‘Quite. Now, then, let me find out if there is any possibility that Count Otto might be able to see you today. Briefly, mind. Like I told you, he is very busy.’
And he got up, went to the door and called out, ‘Messenger! Come here!’
They were the longest ten minutes of my life, as I sat in Officer Hedde’s office waiting for the messenger to come back. And it wasn’t just that I was on tenterhooks. It was also that Officer Hedde clearly saw it as his duty to instruct an ignorant little provincial on the history, customs, manners and wonders of the imperial capital to make me understand just how lucky I was to be here. Torn between boredom, anxiety and indignation, I almost wished I really did have the power I’d told Babette I did and could turn the pompous old fraud into a toad or something. As it was, I just had to sit tight and smile eagerly and ooh and aah.
Finally, my ordeal ended. The messenger came back with good news: Count Otto had agreed to give me a few moments of his time and I was to be taken to him at once.
I bid a fawning goodbye to Officer Hedde and followed the messenger out of the office towards the palace. We did not go in through the main gates, but down a side street into the entrance of a building that stood apart from the palace proper, separated by a locked gate. This, the messenger informed me, housed the offices of the senior advisers and palace staff.
The place was like a rabbit warren, with corridors leading off here and there and rows of closed doors. The messenger led me down one corridor and up another, then up some stairs and finally to a door down the end of the next corridor. He knocked twice, then the deep voice of Count Otto said, ‘Come in.’
It was quite a big room, with a window that gave out onto a courtyard. Simply furnished, it was obviously a working space and not a place to impress. The walls were lined with shelves crammed with books and papers, and tall wooden filing cabinets. The only decorations were the usual portrait of the imperial family on one wall and a plain carriage-clock on the stone mantelpiece. A fire burned in the gate. Count Otto himself sat at a leather-topped desk covered with papers, writing busily. He looked up at me, but without recognition.
I thought, with a pang, that he didn’t look well. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his lips that suggested some gnawing anxiety.
‘This is Miss Smit, my lord,’ the messenger announced.
‘Please take a chair, Miss Smit,’ the Count said, quietly. ‘I won’t be a moment. And you can leave us alone now, George.’
The messenger bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
For a moment all was silent apart from the ticking of the clock and the scratching of Count Otto’s pen on paper. And the rapid beating of my heart, though I didn’t suppose he could hear that. My hands were shaking a little and I tried to keep them still. Finally, he finished writing, folded the letter, and put it to one side. He looked up again, and this time he smiled – a tired smile, of a man ground down under some burden.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Smit.’ He spoke as though his mind was elsewhere. ‘Now, I understand you have something to give me?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ I said. ‘This letter, from my mistress, the Lady Grizelda dez Mestmor, she was most insistent you receive it personally.’ I handed it to him.
‘Such a pleasant surprise,’ he murmured as he slit open the envelope with a paper knife and extracted the letter. Watching him as he scanned what was written inside, I thought of what he’d been like when I’d met him in the corridors of Ashberg Castle. Big, confident and exuding power. Now he seemed fretful, a little shrunken, and hunched, as if he’d aged years – not days – since I’d last seen him. Something was wrong and I knew what it was.
He looked up again. ‘I am very sorry to learn of your master’s illness,’ he said. ‘He seemed like a good man.’
‘Thank you, my lord. He was – is. It was very sudden, his illness. Quite a shock to everybody.’ To my horror, I could feel tears pricking at my eyes. ‘But we hope he will be better soon.’
‘Amen to that,’ he said gently. ‘Your mistress has done the right thing bringing him to Faustina. We have the best doctors in the world. Please tell her that if there is anything I can do to help, I will do so without hesitation.’
‘Thank you, my lord, I’ll be sure and tell her.’
‘It is really most kind of your mistress to invite me. I have fond memories of meeting her, her charming daughters, and your master, of course. Good food and very good company – an exemplary household.’
Ha, I thought, without letting my feelings show on my face.
‘Unfortunately, though I should very much like to accept her invitation, I am afraid that may not be possible right now. Later, perhaps.’ He made as if to hand me back the letter.
I said, quickly, ‘My lord, if I may, I know my mistress will be greatly disappointed.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Smit. I really am, but I have too much on my mind at the moment. Too much work. Perhaps later, as I said. I should very much like to call on her one of these days.’
‘If I may be so bold, my lord,’ I said, desperately, ‘might you perhaps nominate a date when you and your son might be able to honour us with your presence? I know it would mean so much to my mistress.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t be sure,’ he said. ‘And as to my son, he’s away. I don’t know when . . . he’ll be back. Perhaps we should wait till he is home.’
There was no doubt in my mind any more. The expression in his eyes as he spoke was fear, naked fear. And it decided me.
‘Is he abroad, my lord?’
‘Yes. No. Yes . . . He’s on important business.’ His hands were shaking now as he pushed the letter across to me. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Miss Smit, I have a good deal of work to attend to, and –’
I took a deep breath. ‘Don’t be afraid, Count Otto,’ I said, very quietly. ‘He’s safe.’
For an instant he stared at me as though turned to stone. Then he got up slowly and in a terrible voice, he said, ‘What did you say?’
