by Mark Robson
‘We never normally keep much ’ere, ma’am. This bein’ the biggest of the cellars, Steward has us bring the deliveries down ’ere and use the space to sort through the goods, before takin’ ’em out into the other cellars for storage. The only stuff as gets stored ’ere is overflow from the other cellars really.’
Moving deeper into the cellar, Femke paused to light two of the wall-mounted torches. The extra light helped dispel the last vestiges of her unease. The hairs on her neck settled back down and she set about marking up an inventory on her slate. For the most part, she just noted the markings on the boxes, taking them at face value. As she had in previous cellars, however, she chose three crates at random and opened them to see that the contents matched the notations on the outside. They did.
All the while that she was moving around the cellar scratching notes on her slate, Femke discreetly scanned the walls and floor for any sign of a concealed door. If, as she strongly suspected, there was one, then it was very well hidden. The cellars were all clean and well organised. It had ever been so. The Head Steward always kept a close eye on matters of storage and the organisation of his resources.
With one last look around she walked across to the wall-mounted torches and used the metal snuffer to extinguish them. As she put out the second torch she whirled, holding the torch in her right hand high above her head to maximise the spread of light. Something had moved. She was sure of it.
‘What is it, ma’am? Is everything all right?’
Femke peered around the chamber suspiciously. The unease that she had felt when entering the cellar returned in a rush. Her pulse raced. She doubted the Guild would hold her prisoner again if they recognised her. Ferdand would have little choice but to order her execution. However, whilst she was content to let the servant girl think the reputation of the cellar had got to her, she did not want to let her nervous reaction run out of control.
Ten quick steps and she reached the doorway. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said, injecting confidence into her tone that for the briefest instant she did not feel. Femke swung the door closed behind her. The squealing groan of protest from the hinges was followed by a solid thud as it met the frame, shutting whatever had moved inside. She turned the key in the lock and handed the bunch back to the serving girl. ‘All done here. Let’s go back upstairs, shall we? I need to talk to Master Jarran and compare notes.’
‘Very well, ma’am.’ The look that the serving girl gave her as she took the keys spoke volumes. It was obvious what she thought of Femke’s bluster. The cellar had got to her as it had to countless others. Whether she liked it or not, she had added to the legend.
They climbed the stairs back to the surface levels of the Palace and the serving girl led Femke through to the Head Steward’s office, where she found Reynik. He was perched at the Steward’s desk with piles of parchments and slates stacked in obscenely tidy fashion on either side of the work surface. He looked up as she entered and gave her a thin-lipped smile before returning to his scrutiny of the document in front of him.
‘So how did it go, Mistress Adele?’ Reynik asked. ‘Are the cellars in good order?’
‘They seem to be, Master Jarran,’ Femke responded, walking primly around to peer over his shoulder. ‘I shall need some time to total up my slates and compare them with the inventory, but at first glance the organisation appears to be of a satisfactory standard. The main distribution cellar was a most intriguing place. The staff believe it to be haunted.’
‘Haunted, you say?’ Reynik repeated, not looking up from the parchment. He kept his tone deliberately bland and disinterested, but Femke knew she had his full attention. ‘Hmm, well I’ve not come across a place as big and old as this yet that didn’t have a ghost or two hiding in the closets.’
‘How about the books? Do the numbers add up?’
‘I found a few minor errors, but from what I’ve seen so far it appears there is little for the new Emperor to be concerned about. I think I’ve done about enough here for one day. How about you?’
‘Yes,’ Femke agreed. ‘A bite to eat would be welcome. I’m going to take my slates with me so that I can get the numbers straight by tomorrow. The comparison with the inventory shouldn’t take long after that. How long will you need to finish auditing the figures?’
‘Well, I suppose if I take a bit of work with me this evening, I could finish tomorrow as well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I had hoped to relax tonight, but it makes little sense to stay longer than necessary.’
