But no, Will suddenly recalled, Lord Vault had not asked to see the Jewel, he had only asked about it. It was Rufus Macquay who had done all the rest.
A whole new story began to take shape in Wilrowan’s mind. He had wondered at one point if all was well elsewhere, and suppose it was not? Suppose—suppose that a Jewel was missing in Nordfjall, too. That the archduke, suspecting a widespread plot, wanting to know how far the trouble had spread, assigned such men as Thaddeus Vault to find that out? Suppose that the ambassador had only meant to learn if the Chaos Machine was still where it ought to be in Rodaric’s treasure room? In that case, it was easy to imagine the Nordfjaller’s horror at the embassy fête, when he learned that Dionee had taken the Jewel from its place of safety and—
Will shook his head, brought this train of speculation to a sudden halt. He had been building an elaborate edifice of suppositions on a somewhat doubtful foundation. It would be up to the king to pursue these questions, as it would also be up to Rodaric (and the Malachim professors) to examine the map for clues.
Rolling the parchment up in a tight cylinder, Will slipped it inside his waistcoat for safe-keeping, and went back to the shop where he had left Corporal Dagget.
But Dagget was now in the hands of the surgeon. Rather than distract the doctor at his work, Will decided it was time to examine the body of the Goblin. Taking up a lighted candle, he knelt on the floor beside the corpse, lifted the sheet which covered the face—and experienced a profound shock.
This was not the Wryneck the corporal had identified, the one they had both seen entering the cottage. In the ill-lit street, it had not been possible to tell the difference, but here in the lighted shop, it was all too evident: that Goblin had not been scarred as this fellow was from cheekbone to chin, with a long white line, slightly jagged across the jaw.
Was this even a Goblin? He remembered that someone once told him it was very difficult to kill a Goblin by shooting or stabbing him. You had to strike again and again, or else hit the spine, or else shatter one of the brittle bones, which might then do additional damage.
Will felt a sinking sensation in the region of his stomach. Having been so far mistaken, might he also have contributed to the death of an innocent decoy? Of course, there had been the angular figure, the odd way of walking. Will remembered, too, how the skin had been cold when the body was still only moments dead. Feeling behind the neck for some sign of a hump, he was dismayed to find none. But raising an arm and flexing the wrist and elbow, he was struck by the way that both joints moved. Could this be the body of a Grant?
Calling for a pair of scissors, Will snipped off a lock of dry, straw-colored hair, and held it next to the flame of his candle. It caught instantly, literally disappearing in a flash of smoke and fire. So perhaps the ball had hit the spine. His question answered, he prudently removed the uncovered candlestick to a safer distance.
Will stripped off the sheet and made a swift but thorough search of the Goblin’s clothing. Nothing of significance turned up, unless one counted a watch, a key, a pewter snuffbox, a handful of brass coins, and a red cotton handkerchief. Will deposited them all in an inner pocket of his coat. Though of little apparent worth, he would take them to Rodaric and the two professors.
By now, the surgeon had finished with Dagget. When Will approached him, he had already washed and dried his hands, and was just slipping back into his coat.
“The wound is very deep and there was a dangerous loss of blood. While there is no fever yet, if one should develop—” The doctor shrugged, indicating that the outcome was out of his hands. “For now, you should put him to bed and keep him very warm. If he survives the night, I’ll visit him again in the morning.”
Will cursed softly under his breath. Somewhere he had made a mistake, had allowed himself and Dagget to be noticed by the Goblin and his confederates, and instead of suffering for that mistake himself, it was the corporal who had paid the price. “His name is Nathaniel Dagget. His family live somewhere nearby.”
“He has already been recognized.” The surgeon picked up a bamboo cane and a soft hat. “As I am slightly acquainted with the father, I am now on my way to acquaint him with his son’s misfortune.”
He was turning to go but Wilrowan stopped him. “Is he awake? Am I allowed to speak with him?”
