by J B Lucas
"Which means that they have a lot of useful things," responded Ferran. The young man ran his hands through his golden curls and let out a long, noisy breath through his pursed lips. "I don't know. Claisan for sure. The emperor almost certainly, but they might have wandered off, bored. Possibly they have set up shop in the capital independently, but that would have been a rash decision on their part. I'd start with Claisan," he concluded.
Loreticus stood. "Thank you, old friend." They embraced each other.
"You're welcome. Come over more often. I hate these chores – a hundred babbling clients outside, who somehow have hooked into my family. I need a good campaign to drag me away. Have dinner with me. There's a new chef in the kitchen."
"I won't ask." Loreticus drained his glass of wine.
"Don't." He turned to Selban and nodded. "I won't hug you."
Chapter 5
"Damn it," spat Loreticus as they took the steps down into the streets of the palace complex.
"What? You're surprised that General Claisan is a suspect as well?"
"Yes," replied Loreticus. "It was supposed to be a hit without a trace back to us. Now we have someone who knows who the assassin was, knows the time the attack was planned, knows who the target was and, most likely, knows who we are. So having someone as ferocious as Claisan on our tails is an issue."
"Sometimes, Loreticus, your brain is too large and your mind too small," Selban croaked. Loreticus glanced at him, worried that he was suffering in the heat. Instead, the agent seemed animated. He uncurled his fingers as he spewed out points of logic. "Claisan doesn't know it was us."
"Me, not us."
"You, then. He only knows that it was an Eduan assassin. You don't know that he knew that it was last night, or that it was only the banker at this moment. That guard could have been put there on a permanent basis. Therefore, the most likely outcome of this is an open grudge against the assassins. He is a military man, short-sighted and quick-tempered. He'll retaliate first, investigate after."
They walked into the crowd of brightly coloured tunics, each hue indicating a department within the sprawling mess of the empire's bureaucratic operations. Selban kept up the pace as Loreticus mused.
"So our best plan then is to confirm this suspicion?" enquired Loreticus. Selban shrugged. "Is it risky or just nerve-wracking?"
"Well, it's a short-term hiccup that could become a very helpful twist. We wanted to weaken the general; now we have the opportunity to do it for free."
"Oh, I like that."
They had to wait when they arrived at the zealot general's rooms. This irked Loreticus but not because of any undue arrogance. People like Loreticus didn't wait. People like General Claisan didn't make him wait. Not unless he wanted to send a message.
So they sat waiting, like a couple of naughty apprentices, tapping their toes on the floorboards in front of a padded sofa whilst four gold-armoured guards watched them humourlessly. Selban occasionally coughed and choked up some form of matter, causing the soldiers to shift uncomfortably, but he’d swallow to be able to repeat the action after a few minutes.
Loreticus examined the soldiers without compunction. Two had blue dots between their brows, the cosmetic marks standing out incongruously amongst the metal and the violence of their presence. Suddenly, in unison and without notice, the guards stood taller, their chins poised, in a ceremonial stance.
"Must mean that the great windbag is coming," whispered Selban, and Loreticus looped his arm around the back of the sofa to look down the corridor. Claisan was indeed approaching.
The general was an exceptional man in many ways. He was head and shoulders above most of his peers, broad and muscular, his dark skin and grand beard causing him to stand out from a distance. An inner intelligence seemed too large for his body, and Claisan’s eyes seemed ready to burst from their sockets, standing out on stalks from his heroic face. He was a schoolboy’s idea of a god and a barmaid’s dream of a warrior.
His looming figure raced quietly forward, his wide shoulders and cloak taking up the space around him. His expression was calm, his dark eyes set with weary wisdom, and a glance from the general immediately built an impenetrable wall in front of Loreticus.
