The Office of Shadow

by Matthew Sturges

  "The Church will manage the estate with love and care. They will treat the people with respect, even those who do not believe."

  "Oh, yes. I'm sure they will. And I'm sure they'll happily pocket the income as well. Don't be naive, mother."

  "I am many things," she says, her voice trembling, "but I am not naive."

  "Mother," says Perrin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Honestly."

  "I know."

  "You're right, of course. I don't have any interest in being a landholder. Or in being a member of the House of Lords, for that matter. But Bresun and Marin will-"

  "Bresun cares about nothing but money and status, and Marin is a fatuous cretin!" says Mother, her voice rising. She's breathing heavily.

  "Well, as soon as I'm of age I'll be in charge and I'll make sure that they stay in line."

  "By the time you come of age, Bresun will have found a way to take all of this from you."

  "He can't, Mother. It would be unlawful."

  Mother laughs, but it is not her usual warm laugh. It's more of a cackle. "Oh, Son. There is only one law that cannot be bent by money and influence. That is Aba's law, and it will punish Bresun, but not in this life. Bresun wouldn't dare go after your father, but he'll have no qualms taking you on."

  Perrin pauses. He has never known his mother to be a cynic.

  "Look out there," she says, pointing at the fields. "See those farmers? In two years' time they'll be groaning under Bresun's whip. And if you don't believe me, go visit his little estate and see how happy his tenants look.

  "We called them noblemen, remember? Descendants of kings, each and every one of them. Don't they deserve better than that?"

  Perrin has no idea what to say.

  "I told you then that one day you would have to decide what kind of man you wanted to be. Now perhaps that day has come. Make the right choice. If not for Aba, then for me."

  She leaves him there on the river path. One of the farmers spies him and waves, beaming.

  The next day, Perrin sits Bresun down and explains that he's considering donating Oarsbridge and Connaugh estates to the Arcadians. Bresun smiles patiently, and explains in no uncertain terms what a terrible idea this is. He is charming and convincing, and within the hour, Perrin and he are sharing a drink and Perrin is laughing at himself for ever having considered such foolishness.

  "Your mother is a wonderful woman," says Bresun. "But she's not the most realistic person in Faerie."

  Silverdun smiles knowingly. He returns to school the next day and finishes his term with excellent marks.

  Silverdun awoke to the sound of singing, the ethereal wail of Chthonic hymns. The tune was an old one, and familiar. Silverdun knew the same tune but with different words; the Arcadian peasants in Oarsbridge had sung it in the fields when he was a child. His mother had told him once that it was the singing that first drew her to Aba. Silverdun couldn't understand these words, sung in the vowelless glottal language of native Annwni, but he assumed it was about more or less the same thing: freedom from suffering, the walk of the soul, release.

  There had been a few Arcadians at Crete Sulace, the prison where Silverdun had been held with Mauritane and the others. They sang the same sorts of songs. Silverdun had resented it then, and he resented it now. The notion of freedom in captivity, of the release of earthly bondage. How long were you supposed to keep singing before deciding that nobody was listening? Silverdun had left the monastery, so he supposed he'd reached his limit, assuming he'd ever truly been singing to begin with. Still, it was pretty music.

  He opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position to find Ironfoot awake, and eating. Ironfoot glanced over and pushed a tin plate of bread and greens toward him. Silverdun wasn't hungry, but he ate anyway, taking great care with his right arm.

  "Does it hurt?" said Ironfoot, indicating the bandaged stump.

  "Not really, no," said Silverdun. "Itches like a bastard, though."

  Ironfoot nodded. If he had stories about amputees he'd met during his years of service in the army, he wisely kept them to himself. Silverdun knew that he should be focusing on their present predicament, but his thoughts kept coming back to his missing hand, and how thoroughly his life had been ruined. He couldn't go on with the Shadows like this; if they weren't hanged or imprisoned for life, his career was over. He might well be returning penniless to Oarsbridge to become one of those nobles, "reduced in circum stances," who survived by selling off his titled lands bit by bit until there was nothing left.

  "Well, I'd say that our first mission has been an unqualified success," he said. "Wouldn't you agree?"

