She contemplated the possibilities for a long moment. Alicia had courtly training...and not much else. Her parents had neglected her education, perhaps assuming that she’d be married off to someone who might find an educated wife an irritation. It would have been short-sighted of them–the Great Ladies often ran the estates while their husbands were away on business or fighting wars–but all too typical. Alicia simply didn’t have the education to make a role for herself.
Jade cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “Try not to stay up too late.”
Emily stood and walked to the window, silently glad that the wards would hide her face when she peered out. The sound of fighting seemed to be fading away, but...she shuddered, knowing what it meant. A mob might prevail against a company of soldiers carrying bladed weapons, yet...she dreaded to think how many of them would be killed or injured before they brought their enemies down. Randor wasn’t likely to send the wounded to the chirurgeons, let alone the healers, once he regained control of the streets. He’d be more likely to leave the wounded to beg for alms, if they weren’t simply strung up from the nearest lamppost. The bodies would be cremated and the ashes dumped in the river.
Cat stepped up behind her, his lips brushing the back of her neck. “Do you want to go to bed too?”
Emily had to smile. “Why not?”
They were woken, the following morning, by Jade banging on the door. “Are you decent in there?”
Emily looked at Cat, who was naked, then down at herself. “No,” she said, trying to ignore Cat’s snickering. “We’ll be out in a moment.”
She muttered a spell to cleanse herself, then pulled her robe over her shoulders. Cat stood and dressed himself just as quickly, one hand dropping to his sword. Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. The wards were still intact, as far as she could tell, yet a sufficiently well-trained wardcrafter could probably break into the townhouse without setting off any alarms. Jade was probably fine–she was sure he was fine–but they had to be careful. A small mistake could get them all killed.
Jade was standing by the door as they entered the living room, his face expressionless. Mouse stood in front of a chair, looking as if she’d been ordered to sit, but she wasn’t sure about actually sitting in the presence of her betters. Emily winced, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the younger girl. Mouse could get in trouble for disobeying orders–she probably had been told to sit–but she could also get in trouble for doing anything that even hinted at disrespect.
Like sitting down in front of us, Emily thought. It wasn’t a pleasant observation. She understood the value of etiquette, but too much of royal and aristocratic etiquette was about marking out a pecking order and keeping people in their place. Poor Mouse doesn’t know what to do.
“Please, sit,” Jade said. “Mouse?”
“There was a riot last night,” Mouse said. “It was pretty bad.”
Emily nodded as she sat down, motioning for Cat to sit next to her. Mouse hesitated, then took one of the smaller chairs and sat gingerly. Jade rolled his eyes, behind her, as he leaned against the wall. Emily had the feeling that he didn’t have much patience for Mouse–or anyone–so early in the morning. He probably hadn’t even had a chance to get a drink.
“We saw some of the riot,” Jade said, stiffly. “What happened?”
Mouse took a breath. “A handful of bars ran out of alcohol. The drinkers blamed the soldiers and attacked. Things grew worse from there.”
Emily glanced at Cat. She had no difficulty in believing that people could and would do stupid things under the influence–her mother had married her stepfather, after all–but when they were deprived of drink? It made no sense...she shook her head. Drinking was probably the only thing that kept most of the dockyard workers, the ones who were the lowest of the low, from realizing just how badly their lives sucked. They always went to the bars after work, drinking their pay away...
“I see,” Jade said. His voice was very flat. “And how are things this morning?”
“Quieter,” Mouse said. “Master Abrams said the streets were very quiet, but...but there are a lot of soldiers patrolling the dockyards.”
“Unsurprising,” Jade muttered. He cleared his throat. “It’s a shame we’re not ready to move now.”
Cat shrugged. “I doubt they’ll have moved any soldiers from”–he glanced at Mouse–“our primary target.”
“Probably,” Emily agreed. “Did the king make any promises about shipping in more alcohol?”
“No,” Mouse said. She flushed. “Ah...not as far as I know.”
Emily frowned. Randor probably wouldn’t be too concerned by a riot in the docks, certainly not one that hadn’t been too violent. He might even regard it as a victory. A number of soldiers were dead, she thought, but they would have been joined by a great many more rioters. She made a mental note to ask Alicia, when–if–she started to write in the parchment. Alicia would be in a good place to hear the king’s reaction.
And the king will not take her seriously, Emily told herself, firmly. It will never cross his mind that Alicia might be betraying him.
“He’d be foolish not to ship in some more,” Jade commented. “Merely putting his soldiers to work patrolling the docks would make it harder for them to secure the walls.”
“If someone decides to attack the city,” Cat countered. “Just how far is it to hostile territory?”
“They could probably sneak a small army into striking distance, if they were careful,” Jade said. “The real problem will be taking the king’s castles.”
Emily nodded as Jade dismissed Mouse. Randor had a network of castles scattered across the kingdom. Officially, they were designed to secure the roads, suppress banditry and defend the borders; practically, they made it harder for the barons to mass their forces against the king. She’d heard that Randor had been strengthening their defenses for years, ever since he’d crushed the last coup attempt. The barons would have real problems overwhelming them and mounting an offensive against Alexis at the same time.