Femke nodded, strolling around the room casually and looking at some of the familiar items of décor while Reynik gathered those papers he wanted to study more closely. She was careful not to look too intently at anything on the wall opposite the desk, as she knew there would be at least one spy hidden in a secret compartment there. Talking for the benefit of the spy gave them the opportunity to spread disinformation. It was unclear whom the spy was working for, but it was standard procedure within the Palace for strangers to be watched. No doubt any information gathered by the Imperial spy network would be reported to the new Emperor when he took up residence.
It was not until they were well clear of the Palace and Reynik was certain that no one was in earshot that he began to talk candidly.
‘The cellar you mentioned sounds most intriguing. It might be worth returning to the Palace to see if we can find false walls or hidden doors. From what I’ve learned, I imagine those ghosts have quite an appetite for food and drink.’
‘So there are discrepancies in the book-keeping!’
‘No, actually there aren’t. Or if there are, then I’m not skilled enough to discern them,’ he admitted. ‘The books are so squeaky clean they practically gleam. That’s what makes me think that all is not as it seems. It’s most unlikely that an organisation as big as the Palace runs without at least a little corruption. It goes with the territory. The books are clean, but the Head Steward is most certainly not.’
‘What do you mean?’ Femke asked, her curiosity piqued.
‘Just that he lives very well for someone on a Head Steward’s wage. I’ve seen from the books what he earns officially. His lifestyle and his income don’t match. He’s getting more money from somewhere. It’s not clear where. He might have another legitimate source of income, but I find that unlikely. He has a busy job here. I doubt he would have the time or the energy to hold down another. I think we both know where his money comes from. Proving it would be difficult, but I don’t think we’ll need to. If you’ve found a physical entrance to the hidden complex, then our job is done.’
Femke did not respond. She knew the Steward, of course. Having worked in the Palace as long as she had, it would have been an incredible coincidence for their paths not to cross at some point. He had not struck her as the extravagant type, but then she had never had cause to study his circumstances before.
They were approaching the tavern where they were to meet up with Calvyn, Jabal and Lord Kempten. The sign sporting a sadly flaking image of a proud griffin was creaking gently as it swung back and forth in the breeze. Overhead the early evening sky was a deep blue, punctuated with small puffs of white cloud that hurried past as if racing to reach some distant destination before the sun dived below the horizon. The late-afternoon sun reflected off the cobbles. They were slick with a wet sheen left by a recent shower. The street was not busy, but those who were about moved with the same urgency as the clouds. Although there was some time remaining until curfew, it was clear that no one wanted to be outside later than necessary.
‘Let’s hope that we can clean out the cause of all the trouble and get life in Shandrim back to normal,’ she responded eventually. ‘It’s time the city was restored to peace. The Shandese people are proud and strong like that griffin up there, but just as his paint is flaking, so too is the resilience of the city. The military are doing what they can to maintain order, but why should they have to? Shandrim does not deserve this treatment. A period of restoration is overdue.’
Th
e inn was busy. The curfew had compacted available drinking time to a very short window of opportunity. The regulars were there, but so were the more casual drinkers and socialites. All made the most of the short time between the end of the working day and the new enforced closing time. With the general buzz of conversation being much louder than normal, it was easy to use it as a mask for their meeting. Calvyn and Jabal had secured a table in the corner away from the main crowd around the bar. Kempten was with them, though Femke would never have recognised the Lord if Reynik had not pointed him out.
‘Femke? Is that really you?’ Kempten asked, keeping his voice low.
‘Yes, my Lord. Calvyn’s illusion is far better than any disguise I could devise. I must say your appearance is equally impressive.’
Quiet introductions were made all around. Jabal had dispensed with his illusory disguise, as had Calvyn. It was deemed unlikely that anyone would be looking for them.
‘I’m glad to have you back, Femke. Reynik has proved himself a worthy tactician in your absence, but I think we shall all value your experience in deciding what to do next.’
