by SL Figuhr
Both men’s hands were rapidly becoming full as Her Grace continued on for each office and official in the kingdom which received royal funds.
“The last set of copies you hold is of what the royal treasury pays its workers, according to the claims they have made. It is possible it is out-of-date, as I had to request a copy from the royal records keeper. Be that as it may, given the state of this room, it would be wisest if we did the yearly reconciliation now, and increased security measures. If I might have the royal books, they will show the income and outlay. We can then put these allegations of misappropriated funds to rest.” The duchess acted as if just the mere act would not be a massive undertaking.
Tanner glowered at her, Aranthus chewed his lower lip, and the king nodded as he prowled about the room. Occasionally he plunged his hands into a pile of coins or jewels and let them trickle through his fingers.
Anson, to the head treasurer’s disgust, choose to speak. “I can get you the original records, Your Grace, so you need not rely on copies which may or may not have been transcribed correctly.”
“Thank you. Your cooperation shall not be forgotten,” the duchess replied.
“We do not need more security. As I stated before, the king and I are the only two people who hold keys to the vault,” protested the treasurer, shooting a glare at his assistant.
“I must disagree. It is too easy to grab handfuls of coins, gems, or sacks of spices with no one the wiser,” the advisor replied, “especially when there is more than one person in the vault at the same time.”
“I fail to understand how my wealth could be made more secure. Or how it has dwindled so much.” Maceanas puffed out his chest. “The piles should be taller than I.”
Blithely the duchess explained in more detail what she meant.
Tanner stewed. Dratted woman! Redesigning means royal guards will be present to keep any workers from stealing. It will make it harder for me to funnel my share away.
The king blinked in startlement before a pleased smile split his lips.
“And you say these . . . improvements . . . will keep those craftsmen needed for them occupied the rest of the winter, thus effectively paying back the crown’s charity of housing and feeding them during these dark times,” the king stated.
“Yes, Sire.”
“By royal decree, let it be so. I give you full authority to do what you must. Treasurer, I hereby command you relinquish your keys to the duchess.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Tanner spluttered in offense.
“You dare to question your sovereign?” Anger suffused the king’s face with red. “Think first and tread lightly with your response.” The warning was dire as Tanner was about to offer a rebuttal.
The treasurer’s nostrils flared, lips tightened, eyes narrowed as he gave a stiff, formal bow. He thrust his clenched fist toward the advisor, keys jingling on the iron ring. She wrapped her hand around the key blades, making them clang. Tanner and the duchess exerted equal but opposite force for several seconds before she ripped the ring with its keys free.
His eyes watered with pain, not having expected her to possess the strength she did. A brief smirk flitted across her face, further heightening Tanner’s rage toward her.
The king gave one last look around, clapped his hands once and then rubbed them together. “Advisor, I will leave the rest in your capable hands. Aranthus will make sure as we leave all here are aware of my wishes.”
He turned while motioning to his guards. The three members of the treasury bowed to the king's retreating back.
Bitch! You think you can just meddle in my domain? I see now what kind of menace Lord Nicky was right to complain about and try to contain. The head treasurer’s thoughts were bitter.
“Your meddling, instead of ensuring the funds remain safe, will only provide a greater opportunity for stealing,” Tanner groused.
“I have complete faith you will be certain to inform His Majesty if your fears manifest themselves—if only to gain a measure of revenge, however small—for the insult done toward your supervision.” The advisor turned her back on him in dismissal and addressed the clerk who had accompanied them.
“Copyist, what is your name?”
“I am Kevayne, Your Grace.”
“Those desks and chairs”—she gestured to the furniture in the center of the room—“are they bolted or can they be moved?”
“They are moveable,” he promptly replied.
She made no indication of approval or disapproval at his answer, only swept the room a last time with a piercing gaze before gesturing to the men to precede her outside the treasure room.
The men did as requested, Tanner taking the opening to hiss at his second-in-command when he thought they were out of her hearing range.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Anson? We have a good setup and you’re putting it in danger.”
“Maybe I think it’s time you joined Nicky.”
“You fool! You think you can take my spot? Take over my idea? Take my money?”
“Why not? You think I don’t know you’ve been cheating more than just the crown, but me and the others who help you?”
“If I go down, you will fall with me,” Tanner threatened.
Anson snorted in reply as they watched the advisor relock the doors and come within normal hearing.
“What do you wish us to do now, Your Grace?” Tanner barely kept back his contempt.
“We will return to the main room, where my questions shall be answered. Proceed,” she ordered the three workers.
All but four royal guards had been left behind. Illyria motioned six of the eight to escort the men while two were left behind to guard the doors. The traps remained disabled.
Tanner and Anson found themselves forced into separate corners of one of the outer rooms, a guard on each as the duchess called the lowest-ranking workers into the head treasurer's office for questioning.
There must be a way I can frame my underlings and Anson. Surely I shall have enough time to think of a plan while she is busy.
