by Mark Robson
‘Brother Dragon, are you still willing to undergo this test?’ he asked.
‘I am.’
Shalidar made the simple statement with a firm voice. Ferdand could see his dark eyes glinting beneath his hood. They held a challenge that set the Guildmaster’s teeth on edge.
‘Then drink.’
To make sure the slippery assassin did not palm the vial and replace it with one of his own, Ferdand removed the stopper and poured the thick, sticky liquid into Shalidar’s mouth. He watched as Shalidar made a swallowing motion.
‘May I see the inside of your mouth, please?’
Shalidar opened his mouth. His tongue was stained purple, right to the back. He had definitely drunk it down.
‘He has drunk the serum,’ Ferdand announced. ‘It will be fully effective inside a minute and last for about half an hour. I should make it clear that in order to protect Brother Dragon from revealing unrelated secrets, I shall adhere to Guild protocol and only ask questions relating to the death of the Emperor. Providing he is innocent of breaching the creed in the matter of the Emperor’s death, then he will be taken straight to his quarters. He shall then be left alone until the effects of the serum have worn off.’
The Guildmaster fell silent and focused on what he could see of Shalidar’s face. The assassin’s eyes began to lose focus. His pupils enlarged until they were totally dilated. Suddenly Shalidar staggered. The two servants were quick to take his weight and hold him steady. The Guildmaster waited, prolonging the silence. He wanted to be absolutely sure that there was no chance of Shalidar shamming. The dim light of the chamber tingled with a thickening air of breathless anticipation. All eyes stared unblinking at the four figures by the Guildmaster’s podium.
With slow, deliberate movements, the Guildmaster drew a dagger from beneath his cloak. The steel blade glinted in the flickering torchlight as he brought it up in front of his face in a salute before stepping forwards to place the point lightly against Shalidar’s chest. Standing this close he could see the slackness in Shalidar’s features. It was clear the truth serum had him in its grip.
‘Brother Dragon,’ he began, ‘where were you at the time the Emperor received his fatal wound?’
Shalidar stared vacantly at the Guildmaster.
‘In the Imperial Palace, not five paces from where the Emperor was standing,’ he answered, his voice sounding flat and hollow.
‘What were you doing in the Palace?’
‘I was looking for Brother Wolf Spider . . .’
The Guildmaster was about to ask his next question, but he paused as he noted something unfinished in the way Shalidar had intoned his sentence. A strange look of mingled shock and horror crept over Shalidar’s face as he fought an internal battle to conceal information.
‘. . . and . . .’
The connective had come out unbidden. Beads of sweat formed on Shalidar’s brow as he fought with all his strength against the effect of the drug. It was a battle he could never hope to win.
‘And?’ the Guildmaster prompted.
‘. . . and for Femke, the Imperial spy,’ Shalidar said, his voice managing to convey his anger at this revelation despite being as flat and hollow as before.
Ferdand’s hand clenched the dagger and inadvertently pressed it a little harder against Shalidar’s chest. The revelation did not constitute a breech of the creed, though it did show intent to do so. Ferdand could not kill him for intent. He would need more than that to justify plunging his blade into Shalidar’s heart.
‘Did you kill Emperor Surabar?’ he asked.
‘No!’ Shalidar replied immediately.
Was that relief in his tone? Ferdand wondered. It was hard to tell, though the anger in his previous statement had been clear.
‘Did you arrange for anyone else to kill the Emperor?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Again, Shalidar answered without hesitation.
‘How did the Emperor die?’
‘He was accidentally shot by one of his own guards.’
Clear, precise answers, with no sign of internal struggle: Shalidar was telling the truth. The Guildmaster slowly, almost reluctantly, raised his dagger in front of his face again and replaced it inside his cloak.
‘Do any question the validity of Brother Dragon’s answers?’ he asked. Nothing would please him more than to have a reason to continue questioning Shalidar.
None of the Brothers responded.
Reluctantly he nodded to the servants for them to take Shalidar to his quarters. As they moved to comply, Ferdand caught a last glimpse of Shalidar’s face. There was a curious smugness about his features that made Ferdand’s blood boil. Somehow Shalidar had done it again. He had concealed something. Ferdand did not know how he had done it, but his instincts told him that Shalidar had somehow engineered the death of the Emperor. However, they had agreed the scope of the questions beforehand. Ferdand was a man of his word. Shalidar had answered the critical questions in a way that could not be denied. He had clearly not killed the Emperor by his own hand. Nor had he paid another to make the hit. So what had he done?
The Guildmaster was very thoughtful as he climbed back up into his pulpit-like podium. The Shalidar mystery was one for another time. Brother Dragon would not be involved in any of the upcoming hits, due to his injury. The next few weeks looked to offer an opportunity for the Guild to recover some of its recent losses due to the anaethus drax declaration. The trick would be managing this time of opportunity in a way that would secure the Guild’s future.
‘Brothers, we have seen Brother Dragon prove his innocence in the matter of the Emperor’s death.’ The words tasted sour as he pronounced them, but he kept his tone positive. ‘Now that we have ascertained this, we can return to business in the knowledge that the creed has not been compromised. The inevitable race for the Mantle has already begun. There are five Lords currently looking to claim power. I have already received word from three of those five stating that they wish to make use of our services in the near future. Each of them has also promised the reinstatement of our Guild status and the repeal of the anaethus drax order.’
