“I’m sure the good lady thinks her services are perfectly civilized,” chided Jyuth as he tapped his fingers on his crossed leg. “Look, I can’t do anything, and even if I could, I’m not sure I would. Lord Hoskin, you know as well as I do, it’s probably good to have a few less nobles around. Present company excepted, of course.” Jyuth gave Hoskin his fuck-off-and-leave-me-alone smile, the primal part of the chancellor’s brain recognizing danger and instructing his feet to take a half-step backward to the door. “If you’re so upset about it, you could always talk to Lady Chalice?” volunteered the wizard as Hoskin edged out of the room.
The carriage rattled out onto the cobblestone streets as it left the palace gateway, Hoskin alone for the journey to the Hollow House.
He didn’t feel like company right now. The start to the day had put him in a bad mood, and the response to his message for an audience with Lady Chalice had left them in a worse mood. A very brief response of, ‘If you want to talk, then you know where I am.’ And even though it was obviously a personal insult that he would be the one making the journey, he didn’t intend to give up this bone yet.
The ride was short from the palace, through the inner circle, and down the Lance, or it would’ve been if it wasn’t for all of the people who had been mysteriously instructed to get in his way today.
Hoskin banged on the roof of the carriage in a vain attempt to make the driver go faster before falling back into his seat with an exhalation of frustration. He closed his eyes and wondered why he even cared about this. What did it mean to him who was going to be in charge in eight days’ time? No one would thank him. But no one had ever thanked him for the service he’d done for more than a decade.
Eventually, the carriage made its way past the lined shop fronts and turned right before reaching the Outer Wall. The Hollow House was more aesthetically alike to a small fortress than the other homes in the neighborhood. High walls of stone surrounded a compound with a single gate on the main street, but there were no outward signs of guards on the walls or at the entrance. A person would have to be either grossly stupid or new to the city to consider trying to rob this particular abode. Death was an art form within, the best education money could buy.
The gate opened to admit Hoskin’s carriage, and it came to a halt in the courtyard. He had been here before, many years ago, receiving a tour from the old steward, who had spent his life working for the syndicate, but had probably never killed anyone in all his days. Except through boredom.
It was the same wrinkled old fossil who greeted him as he climbed down the carriage steps. Surveying the empty courtyard, it was as Hoskin remembered.
On the west side of the compound was the student dormitory, and facing those living quarters were the classrooms and training facilities for new acolytes. There were only ever twenty partners, as the assassins were referred to, at any one time. When an acolyte had made the grade, they would either have to challenge an existing member for their position or somebody would willingly move on.
The Hollow Syndicate had become quite the place to send one’s son or daughter for their education. Not firstborn, of course, maybe not even second, but for a younger child, having them taught under the leadership of Lady Chalice had the potential to be quite lucrative. Even though the percentage of candidates who’d get close to graduating was small, it had created the problem of a surplus of assassins coming through the school.
Which the good lady had solved simply by establishing new branches of the syndicate in other cities around the Jeweled Continent, seeded by Kingshold’s finest. What a wonderful export Edland had. Something to be proud of, he considered sourly. Not enough civilized murder in our country; let’s spread it around. True, it did prove useful that there was a certain understanding between the branches and the head office here. Made him wonder why the other cities would countenance their existence. But he supposed a score of deadly assassins had a certain special kind of lobbying power.
The old fossil beckoned him to follow. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to have to sit through another tour of the various classrooms; he was going directly into the third building, the Hollow House.
It wasn’t grand like the major guild houses, which unofficially was the status given to the syndicate. Solid wood, stone and pristine whitewashed walls with no decoration save a collection of portraits of past Syndicate leaders greeted Hoskin as he was led to a sitting room. He sat on one of the cushioned chairs with its back to the wall and waited.
A different door to the one Hoskin had entered through opened, and in stepped a tall woman of middling years, red hair shot through with grey, but skin betraying few wrinkles and a body strong, wound tight like a spring, clothed in riding gear.
“So, what is it you want to talk about, Hoskin?” asked Lady Chalice.
“I’m glad to see you just want to get down to business. I do have a country to run,” he said. “Did the guild kill Kingsley?”
“Of course, we did,” she replied. “I was quite proud of the job. Poison, of course.”
Hoskin sighed, now realizing this was a fool’s errand. And so, he knew what that made him. “Lady Chalice, I need you to stop taking contracts on people involved in the election.”
“Ha! Why on earth would I do that?”
She still had not sat down, pacing the room like a tiger in a cage. Hoskin felt uncomfortable looking up at her, so he, too, stood, but he had to concentrate to stop his legs from shaking.
For the second time of the day, he asked himself what was he doing? Chalice reminded him of the wizard, the aura of power and confidence emanating from her made him want to wrap up this dialog. “My dear Chancellor,” she continued, “this is Winterfest come early for us, and who am I to turn down gifts? And let’s face it, you don’t matter. In less than ten days, you’ll be gone and there will be a new chancellor. So why should I help you?”