* * *
Tanner swaggered into his office with a small, self-satisfied curl to one side of his mouth. He was the last person the advisor needed to question. She was tired from being awake most of the afternoon, even with being indoors and shielded from the weak, winter sun. Illyria never had managed to work out a way of draining and storing Nicky’s blood from him before the immortals, with her help, had killed the former advisor. Eron had yet to let her drink from him. When he was her consort, was the answer she consistently received. Respecting the bargain and the man’s wishes instead of forcing what she wanted from him, was becoming harder to resist. She would have to dispose of the king soon. Earlier that day, Eron passed on information he’d gleaned from the physician. The man only had enough herbs to keep the king complacent for another two weeks at the rate she was having him doused. The minds of the clerks let her know there were problems. She needed the actual books, both sets, as proof for the king while continuing her charade.
Just hold your temper a little longer, she reminded herself. Lull the people into complacency before loosening the final blow.
“Why are the chests not locked? Nor the barrels secured?” the duchess snapped out, the shutting door behind Tanner adding punctuation to her question.
The treasure paused to process her words, and she watched his smile widen as he replied.
“There is no need. As has been pointed out earlier, there are only two sets of keys. His Majesty holds the other set,” Tanner answered.
“Why is there no order?” She mixed her questions up, hoping to keep him off balance.
“His Majesty spends so much, there is no point, as it doesn’t stay long before being sent back out.”
“A poor excuse. How much of what should be here will I discover to have been stolen when we are done?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. How can anything be stolen if the books balance?” the treasurer asked of
her.
“Are you positive you have never . . . loaned . . . the keys to your assistant in the past, perhaps when there have been extraordinarily busy times?”
“Those keys never leave my possession. I do not recall ever having been consciously lax to allow such to happen. Today has been the first and only time anyone other than I have held them, or been alone in the vault.” Tanner forced a mixture of insult and outrage into his tone. And the last, bitch.
“Would you be prepared to swear upon your life?” Her Grace quietly, calmly replied. “Just because Rablias is gone and there is no replacement doesn’t mean lawbreakers won’t be punished.”
Tanner sneered, but the quick lick of his lips and shifting away of his eyes as he answered told her the man lied. “I will swear what I say is true.”
It will take at least two months, working eight to ten hours each day, to do a thorough and proper inventory. If need be, I can be gone before then.
Illyria needed him to think of where he had placed the stolen goods, or else drink from him. She let the silence continue as she sat staring, evaluating.
He managed no overt fidgeting, only a minor shifting of his weight from one foot to the other. Tanner left off staring back to let his eyes wander about the objects in his chamber.
“Very well. I shall send for you and the others when I am ready to begin reconciling the books with what is inside the vault. Until then, you and your compatriots can consider yourselves on temporary leave.”
“Doing so will bring the kingdom to a halt. There are expenses which must be paid. My clerks and copyists don’t receive coin unless they work. They won’t be able to feed their families or buy wood.” He stabbed a finger toward her in emphasis. “Some concern you show for the king’s citizens. I can’t wait until they learn how little you really care about them,” he gloated.
She stood, leaning her fists on top of the desk. “This can all go away if you admit your guilt and return your ill-gotten gains.”
“I have no guilt, nor stolen goods, to be worried about being discovered by the likes of you.”
“Keep lying, and instead of rotting in the dungeons, your corpse will be hanging from the palace wall. Consider my offer, and send me word when you are ready to be reasonable,” the advisor pleasantly replied. “In the meantime, enjoy your night off.”
Their eyes clashed a moment, then he leaned forward and deliberately spat upon the floor. “That’s what I think of you and your offer.”
He wheeled and stomped out of the room, pausing at the main entrance to rake his eyes over the guards and the rooms which comprised the treasury.
“When you are ready to apologize to me for your insinuations, Duchess, I will remember. I will more than remember; I will see you toppled from your position.” He made a low bow, insult in every line of his body, before leaving.
“Guards, we shall lock up. I leave it you to decide how you will divide the hours of insuring no one other than the king or I attempts to penetrate these rooms while I investigate. I want two people on duty all day and night until I say otherwise.”
The men cast glances at each other, a few shuffled their feet, but they all mumbled assent.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The slave escorted a burly man into his master’s study. The visitor paused a moment to scan the room before seating himself.
“Ale?”
“Thanks.”
After the drinks had been brought, they toasted each other and drank, waiting for refills and the slave to leave before getting beyond superficial subjects. The swish of snow and wind could be heard against the outside of the brick and plaster home.
“Has that bitch visited you again?” Tanner asked.
“No. But I heard she questioned all the clerks a second time, with some of them more than that. She had some of them arrested and tossed into the dungeon. Seems a few of our workers were also running concurrent scams, piddling enough we would never have noticed. I say we leave now. There’s something not right with that woman. How was she able to break Lord Nicky’s hold?” Anson grumbled.
“Don’t be stupid. If we leave she’ll know we’re guilty of something whether or not she finds proof. Just keep your mouth shut.” Tanner scowled as he drank more ale.
