‘Tonight isn’t a good time,’ Shuran said. ‘The Duke is busy this evening.’
Lightning flashed ever so briefly to the north of us and a moment later the boom of thunder reached my ears. Water was dripping from my hair into my eyes and all I could think of was a fat, arrogant Duke sitting on his throne, enjoying whatever amusements pleased him. I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I’d had just about enough of being under Isault’s thumb. ‘I don’t care. Tell him he’s going to see us tonight.’
Shuran’s voice grew quiet, as if he didn’t want his men to hear. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Falcio. The Duke decides when he sees you, not the other way around.’
‘Then tell him that one way or another, with or without his support, Aline is going to be Queen, and she’s going to be making all kinds of decisions about taxes and laws and the boundaries between duchies. Tell him I have saved her life – several times – and there’s a very good chance I may use that fact to punish those people who’ve irritated me over the years.’
Shuran looked at me as if he were trying to see whether or not I was serious. After a moment he said, ‘All right, Falcio. I’ll tell him. Whatever happens after that is on your head.’
*
Half an hour later I was back in the Ducal throne room, this time alone – at Duke Isault’s insistence. I suppose he wanted to make me nervous. ‘Your Grace,’ I said, tilting my head so the water dripped onto his floor.
‘Shit-eater,’ he replied, ‘there’s a story going around that you – Beshard, what was it Shuran was saying earlier? He said the shit-eater here—’
‘Demanded to see you, your Grace.’
‘That’s right,’ Isault said, ‘you demanded to see me. But there was something else, too. What was that again, Beshard? What was that other thing the shit-eater did?’
‘He threatened you, your Grace?’ Beshard offered.
Isault clapped his hands together. ‘That’s right: the Greatcoat threatened me. Now, Shuran’s known to be a big fat liar, right, Beshard?’
‘No, your Grace, I’ve never heard that said of Sir Shuran, begging your pardon.’
‘No? Oh, so then it’s true, is it, Falcio val Mond?’
‘I suppose my words could fairly be interpreted as a threat,’ I agreed.
Isault smiled and took a long drink from the goblet sitting precariously on the arm of his throne. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his green silk robe. ‘Excellent. I’ve been having accommodations prepared for you. In my dungeon. Lovely place – mind you, you’ve had a lot more experience at being chained up and tortured than I have so I’ll be keen to get your opinion of it. But I was afraid I’d got my information wrong and my admittedly hasty preparations might be in vain.’
I put my hands in the pockets of my coat, not wanting the Duke to see them shaking. It wasn’t that long since I’d spent several days being tortured in the dungeons of Rijou, and unless I tried very hard, I could still feel the manacles that had held my wrists, and the pain in my shoulder sockets from hanging suspended by my arms for days on end. I had barely survived the experience once, and the thought of repeating it terrified me. ‘I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble,’ I said casually.
‘Oh, I assure you, it’s no trouble at all.’
‘Still, I think there’s a more expeditious solution, your Grace.’
‘Really? Well, we in Aramor are all in favour of expeditious solutions. What’s yours?’
‘Give me the decree you promised swearing support to Aline and then I’ll be on my way and we need never see each other again.’
I’d expected an insult or some kind of threat; instead, the Duke just scratched his beard. ‘And you think you’ve earned that, do you?’
‘I did what you asked,’ I said. ‘I put down the rebellion.’
‘I suppose that’s true, isn’t it?’ The Duke gave a little giggle and looked longingly at his empty goblet of wine. Evidently it hadn’t been his first that evening. ‘Wish I’d been there to see it: the great Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the King’s Greatcoats. The Hero of Rijou. You did just exactly what I wanted you to do.’
The tone of his voice softened. He was no longer mocking; now he sounded . . . disappointed?
‘You take orders surprisingly well, Falcio,’ the Duke went on. Then he shouted across the room, ‘He’d make a good Beshard, wouldn’t he, Beshard?’
‘If your Grace says so,’ the chamberlain replied.
