“And here I thought,” I said severely, “that you were the prefect most likely to do his duty to his God, his country . . . and his king.”
“So did I. So I am.” Edenfield threw a handful of underthings into the suitcase and zipped it shut, jamming the zipper and having to redo it three times. Mrs. Gulbransen reappeared as he struggled, and rushed to help him.
“You forgot your toothpaste,” Captain Nass said.
“My toothpaste can go where the peppers grow!”
Mrs. Gulbransen gasped, but Captain Nass remained unfazed as he fetched the toothpaste and stuffed it into the suitcase’s outer pocket. “Ms. Cartier has a point,” he said. “The conference must be able to continue. Without your authority, I can provide only information; I cannot make your requests and decisions official.”
Edenfield paused in the act of wrapping a striped navy scarf around his neck to splay his right hand, exhibiting the heavy ring on the pinky finger. The metal was ebony, the face a flat oval disc ringed with white and decorated with Edenfield’s crest. The workmanship was handsome, the great ring not too small for Edenfield’s hand.
Within that ring lay a prefect’s power. Legally, there was more to it than that, but symbols are potent things. For all intents and purposes, whoever wore that ring was Prefect Edenfield.
How long, I wondered, had Captain Nass coveted it? I had assumed that all the prefects were in on this together, but Gil Winter hadn’t been; it had been his brother, who had replaced him as prefect only at the last moment. It might not be Lord Holst who was the traitor in this prefecture.
I cleared my throat. “Captain Nass is going to be busy enough keeping the prefects safe without having your duties as well—and, as you said yourself, there’s no one competent to take his place. You can’t do this to him, my lord. He needs you here.”
Edenfield’s eyes were distant and his voice was hollow, but his movements remained determined. “You’re right.” He yanked off the ring. “Hold out your hand.”
He seemed to be talking to me. He was talking to me. To me.
Captain Nass started forward. “My lord, what are you doing?”
“Your hand,” Edenfield ordered me. Mrs. Gulbransen’s fingers fluttered to her lips. I held out my hand, hardly believing what was going on. He slid the ring onto my thumb. It was too big, but it stayed on. “With this ring—”
“My lord, you can’t!” Captain Nass cried.
“With this ring,” Edenfield repeated, overriding his head knight, “I, Bo Holst, transfer the power of Edenfield Prefecture to you, Mercedes Cartier, with all the attendant powers and responsibilities—”
Captain Nass shoved himself between us, trying to stop Edenfield; but what Edenfield lacked in muscle, he made up for in bulk. I’ve no doubt Captain Nass could’ve stopped him, but not without breaking bones. In any case, Edenfield immobilized him with a glare and a slash of his hand, never breaking off his words:
“—until such a time as I can take up those powers and responsibilities again myself. Now you.”
Feeling rather like I was getting married, I said, “I, Mercedes Cartier, take up the powers and responsibilities of Prefect Edenfield until Bo Holst takes them up again.”
“Captain Nass?”
Captain Nass ground his teeth, but he said, “I, Torben Nass, head knight of Edenfield, stand witness that Mercedes Cartier is acting Prefect Edenfield, with all attendant powers and responsibilities, until such a time as Bo Holst resumes his position.”
Bo dropped my hand. “There,” he told Torben. “Happy?”
“Foolishness never makes me happy. Nor does petty vengeance.”
Bo snorted. “Don’t mind him, prefect. He’ll do his duty. He always does.” He picked up his suitcase and brushed past us.
There didn’t seem any point in following him, and I was staring at my thumb, feeling the weight of the metal, the way it lingered with the warmth of Bo’s hand. A minute later, I heard a distant garage door open and the crackle of gravel under tires. He had left. It hardly seemed real.
Torben had stayed with me, examining the crime scene and—what? Waiting for orders? Or was he going to try to bowl me over, to control me as he had Bo?
“I imagine you’ll want to take the doll and bird away for forensic analysis,” I told him brightly, like everything was normal. “Bo and I touched it, but I don’t think anyone else did—aside from the psycho who put it there, obviously.”
