Endless Flight

by A. C. Cobble

  “What did you say?” asked Amelie. She hadn’t been paying close attention. She was peering intensely at the people who passed them. Looking for mages, Ben guessed.

  “The gate where they take the slops out,” expanded Rhys. “They’ll have the laziest, most junior guards working at that one. We talk our way in there.”

  “We just talk our way in?” asked Amelie skeptically.

  “Yeah. We’re not trying to get into Rhymer’s changing room. There are thousands of people in that keep and most of them will be guards. The fellows at the gate, they don’t care if we go in as long as it doesn’t come back on them. They just want to finish their shift then go have a drink and a twirl.”

  Amelie crossed her arms but kept silent. Her view of the way a lord’s men should behave and Rhys’ view of how they actually behaved didn’t always match.

  The slop gate was a narrow door set at the base of the keep in the back. It was barely wide enough for a hand cart to be pulled down. There was a small window the size of Ben’s two hands put together. No one was outside.

  “Where are the guards?” inquired Ben.

  “Inside,” answered Rhys. “They’re probably asleep. You can’t keep them outside or it would be too easy to jump them and get in. Plus, it just makes you look bad when people see sleeping guards in front of entrances to your keep.”

  They walked up to the gate and it turned out the guards weren’t actually asleep, although they were caught by surprise when Rhys pounded on the iron-bound oak door.

  Startled, two young men who looked in danger of being swallowed by their oversized armor jumped to attention.

  “Step away from the door!” demanded one of them when they saw Rhys peering through the tiny window. “All business must go through the front gate.”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” drawled Rhys. “I don’t have any official business. I’m here to surprise my girl.”

  “You still have to go to the front gate,” declared the guard.

  “Come on. Help a guy out!” pleaded Rhys. “It’s our anniversary and I’ve got a plan to sneak into her room. I’ll put some flowers and the like around. She’ll love it.”

  “There is no sneaking in this gate,” whined the guard.

  “You’re right. That was a poor choice of words,” admitted Rhys. “It’s not sneaking, really. Some of my girl’s friends are in on it. I was told to come this way so there is no chance she’d see me. Her friends are supposed to meet me at the Queen’s Garden. They’ll take me to my girl’s room.”

  “She has a room here. Who is she?” asked the guard.

  “She’s, ah, Karina. A chambermaid. A lusty one,” he added helpfully. “You may know her. She has a lot of friends in the guards.” He glanced at his companions and winked. They were standing back where the guards couldn’t see them through the window.

  Towaal rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

  “I don’t, uh, I don’t know her,” replied the guard.

  “That’s your loss,” consoled Rhys, “but, hey, I realize you guys would be doing me a favor, so let me make it up to you. It’s worth a silver coin for each of you if you let me in. It would really mean a lot to me and my girl. Maybe I could introduce you to some of her friends later? They work all of the time and don’t get out a lot. They’re always looking for some kids, some men, I mean, like you, to show ‘em a good time.”

  “I’m not sure…” wavered the guard.

  Rhys flashed two silver coins outside of the window and smiled his friendliest smile.

  The voice of the second guard broke in. “I could use that silver. You sure you’ll introduce us to your girl’s friends? Chambermaids, you said?”

  “Yeah, of course I will,” replied Rhys. “If you let me in, I’ll talk to her tonight. She’ll be in a good mood after my surprise. We can see about setting up a party or something.”

  The guards broke and two bolts noisily slid out of the door frame.

  Rhys gestured to his companions and pushed his way inside as soon as the door started to move. He pressed the coins into the guard’s hands and pulled Amelie along after him, before the guards realized more people were coming in.

  “Hey!” shouted one of them, trying to block their path. The guard had seen maybe fifteen summers. His head barely cleared Ben’s shoulder. Ben gently nudged him out of the way and kept walking.

  “Who are these people!” exclaimed the red-face guard.

  Rhys swept down the narrow hallway, not pausing. “You had better close that door,” he called back. “You don’t want anyone sneaking in here.”

