The Agent

by Brock E. Deskins

  Garran strode through the streets like a man with a purpose without appearing to be running to or from something. It was the wee hours of the morning, but the streets were not entirely deserted. As with any sizable town, there was an active nightlife, a sub-society comprised mostly of the disreputable. It was the only time Garran felt a part of the world around him.

  He hid in an alley across from the inn and watched the entrance for several minutes before crossing the street and stepping inside. He hoped to sneak upstairs, grab his reaping blades and a bag, and leave without alerting the innkeeper to his presence. The fates, as usual, conspired against him.

  The balding innkeeper looked up from the counter, vanquishing the sleep from his eyes in an instant. “I’m surprised you came through the door. I figured your type to use the window.”

  “You continue to misjudge my character. Do you plan on living behind that counter like a troll under a bridge?”

  “I expected you to try and sneak off without paying me.”

  “As is apparent with just about every other choice you have made in life, you are wrong. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  Garran jogged up the stairs, found his reaping blades still under the bed, strapped the belt on, and slung his rucksack onto his back. He tried to open the window to make his escape but found it nailed shut.

  “Untrusting sonofabitch,” he muttered.

  He shuffled quickly down the stairs and found the innkeeper barring the door with a cudgel in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other.

  “I bet you tried the window, didn’t you?”

  “I do not have time for this. Step aside.”

  “I’ll step aside and unlock this door when you set my payment on the counter.”

  Garran stalked toward the counter, leapt onto its surface, and began tugging at his belt. “You want your payment on the counter? I’ll drop your goddam payment on the counter!”

  Garran squatted with his pants halfway to his knees. His body instantly clenched, thwarting his attempts, when the front door burst open and several soldiers stormed inside.

  “That’s him! Get him!” the squad leader shouted as he pointed with his shortsword.

  “Dammit it all to hell!” Garran cried as he hitched his britches and ran for the stairs.

  “You owe me money!” the innkeeper screamed after him.

  “I’ll mail it to you!”

  Garran darted into one of the other rooms and slid the wooden bar in place to lock it closed. Fists and boots pounded on the door as he busted out the window, threw open the shutters, and climbed out onto the ledge. Grabbing the overhanging eave, Garran hoisted himself onto the roof, ran across to the far side near the front door, and gazed down at the knot of horses and a pair of guards below.

  Taking a deep breath, Garran launched himself off the roof and onto the back of one of the horses. He cried out at the pain of hitting the saddle, blessedly missing the saddle horn, and fought to keep from falling off. Catching his balance and gaining his seating, he drew one of his reaping blades and struck one of the soldiers with the blunted backside of the blade.

  The man grunted, his sword only half-drawn, and fell to the ground. Garran switched his reaping blade to the other hand and grabbed at the now riderless horse’s reins. He managed to get ahold of the shying creature’s straps and raised his weapon to keep the other guard from cleaving into his head.

  Having no time to duel the man, Garran sank his reaping blade into his thigh, wheeled about, struck the other horses with the haft to run them off, and spurred his horse into a gallop. He dropped his reaping blade into the loop on his belt, took control of the reins, and steered his purloined horses toward the gates.

  Cries and a few whistles split the night air behind him. The sound of hooves pounding against the cobblestones soon accompanied the alarmed shouts as the local constabulary gave chase. As he had hoped, the orders for their detainment had not yet gone citywide, and the gates were still open. His unexpected charge caught the men guarding the gates by surprise. By the time they realized they needed to close the gates and stop him, he was already through.

  Garran measured the distance he traveled in his head and began shouting. “Adam!”

  A figure broke from the trees and stepped out onto the road.

  “Garran?” Adam shouted back.

  Garran wheeled his mount to stop. “Can you ride?”

  Adam bobbed his head and climbed into the saddle. “Yeah!”

  “Stick close to me. We’re going to break off of the road as soon we can. When we do, duck your head low and hold on.”

  Garran spurred his horse back to a wild gallop. He could hear the sound of pursuit even over their mounts’ pounding hooves. Moonlight illuminated the new cobblestone road, putting it in stark contrast to the near-black trees and hills to either side. They had just rounded a sharp bend in the road when Garran jerked the reins and guided his horse onto a game trail.

  Adam followed, leaned over his horse’s thick neck, and used his free hand to ward off the branches lashing his face and trying their best to unseat him. He suffered the abuse for nearly a mile before Garran slowed to a more controlled pace.

  “It will take them time to figure out where they lost us. If we keep heading east, we should crest the hill and find the old road leading to Opatia.”

  “What are we going to do in Opatia?” Adam asked as he wiped at the fresh welts striping his face.

  “Same thing we did here but hopefully with far better results.”

  “What makes you think Opatia will be any different?”

  “Anton was always a longshot. I knew he was hedging his bets by obliquely supporting your father. I had hoped to convince him that we were still his best long game, but I prepared for his stupidity.”

  “But you think Mathias will support us?”