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ she replied, giving him a warm smile. ‘I should first warn you that if the Guild finds out you’re alive, they will look to reinstate your deceased status in double quick time. Let’s hope my threat to Toomas held him to silence whilst I was imprisoned, or things could get awkward. From what little I learned, the Guild are backing Lord Tremarle to become the next Emperor.’
‘Then they have already succeeded in that much,’ Kempten replied. ‘The news is everywhere. The Imperial Court has declared him Emperor Designate. The coronation ceremony is only a few days away. He’s already moved into the Palace.’
‘The ceremony is an irrelevance, my Lord,’ Femke stated with conviction. ‘You are the true Emperor Designate. As soon as it becomes known that you’re alive, the coronation of Tremarle will be declared void.’
Lord Kempten nodded. ‘It appears, however, that the Guild may be doing more than just backing Tremarle for the Mantle. Were you aware that Lord Tremarle has adopted a son?’
‘No, my Lord, but why should that make any difference? Whether he has an heir, or not, does not change your claim.’
‘It might make a difference when the son goes by the name of Shalidar.’
‘Shand!’ breathed Femke and Reynik as one.
‘Are you sure it’s the same man? ’ Femke asked, incredulous. ‘If so, how on earth did Shalidar manipulate him into that? He murdered the man’s eldest son, for Shand’s sake! The audacity of it is breathtaking. Unless, of course, Tremarle wanted Danar dead . . . No! I can’t believe him that callous. There’s got to be more to this than meets the eye.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Kempten. ‘It does appear to be the same Shalidar who gave you all the trouble in Mantor. No one seems to know what prompted the adoption, but there are no signs that it was forced on Tremarle. He seems genuinely taken with the man. If the Guild are behind Tremarle, do you not think it likely that they’re ultimately looking to put the Mantle upon the shoulders of one of their own?’
Femke frowned as she thought. If she had not known how the present Guildmaster felt about Shalidar as a person, she might have been tempted to agree. Crafty as Ferdand was, however, she did not believe his intense dislike of Shalidar to be feigned. The idea of Shalidar as Emperor would repulse him as much as it did her. The silence grew as her mind raced, twisting possibilities and trying to view the situation from all angles. In the end she shook her head.
‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘I can’t make sense of it. I’m not sure what part the Guild had in getting Shalidar adopted, if any, but something doesn’t feel right here. Shalidar has always played his own game. That has been proven time and again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s acting independently. It’s easy to see the benefits to the Guild, but I think we’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle.’
‘What else do we know?’ asked Kempten, his brows furrowed as he considered the information they had gathered so far. ‘If we pool our knowledge, we might be able to make more sense of it all.’
‘Well, Femke and I have established firm links between the Imperial Palace and the Guild,’ Reynik offered.
‘Links? What sort of links?’ Kempten whispered eagerly.
‘Well, I believe the Head Steward is in the employ of the Guild. There is certainly a lot of circumstantial evidence to support this theory. Femke believes there is also a physical connection from one of the Palace cellars to the Guild headquarters. Though the presence of such a passage is yet to be physically confirmed, it is logical to assume this is the case. All the evidence points to the existence of such a link. I suspect that the Guild piggybacks their supplies through the Imperial supply chain.’
‘A passage from the cellars into the Guild headquarters!’ Lord Kempten exclaimed. ‘Shand’s teeth! That means the Guild have been using the Palace for centuries!’
‘Please, my Lord,’ Femke hissed, her eyes subtly scanning the nearer tables to see if any had shown any interest in his words. ‘Not so loud! This place is not known to be frequented by spies, but one can never be too careful.’
‘Of course,’ he said apologetically in a low voice. ‘Sorry about that. It’s just that I was shocked.’
‘Understandably, my Lord. I thought I was beyond being surprised, but if this last couple of months have taught me anything, it’s that there’s always something bubbling below the surface of Shandese politics, lurking in wait to shock and amaze those who thought they’d seen everything.’