  The hallway from the slop gate was narrow and long. It passed deep into the keep before emerging again in a small courtyard ringed by nondescript doors. Rhys paused briefly before selecting one and steering them into another hallway. They passed by a series of doors then began ascending a set of stairs.

  “Does he know where he’s going?” whispered Ben.

  “Probably not,” responded Towaal tartly, “but neither do I. So, we may as well follow him.”

  Occasionally, they would pass other people, but no one stopped them. Ben couldn’t help but notice even the chambermaids carried belt knives. These people were ready for something.

  Before long, the hallways widened and Rhys started moving slower. Under his breath, he muttered something about real guards.

  Ben and Amelie exchanged nervous glances, but then Ben thought, they weren’t actually sneaking, they were just trying to be found by the right person.

  Next, tapestries and standing suits of armor appeared along the walls. The tapestries largely depicted scenes of battle with the occasional portrait of one of Northport’s previous lords. The armor wasn’t merely decorative, the stuff had seen use. Ben guessed that it also belonged to previous lords of Northport. Possibly it had been worn in famous battles of old.

  Strangely, there were no signs of wealth like he had seen in other keeps. Argren’s hallways were practically paved in silver and gold.

  “I thought Northport was wealthy?” questioned Ben, looking at a battered and tarnished set of plate armor.

  “Don’t whisper,” replied Rhys. “It makes it look like we’re sneaking.”

  “Okay,” responded Ben, a little too loudly. He cringed as his voice filled the empty hallway.

  Rhys rolled his eyes and muttered, “Where is a good thief when you need one? Too bad Renfro didn’t make this trip.” He paused. “Well, maybe not Renfro either.”

  Ben snorted.

  Rhys finally answered, “Northport doesn’t display luxury items because they don’t need to. The other lords are showing off and trying to impress their guests. Northport though, everyone already knows they have wealth. This is where gold, silver, and gemstones actually come from. They are too commercially minded here to waste resources by setting it on a table in some hallway only the maids walk down.”

  They turned another corner and Rhys gestured everyone to silence. Ahead of them were three slender courtiers dressed for a ball. The group was one of the few Ben had seen who weren’t armed. Rhys led their party to follow closely behind the trio.

  Around several more turns and down a set of stairs, suddenly they walked into a wide-open foyer. The ceiling soared four floors above Ben’s head. Banners hung from it, both ancient and new. Circling the space was an army of empty suits of armor, standing like silent sentinels. Like the ones in the hallways, these had all seen use.

  Voices echoed around the room, bouncing off the hard rock walls. The three courtiers moved to join more like them and Ben’s group paused to observe the room. It was near three hundred paces across and was teeming with courtiers, soldiers, and others moving about.

  “Is there a party?” wondered Ben.

  “No.” Amelie shook her head. “This looks just like the foyer in Issen. These people are all waiting to see Lord Rhymer or are doing business with those who are waiting. Places like this in the lord’s keep are always busy.”

  Rhys nodded. “We found the
right area.”

  People were in constant motion. Groups would form for discussions then break apart minutes later. Young boys darted across the floor, delivering messages or fetching items and documents. On one side, there was a desk set up with a harried-looking clerk frantically jotting down names. A long line of disgruntled people stretched out in front of him. Many of them were dressed plainly compared to the rest of the room.

  “Petitioners to Lord Rhymer,” explained Amelie. “He may see one or two of them each day to seem a benevolent lord, but most of them won’t get in. If they’re lucky, some minor functionary will deal with them. Otherwise, they’ll be left in another room to wait all day before getting kicked out in the evening.”

  “How do you know all of that?” asked Ben.

  “I grew up in a place just like this,” answered Amelie with a smile. “What I described is exactly what my father did.”

  Ben frowned. “If these people have a complaint, shouldn’t the lord try to see them?”

  “Look at all of these people.” Amelie gestured to include the entire room. “There is not enough time in the day to see all of them. My father’s theory was that the serious folk would come back again and again. He would have his clerk note how often they came back and those are the ones he would see. My father thought that most of the petitioners knew the solution to their own problems and just wanted validation, so he turned them away and hoped they would figure it out themselves.”

