Impossible Odds

by Dave Duncan

  She went to the Duke and curtsied. He…yes, it had to be he when they had a beard. They turned his head and smiled at her.

  “No ill effects I hope, Sister?”

  “None, Your Highness. You wanted to hire a sniffer? I can recommend myself highly.”

  “Indeed I do.” His face looked tired and worried, even baggier than usual. “At least, I think I do. In fact your arrival is very timely, because we have just seen off the inquisitors and the tailors and now I must decide what to do next. I have an audience with His Majesty very shortly, so the matter is urgent. If Sir Ranter is going to carry out his threat and lock me up in a cell in a swamp somewhere, then no, I don’t require your services. I hope I will, though.” His smile was smarmy, nothing like his wife’s. “Mother Superior has agreed to lend me your services?”

  At last sight, Mother Superior had been fain to swoon, but the details were unimportant.

  “I am a free agent.”

  Grand Duke Rubin noticed her evasion but did not waste time on it. “Your professional skills will be invaluable, of course, and I would enjoy having another woman in my party.” Unconsciously, he fingered his beard.

  “Are you nearly done, Sir Ringwood?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “I am, sire. Ranter isn’t.”

  Trudy looked around just as Ranter hauled off his shirt and then pretended to notice her for the first time. He puffed up his chest. “Oh, beg pardon, Sister! I hope I don’t shock you.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I used to have a sheepdog with a coat like that.” Had she been honest, she would have said his glow was blinding and the scar over his heart shone like the sun, but Ranter needed no encouragement.

  “Make yourself respectable!” the Grand Duke snapped, leaving the window. “Gentlemen, and you also, Sister. This morning I lost my closest friend. He was a second father to me, as you know, or grandfather, and also my most trusty councillor. I rely on your advice now, although I intend to make the final decisions myself.” That was an obvious slap at Ranter. “Always tell me what you truly believe, not what you think I want to hear.” He pulled a chair nearer to the door, but behind it, where he would not be visible from the anteroom.

  Ringwood looked fatally worried. He was going to be the one who made the decision, however much the Grand Duke and Ranter might pretend otherwise. If Ringwood insisted that Rubin stay in Chivial, his views would almost certainly carry the day. Whichever way he decided, he might regret his choice for the rest of his life. He caught Trudy’s eye and smiled wanly. “Have you eaten, Sister?”

  “Not today.” Grateful that somebody had thought to ask, she said, “Nice outfit. I like your hose.”

  Apparently this was not a judicious compliment to offer a young man. Ringwood blushed scarlet and turned his attention to the food, taking a platter and loading a whole roast duck on it. If men didn’t want their legs admired, why did they flaunt them so?

  “Please help yourselves!” the Grand Duke said. “We have no time for formality. One thing I have learned on the road is to eat whenever I can.”

  They all gathered around the table. Still buttoning his doublet, Ranter sat himself next to Trudy.

  “Don’t you know men with hairy chests make the best lovers?” he asked in a coarse whisper.

  “Not in my experience.” True! There were no lovers in her experience. She reached for the bread basket and pulled out her belt knife to attack the butter.

  “Counselors!” The voice was that of Grand Duchess Johanna. She had removed the locket and all the men perked up. “I am sure His Majesty is furious at these new deaths. I fully expect him to evict me from his realm as fast as possible. Assuming this will be my last audience, what do I ask of him?”

  Trudy glanced around at all the worried, drawn faces. None of them had slept. Without the seeming, Johanna looked much more exhausted than before. She was also mourning a lost friend.

  “I am sure the Baron was a wonderful counselor.” Bellman’s lie clanged like an iron bell in Trudy’s ears, shocking her, but no one else seemed to notice. “Your Highness will feel his loss forever. We, though, need some additional information if our advice is to have any merit. We know nothing about your adventures between the fall of Fadrenschloss and your arrival in Chivial. Where else were you attacked and how? Where is your son, the Marquis? Who—”

  “I will not tell you where Frederik is,” she said, flashing anger at him. “He is safe. Let that be sufficient. Nor have I time to relate an adventure saga.”

  Bellman laid big swordsman hands on the table and stared down at them. “As I am ignorant of the dangers involved, I regret that I am unable to advise Your Grace.”

  She did not like that. “Very quickly, then. The Baron knows the forest around Fadrenschloss as no one—”

  Knuckles rapped on the outer door. Murmuring an apology, Bellman rose and went out, closing the anteroom door behind him. In a moment he returned, leaving it open again.

  “The Guard is ready to escort you to the audience, Your Grace. I asked for more time, but they cannot allow us much.”

  Trudy started eating even faster, although no one had said she would be going to any audiences.

