Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  Picking a direction, she began to walk. One hall led to another and another after that, and she was soon hopelessly lost and eventually had to stop to ask for directions. A clerk led her to the grand hallway and from there out to the street.

  She was surprised to see that the sun was shining. Sir Henry’s office had seemed dark as midnight. She decided to walk to Miss Amelia’s house. The exercise would help to calm her, and she needed to think. She went over everything, from Pip’s message and the astonishing fact that he was a duke to Sir Henry’s violent reaction and, strangest of all, his recognition of Thomas, as revealed by his question regarding “striking blue eyes.”

  The fact that Pip had been an agent for Henry was now obvious. Her first reaction was to be angry. He must have known Henry would be furious when she gave him the message and that he might take out his ire on the messenger. Pip had no right to involve her. After a few moments of silent reflection, Kate wondered if perhaps Pip had involved her for a reason.

  She remembered his parting words. “Be careful.” She had thought little of them at the time, dismissing them as the usual polite nothings. Now she paid more attention. Thinking back to his tone and the look in his eyes, she realized Pip’s words held a more sinister meaning. He was warning her to be careful of Henry.

  By the time she reached Miss Amelia’s house, Kate was exhausted. She had a key, and let herself in, nearly treading on the mail, which the postman had shoved through the slot in the door. Kate gathered up the letters, as well as the many newspapers to which Miss Amelia subscribed, and went to put them on Amelia’s desk.

  As she sorted through the mail she found a letter to her from Olaf. The letter was short, saying only that she should come to the port town of Barwich. He had some questions for her about the ship.

  “Barwich?” Kate muttered, astonished. “What is Olaf doing in Barwich? The ship is being refitted outside Haever!”

  She could think only that Olaf had some urgent reason to talk to her—probably to give her bad news about Victorie—and that he had gone to Barwich to find her. Worried about her ship and also afraid that Henry would think of more questions to ask her and send for her again, Kate decided this would be an excellent time to leave the city.

  As she placed the mail and the newspapers on the desk, she glanced idly at the Haever Gazette, and there was Thomas, drawn in black-and-white, looking back at her.

  Kate stared, stunned. The illustrator could not, of course, portray his striking blue eyes in black ink. But he had captured the way Thomas’s hair curled back from his forehead, his strong jaw and prominent cheekbones, the slightly hooked nose and—most telling—the scar on his cheek.

  She read the caption beneath the illustration.

  Prince Tom to Wed Princess Sophia.

  Prince Tom. Short for Thomas.

  “Bloody hell!” said Kate.

  Book 3

  THIRTY-TWO

  “What are your plans for the day, my love,” Alastair, the Marquis of Cavanaugh, asked his wife as he was rising from his seat at the table.

  He walked over to kiss her, and Constanza tilted her cheek to be kissed, a ritual they performed every day at the breakfast hour whenever she visited the estate in Bheldem.

  “I have an appointment with a wealthy gentleman who wants to contribute to our son’s cause,” Constanza replied. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Unfortunately I cannot, my dear. I travel to Morvindia today to meet with Prince Arlien. His Highness sent for me and since he is nominally our ruler, I must attend.”

  Constanza made a face. “How tiresome for you. From what I have heard, the doddering old man can’t recall his own name half the time, much less the names of his guests.”

  “The prince is not quite in such bad condition as that, although I do find his tendency to doze off in midsentence to be rather disconcerting.” Alastair smiled. “I believe I shall stay a few days to do some grouse hunting, if you do not mind. The Duke of Morvindia and Count Waleran will also be there. It would be well to garner their support.”

  “An excellent idea, my love,” said Constanza in a preoccupied tone, as she sorted through the early-morning post. “I have a great deal of correspondence, as you might imagine, with the time for our son’s triumphant return to Freya drawing ever closer.”

  “You know, my dear, that our Thomas was born in this castle and he has not, to my knowledge, ever set foot in Freya,” said Alastair. “Thus making his ‘return’ impossible.”