‘Yes, I do.’ Isault turned his attention back to me. ‘Maybe you secretly want to bugger me, just like old Beshard does.’ He held up a hand as if to stop any expostulation I might make. ‘Or no, not like Beshard. Maybe you just want so badly to be loyal to your dead King that you’ll do anything just to prove yourself. Maybe we should make you a Knight, eh? Like Shuran? Would you like to be a Knight, shit-eater? No offence, you understand. Just curious.’
‘I’d rather marry one of your torturers and spend the honeymoon in the darkest cell in your dungeon than become one of your Ducal Knights,’ I said. ‘No offence.’
Isault laughed then, not at what I’d said, but at something else: a private joke between him and himself. Both looked inordinately pleased. ‘Do you want to hear something funny?’ he asked.
‘I’d—’
‘I often think about your dead King Paelis.’
‘He was your King too,’ I said reflexively.
Isault waved his fingers in the air. ‘Details. Just like a magistrate to focus on the details and miss the point.’
Beshard, responding to a cue I hadn’t noticed, walked up to the throne carrying a silver jug. He refilled Isault’s goblet before bowing and turning to begin the trek back to his allotted position at the other end of the long room. The Duke drained his goblet almost immediately and tapped it with one finger and a moment later Beshard once again started the journey from the back of the room.
‘Perhaps it would be more efficient if Beshard and the wine stayed here,’ I suggested.
‘No, no; this is my last one. Where was I? Oh yes, I think about King Paelis sometimes. In fact, occasionally I fancy him being right here in front of me. We talk about things, he and I. Do you ever imagine yourself talking to the King?’
‘I try to limit the number of conversations I have with the dead, your Grace.’
‘Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s an entirely sensible activity. I talk to King Paelis about the Law and the country; about securing borders and negotiating agreements with my fellow Dukes.’
‘Does the King talk back?’
‘No – that’s the best part, in fact. In life all he did was talk, but in death, he’s a mercifully good listener. I ask him questions sometimes, but of course he doesn’t answer, just stands there with that stupid lopsided smirk of his. I hated that expression when he was alive. Made me want to slap him. But now, strangely enough, it just makes me think and think some more, and wouldn’t you know it? I end up coming up with the answer all by myself. A much better King in death than in life, is our Paelis. I could do with only ever having dead monarchs.’
‘I’m glad you finally worked out a productive relationship with the King.’
Isault waved a finger. ‘But there is one thing I sometimes ask Paelis, and when I do, sure enough, he gives me that stupid smirk of his, only with this question I never do come up with the answer myself.’
Isault drank again from his goblet, but this time it was a small sip and he kept his eyes fixed on me the whole time. Since it was obvious he wanted me to ask, I did.
‘And what question is that, your Grace?’
The Duke threw his goblet at me – it was so unexpected that it hit me in the cheek and soaked me in red wine. ‘What the fuck was your plan?’ he shouted. He stood up from his throne and for an instant I thought he might attack me, but he just stood there, yelling at the room, ‘You made all your damned promises to the country and you gave us your damned useless Greatcoats and when we came to gut you, you just sat the
re like a lamb awaiting the shears! All the while I thought you had some brilliant strategy, some inspired scheme that was going to change the world – but it’s been five fucking years and still I don’t know what your plan was! Was it simply to drive us all mad as we waited for it to unfold? Is that it? It’s nothing more than a grand joke to stand alongside all the other jokes you played on us?’
The Duke was getting hysterical, but when I looked back at Beshard at the other end of the room I saw the old chamberlain wasn’t reacting, either because he’d seen this before or because he really was that good at standing there quietly and not reacting.
‘Your Grace,’ I began, but then I stopped, because I really wasn’t sure what to say next. Fortunately, I didn’t have to say anything because Isault sat down heavily on his throne.
‘Enough. That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Go to bed, First Cantor of the Greatcoats. You did what you promised and I shall do the same. In the morning we’ll do a little ceremony and I’ll sign the decree.’
He sagged deeper into his great uncomfortable seat and I felt as if I were intruding on the man’s most private grief.