  Johanna nodded, thin-lipped. “We escaped the brethren’s attempts to catch us, with Manfred’s aid.” She added something in a foreign tongue for Manfred, who had heard his name mentioned. “And another of the Baron’s men, Bogdan. We made our way up into the hills, to a place called Brikov, the seat of Count János. Officially we were still in Krupina, but few Grand Dukes have seriously tried to impose their rule in those mountains. János made us welcome because he is a lifelong friend of Ernst von Fader. That was where Harald caught up with us. We seemed to be safe there, but after three days the brethren struck at us. The house where we had been given sanctuary was suddenly invaded by vermin—rats, mice, flies, fleas, spiders, roaches, snakes, centipedes. They came in everywhere, under the doors, down the chimney, through the thatch, and they seemed to multiply while we watched. We were driven out.”

  Snakes and spiders, six- or four-legged things never bothered Trudy, but centipedes! Yug! Did everyone have a weakness like that, a private horror?

  “The Baron told me,” Johanna said, “that this was a weapon the brethren had used to good effect decades ago, in his own campaigning days. They called it a ‘swarming,’ and it will turn a military camp into madness. The only cure is to burn down the infected buildings.”

  “But it isn’t really dangerous?” Ranter said. “Not like shadowmen?”

  “It can be if you have enemies waiting for you outside. Snakes can be dangerous. Could you sleep if your bedding and pillow were infested with creepy things? We were fortunate that only one house was struck, not the whole settlement. It was a warning, or so we took it. Count János begged us to stay, but not convincingly, and we wanted to bring no more trouble upon him.

  “From Brikov we went by secret ways through the mountains to Blanburg, for the Prince there is a cousin of Rubin’s. It was at Blanburg that the first shadowmen attack came. Bogdan was killed, also four of the Prince’s guards. Again we fled. We visited many, many places, too many to list now. At Cosanza, in Ritizzia, and at the Château Bellçay in Isilond, we were again attacked by swarmings. As Master Bellman guessed yesterday, the attacks seemed to come whenever I gained a sympathetic hearing. So we were being betrayed. Harald would not have needed to know the details, even. Our faces would have told him.” Her Highness sighed. “I cannot imagine why we did not suspect treachery!”

  Trudy could. The traitor had convinced the Baron, the Baron had been too old to let facts change his thinking, and Johanna had trusted him too blindly. Bellman had seen that right away.

  “There are still too many loose ends,” Bellman said. “Even if Harald is working for the usurper, the attacks themselves do not make sense.” He was interrupted by more knocking and went to answer it.

  Ranter spoke up, with his mouth full. “Why’d you go around pretending to be your husband?
You got looks and a nice body. You ought to be able to twist men ’round your little finger.”

  Trudy considered stunning him with a wine bottle. On the far side of the table, Ringwood closed his eyes and shuddered.

  “But a woman is accorded much less respect than a man,” the Grand Duchess said straight-faced.

  Ranter shrugged. “Suppose so.”

  “And I will have more of it from you, Sir Ranter, or you will sing for your supper.”

  “Just trying to help,” Ranter said sullenly. “I know I say the wrong thing oftentimes, Your Highness. Don’t mean to give offense. I’ve tried to change, but it never helps.”

  “Try harder!”

  He should start by learning to think before he opened his mouth. Trudy could see a dozen reasons why the Duchess had chosen to take advantage of the locket. A sovereign would receive a better hearing than a lowborn consort. Lord Volpe’s assassins might hesitate to kill a head of state, whose death would attract much attention. Women’s clothes put them at a horrible disadvantage on horseback—the White Sisters regularly masqueraded as men when they traveled. A woman wandering around without her husband was a social pariah, anyway. It was indecent behavior.

  She said, “May I ask Your Grace what Manfred was able to tell you about the Baron’s death?”

  “Nothing,” the Duchess said. “He was asleep. He heard strange noises, started to get out of bed, and the next thing he knew he was in the elementary, being healed. His assailant must have been Harald. Anyone else would have had to break in, and the house was tightly guarded. The Blades were watching the doors.”

  But even Blades could die. Sir East had been guarding the suspect box in the next room.

  Bellman ran in and resumed his seat, this time closing the inner door. “Highness, we have only a few minutes. Please tell us what you know of the present situation in Krupina. Has Lord Volpe proclaimed himself duke yet?”

  Trudy watched in fascination as the Duchess wrung her hands. Real people actually did that? Not just characters in romances?

  “It is very hard to find anyone who has ever even heard of Krupina, let alone had recent news of it. Births, marriages, and deaths in the ducal family attract some attention in aristocratic circles, and that is all. The latest word I had was no word. I must assume that Volpe continues to masquerade as my husband and the rest of the world sees nothing wrong. That is why I have had so much trouble being believed.”

  She was meeting that problem again now. Trudy watched the men exchange glances. The Duchess was telling no lies, but she could be honestly mistaken in her story.

  “The murders confirm your tale, Your Highness,” Bellman said, and only a faint doubt shadowed his words. “Someone is persistently trying to kill you, cutting down bystanders like thistles. But with all respect, you offer no proof that Lord Volpe is the culprit!”