  Ben shifted his feet and looked around again. That made some sense. There were hundreds of people, and Amelie was right—no lord had time to see all of them.

  “That leaves us with a problem though. If he doesn’t see everyone, how do we get Rhymer to see us?” queried Amelie.

  “Working on it,” said Rhys to his companions. He moved to stand next to Lady Towaal, looped his arm around hers, and walked her several paces forward. “You may not like this,” he apologized.

  She knit her brows and was about to respond. Rhys acted before she could.

  He snuck out a foot and hooked it under a passing woman’s ankle, sweeping her legs out from under her.

  The woman, a young girl Ben saw, went crashing to the stone floor in a pile of embroidered silk and sparkling jewels.

  Rhys jumped back from Lady Towaal, pointing at her.

  “Why did you do that?” he demanded.

  Towaal glared back at him. “I didn’t do anything!”

  Courtiers appeared as if out of thin air to help the bejeweled woman back to her feet. Red-faced, her eyes darted between Rhys and Lady Towaal. Rhys was quicker than Towaal. He rushed to bend one knee in front of the woman.

  “I am so sorry, my lady. My sister is a jealous bitch! I told her to just ignore you, but, oh my, I am just so sorry! Please forgive her,” pleaded Rhys.

  Towaal scowled down at him in vexation.

  “Jealous?” the girl asked.

  “She just can’t stand seeing another woman with the lord,” claimed Rhys. “It’s been years, but she still yearns for his bed.”

  “The lord? His bed?” choked the girl. Her tone was accentuated by her bright red lips, which were painted into a sulky pout. Her eyebrows were elegantly arched to perfection. Young men were speeding across the floor, all clambering to assist her.

  “Oh, yes. For many years my sister shared Lord Rhymer’s bed,” claimed Rhys. “When he called her to the keep today, when he begged to see her, she thought the old spark had been rekindled. She just isn’t ready to move on.”

  The girl’s face went from a red flush to a deep crimson, fringing on purple. In a heartbeat, she went from pouty to icy. Ben realized she wasn’t much older than him, maybe younger.

  “He begged to see her, did he? We shall see about this. Come with me,” she demanded.

  Courtiers scattered as she spun around and stormed toward a set of tall doors at the far side of the room.

  An elderly gentleman, who was decked out in Northport’s colors and had a silver badge pinned to his doublet, caught up to her side, trying to calm her down. “Issabelle, he is in a meeting now. This must wait.”

  “This slut says he called for her, Franklin. Called for her today!” snarled the girl. “He told me he was done with this kind of foolishness. I will not wait. If you try to stop me, I will have you flogged.”

  The elderly man wrung his hands and gave Ben’s party an angry look. He did nothing further to slow the enraged Issabelle.

  “Who is that?” Ben whispered to Amelie.

  “She looks like a strumpet.” His friend sniffed. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Rhys appreciatively. “She is a strumpet! Lord Rhymer’s little play thing.”

  The group rushed across the stone floor toward the doors, the small girl leading the way. A pair of guards at the door looked to the elderly man then quickly pushed the doors open when he waved frantically at them.

  Towaal shot Rhys a bemused look as they breezed into Rhymer’s reception hall.

  The lord was sitting at the far end of the hall behind a massive mahogany table. He had ink, paper, and a half empty decanter of bright red wine on the table. A delegation of what looked like merchants stood in front of him. All of them turned at the interruption.

  Rhymer stood and Ben saw the man was a good three or four stone lighter than he remembered from Whitehall. Rhymer had gained a sallow, sickly visage as well. His eyes had the look of a man whose troubles outweighed any joy in his life.

  “Seneschal Franklin,” he called. “What is the meaning of this? As you can see, I am entertaining the diamond miner’s guild.”

  The elderly man, who must be the seneschal, raised his hands apologetically.

  Issabelle strode forward. “Do not ignore me!” she shouted.

  Rhymer looked at the small girl and sighed. “What is it, Issabelle?”

