“I – again, sir… I…”
“Yes, yes, yes…” he dismissed quickly with a wave of his hand, cutting her off and not really hiding the exasperation in his tone. “You ‘don’t know anything’… you’ve already said. With the wealth of resources available to me however, I have been able to determine who’s behind it all, but more on that a little later… Instead, can you guess what else is rumoured to have been stowed aboard this ship after it arrived in port yesterday? No…? Apparently, a large trunk filled with clothes for the princess was also brought aboard… aboard a ship I am told on good authority is set to depart tomorrow evening to ‘destinations unknown’…” He paused for just a moment, entirely for effect and to increase tension.
“Now that interests me very much,” he went on, reaching out almost absent-mindedly and running his gloved hand across the jewelled hilts of the swords that stood at the rack by the main door. “We have Endweek tomorrow night and Princess Charleroi is expected to be attending a plethora of official engagements over the course of the next week as part of the treaty celebrations: the one place she definitely shouldn’t be is anywhere else, rendezvousing with a ship full of supplies and her best dresses. Perhaps she’s not intending to depart with this vessel, however a devious mind might think all this were some kind of contingency plan – a standby for the princess that offers some safe avenue of escape in case of danger…
“It may all be a complete coincidence, of course,” he conceded with a shrug, not believing that for a moment, “but as a loyal member of the Namur, I take any threat to the king or his family very seriously. And so we come to the point of my asking you here today…” he declared brightly, turning to face her back as he rested his against the sword rack. “You may not know much about politics or power, girl, but you do spend a lot of time with the princess and if there were something happening in which she was involved, I’d imagine it would be impossible for you not to know about it… hmmm…?”
“I – I don’t know what to say sir…” Annabel stammered softly, the terror in her voice a siren song to Garrick’s predatory instincts as she turned to face him. “I’d never want anything to happen to the princess. If I knew anything, I’d be sure to tell you right away.”
“Oh yes…” he nodded in solemn agreement, his fingers closing about the hilt of a sword behind his back. “I know you will…”
XIV
Chance Encounters
Darkness... and someone with catlike movements passed silently in the shadows, keeping low to avoid detection. Little more than a wraith in the moonlight, a hooded figure all in black crept slowly beneath the window sill, pressed flat against the outside wall of the inn. It was a warm enough night and a window left open in search of some elusive breeze provided a perfect point of entry. Reaching up carefully, he pushed the wooden frame high and peered in, squinting against the deeper darkness of the room beyond.
With extreme caution, he hoisted himself up onto the sill and brought around the small crossbow he’d hung down the centre of his back. There were rooms filled with sleeping guests… and his mission was to kill all within, with one of them the primary target and the rest an unfortunate case of collateral damage. When the deed was done, a fire would destroy the inn and the evidence, and all would appear to be some terrible, tragic accident…
The crossbow rose, catching the light of the moon through the open window as he paused to steady his aim and pulled the trigger…
Nev awoke with a soft gasp, her chest heaving with the fright of the nightmare, and she found she’d broken into a cold sweat that had left her clothes faintly damp. It took a moment or two for the shock to dissipate as her sleep-addled brain struggled its way back to the reality of waking… of remembering where she was as the sound of the water and the rocking of the sailboat brought it all back to her in a rush. Nev rarely experienced bad dreams – surprisingly enough, she sometimes thought, when she thought about it at all – and that one had been far more vivid – far more real – than any she could remember.
The sun hung low on the western horizon below a layer of thin, wispy cloud and she was surprised to find that the boat was headed straight for a small, curved beach, skating across the tops of the moderate waves with the help of a gusty northerly wind. She glanced nervously about as her clarity returned, then sighed with both relief and a little melancholy as she received reassuring nods from Godfrey at the rudder, and Lester too, the boy reclining in the middle of the boat not far from where she’d been laying.
Nev suspected there was no more than an hour or so to sunset and as she looked up to her left, her breath caught again at the sight of cliffs off the port bow, towering above her to a height of almost two hundred metres. The heights on that side sloped sharply down toward the narrow sliver of sand they were heading for, approaching at a steady pace that seemed a little too fast to her untrained eye.
“Ready with the sails, Toadface,” Godfrey called softly, his voice barely audible above the roar of the surf surrounding them.
“Ready, Westy…” the boy assured with nervous excitement, already upright with his hands gripped tightly around the rigging.
“Righto…” he warned, waiting for the right moment. “Haul ‘em in… now…!”
With a few deft movements, Lester quickly loosened the billowing mainsail and hauled it in, spilling the air within and bringing it down in a cascade of folding canvas. The boat began to lose momentum almost immediately, slowing noticeably as Godfrey turned the rudder slightly and brought it in close to the beach.
“Hold on there, Nev… there’ll be a bit of a bump when we hit…”
She barely had time to brace herself before the bow bit into the wet sand at an oblique angle and sent her lurching forward. Even so, Godfrey’s warning had probably saved her from losing a few teeth as she managed to stop short of smashing her face into the gunwale.