‘But can we trust any of these Lords, Guildmaster?’ The voice came from the alcove bearing the insignia of a viper. ‘We don’t want to find ourselves faced with another Surabar. Are there any of them who stand above the rest?’
‘Good questions, Brother Viper. This is what we must determine before we take on any contracts over the coming weeks. Although there are five Lords who have currently declared their intention to claim the Mantle, they will not necessarily be the only ones to do so. There may well be late entrants into this contest. We will need to be cautious and alert to changes if we are to ensure our position in society is fully restored.’
‘So if we are offered contracts?’ The sultry tones of the Fox were unmistakeable in any meeting.
‘You’re to bring them to me before accepting them, Brother Fox. I will control which are accepted. It looks likely there will be plenty of work to go around. If we get this right, the Guild will be secure for many years, so I don’t want to see anyone getting greedy. Once we have the right person in power, you’ll all be free to go back to working as normal. In the meantime, please bear with the restrictions. They should not be in place for long.’
The Guildmaster paused for a moment. He had thought long and hard about his next point of order, but was still not totally convinced he had chosen the right people.
‘Brothers Cougar and Bear, I want you to continue the search for Brother Wolf Spider. This is to take priority over any other work. You will be recompensed for your time. Brothers Viper and Fox, you are to look for the spy, Femke, and will also be paid for this task. It’s possible that you will find them together, but I want to cover the option that they may choose to work independently. Wolf Spider, you may kill on sight, but I would like you to take Femke alive if at all possible. I have unfinished business with that young lady. Any questions?’
‘Just one, Guildmaster,’ the Fox sai
d quickly. ‘Do you have any idea where we should start looking?’
‘As it happens, I do, Brother Fox. I’ll brief the four of you on possibilities at the end of this meeting. Now if there is nothing else on that subject, I shall move on to more mundane matters . . .’
‘Yes?’ Toomas asked, cautiously cracking the door open. ‘What can I do for you?’
He eased the door open a little further as he took in the wealthy-looking young woman in her riding dress and cape. The horse tied to the rail looked tired. Logic dictated it was unlikely she had been sent by any of his rivals here in the city to make trouble for him.
‘I’d like to come in for a chat, if I may,’ Femke answered, giving him a weary smile to accentuate her appearance of harmlessness.
‘Are you buying or selling?’
‘That depends,’ she temporised. ‘To start with, I just want to come in for a chat. I’ve come a long way to talk to you, Toomas. I promise you’ll learn something to your benefit, but no money need change hands.’
Suspicion played on his face.
‘If you’re not here to buy or sell, then I’m not interested,’ he said, convinced that she was wasting his time. ‘Good day to you, lady.’
Toomas made to close the door, but had moved it no more than a couple of finger widths before Femke stopped it with her foot. He hardly saw her move, but as if by magic a knife had appeared in her right hand and she had it at his throat before he could so much as flinch.
‘In that case, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,’ she replied.
The expression on his face turned from suspicion to fear. He let go of the door and allowed her to open it.
‘Who sent you?’ he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable. ‘If it’s Tullis, then he’s got it all wrong. It wasn’t me who leaked information of his affair to his wife.’
Femke stepped forwards, forcing him back into the hallway with the point of her blade. Without taking her eyes off him, she closed the door behind her.
‘Where can we sit in comfort, Toomas? I don’t want any interruptions for a while. Is there anyone else in the house?’
‘No,’ he said nervously. ‘There’s no one else. I live alone – always have.’
‘Very well. Where you do you suggest we go to be comfortable? I’ll not trouble you for food or drink. A chair and a quick chat will be fine.’
‘Over there – the door to the left of the hat stand – it’s the living room. We can sit in comfort in there.’ Toomas was shaking by now and Femke could see it.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, turn around and lead the way. Don’t try anything silly. All I want to do is talk. If, however, you get ideas that involve pain on my part, then I will stick you like a pig. Remember Commander Chorain?’
The tattle tout’s eyes went wide. ‘Was he the commander who died in the street not far from the arena last year?’
‘Indeed. I didn’t want to kill him, but I was under orders. Don’t make me do something I will regret later.’
‘I thought he died of heart failure.’
‘He did,’ Femke confirmed, her voice cold and heartless. ‘Heart failure induced by a particularly rare and nasty poison being introduced into his bloodstream. This blade is tipped with the same poison, so I wouldn’t recommend any sudden moves.’
The blade was not poisoned, but Toomas was sure to be more cautious if he thought it was. First impressions were that he was not taking any chances. He turned very carefully and led the way into the living room.
Despite the tattle tout’s assertion that there was no one else in the house, she entered the room with a certain amount of caution. She pushed the door until the handle met the wall before crossing the threshold. As she moved through the doorway, she scanned the room. There was nowhere for anyone to hide. The chairs and the chaise longue all had long wooden legs, denying cover for a man to hide behind, or underneath. The curtains did not reach the floor and there were no obvious places large enough to conceal a person. It was possible Toomas had the room this way for the exact purpose of preventing people from hiding here.
