The fat spymaster sat at a table gorging on a many-plattered breakfast. His mouth hung open at the shock of the explosive entrance, partially chewed food falling to his lap. A rush of wind swept by Neenahwi and hit Aebur in the chest, throwing him into the far wall of the room.
“I warned you to keep your nose out of my affairs, and that includes the people working for me.”
“My lord, I don’t know what you’re referring to,” stammered Aebur. “This is most unusual, barging into my rooms.”
“I’ll barge wherever I like! I’ve had enough of your schemes. I’ll know the truth.”
“I promise you. I’m a faithful servant of the realm,” whispered Aebur.
“I grow tired of this.” Jyuth’s hand reached out as if to grasp Aebur though he was ten feet from him.
The fat pig rose into the air, clutching at his throat as he struggled to draw breath. His face changed from pink to bright red to dark purple as he gurgled away. Neenahwi stood watching from the broken doorway with arms crossed.
“Jyuth! Stop this right now!” A small, thin, bookish man with thinning hair and goatee rushed into the room, stopping a distance away from the angry wizard. Neenahwi knew him to be Hoskin, the former king’s chancellor. “What’s happening here?”
Jyuth turned to face Hoskin, and for a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize him. “Good morning, Hoskin. Arrived in time to see me pop this pimple?”
“I mean it, Jyuth. There will be no more killing in the palace. What’s going on?”
“This man is a traitor and cannot be trusted. I warned him to change his ways, and he chose not to listen.” Jyuth relaxed his grip slightly on Aebur, and he was able to take small breaths, but he still hung from the air.
“If he’s a traitor, then you’ll hand him to me. I’ll have him interrogated, and we can discover the truth behind this. Jyuth, you placed me in charge. I cannot allow this chaos in the walls of the palace!” Hoskin shook like a leaf, but he maintained eye contact with the old man. “If he’s a traitor, then we will find out who he’s working for. And then we’ll decide his fate.”
Jyuth looked begrudgingly back to Hoskin. “Make it stick,” said the wizard. The spymaster was still struggling for breath, but he began to float over to hang in front of Jyuth, inches from his face. “I doubt I’ll see you again, Master Aebur. You’ll probably wish I had finished you here. But Bartholomew shouldn’t have to do all of the work, so let me get him started.” Jyuth’s forehead bashed into Aebur’s face, nose flattening with a shower of blood and a gurgled cry. Jyuth turned, and the spymaster dropped to the floor.
Neenahwi stepped aside to let Jyuth out of the shattered doorway and matched his pace past the score of guards standing perplexed outside.
“Really, Father? A headbutt?”
Chapter 20
Lady Grey’s Proposition
Dolph came back to the table with four mugs of ale in hand and slid one over to Mareth, Motega behind him with three more. The common room of the Royal Oak was buzzing with the news about the closing of the trading marketplaces earlier that day.
Rumors began to spread two days ago that Lady Kingsley intended to revoke the trading licenses for the markets and bring them under government control, and the response had been unsurprisingly critical. Many of those merchants had made a considerable investment to acquire the licenses and build increasingly lavish operations to attract merchants from up and down the Arz Sea. Closing the markets had caused chaos. Administrative workers and porters, having nowhere to go, descended on Lady Kingsley’s estate to heckle and pelt her house with yesterday’s vegetables from the Green Market.
Mareth had heard she’d been afraid to leave her house all day, the crowds becoming quite intimidating. Customs officers and city guards were also overwhelmed with demands for recompense from merchants incurring higher docking fees. Typically, they were in port for a matter of days, but the situation meant they were unable to sell the contents of their holds and stock up for the next leg of their journey.
The chaos had spread through the city and had complicated their efforts to put into action those plans developed since the meeting with the district supervisors. Petra sat next to Mareth, looking tired. She’d been trying to keep up with Dolph as they’d roamed the city, Mareth not wanting her to be unaccompanied around the city after what had happened to Alana. He squeezed Petra’s hand, almost unbelieving at how his life had improved in the past couple of weeks.