“Anchor away…” Lester called out eagerly, already knowing what needed to be done as he leaped over the side with the thing snugged under one arm.
Fast as a rabbit, he sprinted at least a dozen metres up the beach with the ten kilogram anchor trailing a rope behind that remained tied to the bow near where Nev lay. Finding a suitably-large rock sticking out of the sand, he raised the implement over his head with both hands like a huge, barbed hammer and drove it hard into the ground, making certain one of the hooks connected with the stone so there was no chance of it coming loose.
“Alright then,” Godfrey declared, already slipping his own pack over his shoulders as he jumped over the side and into knee-deep water. “We’ve at least ten or twelve miles to cover and no time spare to do it in… we need to find ourselves some horses…”
“Where are we going to find horses here…?” Nev asked, sounding very unimpressed as she shouldered her own rucksack and clutched the katana tightly in one hand. She stood unsteadily up at the bow, eying the very shallow water beyond with some serious doubt and heavily overthinking the best way to avoid getting her boots wet.
“We’ve a friend who runs a tavern near here: serves as a rest-stop for travellers heading east or west on the Huon High Road…” Godfrey explained with a wry smile, moving around to the bow and extending a supporting hand as she awkwardly launched herself from the boat and, much to her own amazement, indeed landed on the wet sand beyond the line of the actual water. She was then forced to bolt up the beach with an inadvertent squeal as the surf immediately and rather uncharitably decided to come rushing in at her with surprising speed.
They’d sailed for the rest of that first night and most of the following day, heading steadily west under the mild but constant winds surging down across the Deepwater from the mainland. As Percy had suggested, there was indeed plenty of water and a box full of sealed jars containing a plain variety of preserved meats and fruits that was more than enough to survive on.
Godfrey had stayed well out to sea for the first twelve hours or so, a succession of light easterlies pushing the little boat along at a good four or
five knots for most of the journey as he made sure they stayed clear of any possible search area. They encountered few other ships during that part of the voyage: the deeper areas of the central Deepwater were rarely travelled by anyone other than the fishing trawlers and they generally worked west of Huon in the wide expanses of the Great Bite, south of the central Osterlands.
Only as the sun was well past noon had he turned the boat to port, making for a distant shoreline that was little more than an indistinct smudge across the southern horizon. Navigation had been aided immeasurably by a sextant and set of nautical maps included with the supplies, and Nev had been amazed to find that Godfrey was a reasonably accomplished navigator. It was another three or four hours before they’d made landfall, during which time she’d fallen into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep in the bow, where she’d remained for almost the entire trip.
All three were able to stretch their legs and backs now as they walked upon the wonderful solidity of dry land for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. A difficult hike up the steep slope leading away from the beach brought them out onto a large, open plateau that lay cool and silent before them in the fading twilight and stretched away for what seemed to be miles in every direction.
Godfrey set out south across the open fields, already knowing his way with the surety of an experienced tracker as Lester and Nev trailed on behind. The night air was crisp but the steady pace soon warmed them all as they passed through almost endless rows of flowers, set into lines far too accurate to be anything but man-made.
“Tulips…!” Nev exclaimed, her curiosity getting the better of her as she picked one from its stem in passing and examined it closely. “Rows and rows of tulips…!”
“They keep ‘em for the palace…” Lester advised with a shrug. “Had tulips growin’ here fer as long as anyone can remember: me ma reckoned they like to decorate the halls with ‘em at Cadle…”
“You come from around here?”
“Well… not ‘round here…” he shrugged again, slowing just enough to allow her to draw level as they walked on. “Me family lived near Burnii – worked the land there for a local lord…” His voice faded into silence then as less pleasant family memories returned, and Nev knew better than to press the issue.
They marched on for at least another hour, the night definitely upon them now as they passed over a shallow rise in the landscape and caught sight of the main road in the distance: a faint, dirty-brown ribbon stretching east-to-west across an otherwise virgin landscape of fields and trees with dark, towering ranges in the distance. Godfrey’s sense of direction had been true enough, and almost directly ahead lay the faint flicker of lights twinkling in the windows of a small, wayside tavern.
“That’s the place,” he affirmed, openly proud (and a little surprised) over the accuracy of his navigational skills.
“Not bad work, mister…” Nev conceded, giving due credit and swelling his pride exponentially.
“Bloody miracle, considering how long it’s been since he came here last…” Lester observed as they all stood together in a group, the casual remark a grudgingly backhanded compliment that nevertheless brought Godfrey back down to earth just a tad.
“Come on, big mouth,” he grinned, slapping the boy on the shoulder. “Time for a few hours’ rest and a decent meal while they work out where they want us to go next…”
“So this friend of yours is a fellow Osterman?” Nev asked as they set out once more, this time at a cracking pace as excitement over the thought of food and rest gave them all some additional reserves of stamina.
“No… not quite…” Godfrey admitted “…but he’s sympathetic, and he gets paid a regular retainer to keep supplies aside for us if we’re ever in need. He’s got no love for the Brotherhood, that’s for sure.”