He too had heard about the clerks, and while he wouldn’t show his concern to his underling, the head of the royal treasury had already put in motion his plan of making the man before him a scapegoat. He gazed in satisfaction at his study. It was simple, but richly furnished, including the rest of his house. His family dined well, and wore clothes and jewels to rival the richest of merchants and minor nobles. He was not about to let anything ruin him.
“I am wondering if the rumors of the prick being a warlock weren’t real after all. Maybe she is a witch.” Anson continued his musings. “We don’t need those kinds here. I say we join forces with the storehouse master. He said she’s poking her nose in his records too.”
Tanner shot the other man a look. “Hell, that damn woman is prying into all the royal accounts.”
“So we join forces.”
“What good is it gonna do? The king ain’t gonna listen to us.”
Anson scowled at his superior. “I say we run while we still have a chance. Take what we have. You have contacts at the docks; when’s another ship coming in?”
“Look, I told you. We aren’t running. We have a good scheme going. She’s not going to find proof. My work is solid, my skills beyond compare. Besides, I’m the only one who knows where the real books are stored.” Tanner seethed, jaw clenched.
“Yeah, but if she’s—”
“Don’t be stupid!” the royal treasurer bellowed. He squinted his eyes as he gazed at a spot on the wall, thinking. “Look, isn’t the madman who found Nicky speaking out against her? Doesn’t he go around town, preaching against her?”
“Huh?” It took a moment for Anson to understand to whom his superior referred. “Oh, yeah. That crazy man. Calls himself a priest or some such nonsense. Always standing around ranting and raving about the ‘Death Lands’ and evil beings and begging for handouts. What about him?”
“We can use him.”
“How? He doesn’t trust anyone he can’t convert.”
“I’ll send a slave with some stuff, food, wood, whatever; tell him it’s a donation for his work and have the slave mention some choice ‘gossip’ about the bitch and how it might be beneficial if he can continue denouncing her from outside her own gates.” Tanner smiled broadly.
His underling pulled at his lip, worry creasing his brow. “I don’t understand how it’s going to help us.”
“Idiot! Think! The more he rails against her, the more people will start to wonder, and question what she’s doing. The merchants and the nobility who don’t want a female advisor will become more strident in their opposition.” The royal treasurer rang a bell for his slave. Plotting was thirsty work.
Anson still sat with a creased brow, unease in every line of his being. The minutes ticked by, Tanner rang for the slave again. What was taking so long? If he didn’t come soon, he was going to get a beating he wouldn’t soon forget. Just when Tanner was about to stand and yell for his slave, the door to his study opened, and he wished it hadn’t.
The look of shock and panic on the faces of the two men before the duchess caused a small, smug smile to her lips. She held a pitcher in her hands as she advanced into the room, kicking the door shut behind her.
Tanner figured he wouldn’t get another opportunity, and with a bellow he charged, reaching behind his back for his dagger. He felt himself fly past the spot she had been standing. His momentum was such he barely managed to turn. His right side crashed into the door, his shoulder taking the brunt of the collision, causing pain to shoot down his arm. Tanner barely had time to register the pitcher being swung his way. Ale washed over his head and face, blinding him, and a sharp, immediate pain at the side of his head dropped him, stunned, to his knees. He was barely aware of the shards of the pitcher lyin
g around him.
Anson was still frozen in shock at the sudden attack, and had yet to leave his chair. Blazing golden eyes turned to him as his superior dropped in a heap on the floor.
“Advisor!” he squeaked, bouncing out of the chair so fast it tipped backward, thudding behind him.
“What have we here? Two people who think they are the foxes, not realizing they are the mice.”
The man’s brain whirled frantically. Kneel, stupid, it shouted at him, and he dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “Your Grace—”
“Tut tut,” she interrupted him. “No speaking unless it is the truth. I know you two are actively plotting, and have been cheating the crown since His Majesty’s father so unwisely placed you both in charge of the royal treasury.”
The kneeling man hoped she was bluffing; he flicked his eyes to his groaning superior on the floor. “I am unaware of what you refer to.”
“How disappointing. For once, it would be nice if you blots on humanity grew a pair, and just admitted your wrongdoings.”
He trembled at the calm tone, but responded anyway. After all, he didn’t have the real books. “I am not lying, Advisor. I am willing to help you in any way I may, for the chance—”
“Do not attempt to bargain with me, worm. Nor placate me with false promises.” Her tone was still smooth and controlled. “You wasted your chance of any clemency when you lied to me earlier today.”
Menace filled the room, sweat forming on the underling’s brow. He noticed behind the duchess, his superior overcoming his stupor. The man still clutched his dagger. In a sudden move, he brought it around to plunge into the lower leg of the woman within reach. The thunk of the dagger sinking into the wood floor reached both men’s ears a second before a grunt of pain. Tanner’s head hit the floor, blood leaking from his nose and mouth. He didn’t move.
Anson couldn’t bring himself to look up at the duchess’s eyes. He swallowed, wondering if he would have better luck stabbing her, then discarded the notion as his main plan.