Beshard gave a polite cough behind me, signalling that it was time for me to go.
‘I’m sorry, your Grace,’ I said, ‘but I can’t leave until you’ve given me the decree.’
‘I told you, shit-eater, in the morning. At the ceremony. There’ll be cakes.’
‘I’m certain I’ll enjoy the cakes, your Grace, but I really do need the decree now.’
The Duke looked up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded. ‘Do you question my honour, Falcio val Mond?’
I knew I was treading on dangerous terrain now, but I couldn’t take a chance on the volatile Duke changing his mind. ‘We had an agreement, your Grace, and it seems to me that any questions regarding your honour are now for you to resolve.’
The Duke’s face turned red and I thought he might leap up and try to strangle me. But a moment later the anger drained from him and he reached into the folds of his green silk robe and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment. He tossed it to the floor in front of me. ‘There are the wages of your sins, Falcio val Mond.’
I knelt down and picked up the parchment, not quite sure if I dared pull open the narrow green silk tie that bound it.
‘Go ahead,’ Isault said. ‘It’s not as if you’ll offend me any more than you already have.’
I gently untied the silk ribbon and read the decree. It was as simple and straightforward a document as I’d ever seen, with no evasions, no equivocations: Isault simply acknowledged that Aline was the rightful Queen of Tristia and that Aramor would perform all traditional duties owed her. At the bottom was his signature. ‘Thank you, your Grace,’ I said. ‘I regret I’ll have to forego the cakes in the morning as we need to leave tonight.’
Isault snorted. ‘No, I don’t think you will be leaving tonight.’
I looked around quickly, expecting to see his Knights coming to arrest me, but Beshard was still the only other person in the throne room, standing there as placidly as ever.
‘I expect to get some small benefit from your otherwise worthless presence here,’ the Duke said. ‘Showing my lords and margraves that I’ve made an alliance that gives preferential status to Aramor keeps them in line.’
‘Your Grace—’
Isault pulled out a second parchment from his robes. ‘If you aren’t here in the morning, First Cantor, I’ll sign this second decree revoking the first one.’
I looked down at the parchment still in my hand. ‘What value is your decree, Duke Isault, if it can so simply be overridden by another, and what value is your word if you can change it so easily?’
Isault looked to his chamberlain. ‘You see that, Beshard? The shit-eater isn’t half so stupid as he looks.’
*
Beshard led me up the stairs and down a long hallway to my room, pointing out as we passed where Kest, Brasti, Valiana and Dari had been accommodated.
‘I’ll return for you in the morning,’ the old man said as he unlocked the door.
‘How long have you served the Duke?’
‘I served his father, and for a brief time, his father’s father.’
‘Would you say he’s an honourable man?’ I asked, anticipating an angry retort from the old man. Hells, I probably said it just to elicit one.
‘In his own fashion,’ Beshard said, entirely calmly. ‘We live in dishonourable times, in a corrupt country. I suppose one could say the Duke is as honourable a man as such a world allows.’
The statement was so candid and plainly logical that I couldn’t think of a reply, but apparently none was needed. The old man put a hand on my shoulder – an oddly intimate gesture – until I realised he had a tiny sliver of a blade held between his old fingers and its point was touching my neck. ‘That said, I have looked after Duke Isault since the day he was born. I have loved him since he first opened his eyes and farted. If, after you speak to him in the morning, you attempt to do him harm, be aware that you will soon be looking up at the ceiling, your life’s blood draining from the wound in your throat where an old man’s blade severed the artery.’ He took his hand away and gave me a crooked smile. ‘I should imagine that would be terribly embarrassing for a capable young man such as yourself.’
He handed me the key to my room and said, ‘Sleep well, Trattari.’
*
I spent the next few minutes trying to stop myself from shaking. Between Isault’s threats and Beshard’s little blade my nerves were on edge. Taken like an amateur by an old man barely able to lift a serving tray. There were a hundred ways I could have bested the chamberlain and yet I’d allowed him to get close enough that he could have slit my throat with the barest effort: all my training and experience voided by a single moment of inattention.