‘So where does this passage start and end?’ Kempten asked. ‘I thought Reynik’s previous experience of the Guild had led us to believe there was no conventional entrance.’
‘That’s a good question, my Lord,’ Femke answered, dropping her volume still lower. ‘There’s a particular cellar in the Palace where if I were to gamble, I would lay every sennut I had on there being an opening to the Guild. However, during my explorations of the Guild complex I saw no corresponding evidence of any passage leading upwards. To be fair, I may not have seen half of it. What about you, Reynik? You spent more time than me in there. Did you see anything in the Guild complex that made you suspect such a way existed?’
Reynik looked thoughtful for a moment, but was quick to shake his head. ‘Changing the subject a moment, did you find anything at the library, Master Jabal?’ he asked.
The magician shook his head. ‘The books you spoke of were conspicuous by their absence,’ he said. ‘My trip to the library was fruitless, I’m afraid.’
Reynik nodded. ‘I expected as much,’ he said. ‘We could follow up the lead of the bakery on Western Avenue, but I don’t think it would get us far. It would be more likely to lead them to us than the other way around. I remember openly asking the Guildmaster about a physical link to the surface once,’ Reynik continued thoughtfully, ‘but he flat-out denied it. He said that the only way in and out was by use of the icons. He could have been lying, of course. If I had been in his position, I would have lied to protect the secrecy of such a passage. As Guildmaster I wouldn’t want the other assassins to think they had tied their bodies to magical icons for nothing. I’d actively seek to conceal such information.’
Femke nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ she agreed. ‘But where does all this leave us? I’m fairly convinced we have a potential avenue of attack, but even if it does exist, to utilise it will not be easy. For a successful strike we’ll need to get a considerable force into the depths of the Imperial Palace, find the entrance to the passageway, and launch an attack, all without raising the suspicion of the Guild.’
‘None of those things will be easy, Femke,’ Lord Kempten observed. ‘Have you any idea how we could do any of them?’
Femke looked Lord Kempten squarely in the eyes. ‘Are you willing to see this through, my Lord?’ she asked. ‘There’s no half-measure here. It’s all or nothing.’
Kempten sighed as he met her gaze. ‘It depends,’ he temporised.
‘If I’m to gamble with my life and the lives of my family, then you’ll have to convince me that you have a plan that will work. I agree that we’ve come a long way in the last few weeks. We’re closer to breaking the Guild than any have come in centuries, but “close” is not good enough. I need to be convinced. Can you convince me?’
A slow smile spread across Femke’s face. ‘I think I can, my Lord. This might sound a little bizarre, but I’ve just had a moment of clarity. Everything suddenly fits together. It might take some refining, but what do you think of this for a plan of action . . .’
Five minutes later and Lord Kempten’s face mirrored the incredulity in his voice.
‘Are you telling me you just thought all this up on the spur of the moment?’ he asked.
Femke’s plan was both daring and audacious. It also relied on the cooperation of people who might be difficult to coerce into such a venture. On the positive side, however, Kempten could see that there were plenty of points during the preparation phase at which they could back out if all were not going the way they intended. Looking around the table he could see from the expressions of the others that they were taken with Femke’s ideas.
‘Well I had a lot of thinking time whilst I was being held prisoner. This is a variation on something I’d dreamed up for a different reason, but I believe the principles are sound.’
‘Some of the people you want to bring in on this will no doubt require remuneration for their efforts,’ Kempten observed.
‘Yes, my Lord, and I suspect that some of them will not come cheaply.’
‘I saw the bills from some of your other escapades, Femke. Are you set on depleting the Imperial Treasury and making the Emperor a pauper in his Palace?’
Femke grinned. ‘I can see how I might give that impression sometimes. Let’s just say that the bill will represent good value for money, shall we? You will have rid Shandrim of the Guild, whilst securing your rightful place as Emperor. Surely that’s worth spending a little gold on? I also have ideas on how to attract some of the people we need at the public’s expense. Let me explain . . .’