“What progress today?” asked Alana, sitting opposite him. The bruises on her face were fading to yellow, and she’d been back at the palace all day after being ordered to spend two days resting. She and Petra had effectively moved into the Royal Oak as well, now, Jules providing a room in the private part of the building for them to share.
Petra reported first. “We’ve posted notices all across the Narrows, north and south, and I spoke with most of the gossips, so they can help get the word out. We’ve arranged meetings in two nights’ time, so people can come and ask questions. We’ll have a good opportunity, then, to see if people are going to get behind this.”
Once Petra had finished, Alana made a few notes and looked to Mareth.
“I’ve now met with all of the district supervisors who didn’t attend the meeting,” he began. “They know what we’re doing, of course. Word gets around quicker than a whore’s pox.” He noticed the stern look from Petra and attempted to scramble to safety. “Not that I’ve anything against whores with the pox, of course. Anyway, they’re interested, but they want to see how this is going to work.”
Mareth considered how this might have been a little bit of an exaggeration regarding the positive response. Two of the supervisors had laughed in his face, saying there was no way it was going to work, and another had rubbed his hands in greed at the thought of being the custodian of a thousand crowns. They would need to find someone more trustworthy there.
Alana nodded as Mareth finished, and she turned to the men to her left. To Mareth’s surprise, Motega, Trypp, and Florian had been with them since they rescued Alana and dealt with Win.
Petra had suggested asking them to help, but he hadn’t expected a positive response. Avenging a young woman assaulted in the street appealed to their heroic sense, but they had agreed to be hired when Petra asked, even when he explained how the plan was more similar to a door-to-door knife sharpener than an adventurer. Worn shoe leather and words sowed in hope rather than expectation.
The tall, black man called Trypp spoke for the three friends. He’d taken the lead amongst them even though he’d been mostly quiet that first night until they returned from dealing with Win. Mareth had thought he was little more than a hanger-on initially, but now appreciated he was the business brains of the trio and canny about the city and people. “We had a good day. There will be a dozen people here in the morning from Fishtown, Randall’s Addition, and Bottom Run to help. Some of them aren’t the smartest, mind you, so think about the jobs you give them.”
Alana was keeping notes as each person provided their update, her pen scratching on a large map of the districts she’d drawn. They all looked at her as she studied the chart, breathing deeply in concentration. “We need more people. It’s going too slow. We’re going to run out of time.”
“We’ll be able to bring more volunteers tomorrow, Alana,” said Trypp, “but they need someone to give them better instruction. There’s no one left here at the inn when we’re all walking the city.”
“And we need a candidate, too, Alana,” said Mareth. “Right now, people aren’t excited. No one wants to pay so they can choose between a punch in the mouth or a kick in the sack. If we had the right candidate, then others would do the work for us.”
“You’re right, I know. There may be some news on that to investigate. Jyuth mentioned today that Guild Master Ballard was going to present himself as a candidate. He obviously has the backing of his guild and apparently a few other lesser guilds.”
“Excellent,” said Mareth, looking around at the others.
“Anyone know anything about him?”
“I know of him,” said Trypp. “Solid, good reputation like his stonework. Honest, too. And don’t ask me how I know.”
From the corner of his eye, Mareth noticed a small figure standing beside him, a girl dressed in a house servant’s clothes. She looked at the people around the table, recognition on her face as she saw the object of her search and scooted over to whisper something in Dolph’s ear. Dolph whispered something in return, and then the little girl ran out of the inn.
“What was that?” asked Mareth.
“I have to go. Lady Grey has called for me at once.”
“But I was just about to say we would go and see Ballard.”
“I’m sorry, Mareth, but you’re not the one who holds the purse. I don’t know what this is about or if I’ll be ordered back.” Dolph pushed back his chair, drained his mug, and then he, too, walked out the door without further farewell, into the fading light of the evening.