General Claisan wore, in defiance of all imperial fashions, a thick, oiled beard that was pulled to a point, and the rich blue dot between his brows was styled into a teardrop. He came to the sofa, extended his hand to both visitors, eschewing any preference for Loreticus due to rank. His two loyal generals, Iskandar and Marcan, peeled away, indicating to the soldiers to follow them. The general sat on a sofa opposite the agents and watched their discomfort.
"Might I ask why you've come to visit me, dear spymaster?" he asked. "My birthday is long gone."
"General," greeted Loreticus, smiling and spreading his hands, "we're investigating a murder, and it appears that you have a connection."
"Oh really?" asked Claisan, sitting back. He clasped his hands loosely and dropped them onto his thighs. "Which death are we talking about?” There was a frostiness in his voice, from a judgement made before he had arrived. “Because, you know, as a believer, I have a lot of friends being carried shoulder-high through the streets at the moment. A blue dot is a target in our empire, young spymaster. They cannot control our minds, so they take control of our bodies and homes."
"Yes, sir," said Loreticus, unmoved. "But I was talking about the fat banker."
"Not the thin one? Oh, you mean my friend for the last twenty years,” said Claisan sarcastically. “Yes, I believe that the man had a name. I made him very rich, and he gave me all of the opportunities to be where I am today, rather than scribbling up invoices and paychecks next door with the rest of my community." Claisan pouted. "So, dear Loreticus, yes, my friend had a name."
The spymaster dropped his head as a gesture of apology.
"I think I know who did it."
"Really?" asked the general petulantly.
"Do you want to know, or is the matter settled?" snapped Loreticus, then added, “sir.”
"It is very far from settled. Assassination is a fashionable solution at the moment. It's a shame that this one was a little too close to the fire." Claisan stared at Loreticus. "My dear spymaster, you will probably feel the brunt of my anger one day. I am not like you. When I like a person, it means that I do all I can for them. I liked my ‘fat banker,’ and I remain loyal to him. I don't hold to this transactional nature of friendship that you do."
"I'm sorry, general; I didn't mean to offend," said Loreticus quietly.
"You don't personally, but all of you do implicitly. I understand that you're all bored by the knowledge that all believers should be dead by now. Unburden the empire by us dying in our homes or away in the fields. Mark my words – I am a secondary victim of this cowardly crime, but the perpetrator shall be shown to me."
"Not by me, general," issued Loreticus. "You forget who brought me to the palace in the first place. I have a deep respect for your community and your traditions. I don’t judge you because of your beliefs. I judge you for your actions.”
“Very brave, little spymaster,” snapped Claisan. “You pull your sinewy influence around the city, whilst I fight to keep the city safe enough for you to do so. I don’t worry about your judgment too much.”
Loreticus leaned forward, raising his finger didactically. “For I look upon these great kings, and they believe their doings are their own. They say that no one could do what they did but themselves, and no one will succeed them for they shall never die.”
“Quoting my book to me, Loreticus?”
“Yes, sir. Your presumption that every non-believer is ignorant is as prejudicial as the other way around.”
Claisan looked at him, inanimately. But Loreticus knew that the general saw nothing other than his long nose, the slick hair, the soft and groomed skin. He began to feel like a patchwork of parts.
“You’ve obviously just had a difficult conversation, general, wh
ich has influenced your discussion with us,” said Loreticus. “Perhaps we should come back another time.”
Claisan and Loreticus quietly stared at each other. There was no deep animosity, just a strange strain of trying to understand the other.
Selban took a deep breath, whistling slightly through a nostril.
"There were two assassins in your friend's room last night," Loreticus interjected awkwardly. "Either both for your friend or one to tidy up the first job."
"Why?" asked Claisan, turning to the agent, his large black eyes unblinking.
"We don't know. We only know that one was from Surran, and the other was one of the Eduans," responded Selban.
"Surran?" Claisan turned his face away to gaze out of a window. "Which one killed my friend?"
"The Eduan, we believe," replied Loreticus.
"And the Surranid killed the Eduan?"
"Ultimately, yes."
"Then they did me a favour," rejoined the general.