  Constanza looked up at him, her post forgotten in her passion. “Thomas returns to claim his birthright! He returns to his ancestral home! The Freyan people must view him as their savior, not a stranger from a foreign land. Thus we must always speak of his return!”

  “I understand,” said Alastair with a smile. “I fear I was teasing you just a little, my dear.”

  “Ah, do not jest about such serious subjects,” said Constanza, shaking her head.

  “Where is Thomas? Will he be paying us a visit? He has not been here in months,” Alastair said, pulling on his gloves.

  “Our son is traveling to Rosia with His Grace, Phillip, the Freyan duke. As you know, I have concluded an agreement with the Countess de Marjolaine for Thomas’s marriage to the Princess Sophia. All is arranged. The countess proposed that he and His Grace reside at the palace as her guests. I believe they are also to have something to do with the Rosian navy, as well.”

  “And how will the Freyans feel about the future king of Freya marrying a Rosian princess?” Alistair asked.

  “According to the countess, they view the marriage most favorably,” said Constanza. “The Freyans adore the princess. She spent time in that country after the war. I believe she attended university or some such thing where she was known for mingling with the common folk.”

  “What does Thomas think of this arrangement?” Alastair asked.

  Constanza shrugged. “I do not know. I have not asked him.”

  She returned to reading her correspondence, and her husband departed.

  Constanza and Alastair were well matched. He knew she had married him for his wealth and she knew he had married her for her royal blood and her connections in the Estaran royal court. Although they did not love each other, they had managed to produce a son, Thomas.

  Following the birth of her son, Constanza made the decision to return to her homeland of Estara to oversee his education. She returned to Bheldem (and her husband) every few months.

  Although he did not have much time to devote to his son’s cause, Alastair was equally ambitious for Thomas to become king, for the marquis had a cause of his own. He was intent upon overthrowing the aging and occasionally befuddled Prince Arlien, current ruler of Bheldem, and becoming the ruler himself. The marquis already had gained the support of several wealthy Bheldem nobles based solely upon the fact that his son was destined to be the future king of Freya.

  After reading her mail, Constanza sent a message to her cook to tell her that the marquis was leaving and that she would be dining alone. She wrote several letters to various supporters of Thomas’s cause and then, as the clock struck eleven, she set out upon her morning constitutional.

  She took walks daily, no matter what the weather, both for the sake of her health (for she intended to live long as the Queen Mother of Freya) and also, occasionally, to conduct secret business. She theorized that once the servants were accustomed to her daily routine, they would never suspect that she could secretly be meeting someone in a secluded area along the way. Thus far, the practice had worked.

  She had received a letter from Sir Richard’s trusted valet, Henshaw, telling her he had arrived in Bheldem to discuss a matter of the utmost importance. Constanza wrote back, arranging to meet in the usual place. Having traveled to Bheldem many times before, Henshaw knew where and when to look for the marchioness and he was waiting for Constanza on a walking path that meandered among willow trees and circled a lake, near an old sundial placed at the entrance to a hedge maze.
r />   Henshaw was looking for her and came walking rapidly toward her the moment he saw her.

  He made a hasty bow, hurriedly returned her greeting, and moved straight to business.

  “The Travian dragons have arrived in Freya, my lady,” he reported.

  “Indeed,” said Constanza, pleased. “Let us walk.”

  She did not enter the maze, for anyone could be hiding behind the hedges. Instead she embarked along the path that traveled along the outskirts of the woods. Henshaw walked at her side.

  “We hear that the dragons are quite pleased with their new home and their new titles,” he continued. “We are to call these great beasts ‘count’ and ‘countess’ and bow and scrape. Sir Richard believes this to be an outrage and he is not alone. A great many members of the Freyan nobility are incensed. Because these alien dragons have contributed to the royal coffers, they have in essence purchased titles that our own nobles gained by dint of years of loyal service, sacrifice, and dedication.”