“I’ll go with you, Mareth,” said Motega. “I’d like to see this stonemason. I can make sure we get there safe.”
“I’ll go, too,” said Alana.
“Thank you, Motega. That’s appreciated,” said Mareth. “Alana, I think Petra should come. Please don’t take offense, but you still look like you’ve been in a tourney. You should rest, and we can talk when we return.”
Mareth was eager to leave, his tiredness from the day of pounding the cobblestone streets slipping away at the prospect of seeing someone who could be their new candidate. “Petra, Motega, let’s go.”
It was dark by the time they arrived back at the Royal Oak, and the time of year meant it was very late. What Mareth considered to be their usual table at the back was unoccupied, but there was no sign of Alana. Motega followed behind Petra and Mareth, and moved off to talk to Trypp and Florian, who played skittles with some regulars. Mareth scanned the room until he saw Jules and waved her to the empty table. Petra left to fetch Alana.
In a few moments, their merry band of electioneers had gathered, all looking eager for the news. Alana jumped right into it as she walked over, stretching, looking like she just woke up. “So, how did it go?”
“It took a long time for us to be able to see him,” said Mareth, “but it went well. I liked him…” The words died in his mouth as he saw Dolph striding across the room toward them, a grim, purposeful look on his face.
Mareth had learnt some of his moods with all of the concentrated time they’d been spending together. This was either “doing something I don’t agree with” or “I’m tired of walking around all of tarnation and need a drink.” Or it could have been a combination of the two.
“Evening, Mareth,” said Dolph as he came to a stop at the table. “I know I’m interrupting, but you’re about to have a bigger interruption than me. Lady Grey is in her carriage outside, and she wants to talk to you.” Then he scanned the faces of everyone around the table. “She wants to talk with all of you. Ms. Jules, I think we’re going to need the back room. This isn’t something we should do out in the open.”
“What’s going on, Dolph?” Mareth inquired. “What does she want with all of us?”
“And how many guards has she brought other than you?” asked Motega, his friends pushing away from the table, eyes scanning the room, likely assessing other exits.
“Listen, you three.” Jules pointed a finger in Motega’s face. “No trouble. No fighting in my inn. I don’t want to get shut down. So, bloody relax. Dolph, what does she want?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I could tell you if I did know. She’s only come with three other guards that could fit in the carriage with her. She didn’t want to be conspicuous, so I’d say she means what she says. She wants to talk.”
“Alright then,” said Jules, “all of you in the back. Dolph, you can tell her she’s welcome to come in. I’ll meet her at the door. Not every day I have a lady in the Royal Oak.”
Mareth wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he had a thing for older ladies.
For a long time, he’d thought his flirting with Jules was going to get somewhere, but it had never been reciprocated. As Lady Grey walked in alongside Jules and took a seat at the head of a table, the pair of them were almost enough to make him forget Petra.
Jules was Jules. She always looked commanding and put together. Lady Grey was wearing black as befitted a widow of less than a week, who should still be in mourning, but she was wearing trousers and a tunic tailored to her trim figure. Her hair was pulled away from her face, the faintest of wrinkles around her almond-shaped eyes and at the edge of her full lips. She would have turned the head of the old Mareth, but the new one was trying much harder to be a better man. He squeezed Petra’s hand under the table, more for his sake to remind him of her presence and how she had been so important in his rebirth.
“Good evening, Mareth. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” said Lady Grey, inclining her head toward him. “And this must be the beautiful Petra I’ve heard so much about. And you’re her sister, Alana, or should I call you the ringleader? And then we have Trypp, Florian, and Motega. Motega, does your sister know you’re here in Kingshold?”
Everyone around the table shifted nervously, even though it was always known Dolph would be reporting back to his employer. Mareth could tell what they were thinking. Is Dolph her only source or does she have other spies?