The doctor subjected him to a long speculative look before he replied. Will was suddenly aware that his coat was dirty, his garments askew, and there was a great deal of blood both Human and Goblin on his hands. In spite of this, the surgeon nodded. “He is sometimes conscious, sometimes not. You may speak to him briefly, providing you do not say anything likely to disturb him.”
“Thank you,” said Will, humbly. “I think he will want to hear what I have to tell him.”
He found Dagget lying with his eyes open and his face white and strained. “Captain—Blackheart.” The words came faintly. “Did—did the Wryneck—escape us?”
Will bent down and spoke very quietly and calmly in the young man’s ear. “You are not to concern yourself about any of that. I have matters very well in hand.” He drew out the warrant, held it up so the youth could see both the signature and the big wax seal. No matter what Rodaric had to say about maintaining secrecy, Will would be damned if he allowed this boy to suffer, and perhaps to die, believing he had sacrificed himself for nothing.
He lowered his voice further, so that only Dagget could hear him. “You have aided me in a very vital and secret matter, and have rendered your country a very signal service. When I return to Hawkesbridge, I am going to call on the Lord Lieutenant and instruct him to expunge all mention of our misunderstanding last winter from your record.”
Dagget tried to smile. “You are very good. I’m afraid I—wasn’t—cooperative. I should have—trusted you, sir.”
Will shook his head. “Your doubts and your questions were understandable. I commend you for being so cautious.” Continuing to look down on that pale suffering face, he could not help offering a further word of comfort. “You are going to make a very fine officer. And in a few more years, if you decide you would like to serve in one of our elite companies, we’ll see what might be done about obtaining you a commission.”
26
Though Will spent a long, anxious night on the corporal’s behalf, by the time the surgeon stopped in the next morning, the patient looked like he would survive. It was with a sense of relief that Wilrowan left Dagget in the capable hands of the mother and sister who had arrived with the dawn, and set about organizing a search of the town, the valley, and the surrounding mountains. He still hoped to pick up the trail of the surviving Goblin and his confederates.
But two days later, Will was forced to admit that those he was hunting had disappeared without a trace. Moreover, there was still the matter of the map, which ought to be taken to Hawkesbridge as swiftly as possible. Leaving the local constabulary to continue the search, he made arrangements for the return of the hired chaise, bought himself a horse, and left Chetterly during the night.
He arrived in Hawkesbridge after a swift and exhausting journey and went straight to the palace, where he turned over his findings to the king. Then he was free for the first time in many weeks to devote himself to his own business.
This he was glad to do for the next several days, until the summons he expected from Rodaric finally arrived.
The king was alone in his panelled study, when Wilrowan marched in a little after noon, clicked his heels, and snapped one hand to his brow in a smart salute. In proper uniform, his red hair tied back in a neat military braid, Will carried a three-cornered hat tucked under one arm. Rodaric acknowledged his salute with an abstracted nod, then went back to studying the map, spread out on the desk in front of him.
Will remained standing at stiff attention until the King looked up again, and waved him toward a chair. “I have had some disturbing news.”
Very carefully placing his cockaded hat on a corner of the desk, Will took the seat indicated. “Nordfjall?�
�� he asked.
The king nodded solemnly. “Yes. Taking into account your guesses based on the map, I immediately wrote to Thaddeus Vault. You can imagine my displeasure when he did not reply immediately. I was about to write again, changing my original invitation to a more peremptory command—when I received this most interesting letter.”
He reached into a pocket of his corded silk coat, drew out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Will. “Lord Vault wrote that he had something important to communicate to me, but had been waiting several months for the archduke’s permission to share what he knew. The archduke’s letter being delayed along the road by winter storms, it was only yesterday that he finally received it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Rodaric spread his hands, as though what followed must be obvious. “We were closeted together for about three hours. I’ll spare you the preliminary courtesies that passed between us and tell you at once: the Jewel of Nordfjall is missing. It disappeared as the result of a plot of considerable artifice and ingenuity, but I will spare you those details, as well, and only tell you that all this occurred a full four months before the Chaos Machine was taken. Having established that ordinary thieves were not responsible—fearing a plot of the sort that we fear also—the archduke put all his ambassadors secretly to work gathering information.”