  “I sympathize with Sir Richard!” Constanza said, conveniently overlooking the fact that Sir Richard Wallace had obtained his knighthood because he was a successful businessman who had himself contributed to the royal coffers.

  “The dragons plan to build grotesque mansions and devour our deer—”

  “If deer are all they devour,” said Constanza in ominous tones.

  “Very true, my lady,” said Henshaw. “But there is a problem, one that we did not foresee, regarding your son.”

  Constanza paused to regard him with consternation. “What is that?”

  “Sir Richard fears that the dragons will pose a danger to His Highness when he returns to claim the throne.”

  “How do you mean? What danger?”

  “According to Sir Richard’s brother, Henry, the dragons have heard of Prince Tom through the press and asked about the possibility of Thomas gaining the throne. They are worried that should your son become king, he would order them to leave Freya.”

  “Indeed, he would,” said Constanza with an emphatic nod. “His very first edict.”

  “Sir Richard is of the opinion that when your son attempts to return to Freya, the dragons will try to prevent him by attacking his fleet.”

  “Merciful Heaven!” Constanza gasped. “The Freyan people would not stand for such an enormity!”

  “Her Majesty cares nothing for her people, as you well know, Your Ladyship,” said Henshaw. “According to Sir Richard, the dragons could inflict serious damage on your son’s fleet, destroy ships and kill many hundreds of soldiers and even attempt to murder your son. His Lordship believes it likely that the army would go down in defeat and all our hopes would end in ruin.”

  “We must deal with this situation!” Constanza exclaimed, clenching her fist. “Eliminate the threat.”

  She paused, then added doubtfully, “Although I confess I do not see quite how that can be done…”

  “Sir Richard has a plan, Your Ladyship,” said Henshaw. “He sent me to discuss it with you and to obtain your assistance.”

  “I am all attention,” said Constanza.

  The two resumed their walk, their heads together, talking in low voices.

  “As Your Ladyship knows, killing a dragon is not an easy task,” said Henshaw by way of preamble.

  Constanza did not know. She had never given the slightest thought to killing dragons. She did not want to reveal her ignorance, however.

  “I have been told that cannon fire is effective against the monsters,” she said casually. “A ship’s broadside would utterly blast a dragon to pieces.”

  “I believe that is true, Your Ladyship,” said Henshaw, treading cautiously. “The problem is that dragons very rarely put themselves in a position to be fired upon by a broadside. A dragon with its fiery breath has the ability to destroy a ship from a distance, out of the range of cannon fire. Thus the Dragon Brigade has proven to be so effective against our navy.”

  “I was about to point out that very problem,” said Constanza with a lofty air. “But, never mind, proceed. You said Sir Richard has a plan.”

  Henshaw glanced around and Constanza did the same. No one was in sight, and so Henshaw resumed.

  “History tells us that the ancient Imhruns developed magical constructs that they used to kill dragons. Over twenty years ago, during the Lost Rebellion, when tensions ran high between Rosia and Freya, everyone feared a Rosian invasion. His Majesty, the late King Godfrey—God rest him—was ruler of Freya at the time. He ordered scholars to actively search for this magic to defeat the Dragon Brigade. They found references to it in scrolls found in the archives of a museum.”

  Constanza made an impatient gesture with her gloved hand as of shooing away a gnat. As far as she was concerned, Freyan history began and ended with her great-great-grandfather James I. “What do I care about scrolls and museums and ancient Imhruns? What have these to do with my son?”

  “If you will allow me to finish, Your Ladyship,” said Henshaw. “The Imhruns had in truth developed magic that could kill dragons. The magic was very crude by today’s standards, but King Godfrey hired some very talented crafters to improve it and they succeeded. I do not mean wholesale slaughter, Your Ladyship. The original idea was to assassinate several important Rosian noble dragons, creating an incident that would cause the Dragon Duchies to withdraw from Rosia and the Brigade, a move that would have thrown the political situation in Rosia into chaos.”

