by Mark Robson
‘Now, Izzie, dear—’
‘Don’t even think about “Izzie, dearing” me! I’m not going to interfere with your plans. You know me better than that. But I am disappointed that you didn’t see fit to tell me something so important to our future. Our future: that’s you, me, and our children, dear. You do remember us, don’t you? Were you planning to write us a letter about it?’
‘Please, Izzie, don’t be like that. You know I don’t conceal things from you unless I have to. To be honest, I didn’t expect to ever find myself in this position. Emperor Surabar named me as his heir as a stopgap measure. He was watching the nobility for suitable candidates to replace him. He didn’t want the Mantle. He intended to renounce it as soon as he found a Lord whom he felt would make a sound replacement. The man was a very talented leader and not one to be easily fooled. He knew what he was looking for, but that bunch of self-centred idiots at Court were so set on deposing him, they blinded themselves to his abilities and intentions.’
Femke coughed pointedly at this, and both the Lord and Lady turned to look at her.
‘Begging your pardons, my Lord, my Lady, but I think you should know that Emperor Surabar found the person to whom he intended to transfer power.’
‘Really? Who?’ they asked in unison.
‘You, my Lord. Emperor Surabar told me last week that his admiration for you had grown considerably since your short period of Regency. The only reason he had not already abdicated in your favour was his mission to destroy the Guild of Assassins. He knew that having stirred the hornets’ nest, he needed to follow his plan through to its conclusion. He had no intention of leaving you with a huge unholy mess to sort out when you came to power. It was a matter of personal pride for him to leave you with a state of stability in Shandrim from which you could build. When he began the conflict with the Guild, I don’t think he realised how difficult a campaign it would prove to be, but he was doing everything in his power to resolve the situation quickly. He intended to give you some warning, my Lord. However, it seems he has not been given the chance.’
‘He chose me? But he knew . . . I mean you must have told him about . . . I don’t understand.’
Lady Kempten laughed. ‘Secrets within secrets! What a life you spies and politicians have! Well, my dear, I will forgive you your oversight this time. Don’t let it happen again. If I am to be an Empress, then I should be kept far better informed.’
Femke smiled and nodded her head. Lady Kempten had become a lot more assertive since her husband’s fake assassination.
‘What are your thoughts on the Guild, my Lord? Assuming you take power, do you intend to adopt Emperor Surabar’s goal of destroying it, or are you going to let them resume business as usual?’
Lord Kempten clasped his hands together in front of his body and leaned forward. Then he stood up and began pacing around the room. Femke and Lady Kempten followed him with their eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ he said after a short pause. ‘I’ve not got used to the idea that I might be the next Emperor yet. If I were to take the Mantle, then deciding my policies would not be something I would leap into without a good deal of consideration. If the Guild has assassinated the Emperor, as looks likely, then the Assassins’ Creed is no longer operating. In that case I’ll have little choice but to continue working towards their destruction. If they did not kill him – if he died through a misfortune, or because of something unrelated to the Guild – then, well . . . I’ll have to think long and hard about it. In that circumstance I would be protected by the creed, but Izzie and the children would not. The Legions were Surabar’s family. That’s where the Guild struck to hurt him. I’m not willing to place my family in that sort of danger.’
Lord Kempten’s final statement hung in the air. An awkward silence followed. It was the slightest of sounds that drew Femke’s attention, but she knew instantly what it was. Waving to the Kemptens to attract their attention, she indicated that someone was listening at the door and for them to keep talking. She got to her feet, placed a hand over Reynik’s mouth and shook him awake with the other. He awoke with a start. His eyes met hers. It took no more than a second for understanding to spark in his gaze. Trouble!
Femke removed her hand from his mouth, and with simple hand gestures she outlined her plan. The Kemptens stumbled over their words as they initiated a nonsensical argument over how their children would react to being moved into the Imperial Palace, but they kept talking whilst Femke and Reynik moved silently to the door. Lady Kempten’s expression was one of astonishment and horror as a concealed blade appeared in the spy’s hand. Reynik grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, allowing Femke to leap through.
No one was there, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a shadowy figure slipping away down the stairs. In an instant, she was in pursuit. Reynik was no more than a pace or two behind. They reached the stairs. The figure was near the bottom.
‘Stop where you are! Move and you’ll die.’ Reynik’s bellowed order was so unexpected it made Femke jump. To her surprise, the figure froze. They reached her in seconds. It was Danni, the maid. She was already weeping and shaking with terror.
‘Come with me, Danni,’ Femke said, her voice calm and soothing. ‘Don’t do anything foolish. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to ask you a few questions.’ The girl did not look like a professional agent, but the spy knew all too well that appearances could be deceptive. ‘Now, let’s go slowly back up the stairs, Danni. I have a knife here. The blade is poisoned. I’m going to keep it well away from your body to avoid any accidents, but you must do as you’re told. Do you understand?’
Danni nodded. Tears streamed down her face. Her weeping was so intense that she could not control her breathing. She juddered and convulsed with every attempted inhalation. Femke was not sure whether to feel sorry for the girl, or impressed by her dissembling.