"The Surranid waited until the Eduan performed her task," pronounced Loreticus.
Claisan raised his eyebrows.
"So who am I to chase? The Eduans or the Surranids in the capital?"
"I don't know, sir," said Loreticus.
The general sat quietly for a moment, studying the two men before him. There was an air of dissent hovering over the table as if not even the simplest terms could ever be agreed upon.
"That's enough for now, gentlemen," said Claisan and swiftly rose from the seat without using his hands. Loreticus and Selban struggled to rise from the deep cushions, eventually straightening up to face the waiting soldier. "Thank you for bringing this to my knowledge. I'm not sure of your intentions because such honesty is new for you two. I'll consider what that means later, but for now, I need to speak to a few people to understand the events of last night." He bowed, turned and strode out, his giant frame moving with the athleticism of a lither man.
*
Loreticus and Selban left the palace and moved through the crowds, to find a place to eat. Whilst his guards sat at the front, Loreticus led Selban to a small garden at the back, with climbers sucking in the heat and a rattan roof holding off the blaze of the sun.
"My mind rebels at the idea that he would have any greater influence on our empire than he already has scratched together," spat Loreticus. "He’s inherently a moral man, but he is so damn paranoid, and he unnecessarily feels persecuted."
"You have your culprit," pronounced Selban after they had eaten in silence. "He's paid off his debts with a cheaper solution, then covered his crime with a distraction."
"I don’t know," muttered Loreticus. "My mentor Eitan was a good friend of Claisan, and he said that he wouldn’t stoop to treachery even against his worst enemy."
"Well," said Selban, "I do love a good bit of treachery so long as it’s not at my expense, of course. And we both know that treachery is most effective when it’s least expected. Makes it wonderful to watch."
"Despite his grand morals, do we believe that the Surranid was from Claisan? It’s still a crime ethically," replied Loreticus.
"I don't know about that. Killing an assassin immediately after they murdered someone could be considered gratifyingly balanced."
"You don't believe that; neither do I," said Loreticus grumpily. Then he slumped forward, folding his arms on the table, where the sun had pushed its way through the reed-roof of the tavern. His wine glass was full and beaded with moisture, his pipe empty and free of apple-smoke. "He warned us that he would be blamed."
"Again, a double bluff pre-empting us establishing his guilt,” said Selban and levelled a knowing finger at the spymaster, as if to prove himself right.
"He also looked surprised by the news of a second assassin," countered the spymaster.
"Of course," confirmed Selban, and added sarcastically, "because a great general would never use a feint. Let me ask you a simple question, Loreticus. What was our desired outcome when we first set out on this plan?"
"To weaken Claisan, the great champion of the zealots."
"Indeed," said Selban. "To topple Claisan from his position of power. We know that he’s a rabble-rouser and that he’ll eventually push for equal status. We do not want to have an army under Claisan supporting his cause. We undermine the great general and put one of his less devout deputies in charge. We de-zealot the army."
"Selban, I feel guilty. I understand the need, but I feel guilty about undermining such a good man. Claisan is a smart man, and he brings wisdom that the other two lack. I also understand his frustrations with the lot of zealots. It doesn’t make sense." Loreticus took a deep breath and sighed. He started packing his pipe. "But you and me, for all the glory on this land, are the emperor’s puppets. Could an empire feel guilt, it would not be a safe place for its citizens. So we need to work as the empire, I suppose."
"He told you that he would be blamed. In fact, it was basically a request as far as I heard it."
"Oh, shut up."
Chapter 6
The spies left the tavern an hour later, with a carafe of wine in their bellies and a large meal stealing the energy for any uncomfortable emotions. Loreticus' guards fell behind them, wandering at a leisurely pace back towards the palace wall.
With a start, two of the guards sprang to life, running in front of their wards, blades out and levelled at a boy who was coming running, with a dagger in his belt. When Loreticus looked up, he saw that the young runner's eyes were pinned to his, and he hadn’t seen the soldiers.
