by J B Lucas
“Not at all. The porter downstairs knows me, and he let me in.”
“And he didn’t talk to you at all?”
“Well, generally they don’t, do they? Servants?”
“No, I suppose not,” said Loreticus. “Does your father know that you’re here? He seemed exhausted by it all when we saw him the other night.”
“I don’t know what games you’re playing,” Pia snapped, her blue eyes now bright and her pale cheeks flushed. “But I have no father. My parents died when I was six.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Selban. She spun round and jabbed a finger in the air at him.
“Burned. Burned in a fire,” she said angrily. “You’re a nasty man to question something like that.”
“Pia,” said Loreticus, his tone soothing against her wrath, “There are a couple of people looking for you and perhaps it would be better to keep you protected.”
“What do you mean? You want to put guards here?”
“No, I want to hide you out of sight,” he replied. “Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“But do you trust me?” he asked, nodding slightly. Pia examined him, taking in his gentle eyes, his tightly curled hair, the boyishness of his appearance. She nodded back. “I work for the emperor, and I have some rooms where you can hide and rest. I’ll send people to let Roban know to find you as my guest.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Pia, “Why would anyone want to hurt me?”
“We don’t know. But we do know that your husband is close to the princess.” She nodded slowly. “We think that you might be a kidnapping target.” Her eyes widened again, and her fingers touched her mouth.
“Then I should wait for Roban,” she announced.
“No,” stated Loreticus. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist for the sake of the princess’s safety. You’ll be my guest until Roban returns.”
She paused, looking at him again, then turned and dipped to lift her dress with her hand, taking in Selban with a glance. The agent must have seen something in her expression because he instinctively glanced back at Loreticus. As Pia walked towards the door, a prisoner in a story of her own making, Loreticus smiled. He loved these games.
As they descended into the courtyard, two large soldiers took positions in the path, their overly polished armour distracting from their menace. Loreticus drew to a halt, recognising the newly commissioned crest on their breastplates, and waited patiently.
Slowly and with ample melodrama, General Antron skated between his guards. He was their elder by a decade, but there was something about him which implied a different age. Clumsy, unathletic despite his physical prowess, to self-aware.
“Spymaster,” he said as way of a greeting.
“General,” replied Loreticus.
“Have you found the cause of my headache yet?”
“No, not yet, although we have an idea. I’ve got men looking out for the person in question.”
“What’s his name?”
“General,” said Loreticus deliberately, “If I were to tell you that before guilt is proven, then I would expect a potentially innocent man to die. Let me have another day or two and I’ll resolve the matter.”
“Loreticus, I wasn’t keen to give you this job, but my attention is elsewhere, and the emperor thinks that you should earn your office. If I find that the informer suddenly vanishes, or never appears, I shall presume that either he was one of your little rats, or that he has chosen to become one. Either way, without a lump of flesh dangled in front of me, I shall pin every single secret leaked from the empire on you and your bunch of crooks.”
There was a short staring competition.
“Lovely,” said Loreticus, with a sudden broad smile. “It sounds like he nicked something quite interesting from you.”
“Nonsense.”
The spymaster started to push past one of the guards, who pushed back.
“Emperor’s business, ape,” snapped the spymaster. The soldier looked to his general, then moved out of the way.
“We’ll get your boyfriend’s letters back,” muttered Selban audibly as they were out of arm’s reach.
The rest of the walk to his tower was conducted in silence. Had Pia considered running to escape, the snap of guards whenever they saw the spymaster must have convinced her of the futility. Along the grand corridor, down to the main thoroughfare, where Selban took her elbow, past the small food market for the palace residents and staff, further away from the crowd to the quieter end of the street, towards the imperial wing.
Loreticus entered the gardens, Selban following with Pia. He stopped, blocking their path.
“Pia,” whispered Struss, standing next to the door to Loreticus’s garden. Imelda was next to him, pale and spent, great bruises under her eyes from tears and broken nights. She stepped forward, reaching with her hands to hold the girl.
“Who are you?” asked Pia.
“How did you get in here?” demanded Loreticus.
“I told you that I’d do anything to protect my daughter,” snapped Struss. He was an intimidating man, square jawed with cold, logical eyes. There was no threat in them, just a knowledge that were he and the spymaster to come to blows, that Struss would be the victor.
“And I’m protecting her,” said Loreticus. “I suggest that you leave, and I’ll let you know when to come back.”
“No,” whinnied the woman, distraught. “I won’t leave her with you. That’s where Roban died! How can I leave her with you here?”
Pia stared at the woman, then down towards the wall where the woman gesticulated.
“This isn’t your decision,” said Loreticus. Selban put his fingers in his mouth and blasted a deafening whistle. A moment later, three guards trotted into the gardens from the street. They analysed the stand-off, then took positions in defence of the spymaster. Loreticus and Struss hadn’t broken eye contact, and the moment held.
“Please let me go,” begged Pia, but not to Loreticus. She was addressing Struss and Imelda. “You’re not my parents. Please let me go.”
