Pencil staff in hand, Annabel stepped lightly through the archway. Perhaps those few deportment lessons had been useful for something after all—she had always been able to step lightly, but she didn’t think she had ever done it so easily. None of them heard her approach; there were three of them surrounding Isabella, kerchiefs wrapped around the lower halves of their faces. Isabella still had her long, deadly hatpin in one hand, but two of the men facing her had pistols, their barrels even longer and deadlier than the hatpin.
“What are you going to do?” asked one of the men grimly. “Stab all of us? Don’t move, Miss Farrah; Lord—”
“No names, you fool!” hissed the one with a bite mark on his hand.
“Oh, how ridiculous!” snapped Isabella. “You’re wearing the same perfume you wear to every summer ball, Lord Arrian! And if I couldn’t recognise Mr. Collette from that really very distinctive nose, I’m certain I couldn’t avoid noticing the family crest he’s still wearing on his signet finger!”
“Oh,” said Mr. Collette. “Does that mean we can kill her now? She ruined my best waistcoat a year ago in Broma, and I really think that bite mark is going to scar.”
“I told you to take off your signet!” said Lord Arrian, in very nearly as much disgust as Isabella. “You can shoot her when we’ve got the queen heir. You’d best begin calling for her, Miss Farrah.”
Isabella sighed deeply, and said earnestly, “If you were in such bad need of coaching for negotiations, you should have come to me! What could possibly be a motive for me to call for the queen heir now? I already know you’re going to kill me, and of course I shall refuse, in pure spite.”
“You—but—”
“You’re both idiots,” said the third man, bitterly.
Annabel considered them silently, and reached with her other hand into the pocket that held her sketchbook. She didn’t really need it to use the staff, but it was familiar and safe; and while Isabella was facing pistol barrels, Annabel preferred to be extraordinarily careful. Neither of the men with pistols seemed particularly clever, but it didn’t take cleverness to pull a trigger.
“I agree,” said Isabella, as Annabel drew two pistols into her notebook, tracing the chamber of each carefully. “You’re both idiots. It really makes me regret allowing myself to be caught by you. I don’t like to think of people knowing I was captured by such people.”
“Let—! We caught you fair and square!” protested Mr. Collette.
“And you might just as well take off your kerchiefs, since I know who you are, anyway,” Isabella continued. That made the third man laugh. To him, Isabella said kindly, “There’s no need for you to take yours off, of course, unless you don’t feel perfectly comfortable in it. I’ve really no idea who you are, but since you’ve not brandished a pistol in my face, I feel inclined to approve of you.”
“Very kind of you,” said the third man politely, and bowed.
Annabel, sketching rapidly in her little book, finished the last lines and ran her eye carefully over the completed drawing. She had made a study of each new type of pistol that came out; partially because it was important, Melchior said, to keep up with the latest in the new craze of firepower, but mostly because pistols were new and fascinating and a little bit loud. Besides, it had seemed useful, since the staff took the form of a pencil with her, to know how to draw one if needed.
Finished with her drawing of the two pistols belonging to Isabella’s captors, Annabel turned the page and drew another, more compact version with two fat little barrels. She made sure to draw this one with full chambers, just as she had been very careful to draw the others with empty chambers.
She felt the weight in her pocket before she quite finished the drawing, and took a step toward the others as she finished the final shading on the double-trigger. Perhaps she wasn’t careful enough; the third man looked over sharply, prompting the first two men to turn around.
Lord Arrin’s eyes grew very wide above his kerchief, and then narrowed in what Annabel was quite certain was a satisfied smile. “Very good timing, your Majesty!”
“Wait!” commanded the third man, sharply.
“Actually,” said Annabel, drawing her pistol and levelling it as she came, “I’m not your Majesty until I’m crowned later this year. Until then, you’re supposed to call me your Highness. Don’t move, please.”
“We’ve got pistols too!” snapped Mr. Collette. “You can’t tell us what to do!”
“Try and fire them,” Annabel invited. “Go on; I’ll wait.”