“You realize,” said Torben, “that if the ‘psycho’ doesn’t follow Lord Holst, he will be after you next.”
I smiled. “I’m sure you’ll keep me safe.”
Torben didn’t smile back. He stood over me, swaying forward. He’d swayed like that the first time I’d seen him, too. It gave him the impression of looming, although he wasn’t much above average height for a man—which put him at eight inches taller than me. He was the same height as Sr. Nordfeld, I reflected. Probably the only thing those two had in common.
“Would you like to know my dog’s name?” Torben asked.
I squinted up at him, wondering if I’d misheard. “What?”
“My dog’s name,” he repeated, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world to bring up. “It’s Shiro.”
The dog’s ears, ever pointed, perked up further, and it trotted over. Torben obediently squatted to scratch under its chin. It flopped onto its back for a belly rub, and then wriggled ecstatically as he obliged, trying to lick his hands and face at once. It would’ve been cute, if Torben hadn’t been involved.
“Shiro is Japanese for ‘white,’” he said.
“And your dog is white,” I said. “Well done.”
“I didn’t name him after his color,” Torben said mildly. “I named him after the dog in the Japanese folktale, ‘Hanasaka Jiisan’—‘The Old Man Who Made Flowers Blossom.’ Have you read it?”
“I must’ve missed it.”
Shiro scrabbled to his feet and pawed at Torben, who had paused in his petting. Torben massaged the dog’s neck, not bothering to look at me as he spoke. “Once upon a time,” he said, in the rhythm of storytelling, “there was a kindly old couple who lived off their tiny plot of land. They were happy, except for one thing: they had never had any children. Instead, they had a dog named Shiro, and on this dog they lavished their love and attention.”
“How sad,” I said nastily. “Someone with no one to love but a dog.”
Torben didn’t take the bait. “One day,” he said, “Shiro was digging for a long time in the back yard. When the old man went to find him, he discovered to his astonishment that the dog had dug up a heap of gold coins.
“Now, next door to the kindly old couple lived a cross man who hated everyone and never missed an opportunity to torment and strike Shiro. When he saw the treasure Shiro had dug up, he became envious and begged the kindly couple to lend him the dog. The kindly couple agreed, and the cross man took Shiro to his own plot and waited for the dog to dig, expecting Shiro would find him some gold. Instead, Shiro dug up a pile of stinking garbage.
“Furious, the cross man seized a shovel and killed the little dog. Then he threw the body into the hole the dog had dug and covered it up and didn’t tell anyone what he had done.”
I waited. Torben didn’t go on. “Is that it?” I asked.
Torben waved a hand. “Does it matter? The story continues on with your usual folktale elements. The kindly couple ends happily, the cruel man unhappily. The dog remains dead.”
“I see,” I said. “You named your dog after a folktale dog who got killed by a shovel. Charming.”
Torben shrugged and finally looked up at me. He was still crouched to pet the dog. It was strange, having a man’s face lower than mine. Disconcerting. He couldn’t have known it, but this reversal made me far more uncomfortable than looming ever could.
“At least one Shiro should have a happy ending, don’t you think?” he said. He gave the puppy a final pat and stood. “What sort of ‘kindly couple’ do you think loans
their beloved dog to a neighbor they know loves to strike and torment it?”
“The crazy kind.”
“I agree,” Torben said. “It takes a certain type of crazy to know what a person is like and realize that person is wicked and still entrust what he loves to her. Don’t you think?”
Chapter 24:
Impersonation
I may have mentioned something at some point about not taking well to manipulation. That included guilt tripping, threats, insinuations, and, apparently, Japanese folk tales. But there are certain advantages to people trying to manipulate you—such as the fact that they give away their positions.
If Torben could have made me leave, he would have. If he could have arrested me, he would have. But he was, at least at present, unwilling to move openly against his prefect.
I had to make sure I kept that advantage.
“Gina,” I said, turning my charm on Mrs. Gulbransen. “I wanted to thank you for the good work you’ve done here. I know this whole situation must have been incredibly stressful for you, but you’ve been an absolute champion.”