  Ironfoot took a while in answering. "Oh, yes. We'll most certainly be lauded as heroes for this," he finally said.

  "I've been a hero before," said Silverdun. "It's a wonderful way to meet women."

  A pair of guards appeared in the hallways outside the cell, one aging and grizzled, the other young, barely out of his teens. The older of them opened the cell door, and the other came in to rouse Silverdun and Ironfoot.

  "Come on, then," the young guard said, pulling Silverdun to his feet.

  "Where are we going?" asked Ironfoot.

  "You're being brought before the magyster," said the older guard.

  Once Silverdun was on his feet, the young guard grabbed his forearm roughly and smashed the stump of Silverdun's wrist into the stone wall of the cell. Silverdun shrieked.

  "You killed two of my best friends," the young guard snarled in Silverdun's ear.

  "Now, now," said the older guard, stepping into the cell. "That'll be enough of that."

  Chastened, the younger guard allowed the other to lead Silverdun and Ironfoot out of the cell and into the hallway.

  "I apologize for young Bryno's conduct," said the old guard. "But you must admit he's got a legitimate complaint."

  The guards led them past a row of cells, nearly all occupied. Many of the prisoners were paupers, perhaps caught stealing food or pickpocketing. Some were drunks; some were religious types who'd probably picked the wrong day to inject politics into their worship. They all watched Silverdun and Ironfoot pass with open interest. As far as any of them knew, Silverdun and Ironfoot were Unseelie bureaucrats: something they doubtless seldom saw here.

  They were walked through another row of cells, then into a dark corridor and up a dim flight of stone stairs. Guards were placed here and there along the halls. Even if Silverdun had the strength to attempt overpowering his current escorts, there was nowhere to run.

  After a few more turns and stairs they were deposited in a featureless, windowless room, where a man in a maroon robe sat on a dais in a highbacked wooden chair. A large book was open on a stand in front of him. A pair of guards stood on either side of the man, who leaned forward when Silverdun and Ironfoot entered. He was in his early middle years, with a bit of a paunch. There was an eagerness in his eyes that made Silverdun uncomfortable. This was a man who wanted something.

  The old guard bowed to the man, who nodded back. The younger guard forced Ironfoot and Silverdun to their knees on the floor before the dais.

  The older guard spoke. "Be it known that the two unnamed accused Fae have been brought before Magyster Eyn Wenathn."

  There was a clerk sitting at a tiny desk in a corner of the room who was writing swiftly on a lined piece of parchment. "So noted," he said.

  Magyster Wenathn leaned back in his chair and licked his lips. "Tell me your names," he said.

  Silverdun attempted to stand, but the gloved hand of the young guard held him firmly down by the shoulder. "My name is Hy Wezel, and this is my associate En Urut. We are citizens of the Unseelie Empire, and we demand to be released this instant."

  "Yes, I've examined your papers," said Wenathn. "They're excellent forgeries. Eel merchants; that was a nice touch."

  "There's been a terrible mistake," said Ironfoot. "We've just arrived from Mag Mell in order to-"

  "Be quiet," said Wenathn. "If you wish to keep to your story,
that's fine. You may do so. As a magyster of this kollws, I have the right to examine you before turning you over to our gracious Unseelie protectors."

  A bit of resentment in the mention of the Unseelie? Silverdun believed there was.

  Ironfoot licked his lips and began to speak, but Wenathn cut him off again.

  "If I do so," he said, "you will most certainly be tried and convicted as spies of the Seelie Kingdom. I can only assume that this is not your desired outcome."

  "We are what we say we are," said Ironfoot. "We were attacked by those watchmen without explanation. My partner and I-"

  Now it was Silverdun's turn to interrupt. "If we were Seelie spies," he said carefully, "that would be extremely awkward for all parties. There could be a serious incident." He looked Wenathn in the eyes as he spoke.

  Wenathn gestured at the man in the corner. "Strike out that last statement," he said. Then he spoke to the guards. "Leave us. I'd like to question these prisoners privately."