But if they take out the king, game over, Emily thought. Alassa was a prisoner. They’d be able to capture the Tower and take her too. They win.
She visualized a map of the country, trying to remember what Sergeant Miles had told her. A daring strike might win the war in a stroke, but it was also very risky. If it failed, the attacking force would be destroyed and the king would have a major victory to his credit, something he could use to convince his wavering allies to stand with him. And the nobles would have to patch up their alliance in the wake of the recriminations which, she was sure, they’d hurl around like snowballs after the failure. She didn’t think they had enough men and material to write off enough force to take and hold the capital.
A city might fall to an outside force with inside help, she mused. The Levellers wouldn’t help the nobles, not willingly. But actually taking the city without a fifth column on the inside might be tricky. They’d need overwhelming numbers and a great deal of luck.
Cat nudged her. “Emily?”
Emily flushed. “What?”
“Some of our spies have located a man who works at the Tower,” Jade told her, as she looked up. “He has a...habit of drinking at an expensive establishment during his time away from work.”
“I see,” Emily said. That was a stroke of luck. “And who is he?”
“Taliesin Witt,” Jade said, slowly. His lips curved into something that couldn’t really be called a smile. “I know him, vaguely. He was one of the guards attached to Alassa before Sir William took control of her personal armsmen. My guess is that he worked for the king all along.”
Emily cocked her head. “And he works at the Tower?”
“Apparently so,” Jade said. “I’m pretty sure he’s not the guy in charge, not unless he’s turned his life around since I knew him, but I suspect he’s one of the senior guardsmen. And he goes drinking every weekend at a certain place I happen to know.”
“Let me guess,” Emily said. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. “It’s a brothel.”
“It’s a very high-class brothel,” Jade said. “There’s nothing remotely common about it. And if you called it a brothel, they’d throw up their hands in horror.”
Cat leaned forward. “And you think he can tell us something useful?”
“I’m sure of it,” Jade said. “The real question, of course, is can we make him talk?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
JADE HADN’T BEEN JOKING, EMILY DECIDED, about just how high-class the high-class place actually was. On the outside, it was just another building off the Royal Mile; inside, it was a surprisingly tasteful bar and restaurant that catered to nobles and officers of all stripes, regardless of their bloodline. She could even see a handful of magicians sitting at a table, chattering happily away as they drank their way through an entire barrel of wine. Emily just hoped they wouldn’t get drunk and start turning the rest of the clientele into frogs.
Her eyes surveyed the room as subtly as she could, moving from face to face. A handful of guests were recognizable, although she couldn’t always put a name to the face. Hopefully, none of them would take too close a look at her. It wasn’t the sort of place aristocratic women frequented, at least as long as they had money or wealthy relatives, but it was marginally more likely that someone would recognize her here than down at the docks. The noblemen in the room might well have seen her during Alassa’s wedding.
But they wouldn’t be expecting me to wear anything like this, Emily thought, looking down at her dress. Not a Baroness who rules in her own name.
It was a sour thought. The red dress was surprisingly modest, revealing hardly any bare flesh below the neckline, but it left no doubt that the only asset she had was her body. The costume–and it was a costume–hinted rather than revealed, drawing the eye without–quite–satisfying the viewer. Jade had been so clear on what the outfit meant that Emily had been reluctant to put it on even though she was decently covered. She’d worn more revealing clothes after schooling at Whitehall. But the mere act of wearing it indicated that she was looking for a patron and she didn’t care much what she had to do to get one.
“Look confident,” Jade hissed. “You’re not meant to look ashamed.”
Emily resisted the urge to glare at him. Jade had–somehow–talked her into wearing the dress and serving as the bait for his friend. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to do it. She’d played bait before, during Martial Magic, but never using her own body...no, she corrected herself, she’d never used her sexuality. Her stomach churned at the thought. The risk of being eaten by a wild animal or captured by thugs suddenly seemed less terrifying than being cornered by a man who thought she wanted to trade her body for money and protection. Jade might claim there was a difference between a high-class courtesan and a prostitute, but Emily couldn’t see one.
Probably a simple matter of birth, she thought, grimly. A noblewoman who has to become a mistress is simply not in the same league as a common-born whore.
Jade coughed, his fingers moving in a pattern she recognized. Enemy approaching. Emily straightened up, pasting a politely neutral expression on her face as she turned to see Taliesin Witt walking towards her, Cat following him at a distance. He was strikingly tall, wearing a blue and red uniform that seemed almost ridiculously fancy; his beady eyes studied her with frank interest as he stopped in front of her. She rather thought he would have been handsome, if he hadn’t worn a pair of absurd sideburns rather than a beard or a moustache. It was probably a regimental tradition. Even high-born officers couldn’t ignore them completely.
“Well,” Witt said. His voice was light and breathy. Emily disliked it at once. “Do you have a room?”
Emily lowered her eyes. Jade had told her that the process of taking a mistress was an intricate dance, where both parties would push their demands without ever openly coming out and admitting they were trading sex for money and protection. No one would fault a man for having a mistress–or a woman for being a mistress, if she was discreet–but bluntness was regarded as uncouth. It struck her as silly, yet...