Lord Arrin and Mr. Collette looked at each other, then back at Annabel’s levelled double-barrels. The third man gave a short, sharp hiss of annoyance, seized Lord Arrin’s pistol, and put the dainty barrel against Isabella’s temple. The heavy click of the hammer falling sounded loudly in the silence.
Isabella said, “I call that rude, I really do!”
The third man hissed once more through his teeth. He dropped the pistol contemptuously to the cobbles, and said to Isabella, “We’ll meet again, Miss Farrah.”
“Will we really?” Isabella asked. “How lovely. I’ll make sure to be ready for you this time.”
He laughed again, and ducked through one of the archways before Annabel could threaten to shoot him, much to her annoyance. She probably wouldn’t have shot him, but it would have been nice to have him still there when Melchior and Raoul came to see what the fuss was about. They should be along shortly, if Annabel knew anything about Isabella; she was almost certain that the other girl had a distress spell somewhere about her that linked to Raoul.
Annabel corrected the tilt of her pistol to take in the two figures of Lord Arrin and Mr. Collette, who now, with a single, useless pistol between them, stared at each other.
“Since you were so full of suggestions earlier,” she said, “I’ve got one for you. It involves you sitting down on one of those very comfortable piles of rubbish until a friend of mine comes to ask you some questions.”
“It’s no good running, after all,” Isabella reminded them. “I know who you are, so even if you do run, all you’ll get out of it is sweat, and someone waiting for you when you get home.”
“Is Raoul coming?”
“Goodness, how did you know about that?” Isabella sounded almost startled.
Annabel grinned, very pleased with herself. “Why else would you let yourself get captured after conveniently losing me in another street? I suppose you had an alarm spell somewhere outside the grounds—actually, the Blacksmith’s son probably had it for you.”
“Perhaps I’m losing my edge,” complained Isabella. “That man earlier nearly swept me away earlier than I intended to be caught, and now this!”
“I might have been surprised if I hadn’t been living with you for a couple of weeks,” Annabel told her comfortingly.
“Might have is no comfort to me!” said Isabella. “Oh well; these gentlemen of dubious intelligence—”
“I say!”
“Watch what you say, Miss Farrah!”
“—these gentlemen of dubious intelligence,” continued Isabella, in a very clear voice, “don’t seem to have suspected anything, so that’s a comfort, anyway. Raoul and Melchior should be here in a few more minutes. Less, if they take the right path through this nasty little muddle of archways and unwashed cobblestones.”
“Firebrand!” said Melchior wrathfully, striding into the courtyard a moment later, “If you continue to lead my Nan into the kind of danger that you routinely court and enjoy, I warn you that you won’t have to wait for the Old Parrasians to end your life! I shall take the greatest pleasure in wringing your neck myself!”
“Told you,” said Mr. Collette to his co-conspirator, in a low, gloomy voice. “Everybody finds her an annoyance.”
Raoul, following swiftly behind Melchior, cuffed Mr. Collette so hard behind his ear that both of the conspirators were sent sideways into the garbage. “That doesn’t give you leave to point pistols at her!”
“Raoul!” said Isabe
lla, considerably startled. “I’ve never appreciated you enough! Thank you! I’ve been wanting to do that for the last fifteen minutes at least!”
“D’ruther that than your sharp tongue, anyway,” muttered Mr. Collette, who didn’t seem to know when to stop.
“Are you hurt, Nan?” Melchior demanded, bypassing Isabella completely and scanning Annabel from head to toe.
“Of course not,” said Annabel, tucking the pencil staff back into her pocket. “I had the staff. Oh. And now this.”
She wriggled the small pistol in Melchior’s face.
“And Isabella did try to keep me out of it,” she added. “She pushed me down a side street and led them this way. I came because I didn’t want her to get hurt.”
“That’s very good of you, Nan,” Isabella said, in a pleased sort of voice. “In fact, I tried very hard to keep you out of danger. I’ve never appreciated how very annoying it is to have someone dance willy-nilly after one when one has been careful to leave them safe in another place. I feel as though I ought to apologise to you, Raoul.”