The Blooming Tulip was a small, single-storey structure with a tall, thatched roof and just four guest rooms tacked onto the rear of the main bar area. The largest room in the place, it was still barely big enough to fit tables for perhaps a dozen guests, all jammed in tight between the bar at one end and a crackling fireplace at the other. A small, covered corral out back served as a stable and as they entered the premises that evening, six horses were present along with two empty carriages parked directly outside. It stood perhaps two dozen metres apart from the tavern itself, with hard-packed earth in between that had been scuffed and rutted by hoofmarks and the tracks of wagon wheels through many years of seasonal rains.
The interior was about what Nev might’ve expected of a medieval tavern (from the extremely limited knowledge she had of such things) and the only thing that struck her as odd about the entire scene wasn’t anything to do with the room at all… it was the fact that the innkeeper – a man of short stature and looking to be in his late thirties – was clearly of Asian ancestry – the first such person she’d seen since she’d arrived in that world.
“Well met, good sir,” he called out jovially to Godfrey as he stepped through the door at the far end of the room, the others close behind. “Are y’ in need of lodgings this night or just a little rest and replenishment before you get on your way?”
“I’ve a mind for both, Mister Nguyen,” he replied with a matching smile as they approached the bar itself, making certain they paid no attention to the single other guest, currently seated in the shadows over in one corner, away from the fire. “Lookin’ for a little o’ the southern hospitality this place is famous for…”
“Why…” Nguyen stammered, recognising Westacre for the first time as the emphasis of that coded phrase sunk in “…why, it’s surely not Master Godfrey…? It’s been – what – over a year now?”
“Close enough to make no odds, Pham,” he grinned, extending a hand that was accepted instantly and shaken with gusto across the benchtop. “You remember The Toad, no doubt?”
“Aye… how could I forget?” Nguyen faltered again, at least managing to keep the discomfort out of his tone as he recalled the terrible blows the Boniface family had suffered so many years before (well-known around the local area as proof of the brutality of The Brotherhood). “Good to see you too, Lester, me boy…” he added, maintaining his smile without missing a beat. “And this young lad…?” He added, turning his attention toward Nev for the first time and – having noted that she was clearly female – making a loud declaration of her supposed ‘manliness’ to avoid any awkward involvement regarding a lack of blindfold with the other guest present.
“…is a friend, whose identity is of no consequence…” Godfrey countered quickly, lowering his voice then to ensure his words graced no unintended ears. “It’s news we have – urgent news I need to get to my lord, back home – and yes, we’ll also need some beds for the night and three horses at dawn…”
“Well, I can manage the horses well enough,” Nguyen explained, reluctant to disappoint, “but the beds may be a problem. We’ve two families already turned in for the night and they’ve women with them so they’ve taken the rooms without windows. That leaves me just two rooms more and one of those – the only one with three beds – has also been taken. I’m left with just a single bed between you – there’ll need to be some sleepin’ on the floor, I’m afraid. I can bring in some fresh, dry straw and some extra blankets if it’ll help…”
“You’ve a need for the larger room, friends…?”
Those unexpected words came from the stranger in the corner and as they all turned in his direction, he rose from his table and walked slowly toward them, a gnarled staff in one hand that clunked on the floor boards in time with every second step. Tall and broad-shouldered and possibly the oldest man Godfrey had ever met, he was an intimidating figure in non-descript civilian clothes that clearly and not very effectively hid thick chainmail beneath.
“I thank y’, sir, but there’s no need to bother yerself…” Godfrey began, sensing instinctively there was more to the fellow than met the eye and deciding he wanted no part of whatever that was.
“If t’ were a bother I’d
have nay come over, lad…” Randwick countered evenly, the hint of a smile quirking the edges of his lips beneath the tavern’s dim lighting. “I’ll admit, I do like me space when I’m alone, but I’d not take my luxuries in exchange for another’s hardship. Besides…” he added quickly before anyone else could butt in “…it’ll be a tight squeeze for three o’ ye in the other room and it wouldn’t do for lads such as yerselves to be crushed in there together so snug…”
There was something in the way he’d uttered that last sentence – the stress on one particular word – that sent a shudder through Godfrey’s body. It was plain that the old man had seen beyond Nev’s cloaks and disguise and had come to a similar conclusion as Nguyen: that there was a female in their midst who’d clearly arrived without blindfold or mask and was pretending to be male to avoid discovery. As disconcerting as that realisation was for Westacre, the most telling part was that this stranger had chosen not to denounce them, making him either a friend or someone very dangerous.
“Truly, sir, it’s a fine gesture, but…”
“I insist, young’un…” Randwick declared loudly, not sounding at all displeased yet nevertheless able to slip some hard steel into his tone that would allow no negotiation. “I’ll hear nothing more on the subject!”
“I – I thank you, sir… we’re in your debt…” Godfrey conceded eventually with a faint bow, accepting with as much grace as he could manage and suppressing his concerns.
“A small thing, to be certain…” he replied with a wave of one hand. “Buy me a drink, and we’ll call it square.”
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