  The clerk at the desk stood, taking his papers with him. He trotted to the door of the room, waving for the guards to follow him. The younger guard, standing behind Silverdun and Ironfoot, began to speak, but the clerk stopped him. "You've heard the magyster," he said. "Come."

  The door closed, and the room was empty save for Wenathn, Silverdun, and Ironfoot.

  "Let us speak as men of understanding, shall we?"

  Ironfoot stood. "Listen to me," he said, just as he'd been instructed by Paet. "We are precisely who we say we are." That last had a bit of Leadership in it. Wenathn, however, wasn't easily led.

  "Don't worry," said Silverdun. "It's all right. He knows who we really are."

  Ironfoot glared at him. "Hy Wezel!"

  "No, it's true. We are, in fact, Seelie spies, and we've been sent on a mission by Titania to undermine Mab's rule here in Annwn. Killing good Annwni men was never part of our plan."

  "I don't doubt your intentions are beyond reproach," said Wenathn, smirking. He stood, and gestured for Silverdun and Ironfoot to stand as well. "Still, you have killed them, and that puts you in a very difficult position."

  "You could turn us over to the Unseelie," said Silverdun. "Why not do so?"

  "Why not, indeed? I'd surely be lauded for doing it. And I most likely will, unless ..." Wenathn drew his pause out for effect, then seemed to change course.

  "The situation here in Annwn is a complicated one," he resumed. "The Unseelie rule here as our benefactors, not as our conquerors. And in order to maintain what some very cynical boors might call the illusion of autonomy, we Annwni are permitted to conduct our affairs to a large degree without their direct involvement. So when they do become involved, one takes an interest.

  "Two days ago, the Unseelie proconsul sent out a message for the guard to be watchful for a pair of Unseelie eel merchants matching your description. You were to be watched closely and detained only when you attempted to leave Blood of Arawn."

  They'd been betrayed. By whom? Aranquet, the ambassador to Mag Mell? He seemed the most likely candidate.

  "Unfortunately for you, yesterday a woman reported two Unseelie men acting suspiciously in her home to the guardsmen in my district. Eager to share in the reward that I myself offered for these men, a dozen of my guardsmen descended on that home, causing an unfortunate incident that led to the death of a number of them, and the loss of the entire building to fire. In short, it was an utter debacle, and one that has taken a great deal of effort to keep quiet."

  Silverdun was starting to understand. Wenathn was in a complicated position. If he turned them over to the proconsul, he'd be rewarded for capturing a pair of Seelie spies. He would also, however, be upbraided by his peers for having created the situation that got so many of his own people killed. He was looking for a way out. But surely the reward outweighed whatever calumny he might receive. What was he after?

  Then it hit him. Elections. The elections for magyster were being held later in the year. The landowners of the kollws would be voting soon, and Wenathn wanted to ensure that he was reelected.

  "If the circumstances of our capture were made public," said Silverdun, "a potential opponent might seize upon such a situation in order to cast you in an unfavorable light."

  "Such things do happen," said Wenathn.

  "Let me propose a scenario to you, Magyster Wenathn," said Silverdun.

  "Propose away."

  "Suppose you determined that we were, as you have suspected, notorious spies of Regina Titania. Having captured us, you would no doubt be warmly regarded by your Unseelie protectors."

  "No doubt," said Wenathn.

  "Suppose then that having thus determined, you remanded us to the custody of the Unseelie. I presume a small detachment of Unseelie Army officers would retrieve us from your jail and convey us back to the City of Mab, where we would be tried. And in the course of that trial, all sorts of things could come to light that no one in this room would be especially pleased to have repeated far and wide. Correct?"

  Wenathn frowned. "Correct."

  "Let us suppose even further," said Silverdun, "and this is in the wildest realm of speculation imaginable, of course. Let us suppose that some in Annwn would not be terrifically opposed to having friends in the Seelie Kingdom. Friends with pockets."

  Now Wenathn looked definitely interested. "Elections can become very expensive affairs," he said.

  "Then I believe there's a very simple solution that can accommodate us all," said Silverdun.

  Before dawn the next morning, Silverdun and Ironfoot were roused in their cell by a different pair of guards. They were brought out of the jail in a different direction, out to an enclosed courtyard, where Wenathn stood with a pair of Unseelie Army officers in front of a covered wagon. Wenathn ordered Silverdun and Ironfoot to be shackled hand and foot.