Hypocrisy makes the world go ‘round, she thought. Alassa had said that once, while deconstructing the courtly flattery that hovered around her like flies on honey. No one cares about people who break the rules as long as there is no appearance of breaking the rules.
“I do, My Lord,” she said, trying to sound as submissive as possible. Witt wasn’t that important. He’d probably enjoy a little fawning from a noblewoman who happened to find herself without even a pair of coppers to rub together. “We can go there at once, if you wish.”
Witt held out a hand. Emily took it and allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arm, tightly, as they made their way towards the stairs, hard enough to be uncomfortable without quite being bad enough to merit a complaint. Emily wondered, absently, if he was married, then decided it was very likely. An officer in his position would almost certainly be married...unless he’d decided to hold out for a marriage that would give him rank and status if not money. She felt sorry for his wife. Someone who was on the very fringes of high society would have to stomach all sorts of little put-downs designed to remind him of his place, which he would probably take out on his wife. Her stepfather had been like that too.
She half-expected him to try to grope her as they made their way up the stairs, despite Jade and Cat trailing behind. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Cat had told him that Jade and himself were her family retainers, the only ones left...Witt might enjoy molesting her under their gaze, knowing they couldn’t stop him without blowing her chance of acquiring a protector. But it seemed he had enough decency–or common sense–to wait for a little privacy. The anticipation in his eyes was chilling.
And odd, she thought. It isn’t as if I’m showing off too much flesh.
She tensed as she opened the door to the rented room, half-expecting Witt to sense the wards and stop. The establishment had installed a handful of privacy wards, but Jade and Cat had scoped out the room and set up a few additional wards of their own. Emily rather doubted the management would take the risk of spying on their clients, particularly when blackmail would only be of limited value, yet they didn’t dare take it for granted. The last thing they needed was a ward sounding the alert and bringing in the guard.
Witt looked around the room. “Good enough,” he said, in a tone that suggested the room was barely suitable for a brief tryst. “Your men can wait outside, of course.”
Jade moved forward and jabbed him with a wand, hard. Witt staggered, then convulsed and fell to the ground. Emily rubbed her arm where he’d been holding her, wincing slightly at the pain. She’d be bruised tomorrow, she thought. The boys searched Witt roughly, removing a small collection of weapons and–surprisingly–a chat parchment before picking him up and tying him to a chair. Witt groaned, loudly, as he started to recover from the shock. Emily was ruefully impressed. She’d known magicians–herself included–who’d gone down for hours after being zapped with a particularly nasty stunning spell.
“He doesn’t have any magic,” Cat said, as he poured water into a glass and pressed it to Witt’s lips. “No resistance.”
Witt stared at him blearily, then focused on Jade. “You!”
“Me,” Jade said. His voice betrayed no surprise. “Where is my wife?”
Witt swore at him, loudly. Jade listened for a moment, then drew back his hand and slapped Witt across the face. The sound echoed in the room, just loud enough for Emily to start fearing that someone outside would have heard. She doubted that anyone would dare force their way into the room–particularly given just who had rented it–and the silencing charms should keep the noise from being heard, but it was still a risk.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Jade said. “If you answer our questions, we’ll let you go...with a slice gapped out of your memory. If you refuse, we’ll have to get rough.”
&nb
sp; Witt looked at Emily. It felt as though he were seeing her–really seeing her–for the first time. “Can it be? Is it really...?”
Emily felt another moment of sour admiration. Witt had seen through Jade’s disguise–and he’d even penetrated hers, although he might not believe his own conclusions. Randor had chosen well when he’d ennobled Witt. Lowborn or not, Witt was clearly smarter than he looked. The chip on his shoulder wasn’t big enough to blind him completely.
“No,” Jade said, shortly. “What’s it to be? Answers? Or do we have to risk pouring truth potion down your throat?”
“Go right ahead,” Witt said. The faint quaver in his voice was strikingly convincing. “Truth potion will kill me.”
“We can test that,” Jade said. “Or we can just start hurting you until you talk.”
Emily winced. Randor wouldn’t let just anyone into the Tower, let alone give them the keys. He’d have done everything in his power to ensure that Witt couldn’t share the Tower’s secrets, willingly or unwillingly. Truth potions, spells, even torture...they’d trigger a reaction that would break Witt’s mind or kill him outright. It would be bad for the guards if they suffered a genuine accident–the spells probably couldn’t tell the difference between an accident and cold-blooded torture–but Randor wasn’t likely to care.
“I can’t talk,” Witt told him. He sounded like a man who had accepted his fate. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
“We shall see,” Jade said. He rested his fingers on Witt’s head. “This will hurt slightly less if you keep very still.”
Witt glowered at him, twisting his head as Jade cast a series of detection spells. Emily couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as though Randor’s magicians had done a very good job when they’d layered their spells on the guards. There would be a release word, Emily was sure, but...but it would be something impossible to guess. Randor wouldn’t have wanted the spells coming loose by accident. She considered a handful of possibilities, then dismissed the thought. There was no hope of stumbling over the keyword by dumb luck.
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