“Lady Grey, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Motega. “And no, my sister does not know I’m back in Kingshold. I’d appreciate it if that remained the case.”
“That’s a shame, Wolfclaw. Family is critical to all of us. I’m especially reminded of this in recent days.”
Nobody spoke, not wanting to interrupt her grief, if that’s what the silence was.
“Well, I haven’t come here to be maudlin. Mareth, I asked you to make trouble, and it seems you’ve been more ambitious than I anticipated. And you have a cohort helping you, too. Remarkable.”
“Lady Grey, I’m sorry for your loss. It must have been terrible. I assume Dolph has told you our plans,” said Mareth. “You should know there’s been real disappointment for the people of the city at the news of Hoxteth’s murder. We think we have an opportunity to stick it to the nobles standing for the role of protector. They won’t see what’s coming.”
“Now, now, Mareth, let’s not call it murder. It was an assassination. I know full well it was a contract, and I’m pretty confident I know who paid for it. Officially, there’s been no crime committed.” Lady Grey kept even and calm as she talked about her husband’s death. “And as for sticking it to the nobles, I, for one, would like nothing better to slide up behind them in the shadows and stick a knife between their ribs. But from where I sit, you have two problems. All of the declared candidates are nobles, and the math is against you.”
“We’ve been looking for a new candidate people can rally behind, Lady Grey,” interjected Alana. “Mareth was about to tell us about a meeting he had this evening when you arrived.”
“Yes, yes. Master Ballard, of course. Please, do continue with your report to your friends, Mareth.”
“Well, he’s hard to meet with. He didn’t know who we were, but Petra managed to charm her way into having an audience,” began Mareth. She squeezed his hand this time. “We all liked him. He was grounded, understanding of what’s going on in the city and the realm, wanting to build a broader relationship across other guilds to be able to govern effectively.
“He also seemed a man of simple tastes, no displays of wealth, which he would have access to as the master of even a lesser guild, and it seems like he cares. He hasn’t yet declared, as he’s unsure about his chances. He has most of the lower guild houses with him, but that’ll be less than a tenth of the vote. So, when we explained what we were doing, he seemed actively interested. We need to organize a meeting with the district supervisors and Ballard.”
“Ballard is a smart man,” said Lady Grey, smiling. “He should be wary about his chances. He honestly does
n’t have any. There won’t be a single noble who’ll vote for him. And if he continues to be as straight and true as the lines of his stone, then he’s not going to make the deals necessary to get the wealthy merchants on his side.”
“But if we can bring twenty districts behind him, and he has half of the guilds, then he’ll have more than thirty demons right there.” Alana looked directly into the eyes of Lady Grey, not shirking the attention that came her way. “We must be able to win over some of the other independent voters who’ll want to have a good man lead Edland?”
“Miss Alana, that’s wishful thinking. But if you wish to spend the next fortnight pursuing a losing cause, then I’m not one to stop you. Math is against you doubly. With a candidate like Ballard, there are too few votes you can pursue. You would be relying on the vote being so evenly split amongst the nobles for you to have a chance, when we all know the bastard Eden is going to get a majority of that vote. You need coin to organize and mobilize, too. There are only so many favors you can cash in. Once again, math is against you. You need coin, and you don’t have it.”
“Did you travel here just to warn us we’re wasting our time?” asked Mareth.
“Well, I knew I’d do that, at least. I like what you’re doing. I, too, want a candidate I can believe in, one who can lead in a way I thought my husband would have. I can feel the ground shifting, and I don’t know if this is going to be an earthquake or a sinkhole beneath my feet.” Bang. Lady Grey slapped her hand on the open table, making everyone jump, sheepish looks from the fighters around the table. “But you need to face reality; otherwise, you’ll lose. Ballard is not going to be the candidate you want. As you said, you need someone who cares, but you also need someone charismatic, someone who’ll make the right deals and, most importantly, someone with the right family.”
“Are you considering standing, my lady?” asked Petra.
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