  “Mathias is a potato and ruler in name only. Ingrid is the real power on the throne. She was the single largest supporter of your father’s road with the exception of the Free Traders, and she despises The Guild nearly as much as Remiel did.”

  “I hope you’re right. Even if she hates The Guild and wants them destroyed, the risk to her and Opatia is even greater now than when she supported my father. Even if she supports us in spirit, the same argument Anton used against us holds for her and the other rulers as well.”

  “You forget one very important thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Garran crooked a lopsided grin. “I have a way with the ladies.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Evelyn smiled and nodded at the chandler as she and Aniston meandered down the palace halls during their nightly walk. The man smiled, ducked his head, and then made a sort of twitching, beckoning motion with his middle finger.

  “Did you see that?” Evelyn asked Aniston after they walked past.

  Aniston grinned and nodded. “I did.”

  “What do you suppose it means? My chambermaid and at least half a dozen others have made similar gestures over the past couple of weeks.”

  “It appears as though some rumors have been flying around the palace regarding a certain something that happened between you and Gordon during his last attempted liaison.”

  Evelyn gasped and her face darkened to a deep red. “How would anyone know of that? I would never give voice to such a thing!”

  “It is the palace, Highness. There are very few secrets. What you need to know is that those who have made such a gesture support you, and if you ever find yourself in need of people you can trust, those are the first ones you should seek out. They may not be true rebels, but they are unlikely to betray you.”

  “It is not exactly the sort of revolutionary symbol the books and ballads describe is it?” she asked with a giggle.

  “Not at all, but it is poignant nonetheless.” Aniston’s eyes traveled farther down the hall and noted the approach of several men. “Now here is a group far less likely to appreciate such a gesture.”

  One of th
e palace guards appeared down the hall and stalked purposefully toward them. He stopped just before them and spoke to Aniston.

  “His Highness requires the Queen to return to her rooms.”

  “What is this about?”

  “I was given no details, only to find you and relay his orders.”

  Evelyn and her escort reversed direction and walked back toward her rooms. Her steps were leaden and her stomach churned.

  “What do you suppose he wants with me?” she asked, wringing her hands. “Does he suspect I am working behind his back?”

  “I cannot begin to guess. Just relax as best you can. Nothing makes a person more suspect than displaying fear.”

  “I’ll try. I’m afraid I am unpracticed in the ways of theater, but I will do my best to be convincing.”

  “It needs to be. If you die on this stage, there is no second act.”

  Evelyn punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be so macabre. It does nothing to alleviate my fear.”

  She ignored the two men standing guard outside her door. She took a steadying breath, nodded to Aniston, and strode into the room with a regal bearing while he held the door open. Gordon, Gregor, and Martin awaited them inside, none showing the slightest hint of bemusement. If their grim demeanors were not enough to put Aniston on edge, Martin’s accompaniment certainly did.

  “Martin, you pulling a double shift?” Aniston asked when he entered, forcing an amiable smile.

  “So it seems.”

  “Gordon, what is this about?” Evelyn demanded.

  “Gregor was concerned about the timing of your pregnancy,” he replied. “He thought it unusual that you conceived so quickly, what with only our one successful copulation. I tried to assure him that I am merely exceptionally virile, but he insisted that we make doubly sure.”

  “Will you plant your seed a second time in front of a grand audience then? I am unwise in the way of men and women, but I am certain it does not work that way.”

  Gordon gave her a condescending smile. “Of course not. Gregor has located someone who can tell us the exact day of your conception.”

  Having been reared to treat palace staff as invisible, Evelyn had taken little notice of the hunched, old woman sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She was wizened and grey, and she wore a black shawl draped over her head. Gordon took his wife by the arm and guided her to lie down on a sedan. The old woman shuffled over, a string of crystal beads dangling from her shriveled hand.

  “What is she doing?” Evelyn exclaimed, holding her hands protectively over her swollen stomach. “I will not have some witch curse my child with vile magic!”

  “There is no hexing involved, Highness,” the crone rasped. “The crystals only tell me how long the child has been growing within you.”

  Evelyn tried to push herself into the sofa as the old woman stretched out her bony arm and held the string of crystals over her. The crystalline beads began to glow with an eldritch light, first one then the others in a slow succession until finally stopping partway through the strand.

  “Congratulations, it is a boy.” She glanced at Gordon standing nearby. “You are certain of the day you laid with her?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “The child within her predates you by more than a week—almost two.”

  “She lies!” Evelyn shouted.

  Gordon asked Evelyn, his voice absent of emotion, “Who is the father?”

  “You are.”

  Evelyn had tried to make her voice as convincing as she could, but her eyes betrayed her. Gordon and Gregor followed the flick of her eyes.

  Gregor nodded to the two guards standing in the doorway. “Take him.”

  Martin’s head twisted from side to side, his eyes flashing to Gregor, full of surprise and fear. “What? I didn’t do anything, I swear it!”

  “Can you tell me who the father is?” Gordon asked the old woman.