I stammered, ‘Max . . . your son . . . he is quite safe and well, my lord. I swear it.’
He sat down again, heavily. He had gone very pale. ‘What . . . how – who are you . . .?’
‘I am a friend, my lord – a friend of your son.’
‘What? He doesn’t know a Miss Smit – what are you –’ He was babbling, and I interrupted him gently.
‘No, my lord, I’m not Miss Smit. She doesn’t exist. The letter – I stole it so I could get to you and tell you – to set your mind at rest.’
‘That is . . . very kind of you,’ he said, mechanically. There was a little colour starting to come back to his cheeks. ‘Tell me . . . tell me where he is that I may go to him and –’
‘I can’t tell you where he is, my lord, only that he is safe and on his way to right the terrible wrong that was done to him.’
‘Oh my God . . .’ He covered his face with his hands.
‘They told you he’d been sent on some secret mission or something like that, is that right?’
He looked up and stared at me. ‘Y– yes.’
‘But you didn’t believe it.’
‘I tried to but it just didn’t add up. I am usually briefed about such things. I felt uneasy –’ he broke off. ‘What really happened? Please. You can’t hide it from me, not now.’
‘What really happened,’ I said, ‘was that your son was dragged off in the dead of night and secretly locked in a Mancer prison. They were going to have him blanked and, if he hadn’t escaped, then, well, he’d pretty much be a zombie now.’
His eyes flashed, and he stood up. ‘No, I can’t believe that! I can’t! It’s just not possible. The Mancers would never dare touch a hair on the head of my son, I’m certain of it – certain! I’m on the Mancer Council, for God’s sake! An
d how, if he really was in a Mancer prison, could he have possibly escaped? It’s never been done before.’
‘Thankfully, a way was found, my lord,’ I said, discreetly. ‘As to the rest, well, Max believes it wasn’t an official Mancer operation – he believes it was done on the sly by rogue elements.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Think, my lord,’ I said. ‘Think.’
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’ But I had seen the expression that flashed in his eyes and I knew that he understood, that he had already suspected the truth.
‘A blanking order can only be authorised at the very highest levels. A rogue Mancer could certainly not do it, not even the General Secretary of the Mancers can do it. You know that, my lord.’
‘You are surely not saying that the Emperor –’
‘No. I do not think it was the Emperor. He has been as deceived as the Mancers. Count Otto, I know it was Prince Leopold who forged his father’s signature on the order and that it is he who is behind it all.’
There was a dead silence.
Then he said, slowly, ‘It can’t be. The Crown Prince and my son – they are best friends. Close as . . . brothers . . . since childhood.’
I saw the knotting of his hands as he wrung them together. He was protesting, I thought, but it was no real surprise to him.
After a time, he said, ‘Why? It makes no sense. What has Max done to deserve –’
‘It’s not what he’s done, sir. It’s what he knows.’
He jerked his head up and stared at me. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Max knows something about Leopold – a secret so big and dangerous that the Prince is willing to kill him for it and to take the most enormous risks, like counterfeiting his father’s signature on a blanking order.’
‘Max – Max told you this?’ he quavered.
‘No, I worked it out for myself. But I know that’s why he was worried for you. He’d hoped you’d believe the fairytale they told you about a secret mission and that you wouldn’t ask awkward questions.’
‘Why, in God’s name, would he think that?’
‘Because he was afraid that if you got even an inkling of the truth, you’d be in great danger too. That’s why he didn’t try to get back here, and why he hasn’t tried to contact you.’
He swallowed, running a nerveless hand through his hair. ‘But he has changed his mind as he sent you here.’
‘No, my lord, he did not send me and he doesn’t know I’m here. I just thought you needed to know.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how important this is to me. Oh, my poor son.’
‘He is very brave, my lord,’ I said. ‘Brave and loyal and steadfast and true . . .’ My throat thickened, for I’d had a sudden image of Max and all at once I missed him so much it was like a dagger thrust in my heart. ‘He is a real hero. A true prince of the heart, not like Leopold who is a prince only in name.’
He winced and I thought I’d gone too far. Then he looked at me shrewdly and said, ‘You love him, don’t you?’
I swallowed. ‘Yes, I do. I love him very much. And he . . . he feels the same.’
‘I can see why,’ he said. ‘You are the most unusual person I have ever met. And still I do not know your name.’
‘That is not important, my lord,’ I said. ‘What matters is that I am a friend of your son.’
‘And of mine too, now, I hope,’ he said, getting up. He walked around his desk and held out his hand. ‘May I hope for that?’
‘It would be an honour, my lord,’ I said, and we shook hands. It felt like such a solemn moment, and yet like such a joyful one, too. The tears in my eyes were now as much of gladness as of sadness, for I no longer felt so alone.
‘Well, my dear friend, I think we cannot let things go on as they have. We need to help my son.’
I thought of telling him what I planned to do but two things stopped me: one, I was not sure if the shock Count Otto had already received would be stronger than the loyalty of a lifetime dedicated to the Emperor and his family; and two, I remembered the warning Thalia had given me at Dremda. I could not tell anyone about my mission, no matter what happened. But I had to say something. ‘Yes, but what can we do? What do you suggest?’