“My guesses were good, then?” Having been too busy listening to examine the letter, Will now passed it back unread.
“Your guesses were extremely good. It all fell out very much as you thought: a well-meaning inquiry on the part of Lord Vault, and Macquay was there to take advantage of the situation.”
Rodaric sighed and shook his head. “It all sounds so fortuitous. How long Sir Rufus may have waited for just such an opportunity—what he and his confederates would have done to create such an opportunity, had Dionee proved wiser—we will never know. Unfortunately, she fell in with Macquay’s plans all too easily.”
Pocketing the letter, Rodaric sat back again in his chair. “The day after the queen was robbed, Lord Vault wrote to Nordfjall. But the archduke’s reply, so long delayed, contained rather more than Vault had expected. It conveyed information which takes on a truly ominous significance, in the light of what you brought back from Chetterly.”
There was a long pause, during which the king sat gazing down at the map again, apparently lost in thought. “And that would be—” Will prompted him.
Rodaric glanced up again. “The archduke knows for a fact that the Tholian Jewel is also missing. He has been in communication with King Alejandro. In addition, the Prince of Lichtenwald has closed his borders, and the northern region of Tölmarch has recently been swept by a series of natural disasters—the archduke conjectures that either the Jewels have been stolen from both of those places, or that some of the missing devices are passing through those countries, causing a serious disruption. Finally, he forwards disturbing if ambiguous news out of Rijxland and Winterscar.”
Unable to contain himself, Will sprang up from his seat. “But the names of all those places you mention have been circled or underlined on the map!”
Will eyed the parchment and its strange notations. Were all the countries indicated threatened? He thought the map must contain a great deal of vital information, if only they could find the way to decipher it.
“But a plot so vast—” His mind boggled at the very thought. In spite of everything, up until now he had only allowed himself to think in terms of two, perhaps three, neighboring realms. That there might be as many as a dozen involved— “The very idea is monstrous. But whose plot? Just who is it that entertains such obscene Ambitions? Are they Men or are they Goblins?”
“They appear to be both, but in the main they are Men. At least they were Men in Nordfjall and Tholia.” Under the circumstances, Rodaric sounded remarkably cool. Yet his face was white and a large vein was throbbing in his neck.
“Who is ultimately responsible, we may not know until he believes we are all too feeble to move against him. Indeed, why should he reveal himself too soon? If he waits—until our mines collapse, until volcanoes erupt in Winterscar, until earthquakes rock the foundations of Finghyll and the sea reclaims it—until we suffer all that we must suffer without the remarkable devices on which we depend for so much—then he will have very little to fear from any of us.”
But Will was shaking his head. “He may not have anything to fear from any of us, but there are a hundred kingdoms, duchies, and principalities. If a dozen nations are threatened in this way, then surely the rest—”
Rodaric stopped him with an abrupt motion of one hand. “What will the rest do? Will they ignore everything they have ever been taught to believe and form an alliance against this menace—whoever or whatever it is? Or will they be paralyzed by doubt into doing nothing? We really can’t know what they will do. As a Society, we have been forbidden to even think what ought to be done in the face of a threat like this one—as though the thinking might make something happen. And those who have thought, those who have dared to speculate, have all been punished!”
Will nodded glumly, remembering his student friends who had been disgraced and expelled—recalling that he, too, had been sent away from the university for nothing more nor less than incorrect thinking.
“You said once, that our ancestors had been naïve in setting up their scheme to protect the Jewels. It seems to me that they were actually unpardonably foolish and vain, thinking they could foresee and plan for everything that might possibly occur. We are paying for that vanity now.