  "I'm glad we agreed to do this quietly," Wenathn said to the officers. "There are some elements here in Blood of Arawn that still take offense at your gracious assistance in our local affairs."

  "Yes, well. Some people will never accept the way of things," said one of the officers. "The proconsul is grateful to you for your assistance in this matter. It will not be forgotten."

  "I hope not," said Wenathn. "It's not every day that one gets the opportunity to foil a foreign plot, is it?"

  Wenathn's clerk handed the officers a sheaf of papers, and the officers placed Ironfoot and Silverdun into the back of the wagon, chaining their shackles to a bolt in the carriage's floor.

  There were no windows in the back of the wagon, and very little light. Silverdun's right hand hung free, since there was no way to shackle it, and he held it gingerly aloft. Ironfoot was a dark shape in front of him.

  "This is never going to work," said Ironfoot.

  "We'll see," said Silverdun.

  The wagon started and turned out of the courtyard. It proceeded through the winding streets of Blood of Arawn, jouncing on the cobbles and potholes as it went. The Unseelie officers were talking in the front of the wagon, but Silverdun couldn't hear what they were saying.

  The wagon pulled up short and stopped, nearly throwing Silverdun against the back of its cab.

  "Out of the way!" he heard one of the officers shout.

  There was another shout, this one wordless, and then steps on either side of the wagon. Two blades clashed, and then there was silence.

  The back of the wagon opened, and a man dressed entirely in black, with a black hood covering his face, stepped in and unlocked Silverdun's and Ironfoot's shackles. "Out," he said.

  Silverdun and Ironfoot climbed out of the wagon. They were in a narrow alley. An oxcart was blocking the path in front of the wagon, and standing on the cart were two more men in black, also hooded, holding crossbows. Another held a sword at the throat of the driver of the wagon. The other Unseelie lay either unconscious or dead next to him; in the predawn light of the alley it was difficult to tell.

  "Come with me," said one of the men in black. He led Silverdun and Ironfoot around the c
orner, where two horses were saddled and waiting. Once they were out of sight of the Unseelie, he pushed back his hood. It was the older of the two guards who had brought them to Wenathn.

  "Annwn used to be a good place," he said. "Are you truly here to help rid us of the Unseelie?" He peered deeply into Silverdun's eyes.

  "We are," said Silverdun.

  The guard handed Silverdun the travel documents that had been taken from them when they'd been captured. "Take these and ride directly to the river. There's a boat waiting for you there called the Magl," he said. "We'll detain these men long enough for you to get there, but no longer."

  Silverdun nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound crass, so he said nothing.

  "A little help getting up?" he said to Ironfoot, holding up his stump. Ironfoot helped him mount his horse, and the two of them rode off into the morning.

  Once they were safely on board the Magl, which turned out to be a dusty mining barge, the crew escorted them down into a small hold that smelled like dirt and lamp oil. It was close and dark, but Silverdun was grateful nonetheless.

  "Unbelievable," said Ironfoot. "I can't believe that actually worked."

  Silverdun, however, had been certain that it would. Wenathn wanted to be elected to the high council, but if the tale of their exploit was revealed in open court before the Unseelie proconsul, he'd be excoriated for having botched it so badly. The problem was that he couldn't have released them without making the proconsul's office suspicious, and he'd miss the opportunity to curry favor with them by allowing two spies to go free. The third option was to allow them to escape; not from hint, but from the Unseelie soldiers. That way Wenathn had done his duty as a good little collaborator, and the Unseelie looked stupid in the bargain.

  "But," said Ironfoot, "won't the truth of all this come out during the Unseelie investigation of our escape?"

  "It would, if there were an investigation. But the Unseelie can't allow themselves to be seen losing foreign spies, so they do what all spineless bureaucrats do when they're in trouble."

  "They cover it up."

  "Exactly. It's like it never happened. And now Wenathn is our good friend in Annwn, a man who clearly has no love for the Unseelie, and can almost certainly be influenced once we help get him elected."