“Well, it’s about time,” said Raoul. He was unsuccessful in preventing the pleased grin from spreading over his face, though his voice was gruff.
“Oh, and I do think an apology is warranted from you, Melchior,” Isabella mentioned politely.
“From him! You haven’t even apologised to me yet! You just said you ought to!”
“I tried my utmost to leave your Nan safe and lead away the—”
Annabel coughed. “Whose Nan?”
“I apologise unreservedly, Firebrand,” Melchior said, after scanning Annabel one last time. “Where did you get that firearm, Nan?”
“The staff, of course,” Annabel said. “I’ve been practising.”
“Designing, too; or is this a new model I’ve not seen?”
“It’s a prototype,” said Annabel, “but Hendersons has been very accurate, so I didn’t wait for them to approve it. I like this size.”
“It’s all very well to stand here and discuss firearms,” Isabella said, “but it strikes me that those two are trying to wriggle away, and I really think we’d do best to get information from them before it occurs to that other man to have them killed.”
Mr. Collette, who had indeed been trying to wriggle unnoticeably away, followed by Lord Arrin, froze and said in a shocked voice, “Yes, but he won’t try to have us killed!”
“Of course not!” Isabella assured them, in a voice too innocent, too kindly. “But do tell me! Which of you considered that he would put a pistol to my head and pull the trigger?”
There was a very uncomfortable silence before Lord Arrin said sulkily, “Collette wanted to kill you, too!”
“Naturally,” agreed Isabella. “I find it’s a pretty common desire when people interact with me. On the other hand, very few people actually put a pistol to my head and pull the trigger when they know the pistol is loaded.”
“It’s not much use putting it to your head if it’s not loaded,” Annabel remarked.
“Exactly so. Your friend is really a lot more ruthless than either of you are—or than either of you thought he was, I imagine. Are you really so sure he won’t try to have you done away with?”
Mr. Collette and Lord Arrin exchanged another glance as Raoul chivvied them to their feet, and Lord Arrin said, “Don’t take us by the main road, then, for pity’s sake! There were a few of us stationed along there, waiting.”
“I’ll take these two as far as the posting house,” Raoul said to Melchior. “The other guardsmen are waiting in the alley, so they won’t have a chance to run. You can accompany her Highness and Miss Farrah back to the school if you’d like.”
“Would you like to borrow my pistol?” enquired Annabel, in a helpful spirit. “It’s no use using theirs—they won’t work at the moment.”
Raoul looked in disfavour from Annabel’s tiny, useful pistol to the two more manly ones that were utterly useless, and sighed. “Thank you, your Highness. I’ll send it back by Dannick.”
“I’ll come back for it later,” Melchior said briefly. “I’ll need to be present for the questioning in any case.”
“Rude!” said Annabel. “We do all the work to capture two dangerous agents for the Old Parrasians and we’re sent back to school!”
“Just as things were getting interesting!” instantly agreed Isabella. “It really is too bad!”
Annabel nodded, but caught Melchior’s eyes, which were glinting with decided warning. She added hastily, “On the other hand, a cup of tea would be nice, and I’ve no idea what interrogation techniques are effective today.”
“You’re more familiar with the traditional ones!” agreed Melchior, his lips narrowed sarcastically. “Imagine how much use you could make of the more modern, magic-based methods!”
That surprised a giggle out of Annabel. She took the arm Melchior offered by way of indicating that she wasn’t really averse to going back to Trenthams, and on Melchior’s other side, Isabella took his right arm.
“Now don’t you agree,” Isabella said persuasively, “that you’ve entirely misjudged me, and that my intentions are merely to be of as much use as possible to the queen heir?”
Melchior grinned a little. “Very well, Firebrand. I admit I was in the wrong. Are you content?”
“Not at all!” Isabella assured him. “Now I must bring to your attention the matter of your constant snide remarks, not to mention your sad habit of assuming the worst whenever Nan and I are out of your sight…”
Classes seemed to drag more than usual that afternoon. Annabel wasn’t sure if it was the discomfort of her corsets, so strictly enforced by the Deportment Master, or the lack of food combined with their strenuous morning—or even the fact that she was impatient to know what Melchior had discovered from his questioning of the two men she and Isabella had captured.