“Because whether this plot succeeds or fails, I do know one thing,” the king continued grimly. “If the Jewels that are already missing are not recovered, if the Jewels in Rijxland, Finghyll, Château-Rouge, and the rest should also disappear, if all that power should come into the hands of one man or one woman, the world will be changed forever—and just as certainly, this Kingdom of Mountfalcon as we have known it will no longer exist!”
Wilrowan put his hands to his temples, which were suddenly pounding. “Who—no, that’s not what I want to ask. Will you be warning them in Rijxland, Finghyll, and those other places on the map? Will you be taking them into your confidence? Surely the time for so much secrecy is past!”
“I will warn them, yes. I can’t in good conscience do anything less—yet I can’t be certain I should do anything more. Because the need for secrecy has only increased. I dare not risk starting a panic. If the people knew of this, some would start seeing plots where they don’t even exist. The persecution of the Rowans would be nothing beside it! It would be like the end of the Empire all over again, except this time we would be hunting and murdering our own kind.”
Rodaric sat staring bleakly ahead of him, as though he were contemplating the direst prospects that the future offered. “And that’s not taking into account the inevitable slaughter of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of perfectly innocent Padfoots and Ouphs if anyone begins to suspect there are Goblins behind this.”
“Shades!” breathed Wilrowan. The Padfoots and Ouphs were such small creatures—so easily recognized, so difficult to disguise—who had only a few harmless magics with which to protect themselves and a dreadful vulnerability to fire and salt. They were obvious scapegoats.
“I must admit,” said the king, “I have never felt any love for my Goblin subjects. Yet such as they are, they are my people; such as I am, I have a duty to protect them.” His grey eyes became suddenly fierce; one hand clenched into a fist and crashed down on his desk. “I will not have them brutalized, I will not have them hunted, terrorized, butchered—not if I have to shed my own blood to prevent it!”
He pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and began pacing the floor with a swift, impatient step. “But there are any number of reasons for maintaining secrecy. Because in the light of all this, who can we trust? A notation on this map is no guarantee of anyone’s innocence. You may have been intended to find it. And even if we could trust every single one of my fellow monarchs, can the same be said of
everyone close to them? Indeed, how could so many of the Jewels disappear without considerable treachery in high places?”
“It seems to me,” said Will, watching his restless movements around the room, “that the people responsible for this monstrous situation are hoping to create exactly this kind of mistrust. In refusing to share everything we know, we are behaving exactly as they would wish.”
“I don’t dispute that. And yet, knowing I have already been betrayed—even by someone I regarded so little as Macquay—knowing there may have been others even closer to me involved—I find myself looking at my own friends, my own advisors, and I do not like what I see. Consider, for instance, your friend Jack Marzden.”
Will shook his head, folded his arms across the front of his green coat. “Marzden was not even in Hawkesbridge, not even in the country, when the Chaos Machine was taken.”
“Precisely. And what an amazing number of important things just happened to occur while the Lord Lieutenant was so conveniently out of the way. Your duel and arrest. The theft of the Jewel. The murder of Macquay. This all makes me think I must have been mad to entrust this city to a man with so many vices!”
Will uncrossed his arms, stood up a little straighter. “Are we speaking of Jack now—or is this meant for me?” He had never imagined that Rodaric was aware that Marzden smoked hemp—or that he knew of certain vast sums the Lord Lieutenant had gambled away in houses like Silas Gant’s.
The king collapsed in his chair. “We are speaking of Marzden. And yet I don’t really mean to accuse him of anything. There has never been any hint of corruption in the City Guard. So long as that remains true, Lord Marzden may be sure of retaining his position—but that doesn’t mean I would ever trust him with a secret as important as this one!”
Standing with his legs spread apart, his hands on his hips, Will scowled darkly. “I wonder,” he murmured, “that you are willing to trust me, since I also have—vices.”
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