Gina shuffled her feet.
“I promise,” I said, pressing her hand, “that we’ll get rid of this unpleasantness as soon as possible. In the meantime, we must continue to be strong and make Bo proud. Torben here is right.” I released Gina to clap him on the shoulder. He recoiled, so I firmed up the hold and took his forearm in my opposite hand. I smiled up at him, then back around to Gina. “We can’t let the madman behind this attack frighten us. Now that Torben is alert to the situation, we can trust him to protect us.
“You will, of course,” I told Torben, sickly sweet, “remove the bird and doll immediately, for forensic analysis. Take the sheets too: I’ll use fresh ones. Yes,” I said at their mutual expression, “I will be sleeping in this room. I will not let some psycho choose how Prefect Edenfield acts. I choose my ground, and together, we will stand fast against every trouble. This conference will progress in a calm and timely manner. When Bo returns, he’ll find everything exactly as he would have it.”
I swept bedding onto the floor and bundled sheets into Torben’s arms. The doll and bird, I wrapped in a pillowcase and balanced atop his armload. Torben didn’t stop me, and he didn’t comment. He watched me closely, calculating—like Sra. Ahlgren watching her opponent across a chessboard.
“Fresh sheets please, Gina,” I said, propelling Torben out of the room. “I need to get dressed. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
I bustled out after them, a fire lit under my brain. In no time I had showered, rearranged my hair to hide the graze, slapped color corrector and concealer over my bruises, and dressed. I would’ve worn Edenfield colors if I’d brought any, but I hadn’t, so I wore Carina’s black and white and borrowed an Edenfield pin from Bo’s dresser for my lapel. Sharp, I told myself, modeling in Bo’s full-length mirror, and strode out to the knighthouse to see how Torben was getting on.
I found neither Torben nor Olaf inside the knighthouse’s main room. Instead, the knight at the desk was a man of about forty, with a ruddy complexion, broad lips that spread in welcome as I entered, and pouchy sea-blue eyes. Those eyes flew to the ring on my thumb, and the grin broadened. “Prefect Edenfield,” the knight said, rising and circling the desk. “The captain told me about your temporary elevation and Lord Holst’s departure. I hoped I’d get a chance to meet you.” He offered a fleshy hand, and I shook it. There was real strength inside the flab, and I got the impression that, as with Olaf, there was more competence to this knight than his appearance indicated. “Roald Steensen, at your service.”
“Mercedes Cartier.”
“I hear,” Roald said, sounding delighted, “that your brother packs quite the punch. Olaf’s face is as black and blue as his ego. Couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“No hard feelings, I hope.”
“Nah. Do him good, knowing he can be surprised. You’ll want to see the captain, I guess. He’s back there.” He jinked his head at the door. “Want me to fetch him for you?”
“In a minute.” I smelled opportunity, and I doubted Torben would be as accommodating as Roald. “I didn’t get a chance to look around yesterday, and I ought to be familiar with this place.” I strolled around the room, examining the various certificates, clippings, and posters on display. Three of the certificates were proofs of knighthood for Olaf, Roald, and Torben. Torben’s had his head knight star and was dated this past July. It didn’t say what had happened to his predecessor.
“Is it only the three of you in Gjerde?” I asked.
“Olaf and me, mostly. Wouldn’t even have that, without the manor here; it’s that quiet. The captain comes and goes, too busy to sleep half the time. Man’s going to run himself into the ground unless he slows down. Needs a wife to ground him, not just that dog. Not,” he said hastily, “that I’m saying anything against him. He’s the best head knight we’ve had in a long time.”
I smiled at that, but said only, “How many knights has he recalled to the manor for the duration of the conference?”
Roald’s face went blank as printer paper.
“I mean,” I clarified, “to keep the prefects safe from the madman who’s been threatening Bo.”
“Oh,” Roald said doubtfully. “I don’t know about that. You’ll have to ask him.”
“I heard.”