Melchior hadn’t returned to Trenthams by the time the dinner gong sounded brassily through the halls. Neither was he in his room when Annabel, after a weary and entirely unsatisfying hour in the lunch hall, visited it in hopes of finding him there. Isabella wasn’t in their suite when she got back there, either, which made Annabel wonder if she had excused herself from Isabella in order to find Melchior, or if Isabella had excused herself from Annabel for her own reasons. In any case, it was likely that it wasn’t just Melchior who was busy at his own business; Annabel shrewdly suspected that Isabella had another, more secret class to lead at Trenthams.
Not entirely to her surprise, there were no evening visitors to the suite she shared with Isabella. Annabel hadn’t encouraged it after the first day, but even if she had been the most enthusiastic of hosts, she had the feeling that the supply of visitors would have failed that night anyway. Girls had been less inclined to speak to either Isabella or Annabel that morning, and although Annabel was content to have Isabella’s friendship and the occasional exchange with Delysia or Alice, she wasn’t quite prepared for the level of unfriendliness that was on display that afternoon. During class, the girls who had originally crowded into her suite to stare over their teacups with bright, considering eyes and compliment her carefully as Miss Ammett, now tittered behind their fans when the Deportment Master icily instructed her for the fourth time to mind her carriage! More, they were actively spiteful at dinner, their voices high and carrying, and Annabel was glad to get away from the childishness of it all.
Failing to find Melchior in his room or Isabella in their suite, Annabel made herself a cup of tea and decided that bed was the only place to be. She was more tired than she’d thought, and the removal of her corset with the help of one of the gadgets Isabella had procured from the blacksmith’s son only assuaged some of the discomfort.
When Annabel woke the next morning, her teacup was back on the sideboard where it belonged instead of on her night stand, and Isabella was pacing the floor in a manner as energetic as it was silent.
“Ah, you’re awake!” she said, without pausing that exercise. “That’s good. I’ve a
feeling, Nan, that this will be a trying day.”
“Well, that’s good, then,” said Annabel, a little grumpily. She was already feeling far too hot, and there was a damp patch where her shoulders rested through the night, suggesting that she had been far too hot for quite a while before she woke. “If I was looking for a frame of reference, do you consider yesterday to have been a trying day as well?”
“Yesterday was an interesting day,” Isabella said. “Not trying, as such. I’m very much afraid that today will be more unpleasant.”
Annabel groaned and sat up, throwing off the covers. It was too late to try going back to sleep; she might as well have a cup of tea, despite the heat. “What, do you think the Royalists will try to kidnap us today?”
“I shouldn’t imagine so—oh, and that reminds me. One of the maids asked me to give you a message. You’ve been having more luck with the maids than I’ve been having with the footmen, I take it?”
“What message?”
“I’ve no idea; she wrote it and twisted it up for you. I didn’t think it polite to try and read it so I made you a cup of tea instead.”
Annabel was surprised into a hiss of laughter, and accepted the cup of tea. “Really? That must have been a bit of a strain.”
“You have no idea!” Isabella said devoutly. “Do read it, Nan—perhaps it will shed some light on our situation. Failing that, we’ll have to bother Melchior again.”
“We’ll have to bother him again anyway,” Annabel remarked, untwisting the screw of paper. “We want to know what those two said during their interrogation.”
“Do you suppose he’ll tell us?”
“I don’t know,” said Annabel honestly. “I thought you had some ideas about how to get the information out of him if he didn’t want to tell.”
“I do,” Isabella agreed. “I’m really not sure you’ll like them.”
“I don’t like a lot of things you make me do,” Annabel said. “But I don’t suppose that’s going to stop you, so I might as well make the effort.”
Isabella leaned over her shoulder. “Don’t be like that, Nan. It’ll be fun. What does your little maid have to say?”
Staff & Crown Page 17