Once I felt I could speak without stuttering, I went about quietly knocking on doors and assembling the rest in my room. I explained the situation with Isault and showed them the decree, and then I told them my plan.
‘I have a question,’ Dariana said after I was done. She was sitting cross-legged on my bed, quite unconcerned that the dirt on her boots was rapidly transferring itself to my blankets.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Do you have any plans that don’t involve telling Valiana and me to run away and hide somewhere while you—?’
‘—while he tries to get Kest and me killed?’ Brasti finished. ‘No. That’s pretty much the crux of all of Falcio’s masterful stratagems, so you might as well get used to it now.’
‘It’s not what you think,’ I said, handing the scroll to Dariana. One glance made it very clear what Valiana thought of my master plan. ‘Look, we need to get the decree into the hands of the Tailor. Even if Isault signs a second one, we might be able to use this one to Aline’s benefit. Dariana, you’re the one who knows her plans and where she’s most likely to be, so unless you would like to share that information with the rest of us—’
‘I don’t.’
‘—fine. Then you need to get out of the palace tonight. Wait for us at the inn we passed, two days back – hells, what was it called?’
‘The Inn of the Red Hammer,’ Kest offered.
‘Right, that’s the one. It’s on the edge of the Spear, and that will be the fastest way to travel north to Domaris. If we don’t show up in the next three days, go and find the Tailor and let her know we’ve failed.’
‘Sounds perfectly logical,’ Dariana said.
‘Good, then—’
‘So why are you sending Valiana too? I can travel faster by myself.’
I kept my gaze on her until her eyes met mine. ‘Because I don’t trust you. That’s why.’
She grinned. ‘See, now that makes sense.’
‘Good. There’s a window at the end of this hallway. If you wait until—’
‘Please don’t start explaining how to break into and out of buildings to me. You’ll only embarrass yourself.’
‘Had a lot of experience
sneaking in and out of Ducal palaces, have you?’ Brasti asked.
‘I’ve had excellent tutors,’ she replied.
‘Good for you,’ I said. ‘Now everyone get the hells out of my room. If all goes well, the Duke will hold true to his word and the worst thing that will happen is Kest and Brasti and I will be forced to listen to more of his insults while we eat his cake and drink his wine.’
I was about to fall down on my bed when I realised Brasti had his hand up.
‘Do you have a question?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to call first strike on Duke Isault.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kest asked.
‘Well, when we show up in the throne room in the morning and Isault betrays us and Shuran and his Knights surround us and Falcio is jumping up and down giving speeches about the Law and staying true to one’s word and the other rubbish he spews at times like these, I get to stab Isault first.’
‘Are you always such a pessimist?’ Dariana asked.
‘Believe it or not, I used to be quite cheerful.’
‘What happened to make you so cynical?’
Oddly, it was Kest who said, ‘He joined the Greatcoats.’
The four of them left me then, and as I removed my coat and outer clothes I stood shivering for a moment standing on the cold flagstone floor. I looked at the warm covers on the bed, longing for sleep, but knowing I couldn’t afford it. Days on horseback had made me stiff and I needed to stretch my muscles – and I also needed to make sure my weapons were all oiled and sharpened. Above all, I couldn’t risk sleep: if Brasti was right and the Duke really was preparing an ambush for us in the morning, then I couldn’t afford to wake up paralysed, then groggy and slow.
Get to work, I told myself, reaching for my rapiers and oiling cloth. You can rest when Aline sits on the throne and Trin lies at the bottom of a grave.
*
Two hours later a knock at my door proved Brasti had it all wrong.
‘It’s a bit late for visitors, I’m afraid,’ I called out, standing to the side of the door in case whoever was on the other side had a pistol ready to fire through it. Kest and Brasti and I have different knocks we use to communicate all manner of things – who’s outside, what’s occurring, why we’re there . . . We even have a knock for those rare occasions where one of us has a knife held to our throat and is being forced to entrap the other.
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