  “This slut attacked me!” she screamed, pointing at Towaal. “Worse, she says you called for her today and that you begged for her to come. Hoping to give one of your old flames another roll in the bed, were you? Am I not satisfying you, my lord? Do you need someone with more, ah, experience?”

  The girl was nearly to Rhymer’s desk now. The contingent from the diamond miner’s guild backed away, giving her room. They looked amused as the petite Issabelle cowed the powerful Lord Rhymer.

  Rhymer tried to pacify her. “Now, now, Issabelle. I don’t even know who this…”

  He met Towaal’s eyes and paused. Towaal smiled back at him.

  Witnessing the exchange, Issabelle shrieked, “I thought she might be lying, but you do know her!” She turned from Rhymer and set her hands on her hips, glaring at Towaal. “I’d have you flogged just for showing up here. You should know better than that, but you tripped me, bitch. For that, I’ll have your head.”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Towaal in a patronizing tone. “Why don’t you go run and play so the adults can talk?”

  Pretty Issabelle’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flared. She demanded to Franklin, “Call the headsman. Now!”

  Towaal ignored Issabelle and looked at Rhymer. “Some privacy might be best,” she suggested.

  Rhymer nodded contritely and asked the diamond miner’s guild if they could wait. The guild leaders agreed and exited the room. They were delighted to have witnessed such juicy gossip.

  As soon as the doors boomed shut, Rhymer groaned. “You are causing me quite a bit of grief, Lady...”

  Towaal held up a hand to stop him. “No names. I wasn’t sure you would recognize me. You were rather, ah, intoxicated last time we spoke at Whitehall.”

  “Drunk at Whitehall? I knew you had a reason for keeping me here,” screamed Issabelle. She snagged a sharp letter opener off of Rhymer’s desk. “I won’t wait for the headsman. I can do this myself.”

  Issabelle stalked toward Towaal. The mage just raised an eyebrow and said to Rhymer, “This one is feisty. I like her. She has a lot more spunk than your wife.”

  “Issabelle!” shouted the lord, stopping his mistress in her tr
acks. “This isn’t what you think. This woman is not some former lover of mine. Wait for me in my chambers.”

  Issabelle scowled at Towaal and fingered the point of the letter opener.

  “Now, Issabelle, or I will be upset with you,” he added ominously.

  She petulantly threw the letter opener down on the thick rug and hissed at Towaal, “I will be seeing you later. No matter what he says, you will pay for tripping me!”

  She darted out a small door in the back of the reception hall and slammed it shut with more strength than Ben thought she had in that little body.

  “This better be worth it,” moaned Rhymer. “Did you really trip her? I will pay for that.”

  “I’ve come to ask for your help,” replied Towaal. “But first,” She looked to Franklin. “I need to know we have absolute trust. No one can know who I am or why I am here.”

  “Franklin hears what I hear,” grumbled Rhymer. “He has been with me for years. I trust him as much as I would my own blood. After the mess you caused with Issabelle, don’t push me any further.”

  Towaal nodded curtly.

  Amelie stepped forward.

  “You may recognize me as well, from when we signed the Alliance agreement in Whitehall. Or maybe earlier when I was just a girl, at my father’s keep in Issen.”

  Lord Rhymer’s eyes opened wide and Franklin scurried around to look at Amelie’s face.

  “You are not dead…” murmured Rhymer.

  “Not yet,” replied Amelie tartly.

  “The Sanctuary,” Franklin said, sparing a quick glance at Towaal. “They said you were dead. A mage was here in person. She left just a week ago. She told us you were killed, in training I believe it was.”

  “I see we have a lot to discuss.” Rhymer grimaced. “Franklin, call for food, some glasses, and a lot more wine.”

  Ben was unsure how much they should trust Lord Rhymer, given the last time he saw the man, he was assaulting a young girl at Argren’s Fireworks Spectacular. Lady Towaal and Amelie seemed to trust him completely though. Over the course of the next two bells, they unfolded their story for him.

  The news weighed heavily on the lord. As they spoke, he shared concerned looks with his seneschal Franklin. He also emptied several decanters of high-quality wine, rivalling even Rhys on the rogue’s best nights.