The room was furnished with items of quality. Toomas was clearly doing well from his trade. There were rugs of the finest wool on the floor and the walls were adorned with paintings and hangings created by artists and weavers of the highest calibre. The curtains looked to be made from velvet, which had never been cheap. Femke was quietly impressed. She had used Toomas on several occasions both for buying and selling information, but it was clear that he had managed to build an extensive customer base in what could clearly be a lucrative trade.
He indicated to a seat for Femke, but she declined, making him sit there instead. Then she pulled a second chair across until it was facing him. A faint smell of incense lingered in the air. Femke breathed it in, enjoying the hints of wood and lavender, but the scent looked to be doing little to calm the tattle tout’s nerves. He was pale and sweating as she sat down.
‘What is it you want to know?’ he asked. ‘I’m not a violent man. I never have been. I wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone . . .’
‘Save it, Toomas! You would sell your grandmother if you thought she would bring a good price. I know your reputation as a tattle tout. I also happen to know that you managed to place one of your people inside Lord Kempten’s household. She has passed you information that could make you a lot of money if sold to the right people. I’m not here to take away your profit – merely to delay it a little. This will work to your advantage in the long run. Trust me in this.’
The tattle tout’s eyes narrowed when she mentioned ‘a lot of money’. His mind was clearly working fast to see how he could twist this situation to his advantage.
‘Lord Kempten did not die in the assassination attempt, so what? Unless . . . unless he was to be Surabar’s successor! Oh, ho, ho! That’s it, isn’t it? Kempten’s assassination was a scam to get him out of harm’s way in case the Guild decided to take him out. Does that mean that Lord Lacedian’s assassination was also a farce?’
‘I’m not here to give you additional information, Toomas,’ Femke said firmly. ‘I’m here to suppress information that should not be released until the time is right. If you’re good, then I will allow you to sell the information in due course, but only when I’m ready for it to be sold. If word that Lord Kempten is alive becomes known before I’m ready, then I’ll hold you responsible regardless of where the information comes from. Do you understand me?’
Toomas showed no sign of having heard a word that she had said. His eyes looked distant as his mind processed this new piece of information and fitted it together with other snippets he had gathered. Suddenly his eyes went wide.
‘You worked for Surabar,’ he said, his tone suggesting his certainty. ‘Surabar organised for Kempten to disappear, which means he most likely organised the death of Lacedian. Surabar detested assassinations. It’s why he declared the Guild of Assassins anaethus drax. Why then would he go against his most basic of principles?’
Femke did not answer. Toomas’s finger tapped against his forehead for a moment like a woodpecker tapping at a tree.
‘Unless . . . yes! The only reason he would do that would be to get someone into the Guild. That’s what was going on! The Guild must have discovered the infiltrator and gone after him. Running battles on the streets, assassins fighting assassins, it all makes sense now. But who killed the Emperor? The Guild would not have done that. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the pattern.’
Toomas was very good at piecing things together, Femke conceded silently. Possibly too good for his own well-being. She had kept her features unmoving as he speculated on the Emperor’s activities, but she knew all too well that Toomas would be a master of reading emotions and responses. Ferdand had taught her to conceal her emotions, but it would not surprise her to find that Toomas could read her reactions in spite of that training.
Femke raised her knife threateningly. ‘Toomas, I repeat, you are not to sell news of Lord Kempten until I sa
y you can. Are you listening to me? If you do not answer, I’ll kill you now and have done with it.’
That got his attention.
‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ he assured her quickly. ‘Please don’t do anything rash. I don’t like restrictions, but I’m no fool. I’ll hold on to the information for now. Five Lords were angling for the Mantle before the Emperor’s death. I’ve no doubt more will enter the running before the end. A delay will enable me to determine who is likely to pay the most.’
‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other. I shall get in touch again in due course. Make sure my next visit is not an unpleasant one, Toomas. Keep your word and you will live to enjoy your fortune. Get greedy and you will not see another season.’
Rising to her feet, she kept her knife in front of her as she moved carefully around Toomas towards the door. He leaned forwards to get up as well.
‘No. Stay where you are. I’ll see myself out. When you hear the front door close, you may move. Goodbye, Toomas. Until we meet again.’
He did not answer. His eyes were already distant as he set to sifting through the information he had gleaned to see if anything else would fall into place. Femke was tempted to open and close the front door so silently that he would not hear her leave. However, she was not looking to antagonise him – just to control him. She slipped out of the lounge and across the hall to the front door. When she opened the door, her horse looked up and gave a resigned snort. Femke smiled. She closed the door firmly behind her and walked across to the animal, patting its neck and untying the reins from the fence post.
‘It’s OK, girl. We’re not going far.’
The horse snorted again and nodded her head. Femke swung up into the saddle and turned her mount back up the street along which they had approached. She had an inn in mind for the night. It was not particularly salubrious, but it was not one of her usual haunts. The last thing she wanted to do was to be second-guessed by Ferdand. She knew she would have to be very careful if she were to avoid tangling with the Guild again over the next couple of days.