  “Obviously nothing came of this plot,” Constanza said, growing weary of the subject. “I fail to see—”

  “Please, Your Ladyship, allow me to continue. King Godfrey did not live long enough to put the plot into action. Following his untimely death, his daughter, our current queen, made peace with the Rosians. A few years after that, King Alaric disbanded the Dragon Brigade and Sir Richard believed the threat to our country to be at an end.”

  Constanza at last understood why she had been subjected to this history lesson.

  “The threat has returned,” she said, giving Henshaw a sharp look.

  “Greater than before, my lady,” said Henshaw in grave tones. “His Lordship believes that if an assassin killed one of the Travian dragons, the rest of the dragons would be furious—”

  “So furious they might attack the Freyan populace!” Constanza exclaimed. “My son would arrive as the hero to save his people!”

  “Your Ladyship misunderstands me,” said Henshaw, shocked. “Sir Richard would never dream of placing the Freyan people in danger. His Lordship’s goal is to encourage the dragons to leave Freya so that they no longer pose a threat to our cause.”

  “Speak to the point,” said Constanza. “I presume His Lordship has this dragon-killing magic in his possession. Otherwise he would not have sent you.”

  “Sir Richard believes he has the means to acquire it, my lady,” said Henshaw.

  “Then you may inform Sir Richard that he has my approval. He can proceed with the plot to assassinate one or more of the dragons.”

  Henshaw was rendered speechless. He could only stop and stare.

  “Well, what?” Constanza demanded. “Has the cat got your tongue?”

  Henshaw found his voice, after a struggle.

  “Your Ladyship cannot be serious! Sir Richard cannot be involved with this plot. He was a close friend to King Godfrey and, were it discovered, he could fall under suspicion. His Lordship must be able to profess his complete innocence.”

  Constanza was irritated. “Then I fail to see why Sir Richard sent you to tell me of this plot if we are not to use it!”

  “Sir Richard was thinking that you would have the means to put the plot into action, my lady,” said Henshaw. “He can provide you with the location of the magical construct, but that is all.”

  “And does Sir Richard think I am in the habit of assassinating dragons?” Constanza demanded in a dire tone that caused Henshaw to back up a step.

  “No, Your Ladyship! Certainly not!” he protested. “Sir Richard was thinking that perhaps Ca
ptain Smythe—”

  “Captain Smythe is the commander of my son’s army. The good captain is not an assassin,” said Constanza coldly.

  She was growing to dislike this conversation that was not, apparently, going anywhere. She resumed her walk with a displeased air, leaving Henshaw to hurry to catch up.

  “His Lordship knows Captain Smythe to be the soul of honor,” said Henshaw. “His thought was that, as a military man, Captain Smythe might have access to … er … resources.”

  Constanza slowed, willing to consider this suggestion.

  “He might,” she conceded. “I can discuss the matter with him if you like, then report to His Lordship. We can proceed from there.”

  Henshaw mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “Such an arrangement will be satisfactory,” said Henshaw. “Once the assassin has been hired, the magical construct will be provided.”

  Upon returning home, Constanza immediately sent for Captain Smythe. He arrived the following day, riding over from an ancient fortress castle that the marquis had converted into a barracks and military headquarters.

  Constanza saw to it the servants were busy with tasks in the lower level of the castle and invited the captain to join her in the library. He sat down in a chair, his back straight, his hat on his knee, and listened in silence, giving no hint of his thoughts as she outlined the plot.

  “Well, Captain, what do you think of Sir Richard’s proposal?” Constanza asked.

  “Sir Richard is right to point out that the dragons could pose a risk to our enterprise, my lady,” Captain Smythe replied. “I confess I had failed to take them into consideration.”

  “I was asking you about his solution,” Constanza said. “Assassination.”

  Captain Smythe frowned. “I cannot condone it, madame. What Sir Richard proposes is cold-blooded murder. No man of honor could condone it.”