‘I think we need to know what we are up against,’ he said. ‘And for that we need some answers. We need to know what secret Leopold is hiding. I think I may have just the idea as to how we might be able to trick it out of him. Listen . . .’
His plan was bold but simple. Leopold would be asked to come that very day, in lieu of his ill father, to an urgent meeting at a hunting lodge Count Otto owned in the woods on the outskirts of the city. He’d be told that he was to meet an important representative of a foreign power, who had insisted on the meeting being kept strictly private. Leopold would then be taken to a room where one of Count Otto’s most trusted servants, a man called Bastien, would play the part of the mysterious emissary, while Count Otto and I would be concealed behind a panel in the same room. Bastien would be briefed with a set of questions which were designed to flush out Leopold’s secret without appearing to do so. What would happen afterwards, the Count said – whether we simply used the information as leverage over Leopold to ensure Max’s safety, or revealed it to the world – would depend on what secret the Prince was concealing.
When I asked, Count Otto said that Leopold was unlikely to be suspicious about the meeting because, since his return to Faustina and the illness of his father, he’d had to deal with quite a few matters that the Emperor would normally have handled personally. ‘Besides,’ he had said, with an ironic air, ‘he adores intrigue and thinks he has me thoroughly fooled, so why should he fear me in any way?’
This is how it was to be done: I was to go to the hunting lodge at once in Count Otto’s carriage with a message for Bastien, and then I was to wait there. Count Otto, meanwhile, would go to Leopold’s quarters and brief him in person about the meeting (less risky than sending a message). All going well, they would be at the lodge within an hour or two. As soon as they arrived, I would conceal myself in the meeting room, to be joined by Count Otto shortly after Leopold was introduced to ‘the emissary’ who’d be waiting in the drawing room. Both would be taken to the meeting room when we were out of sight. It all depended on ifs and buts and a good sense of timing. But there was a hardness to Count Otto now, a steely purpose in his eyes, that made me feel that this plan would work. The man of action and power was back, I thought, and Leopold had made a formidable enemy. But he didn’t know it, not yet, and therein lay our chance.
But as I sat in the Count’s carriage a few minutes later, it had suddenly become more than a chance to learn Leopold’s secret. Why shouldn’t I kill him today at the meeting? The audience had always been a big risk, with all those people. But it had been a risk I’d been willing to take as I’d thought there was no other way of getting to the Prince. Now there was another way, I felt I had to take it.
I had to retrieve my weapon from the hotel and bring it with me. I would not tell the Count I had it, of course. Nor would I tell him of my intentions. I’d take them all by surprise and it would be done before they even knew what was happening.
I asked the driver to stop near the Hotel Bella, telling him I wanted to be sure we weren’t being followed, and ran all the way to the hotel, where I got to my room without attracting attention. I unlocked the desk, tore open the box, and threw the dagger in my bag. Then I slipped out again and was back in the carriage in no time.
Alone in the carriage, I took out the dagger from my bag and looked at it. The scabbard, with its fine chasings, gleamed in the dimness of the carriage like a silver shaft of moonlight. I took off a glove and carefully drew the blade out. Made of fine tempered steel, with a silver hilt, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship. And wickedly
sharp, as I learned to my cost when the knife slipped a little in my hands and nicked a finger, drawing blood. Sucking the finger to stop the bleeding, I awkwardly replaced the blade in its scabbard and was about to put it back in the bag when I suddenly remembered that I still had a leaf in there. I could not risk it touching the dagger for any length of time. Because, if I was right about how the magic worked, it might somehow pick up on my half-buried qualms and pull the rug out from under me by changing the dagger in some unexpected and unwelcome way at the wrong moment.
I could not hide the knife in my clothes, for it might drop out at any moment, so instead I withdrew the leaf from my bag and tucked it securely under the cuff of my sleeve. I put the dagger back in the bag, padding it out a little with strips torn from the hem of my petticoat. I wrapped my bleeding finger with another strip of cloth and put my black gloves back on, then sat for the rest of the journey with the bag on my lap, nervous as anything, but glad for it would all be over soon.
Once we’d left the city boundaries, it was only about ten minutes before we reached the hunting lodge. We weren’t far from the bustling streets of Faustina, but we might as well have been in another world, I thought, as the carriage drew up in front of a large, but simple, two-storey house made of weathered pine. There were a few outbuildings scattered around: a stable, a henhouse, a shed – all set in the middle of a deep, green wood. The air was fresh and clean, and all was quiet, with only the occasional birdsong breaking the silence. There was not a soul in sight and, for an instant, I felt uneasy.
The driver smiled at me and said, ‘I expect the servants are having a nap – they’d not be expecting anyone,’ then marched up to the front door and knocked. Moments later, a servant came to the door, a small hard-looking man with a face that looked as though it had been carved out of rock. The driver told him I had been sent by Count Otto, that I had a message for Bastien, and that I was to be afforded every comfort while I waited. Then he tipped his hat at me and went off back to Faustina to pick up the Count and the Prince.
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