Struss moved his look from Loreticus to the girl hiding behind him without blinking, and tears surged, turning his pupils a sun-bleached sea green. He stepped forward, but the guards were immediately there, swords drawn, one with his tip pressed against Struss’s neck. The man held up his hands, shocked by the sudden realisation of where he was. His wife came to him, leading him back a step, and then out of the gardens, both parents watching Pia as the soldiers’ marching guided them towards the nearest exit through the massive palace wall.
“Wow,” sighed Selban. “That was emotional. I’m exhausted.”
Loreticus was about to respond when a servant came dashing up. Sweating, panting, he stole everyone’s attention, holding out a damp piece of paper.
“I can’t read this, boy,” snapped Loreticus. “You’ve sweated it through and now it’s illegible. Speak up.”
“Sempus. Needs. To. See. You,” gasped the boy. “Urgent.”
The spymaster pulled a grimace of impatience and gestured for Selban to take Pia into his private gardens. If anything, he was glad to get a break from her insanity.
“What?” he yelled as he strode into Sempus’s rooms.
On the long, repurposed dining table before him lay four bodies, all naked but for humility cloths, two with great violent gorges in their torsos.
“I want you to look at his nipples and tell me what you see,” said the physician.
“Oh, good gods, Sempus,” said Loreticus, frustrated. “It’s been a long day, so why don’t you just be simple for once in your damned life?”
“Because, my braying lord, your eyesight is better than mine.” They looked at each other for a moment. “Do you honestly think that I’d ask you to look at a dead man’s nipples for a joke? You are rather strange at times.”
They walked along the row of bodies until Roban’s.
“Let me give you my lo
gic,” said the physician. “When the mottling faded, it did so in a certain pattern, as if it were a bruise. I’m not sure why, I’m no poisons expert. However, I followed it to its fulcrum and I believe that it is where the toxin was administered.”
“The nipple?”
“Indeed,” said Sempus, standing up straight and offering a cocked half-smile. “And that is why I thought it was a heart attack. The spasmed chest, the tightened rib cage.”
“That’s quite a professional assassination you’re describing,” said Loreticus.
“Well, possibly just a crafty one, or one that was inspired. I think that we have ourselves a pre-planned, cold-blooded murder here.”
“On his wedding day,” muttered the spymaster.
“Callous,” said Sempus, shaking his head.
“Any other ideas about the kill?”
“Instinct only again, I’m afraid. But let me show you something.” He stepped to a smaller table, took up a floral arrangement and approached Loreticus. With a deftness bordering on daintiness, Sempus’s plump fingers pierced the spymaster’s tunic with the pin behind the flowers. He then pushed slightly and the pin pricked Loreticus’s nipple.
“Ingenious,” said Loreticus. “Absolutely ingenious.”
“Yes, and it takes one to catch one.”
“Let go of the pin now, Sempus.”
Chapter 6
Loreticus strode back to the tower, his mind running rapidly through the logic in front of him. He now knew that Roban was worth killing, simply for his aunt’s wealth. But for someone with Pia’s family – alleged family, he corrected – that wealth was not a compelling factor.
Roban was killed by an unusual toxin despite being adored by everyone he met, other than the older men of his acquaintance who seemed to view him as mawkish. In other words, exactly what a tutor to young girls should be.
Roban was an orphan, and now Pia was claiming to be an orphan.
Pia was oblivious to the world around her.
What the devil happened that day to upset so many minds?
Selban was impatient by the time he got to the garden, a handkerchief pressed to his sticky nose and frustration boiling the eyes which looked over it.
But this was the spymaster’s private place of quiet, and so he thought little of Selban and more of the open air. The sun had not been out in force that day, and the small plants in the dry earth kicked up a citric aroma. Loreticus instructed the daily to bring over some chilled wine to where he joined Pia and Selban at the table.
The three of them sat.
“So?” asked Selban.
“It was ingenious the way it happened,” replied the spymaster, and took a long draught from his glass.
“What was?” asked Pia.
“Nothing.” He turned in his chair, resting both elbows on the table now, glancing between the two of them. “Anything?” he asked.
“Nope,” said Selban. He stood up, leaned over the top of the table and stared closely into Pia’s eyes. It was an unusual scenario, the glamorous young woman with magical blue eyes fighting a small battle of glares with the blood-shot orbs in Selban’s warped face. “But there’s something in there,” he said.
“You need to clean your teeth,” said Pia, and Selban backed off to his seat, sipping wine, looking away and running his tongue around the inside of his mouth.
“Pia, I don’t believe you either,” said Loreticus, “And let me explain why. I’ve seen people with two souls in their heads, and I’ve seen people poisoned so that they lose their memory. I’ve seen soldiers so shaken in battle that their minds leave their bodies and they are simply tangible ghosts, wondering around this world. You are none of those.” He gestured towards her hands. “You aren’t wearing your wedding band, or your bracelets like we saw the morning we found you.” He gestured towards her dress. “That is new, probably very new, and you consciously chose it to wear, which means that you packed before you ran off from your parents’ house.” He leaned forward, a gracious version of Selban. “And I can see in your eyes that you’re lying, and you’re waiting for me to tell you that I know you are.”