"Stop!" shouted the lead guard, and the lad dug in his heels to scramble, suddenly aware of the alarm he was causing. He held up both his hands, his young face white with fear, his cheeks mottled red from the run.
"Sorry, my lord," he said. "I have a message from His Imperial Highness, Emperor Augustus. He is waiting for you in his garden."
"Damn, damn, damn," muttered Loreticus as they spun around to march back along the street. The crowds pinned themselves against the walls at the sight of the drawn swords, and magically, the path to the nearest palace entrance was clear. His guards peeled off at the entrance; the sentries opened the old wooden door, and the spymaster entered with his agent. Through a short tunnel, then a turn right, and they were in the emperor's garden. "Wait over there and don’t be disgusting," Loreticus instructed and directed Selban to a bench by the wall.
The emperor was standing under a large tree, running his fingers over something on a table. The heavy sun was merciless, yet he had on a thick tunic in gold and wore a cumbersome black braid. Augustus stood tall as Loreticus approached, a genuine smile baring his grey teeth.
"My dear Loreticus," he began, "my favourite influencer."
"Your Highness," greeted Loreticus and bowed. The emperor walked over and hugged him, enveloping the spymaster with his gigantic frame. Augustus was as tall and athletic as Claisan, despite his extra ten years.
Loreticus had always grappled with immature reactions to his emperor. When the summons came, he felt sick and stressed and nervous to have to meet this old friend of his mother’s. But the emperor had a strange aura about him, the glamour of a snake cornering a mouse. Massive and lean, brutish and intelligent. His every movement was a gentle study in elegance, slow and deliberate and perfect. His tranquillity belied the legend of the man who had led many tens of thousands into battle, a living God as he ruined ancient kingdoms and ended dynasties.
It was only recently that he had begun to slow down after his child was born. Something had cracked in him, and that new shift scared Loreticus in its potent eccentricity. Augustus’ daughter always played nearby, never leaving the palace, always in the company of the same people, soaking up and drowning in the attention of her father. It was the obsessive addiction of the emperor to his child that terrified the spymaster – an unspoken illness of the mind that can't be cured, but which had been there all along, in all of his dealings, hidden for years.
"Since when did you start esc
hewing a hug, Loreticus?"
"Well, I always avoided them I believe, your highness," he confirmed.
"Not the hugging type?"
"Not with men, sir."
The emperor laughed and led him to the table. On it was a map detailing the reach of the empire, from the Border Mountains in the east to the great farming reaches of the west. To the South was Surran and the edge of the Middle Sea. To the North was the barbarian mountains.
"They are our darkness, our blackest night," quoted the emperor. "Their darkness lets our star shine brightly."
"But should our star ever dim, their night will send storm clouds in," finished Loreticus. It seemed that the emperor was in one of his verbose moods, and Loreticus kept quiet to wait for the reason.
"We are strong because we are strong," stated Augustus. "We should consider expanding, and I am looking for a fight. Where do you think, spymaster of mine?"
"I don't know, your highness. I am a man who always likes to be overprepared. Better we know what is on the other side of the stormy mountains than we pick a fight with any of our rich trading partners. Your generals might love war, but your merchants and bankers won’t."
"There will always be traders sniffing out profits like dogs in the rubbish. We, the empire, have a specific purpose to fulfil in this world, and that is to unite all people under one throne. You know that. You've heard me say it enough."
"I know, sir, but you always give the rationale that unifying the kingdoms is to prevent war. It seems a little hypocritical to justify it by waging war."
"You're far too blunt, spymaster," laughed the emperor. "It's a good trait. Tell me, what do you know of Surran?"
"Well," began Loreticus, "it's certainly become a modish country to be discussing. Why do you ask?"
"We had a delegation come up this week with an invitation to build a road directly from the end of the cardo straight down to the trading town. To create settlements to feed and water the caravans," said Augustus. "Wealth for our merchants, work for our builders, influence for the throne."