re transcended.”

  “And you’re a priest.”

  “That is not going to help me when a bear is eating my face!”

  “Why not? If God won’t answer your prayers when your life depends on it, then there seems to be an imbalance in the relationship.”

  “The only imbalance is you’re your mental state.”

  “Warned you that I get worse when I’m sober. You should not have thrown out my booze.”

  “I think
of our two sins, yours is by far more egregious.”

  “Your wounds are largely superficial and already clotting up, so stop being such a pussy before you get a yeast infection.”

  Adam’s jaw dropped. “How am I being a…You pushed me down in front of a ravenous bear! I think I am allowed a certain amount of consternation!”

  Garran shrugged. “I panicked. Sorry, but I did come back for you, killed the bear, and got a great blanket to keep us from freezing to death.”

  “About that, could not crowd so close when we camp? I am uncomfortable with you spooning me in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s perfectly natural. Our body heat keeps us from freezing.”

  “It isn’t that cold.”

  “It will be when we cross the Highland Range, so you had best get used to it.”

  “There are things in this life to which no man can become truly accustomed, and this is one of them.”

  Garran stood. “Bah, you’re being a big baby. Pack up so we can get a move on.”

  Adam sighed and stood up. He was as exhausted from his mauling and traveling as he was from his constant verbal sparring with Garran. It seemed that no matter the topic of conversation, Garran felt an incessant need to argue until everyone conceded that they were somehow at fault. He was sure the agent would argue a reprieve at his own execution just to be contrary.

  “Why do I have to carry the bearskin?” Adam asked.

  “Because it’s heavy and you’re weak. We need to build up your strength and teach you how to fight.”

  “I am a monk. I have taken vows against violence.”

  “There you go with this vows nonsense again,” Garran griped. “You need to forget that crap if you want to rescue your sister and take back the throne.”

  “My vows are who I am. To renounce them is to renounce God and my very identity.”

  “Not renouncing them and doing whatever you have to do to win is to renounce your survival and your sister’s virginity. Okay, we’re probably too late for that last one, but we can make good on the first one if you do what I say.”

  “You are such an ass.”

  “True, but I’m an ass who has never lost a fight.”

  “You have never lost a fight?”

  “Technically, no. A fight isn’t over until you’re dead or you quit. I’m still alive, and I never quit no matter how many times I have to retreat and regroup.”

  Adam did not respond. Despite Garran’s crude and abrasive personality, he could not help but find a measure of respect for him in that last statement. If they were going to have any hope of saving Evelyn, his was that kind of determination they would need.

  ***

  Monastic life was rather sedentary with only the occasional chores to break up the long periods of study. Adam struggled to keep up with Garran’s grueling pace, but his feet were sore and his legs ached and began to cramp. Only his pride and desire to keep the agent from mocking him more than he already did urged him onward without complaint. The constant exertion also prevented the bitterly chill air from setting into his flesh.

  Garran whittled a piece of wood to pass the time as they walked. Adam marched behind him, casting occasional glances his way. The Agent’s carving had him curious, but he refused to ask him what he was doing since any discussion inexorably devolved into something revolting. As they plodded onward, Adam’s curiosity finally won out over his reservations.

  “What are you making?”

  “A canoe. I feel bad about the bear and thought it might cheer you up.” Garran made a final score in the wood and tossed it to Adam. “Enjoy. Try not to get a sliver.”

  Adam caught the carving and turned it over a few times as he examined it before hurling it into the trees with a curse. “That was not a canoe!”

  “Sure it was; it just wasn’t a boat. I’m surprised you even recognized it, although I’m not shocked to see you are also frightened of those too.”

  “I am not afraid of anything; I’m just a grown man who does not appreciate crude and childish behavior.”

  “You also don’t seem to appreciate it when someone gives you a gift. Doesn’t seem like a very priestly thing to do to toss it away.”

  “It was not a gift; it was an insult to decency.”

  Garran gazed up the road. “You were a prince, a priest, and now an art critic. You are very indecisive.” He stopped abruptly, held up a hand, and cocked his head. “Horses.”

  Garran looked up and down the stretch of road, but it offered no escape. The ground dropped away in a sheer escarpment to their left, and the land to the right soared up at least fifty feet in a barren, rocky slope that continued for half a mile behind them and an unknown distance in the direction of the approaching riders.