“What about we say I’m appealing to your sense of citizenship?” he tried one last time. “Stopping the country from descending into chaos? How about wanting to see if the winner of the election can be decided in a way different from the man who spends the most money with you?”
She turned and sauntered toward him. Eyes drilled into his, hands on her hips, pushing out her chest, which he found difficult not to look at. She stopped six inches from him, her proximity causing havoc in his brain. The flight mechanism screamed to be listened to, but his neglected libido wanted to stay and see what would happen.
“What a good little man you are. Wanting the competition to be fair,” she said. “But let me tell you something. They are all shits. Most of the kings and queens we’ve had through the years have been shits, but we have all managed to survive. Whoever wins is going to be a shit, too, but we’ll still survive. So, if the syndicate cuts out a few of those bloodsucking leeches on the way, then great. Especially if it fills my coffers.”
Hoskin maintained eye contact, though he could feel beads of sweat running down his forehead. “The wizard said much the same thing.”
She smiled. A genuine smile illuminating her face, joy that Hoskin had finally seen the light. “Now, he is a smart man. And I thought you were, too, Lord Chancellor.” The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Let me give you a little advice. You have more important problems to deal with. You look after your business, and I’ll look after mine.”
She was right. There were more important things to deal with.
Hoskin sat in the privy council chamber, Uthridge and Ridgton seated across from him discussing how they would respond in light of the information retrieved from Aebur.
The new Pyrfew fleet was both an imminent and a long-term danger to Edland, and something needed to be done about it. Hoskin couldn’t help wondering if this was what Chalice had been referring to, or if there was something else, some other dung sandwich awaiting him.
“I’ve canceled shore leave for the fleet currently at port in Kingshold,” said Ridgton. “They’ll set sail tomorrow under Commander Crews. I’ve sen
t birds to the other garrisons and ports in Edland, all within three days’ sail of here. Twenty ships will leave here today, and another twenty-five will join them before they cross the Arz Sea.”
“That’s going to leave us pretty much defenseless against an attack from the sea,” said Uthridge.
“Yes, true. For a short period, at least. There are no reports of any other fleets at sea right now, but I’ve sent messages for other vessels, calling them away from their routes and back to Kingshold,” said the admiral. “But it could be a week or more before we have a skeletal fleet in place. We’ll be reliant on the smaller vessels of the tax collection fleet in the meantime. Lord Chancellor, I recommend we close the port.”
“Are you crazy?” asked Hoskin. “Even a week without trade ships will cause an uproar. There will be riots if there’s not work for people to buy bread. What are the other options?”
“Well, we can step up the other city defenses, the city guard needs to be made aware, and their drills need to be stepped up,” said Uthridge. “I’ll speak to Penshead about what he needs to do. That is, if I can get his attention. I’ve heard he’s been focused on trying to get notable people to back him, and by some particularly unusual methods.”
“I’m afraid to ask.” Hoskin sighed. “And so today, I’m not going to. Just make it happen, and make sure the chain defenses are working correctly in case we do need to close the port.”
A knock, and then the door opened, Percival peeking through the crack to gain his attention. Hoskin gestured for him to enter, and his man walked briskly around the table to hand him a rolled note tied with string.
“You should read this now, my lord,” whispered Percival, bending close to Hoskin’s ear. “It’s most urgent.”
Hoskin’s stomach lurched. What else could go wrong with this day? He slid the string off the parchment and unrolled it, reading and rereading the single written line, and wondering what the world had against him.
Aebur has vanished.
Chapter 29
The Rally
The time between nights on the campaign and mornings at the palace was narrowing, not leaving time for enough sleep, and it was taking its toll on Alana. It helped she had basically moved into the Royal Oak now—less distance to walk to and from the palace, meals available when she needed them—but it also meant she didn’t have a moment when she wasn’t working.
Dawn this morning had dragged her out of bed in a fog; she couldn’t remember the walk to the palace and reporting to Bertha, though she knew she had done that, the remnants of breakfast on the tray in her hands as she left Jyuth’s apartment being unequivocal evidence to the fact. As she walked across the courtyard, down the steps, and through the laundry rooms to the kitchen, she was again lost in considering the permutations of how they could get enough votes.
Not necessarily enough to win. That seemed unlikely with another candidate dead and her supporters probably going to switch to the frontrunner. Enough was starting to mean a number that wouldn’t be too embarrassing for them all, so they could, at least, hopefully, have some future say when Lord Eden would be declared lord protector.
There was still much to do to rally the people and excite them enough to persuade thousands of families to part with the coin they sorely lacked, even for a few days, and for them to be able to trust they’d get it back. But that wasn’t going to be anywhere near enough. The guilds needed to be on their side, too, and they were falling into two camps along the traditional lines of grand vs. lesser guilds. The lesser guilds were their target, but she worried how they could be convinced later today if Mareth still wasn’t back from the journey with Jyuth’s daughter to the dwarves.
Alana was uncertain how she felt about Neenahwi. She’d come into their group like a whirlwind, full of confidence of the like Alana only dreamed.