I jumped and cursed myself for it. This was the second time Torben had overheard me talking without my realizing it. I’ve never known anyone to move so quietly, and I was going to have to stay on alert lest he overhear something he really oughtn’t.
I turned to him with polite friendliness. He leaned against the doorframe behind the desk, backlit by the room beyond. “The answer, Lady Cartier,” he said—and I gave a start at the title, though my temporary prefectship necessitated it—“is that there are no knights or prefectsmen of any description available for recall. No Edenfield knight holds a less-than-essential post. Having two knights wrapped up in a low-risk area like the manor is a necessary if wholly unfortunate waste of resources; having me here is worse. Recalling more knights would be criminal.”
“Low risk?” I responded. “You see no potential for violence against all nine of Carina’s prefects in a single location? Or all nine prefects and the king?”
“The king will bring his own protection,” Torben said. “Beyond that—Lady Cartier, if that was your concern, you should not have chosen to move the conference here. Not without also providing the resources you considered necessary.”
Truly, his diplomacy knew no bounds. And I couldn’t exactly explain that the reason I wanted more knights was to have enough around to contain and arrest the prefects if that proved necessary. And, preferably, knights other than Olaf and Roald, knights whose loyalties would tend more toward King Emil (and me) than to Torben and Bo.
“Thank you for your input, Torben,” I said, still aiming at warm rather than frosty. “I will take it into account. In the meantime, please alert a dozen nearby knights that they may be needed. Keep them on alert for the duration of the conference.”
“A dozen knights?” he echoed. “Let’s see. Would you prefer the ones stopping foreign spies from infiltrating the government, the ones preventing bandits from attacking civilians, the ones preventing a buildup of landmines along our borders, or the ones providing essential relief work? It doesn’t matter which—any choice will mean that some of your people will die. The only question is, which ones are you most willing to sacrifice?”
Bandits? Landmines? Since when had either of those been issues in Carina? Was Torben testing, teasing, tricking—or telling the truth?
I might as easily have read the answer off a blade of grass as off Torben, so I looked to Roald for confirmation.
Embarrassment was his predominant emotion, I concluded. But embarrassment at what? At an exaggerating superior or an ignorant prefect?
“My dear Torben,” I said, “are you implying that your knights are so incompetent that being on aler
t will kill them? I hope not, but just in case, I will permit you to choose which of your men you think least prone to such extreme emotional delicacy.”
“The acting prefect is choosing to misunderstand me.”
“By no means,” I said. “I understand you perfectly, and I understand that the consequences of actually withdrawing knights could be dire. I will therefore not even consider doing so except in the most extreme need. But if the most extreme need arises, then I will not be without a contingency plan. Frankly, I’m surprised that, as head knight, you don’t already have a contingency plan in place.”
A muscle in Torben’s jaw twitched. I thought he was going to argue. Part of me hoped he would, because that would give me an excuse to be truly nasty to him, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes closed and his head tilted intently, listening. Then he pushed off the doorframe and passed me to open the front door.
I could hear something too, now that I knew to listen. Heart skipping, I darted around Torben and ran to greet our guests. What would my boss think, when he saw my ring? Except—no, he wasn’t my boss at the moment, was he? A prefect can have no employer. By taking on the position, I had quit my job—at least, for the duration. What a strange thought!
So: what would Sr. Nordfeld think, when he recognized my ring? This wasn’t what he had planned—it was ten times better. I’d be on the spot, an eye witness.
I couldn’t wait to see his face.
A rather misshapen purple car rolled into the parking loop, gravel crinkling away from the tires. It was clearly a rental—I wouldn’t have fancied the ten-plus-hour drive from Lindo Prefecture, either—and maybe that’s why the driving was so erratic. It stopped and started and jerked around in angry bursts made angrier when an attempt to park in a too-small space between Tey’s car and Hemmel’s failed. It veered too sharply and took off a strip of purple. The driver held down the horn for a full ten seconds at that, backed up violently, and stopped the car where it was, in everyone’s way. The driver apparently thought this was good enough, however, because the engine stopped and the driver’s door swung open.
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