  “Not until he is birthed, Highness.”

  Gordon looked to Martin. “It looks as if your execution shall be stayed until my son is born. It is either a very brave or very foolish man who cuckolds the King.”

  “Your Highness, I would never!” Martin’s eyes flashed to Aniston, his terror turning to rage. “It was him! It has to be!”

  Gregor clapped Aniston on the shoulder as he walked past and motioned the guards to carry Martin away. “I think we all know it can’t be Aniston, don’t we?”

  “Everyone, leave us,” Gordon ordered. “I would speak to my wife in private.”

  Gregor and the two soldiers led Martin away, likely to some place unpleasant. The old woman shambled off, her cane tapping against the floor with every step. Aniston stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

  “Is he the father?” Gordon again asked his wife once they were alone.

  “I will not betray him.”

  “You already have.”

  Evelyn held her hands over the small bump of her stomach. “What will you do?”

  “What do you think I should do? What would any king do if he found out that his heir was not of his making? Even your glorious father would put an end to the pregnancy if he could, or he would smother it in its crib if he could not.”

  “He would never!”

  “Yes, he would, and if you truly think otherwise, then you do not understand kings well at all.”

  “As if you do!”

  “I might never be a good one, but I understand them.”

  “What are you going to do?” Evelyn asked again, her tone making it sound more of a defiant challenge than a question.

  “You despise me because I am selfish and shallow.”

  “I despise you for many reasons. Those are but two of your more obvious shortcomings.”

  Evelyn prepared herself to face a number of reactions. She expected him to fume, rail at her, hurl things across the room in an epic tantrum. She braced herself should he decide to strike her. His soft chuckle took her by surprise as he sat at the end of the sedan near her feet.

  “Do you appreciate irony? I certainly do. Isn’t it ironic that the same traits you find so despicable in me are the very ones that will save your bastard son? You see, it is because I am so selfish and superficial that I do not even care.”

  “You are tormenting me.”

  “Not at all. I’ve never understood why everyone puts so much stock into their lineage. I came from a noble line, but what good did it do me? My father and brother treated me like filth, and I am complicit in their deaths. Let your bastard succeed me. A monkey can sit the throne after I’m gone for all I care. Why should I give a whit what anyone does after I am dead? Let the entire damn kingdom burn to the ground. Dead men do not care about the world of the living.”

  Evelyn felt the terror she held deep inside slowly ebb away. “You will let me keep my son and treat him decently when he is born? On your word?”

  “I will treat him as my own. On my word. In fact, everyone, and I mean everyone, will believe he is mine. That condition is paramount for his continued well-being. Not everyone is as ambivalent as I am.”

  “Thank you, Gordon.”

  “I know I have done some greatly distasteful things to attain my crown, and I have some deep character flaws, but I am not the monster you think me to be. I hope you see that someday so we can enjoy a more amiable relationship.”

  Evelyn did not comment as Gordon stood and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and turned back toward her.

  “You will bear me my own children as soon as you are able. I am not totally immune to nature’s demands.” He opened the door and faced Aniston. “I do not need to remind you that what you have witnessed is a state secret. Should I hear so much as a rumor that the child my wife carries is not mine, I will execute everyone who was in this room.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  “And do a better job of keeping her secure. I’ll not have every man in the kingdom jumping the fence like dogs after a bitch in heat.”
/>
  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Aniston waited for Gordon to leave before entering the room and closing the door. “Why not me?”

  “I beg pardon?”

  “Gregor said he knew it couldn’t be me. Why not me?”

  Evelyn smiled, sat up, and patted the cushion next to her. “I have let slip a few rumors here and there about your…preferences.”

  “I guess that’s a good thing under the circumstances, but still…” Aniston sighed. “So what happened? What did Gordon say?”

  “He promised not to hurt our son.”

  Aniston let out a long breath. “Do you believe him?”

  “I do, as long as everyone believes it is his.”

  “Well, I guess that removes any doubt as to your acting skills.”

  “I was born into politics. Lying convincingly is as natural a development as walking.”

  “I can’t help but feel bad for Martin.”

  “Martin is a conspirator. He deserves what he gets.”

  “I can’t imagine it will take long before someone begins to believe his protests of innocence. Gregor was not fooled with your pregnancy, and I am sure he will soon doubt the parentage as well.”

  “Perhaps not as soon as you think. I have left a few clues lying around that hints at our liaisons. I deliberately spilled wine on him several weeks ago. While he was changing shirts in his room, I flung one of my earrings under his bed.”

  “You are good at this sort of thing. Remind me not to get on your bad side. Still, even if Gregor does search his room, which he probably will, what are the odds that the earring is still there? Surely it has been swept up by now.”

  “He does not allow the maids to clean his room, and men never sweep under the bed.”

  Aniston looked at his feet and muttered, “I clean under my bed.”

  Evelyn leaned over and kissed his cheek. “And that is why not you.”

  “Damn it.”

  CHAPTER 22