She blinked, looked away, and took a drink of wine.
The spymaster stood, nodded to Selban, and left.
“It’s time to tell me,” Loreticus said as he sat on Struss’s large bench.
He and his wife had been eating a modest meal in the kitchen, away from the familiar surroundings which had been full of family until a week ago.
“What? What should I tell you?” asked Struss.
“Her past.”
Imelda looked at her husband, and the man scratched the back of his head, pinching his mouth shut in submission. Then he looked at the spymaster and nodded.
“We lived in the country before,” he began. “A large farm out towards the mountains, not so far from the sea. We did well, trading with the merchants which came by water and those which came by road. We were on the empire’s cusp and there was plenty of money to be made. Pia is our only child, but we didn’t mind. There was a household of families who worked for us, either on the farm, or in our home, or the business itself. We couldn’t have asked for more.
“But a day came when our negligence was cursed. A blaze broke out, and it killed a few of our household, and it maimed several more. Pia admitted to starting the fire when she was playing kitchen with some of the other kids near the back of the buildings. She was only young, but she understood what she had done. She saw the wounds on the faces of those who had been burned, and she saw one of her little friends desolated by the loss of his parents.
“The building wasn’t ruined, but so many lives were. We left the farm under the management of people we trusted, and we shall look after everyone who was hurt or involved for as long as they are in this world.
“But Pia has been haunted by those faces for her entire life, and sometimes she will wake up in the night, dreaming of that day, and we’ll find her away from herself. She’s back to being five years old again. She’s run back to before the accident.”
“The orphaned boy was Roban?” asked Loreticus.
“Yes,” replied Struss. “I spent all of my time searching for that little boy who was collected by his aunt. But with her being a diplomat and travelling all the time, and him being employed in the imperial household, I was constantly frustrated in my attempts. Did you know that people who work in the palace are written off the census?”
Loreticus shrugged, “Well, yes. Finding people is part of my job.”
Struss glanced at him strangely, then continued. “I only recognised him when Pia brought him home to introduce him.” He shook his head, then glanced at his wife. “What an evil fate awaited our child. The gods were bringing their vengeance home on an innocent soul.”
“How did you recognise him?”
“He looks like his mother. Very much,” said Imelda. Loreticus was surprised by her voice. It was the first time he had heard her talk normally, and suddenly the weight carried by these two parents fell on him and drained the blood from his heart.
“Did you kill him?” asked Loreticus.
“No,” replied Imelda. “That would have been frustrating the gods.”
“Did Pia?”
“Of course not.”
Loreticus nodded, stood, and left without being accompanied.
Tristofan stared coldly at Sapp in the back of the carriage. No-one had spoken for four hours.
“You chose him,” muttered the postie.
Tristofan turned to Yellan.
“I’m stronger than I thought,” complained the mercenary. “I generally hit normal people. He was obviously just fragile.” He looked down at the lifeless face of Ibor Country. His eyes were wide open, his mouth gaping in a fearsome attempt to draw in air.
“That’s not from a bloody punch!” shouted Tristofan. “You suffocated our bloody captive. Selban said we needed him alive. You’re a bloody idiot.”
H
e sat back in the chair, and folded his arms, staring out of the window. Yellan’s face was purple, his mouth bouncing in a pursed grimace of fury. He was about to lash out until Sapp clicked his fingers in front of Yellan’s nose.
“I wouldn’t be doing that,” said Sapp gently. “He’s Selban’s man, I’m Loreticus’s fellow, and Parp don’t need no-one to protect him. You’ll be hanging by your toes before the week’s over if you make things worse.”
Yellan turned his gaze to Sapp, who watched him contentedly.
“You’ve cursed my lucky mission, Yellan,” said Tristofan. “The gods have their eyes on you now.”
Chapter 7
Loreticus was sitting in the garden, back at the table with the wine, late that evening, getting drunk. Selban was resting his head on his arms the other side, and Pia had been put in the guest rooms at the base of the tower with a guard outside in case she had any questions.
“Good gods,” he moaned to his half-slumbering friend. “We’ve got twelve hours to create some sort of magic. An audience with two of the most important people in the empire tomorrow, and I have to go to both with nothing but suspicions and a mad girl.”
“Make something up,” muttered Selban, sucking up some errant saliva from the corner of his mouth.
“Doesn’t work like that.”
“Sure it does.”
“Who then, Selban?”
At that moment, Tristofan led his band through the door at the edge of the garden. They manoeuvred stiffly, a large trunk banging the door frame and causing them to graze their knuckles as they came through. Loreticus watched them waddle up the path towards him.
“Gentlemen, I hope that you’re bringing me a great chest of gold coin,” said Loreticus, his words slightly slurred. Selban looked up from his arms, resting his chin on the table. “Because we’ve had a long day and our evening meal came out of that large jug in the middle of the table.”
“Well . . . it’s not gold coins,” said Sapp.