Doors in the hallway twitched as curious servants peeped out to see what was happening. Reynik’s thunderous shout must have been heard through most of the house. Femke led Danni back up the stairway at knifepoint. Reynik took a good look around the hallway to make sure they had not missed anything obvious. Content that they had captured their quarry, he followed them up.
Before entering the drawing room where the Lord and Lady awaited them, Femke gave Reynik her knife while she searched Danni for weapons. She found nothing. As an extra precaution, she had the maid remove her shoes before leading her in to see the Kemptens.
‘What’s this about, Femke? What has Danni done?’ Lady Kempten asked, clearly upset to see her maid in such distress.
‘I’m not sure yet, my Lady. I hope we’re about to find out,’ Femke replied, turning her tone cold for the benefit of her prisoner. ‘Danni – if that is your real name – who are you working for?’
‘L . . . L . . . Lord and Lady Kempten,’ she spluttered.
‘Come along, Danni, you know what I’m talking about. Who else are you working for? Who is paying you to spy on the Kempten family? There’s no point denying it. You were listening at the door. Who is your employer, Danni?’
‘I don’t know what you m . . . mean. I’m just a m . . . m . . . maid.’
‘All right, Danni, have it your way. I’m going to search your room now. Lady Kempten, would you expect your maids to be able to read or write? Also, how much money do you pay your house staff, please? I shall be interested to see what turns up in Danni’s room.’
Lady Kempten did not get a chance to answer. Danni’s eyes had gone wide at the mention of writing. ‘Toomas,’ she gasped. ‘I work for Toomas.’
‘The tattle tout?’
‘That’s him,’ Danni said, nodding. ‘He pays me for information. When Lord Kempten became Regent, Toomas contacted me and offered me money for any interesting snippets of information about the family. I didn’t see any great harm in it. When the news came that Lord Kempten was dead, I thought it would stop. I was quite disappointed, because I had managed to save a goodly sum in a short time.’
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‘But it didn’t stop, did it?’ prompted Femke with a sigh.
‘No, Miss. Lady Kempten brought me here with her, and I learned that my Lord was not dead. I realised that Toomas would pay a lot of money for that knowledge. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me, but my dream has always been to save enough money for a little place of my own. I realised that this could be my chance to realise that dream. For something this big, Toomas would likely give me enough to complete my deposit. When you arrived earlier I saw another chance to increase my income from Toomas and I took it.’
‘Does this Toomas already know that I’m alive?’ Lord Kempten asked, his voice gruff with anger.
‘Yes, my Lord. I sent word to him some time ago. I’ve not received any payment yet, but I know he will have the information by now. I had hoped to gain information today to use as a lever to speed up his payment.’
‘Shand alive! If a tattle tout knows I’m alive, then half of Shandrim will know it too!’
Femke shook her head. ‘Not necessarily, my Lord. Toomas is an old hand at the trading of information. The trick with it is to know when the information is at its most valuable. When it’s announced in the Imperial Court that you are the rightful successor to the Mantle, the information will suddenly gain great value to those who wish power for themselves. If we’re quick, we might be able to prevent Toomas from damaging our cause.’
‘What are you suggesting, Femke?’ Lord Kempten asked, watching her response intently.
‘I would have thought that clear, my Lord. Someone must pay Toomas a visit.’ She turned to Danni again. ‘Are there any more like you here, Danni? Should we be looking for others in the employ of tattle touts?’
Danni looked genuinely surprised. ‘I don’t think so, Miss Femke. I’m not aware of any – honest, I’m not.’
Femke believed her. She was not a good liar and her vehemence seemed genuine. ‘Very well. Do you have anywhere you can effectively confine her for the time being, my Lord? I don’t think she’s dangerous, but she cannot be allowed to communicate with the world outside this house for a while.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Lady Kempten offered. ‘If Reynik would escort us, I’ll lead the way.’
‘Of course, my Lady.’
Femke waited until the three of them were out of earshot and then turned back to Lord Kempten. He still looked angry, but there was also an air of thoughtfulness about him.
‘How much do you think she heard, Femke?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, my Lord. I suggest you keep her isolated until any information she could have gleaned is no longer relevant. It will be onerous, but I believe it’s for the best.’
Lord Kempten wore a dark frown as he considered and dismissed possible alternatives. ‘I agree,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll see to it.’
‘My Lord, there are other issues we need to discuss,’ Femke added. ‘You might want to consider moving your family. If I don’t get to Toomas in time, there is no telling what the Guild might do.’
Lord Kempten’s face paled. ‘Where would I move them to?’ he asked. ‘I can’t send them back to the city and I don’t have anywhere else.’
‘It’s just something to consider, my Lord. Think on it. If you feel it necessary, then you’ll think of somewhere. Information is going to be key to this whole situation. He who controls the information flow will control the situation. I’ll get to Toomas as soon as I can. Experience tells me he’s highly unlikely to have sold news of you yet. He will know the potential value of that information and will seek to gain the maximum yield possible from it.’