Within hours of meeting Mareth, she had joined them at their table. The table where Alana felt so at home now, working with her friends on something more significant than her life as a servant. Alana knew it was a great boon to their effort that the wizard’s daughter was assisting them, in particular when Jyuth was so obviously sitting out of the whole affair. But what if Neenahwi called her out as a no-nothing servant or asked her to fetch her meal when they were with her friends in the same way she’d done before when meeting with her father.
Granted, Neenahwi had always been extremely polite in how she had spoken to her, in contrast to everyone else at the palace, and especially so after their first meeting. But part of what made Alana unique before was she spoke with Jyuth. That made people listen to her. But how was she going to compete with his daughter?
She stopped walking and looked down. She was back in the courtyard and no tray in hand. Must have been back to the kitchen without even realizing it again.
What was becoming of her?
That was why she had stood there looking like a mackerel on the docks when the lord chancellor had come in. Her dad would have said, “Shut your mouth, love, you’ll catch flies.”
Thinking of her dad made her smile briefly and shake her head at herself. She walked back toward the gardens and Jyuth’s apartment to see if he needed anything from her. She hoped not, so she could find a quiet corner and read through more of the merchant agreements that Folstencroft had provided.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Footsteps behind her on the gravel path once again brought her back to the present, and she turned to see who was following her.
“You there. Alana, isn’t it?” said the armored man she knew to be Captain Grimes of the palace guard. “Is the lord wizard home? Bugger it, if he’s not there after I’ve walked all this way to see him. Why isn’t he in the palace proper to save us some shoe leather, eh?”
“Yes, sir, it’s Alana, sir. And I don’t know, sir; you’ll have to ask him,” she replied, the subtle joke passing her by in her present mental state. “But he is there, or at least he was fifteen minutes ago.”
“Good, good. Lead the way then, Alana.”
Alana led the guard captain to the apartments and entered the room to announce him first, Grimes looking concerned about barging in on the wizard.
Jyuth was changing into one of his looser robes he used when meditating for an extended period, and so, when Alana told him who was waiting outside, he grumbled while changing back into what he considered to be his more impressive robes. Alana couldn’t tell much difference between the two types of clothing, other than the fact Jyuth belted his finer choice of wardrobe, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him so. As he buckled his belt, Alana went to bring the captain to the sitting room.
“Morning, Grimes. What brings you here today?” asked Jyuth as he strode in from his bedchamber and sat on the sofa. Alana stood to one side, but didn’t move to leave. The guard commander’s eyes flicked to look at her, and then back to Jyuth. “You can speak freely, Captain.”
“Yes, m’lord. I wanted to report that two individuals have been detained leaving the Mountain Gate, sir. Edlanders by the look of them, not dwarves, of course. They’ve been taken to the guard tower. You did say before you wanted to speak with anyone who used the door, m’lord.”
“That’s right, Grimes; I did. Good work. Take me to them. Alana, you’re coming, too.”
Grimes and the wizard set a brisk pace back through the gardens, both of them taller than her, which forced her to do a half-skip every few steps to keep up. The walk took them around the palace and through a number of gates, secluded terraces and, eventually, to the guard tower overlooking the clear zone before the enormous ornate brass door leading to Unedar Halt, the Mountain Gate.
Grimes led them into the watchtower and up a flight of stairs to an office where the door was wide open. Inside, sitting at a simple wooden table were Mareth and Dolph, with steaming mugs in hand talking to two guards, who were similarly equipped. Grimes’s expression alternated between puzzled and angry with each passing breath.
“By the hairy balls of Arloth. Since when did guarding someone involve
having a cup of tea and chat?” Grimes’s voice increased in volume the more he spoke. By the end of his question, he would have been audible down in the Narrows.
“Sorry, sir,” replied one of the guards, quickly standing and putting his cup down at the same time, causing half of the contents to spill. “This is Lord Bollingsmead, sir. We were just making sure he was comfortable, sir.”
Jyuth looked to Alana, eyebrows raised in question. She nodded. “Not to worry, Captain. It looks like your men did an excellent job,” said Jyuth. “Now, I’d like to have a moment alone with these two before you escort them from the palace.”
Grimes saluted and manhandled the two guards out into the stairway before he closed the door.
“So, this is them?” Jyuth asked her.
“Yes. This is Mareth, or Lord Bollingsmead. And this is Dolph,” said Alana.
“Good morning, Lord Jyuth.” Mareth got to his feet and gave a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”
“Yes, yes. Likewise, I’m sure,” said the rotund wizard, “but I don’t think you want to be seen talking with me for long. I’m deliberately staying out of this election. Where is my daughter?”
“She’s safe, as are her brother and his friends. They’re staying for a few days to help us secure the votes of the deep people.” Another riot of emotions hit Alana. A few more days without having to confront the reality of what Neenahwi would mean for her situation was welcome, but the news she could be securing a substantial number of votes was bad.
No, she thought, that’s a good thing.
“Excellent,” said Jyuth, nodding. “Good thinking by the way. Wondered if anyone would consider trying to secure their votes. Now, you’d best be off. Alana, from the look on your face, I assume you have a lot to discuss with this man, so you’re free to go, too.”
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