  Garran checked his reaping blades hanging from the leather loops on his belt. “This could get ugly. If they recognize either of us, press yourself against the rock and stay out of the way.”

  Adam swiveled his head around in hopes of finding a path of escape. “Can you really fight them all?”

  Garran cocked his head and made a rough count. “I don’t know. It sounds like at least a score of men. With everyone’s attention focused on me, even I might not be able to avoid everything they throw at me.”

  Adam looked around once more, chewing on his lip as he sought a resolution to his internal struggle. “Follow my lead and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Look, kid, I appreciate you wanting to help, but you are not going to be much use in a fight. In fact, you will probably just be in the way and get us both killed.”

  “If you don’t do anything stupid, there won’t be a fight. You have asked me put a lot of faith in you. Now you need to trust me a little.”

  Garran cast his eyes up the road. He could hear the riders just around the bend, and they would be upon them within seconds. “All right, kid, but if it all goes to hell, get down and stay out of the way.”

  Adam and Garran moved to the side of the road and pressed up against the rock wall. Adam closed his eyes and began mumbling under his breath. Garran felt something in the air, something energetic like the prelude to a lightning storm. The riders rounded the bend and reined in their mounts when they spotted the two travelers. One of the riders, a sergeant given the insignia on his cloak clasp, guided his horse forward.

  “Who are you folks, and where are you going?” the sergeant asked.

  “My name is Derik Carver, sir,” Adam replied. “My mother and I are traveling to…uh…”

  “Moorwind,” Garran supplied.

  “That’s right, Moorwind. We are hoping to find work there.”

  The sergeant leaned down lightly and narrowed his eyes. “You seem to be traveling light for such a long trip.”

  “No, we have all the supplies we need.”

  Garran detected a slight change in the resonance of Adam’s voice and a noticeable increase in the static in the air around them.

  The sergeant nodded. “Right. Have you seen anyone else on the road, particularly a young man with blonde hair and a slightly older man with brown hair looking like a disheveled drunk and opium fiend?”

  “Hey—”

  Adam jabbed an elbow into Garran’s ribs. “You are the first people we have seen on the road these past two days.”

  The sergeant nodded. “If you see anyone fitting that description, report it to the next constable or soldiers you find. There is a sizeable reward for them; enough for you to retire in Moorwind.”

  Adam smiled and bobbed his head. “That would be a great thing. We’ll certainly keep our eyes open, sir.”

  Garran and Adam did not move until the squad of riders trotted past and disappeared around the next bend. Adam turned and looked into Garran’s grinning face.

  “What?”

  “You’re god-touched. Why didn’t you tell me? It makes so much more sense for you being removed from succession than just being a fancy boy.”

  Adam scowled. “I am not a fancy boy, and I did not tell you bec
ause I and the few people who know about my condition are sworn to secrecy.”

  “We cannot have secrets between us, kid.”

  “Like you don’t have things you keep to yourself.”

  “Not things that can sink our ship, and I’m more than willing to share everything about me.”

  “No thanks; I have a hard enough time looking past your more disgusting attributes that openly share.”

  “What’s disgusting is possessing a skill that could make the difference in the success of our mission and keeping it to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “At the very least, it could have helped in that fight with the bear, so at least half of the blame belongs to you.”

  “In what world could my ability have changed the outcome of that?”

  Garran shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have told the bear to go to sleep, then it wouldn’t have mauled you before I whacked it.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, you idiot!”

  “Then how does it work?”

  Adam sighed and stared at the ground. He did not want to get into a discussion with Garran about his abilities or any other topic where the man would likely just find a way to mock him. It had been difficult enough for him to come to terms with his curse, and he did not need Garran to make him feel any more insecure about it.

  “I don’t know. It’s like the wind. No one knows how that works either, it just does.”

  “Warm air meets a cold air. The difference in air pressure creates wind.”

  Adam frowned. “I didn’t think you would know that.”

  “I spent four years at the university, kid. I’m highly educated, yet you call me an idiot.”

  “I’m sorry; you make it hard for people to remember that fact. And stop calling me kid. I am nineteen years old. What are you, thirty-five?”

  Garran pursed his lips and scowled. “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Good God, man!” Adam exclaimed. “I was trying to be kind! I thought you were closer to forty, and not a good forty. What have you done to yourself?”

  “Hard living,” Garran replied with a shrug.

  “More like hard alcohol and drugs. You look like you have one leg in the grave already.”