‘Very well, I’ll give it some thought,’ he said. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, my Lord. We need confirmation that the Guild Headquarters is under the Imperial Palace. Even if you decided not to pursue their destruction, this knowledge would give you an edge in dealing with them in future. I would also suggest we research a way of disrupting their transportation system. That will require specialist knowledge. We need the help of a magician – preferably a powerful one who knows what he’s about. Do you know of any we might approach?’
Lord Kempten nodded. ‘I do know such a man. He is a member of the Council of Magicians. I could send for him, but Terilla is a long ride. Assuming he left as soon as he received my message, it would be nigh on a week before he could get here.’
Femke sighed and shrugged. ‘A lot can happen in a week, my Lord, but we’ll need his input if we’re to learn how we can interrupt the Guild’s use of magic. Also, he might know if it’s possible to break the bond between Reynik and the spider icon safely. I’m worried that the icons might have more powers than we’ve seen to date. I’d hate to think of the Guild having some sort of control over him that we don’t understand. We need more information, but we’re unlikely to find answers from within Shandrim. Please send for this magician and stress the urgency of the situation without giving away too many specifics.’
Lord Kempten nodded thoughtfully. ‘Time flows quickly during times of turbulence,’ he observed. ‘Decisive action will rule the day, I feel. Damn it! Surabar was far better at this sort of thing than I. It feels as if I’m walking on the top of a high wall; one bad step and I could fall.’
‘In that case, my Lord, I have one final piece of advice.’
‘Yes?’
‘Keep moving forwards and, whatever you do, don’t look down!’
CHAPTER THREE
Shalidar fell, but he did not let go of the curtain material. The top half of his body tipped outwards from the wall until it reached about sixty degrees. The material pulled tight with a jolt. His arms took the initial strain, but he could not prevent his body spinning sideways until his right shoulder impacted the wall. Before he knew it, he was hanging from the wall with the cloth slipping through his fingers.
He swung, his body scraping against the stone. The pain from the arrow in his leg fogged his senses with a mist of red. He clung on desperately, trying with all his might to restore a stable grip on the material, but in vain. He accelerated towards the ground, the cloth burning his palms until he was forced to let go entirely. The last few feet he fell unchecked, but he had done enough to ensure his fall would not be fatal.
He hit the ground hard, his legs folding underneath him until his knees hit his chest. The feathered tail of the crossbow bolt jammed hard against his ribcage, driving the point of the arrow even further into the taut thigh muscle. He cried out. He could not help it. The pain was excruciating. He rolled on the ground for a moment, clutching at the area around the arrow wound and groaning in agony.
Despite the pain, Shalidar had too much to lose by getting caught. He knew that if he could just get back to his transfer stone, he would have the chance to inherit Tremarle’s House. It was a powerful incentive.
With gritted teeth, he forced his body upright and hobbled away from the wall. There were a few families in the street, following the road around the Palace wall towards the gathering area at the main gates. He snarled in their direction. It was enough. They hurried on their way, adults pointedly looking away and desperately urging their fascinated children to do likewise.
Fear would keep them from bothering him while he was close by, but he knew the city patrols would soon hear of his presence. He had to get out of sight as quickly as he could. There was a dark alleyway on the far side of the street. Shalidar limped across to the entrance and embraced the darkness as he moved away from the Palace with all speed.
He could put little weight on his right leg, which made stealthy movement difficult. However, even with his injury, Shalidar moved more quietly than most. A limping ghost, he navigated his way through the maze of back streets. Despite the blinding pain, he did not stop until he reached his transfer stone nearly a half hour later.
The familiar sensation of transfer was bliss. For an instant the pain in his leg dissolved into a million tiny fragments. The coalescence in his private chamber was not so pleasant, but it did bring with it the knowledge that he w
as safe for the time being: providing the Guildmaster would accept his innocence in the matter of the death of Emperor Surabar, of course.
‘Don’t invite more trouble,’ he muttered as he staggered over to a chair. ‘One thing at a time.’
The bell to attract the attention of one of the serving staff was on the dahl table nearby. With a groan, Shalidar stretched across, grabbed it, and rang it several times before placing it where he could reach it more easily. He sat back and waited. The servants were efficient. He knew he would not have to wait long.
One of the brown-robed men appeared within a minute. Shalidar did not need to see the servant’s expression under his deep hood to sense his surprise.
‘Sir?’ he asked, giving his customary bow.
‘Fetch alcohol, hot boiled water and plenty of cloths,’ Shalidar ordered.
‘Of course, sir,’ the servant replied. ‘Anything else?’
‘Well, I’d appreciate the help of someone who has drawn arrows before, if we have anyone. I’d do this myself, but I might not retain consciousness long enough to clean up afterwards.’
‘Very good, sir. I’ll see to it at once.’
The servant turned and left at a run. When he returned a few minutes later, Shalidar was surprised to see the figure accompanying him. It was the Guildmaster. Shalidar struggled to sit upright.
‘I would stand, Guildmaster,’ he said with a grimace, ‘but I’m somewhat hampered right now.’
‘So I see.’ The Guildmaster’s soft voice gave away nothing. He moved forward to inspect the wound. ‘Might I ask who bestowed this little gift on you? It doesn’t seem like Brother Wolf Spider’s style somehow.’