  “He has the motive!” Johanna said hotly. “He has the means, for he controls the conjurers who made the locket. Vamky men were blockading Fadrenschloss when it burned. Are you suggesting that my husband tried to kill his own son? Explain how he obtained the conjurements or the knights who set up roadblocks around Fadrenschloss!”

  Bellman opened his mouth, and then a thunderous knock on the outer door stopped whatever he had been about to say.

  “Your Highness asked my counsel,” he said quickly. “I think you are in grave and immediate danger. The swarmings, as you called them, were not designed to kill you, but merely to deny you help from those who might have supported you. They also served to drive you far, far away from Krupina, and I suppose Chivial was always a logical destination for you, the realm of your husband’s cousin. There is nowhere farther for you to go. Now, suddenly, the traitor has turned vicious and people are dying again. In one sense this is encouraging for you, because if your husband and son were both dead, you would—pardon my putting this so crudely—you would be much less important. It does seem that the chase has ended, you cannot run farther, so it is time for the kill, and the killer escaped last night. We must assume he still has some devilish conjurations to use.”

  Again the Guard thundered a summons.

  “Put the locket on, please,” Bellman said. “My counsel is that you disappear immediately, this very day. Ask His Majesty for funds and a trusty guide who can see you safely aboard a ship. Your first priority must be to elude Harald. We are fortunate that he cannot speak the language and has no accomplices.”

  That was not quite a lie, but Trudy sensed reservations. They thought Harald could not speak Chivian and he had no accomplices that they knew of.

  Hooking the amulet around her neck, Johanna became Rubin again. He stood up, so everyone else did.

  Ringwood was pale but happy. “I agree with Bellman, Your Highness. We sail away.”

  Ranter sneered. “Sail away where? If you’re planning to run home to unmask Volpe or whoever is behind the killings, then you’re out of your minds. All of you are. If you’re going to hide, then hide here in Chivial where the King’s on your side.”

  “Cowards’ thinking!” Ringwood said. “Caution is good, but Blades aren’t jailers. If the Guard thought that way it would keep the King locked up in a dungeon.”

  The door opened. Sir Tancred peered in, furious. “His Majesty is on his way to the audience chamber, Your Highness.”

  “Coming!” the Duke said. “You are outvoted, Sir Ranter.” He hurried out with his two Blades at his heels.

  Bellman perched on the edge of the table and said, “Whoof!” His face could never be called handsome, but his smile was honest and reliable.

  “Whoof to you,” Trudy retorted.

  “Manfred, this is Trudy. Trudy, this is Manfred.”

  The wizened forester smiled and muttered, “Viel Glück!”

  “Good chance to you,” she responded. “I think you’re right,” she told Bellman. “We must go, but where to?”

  “To wherever she left her son.” He grimaced. “We need to know if the kid’s really safe or if the killers found him after she left.”

  Trudy found that possibility too nasty to think about, but poor Johanna must be thinking of little else. “I need clothes. Who negotiates wages around here?”

  Bellman laughed and reached for the pouch on his belt. “Nobody. We don’t talk about money at all. I think Her Nibs knows nothing about it and is terrified of the subject. She did give me a purse for expenses, but most of her funds were in the Baron’s keeping and got melted this morning. How much do you need?”

  “Who paid the tailors?”

  “Nobody yet. We haven’t finished choosing. ’Sides, Grand Duchesses are notorious for skipping town. Here, take the lot and give me back what’s left.” He handed her his purse. “Another thing, Sister…”

  “I’m not a sister. I told Mother Superior to climb a tall tree and lay eggs.”

  He smiled. “Interesting image. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life in Krupina. We may all die there, of course, but I’m not bound like the Blades. Whether this thing has a happy ending and Her Nibs is restored to the bosom of her dear husband or everything falls apart, I intend to come home to Chivial in a year or two. I’ll be happy to escort you if you feel the same.”

  “That’s reassuring. Thank you.” Very reassuring. She hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. And Bellman had no ulterior motives that she could detect.

  Then she sensed a glow and looked to the anteroom. Bellman took her cue and stood up.

  A distinctive mustache peered in from the corridor. Seeing that he was noticed, its owner followed it in and strolled toward them. Trudy had been warned about the notorious Sir Hazard on her first day in the palace. He knew more scandal than the Dark Chamber, the Sisters said.

  “Good chance to all!” he proclaimed. “I hear you are leaving.” That was a lie to start with. He was fishing. “Heading home to Krupina?”

  “Skyrria for the bear hunting,” Bellman said. “What real news have you heard?”

  “I
have heard some you will find most interesting.” He eyed Trudy speculatively. “Am I telling the truth, Sister?”

  “Why ask me?” she said, angry that he had put her on the defensive so easily.

  “Because most Sisters can truth-sound as well as inquisitors and you are the first eleventh-rank Sister to come out of Oakendown in forty-two years. Now, do I lie to you?”

  “Keep talking.” How dare he know what she had learned only an hour ago! Forty-two years, mm? She was also annoyed to see that Bellman had edged around behind Hazard so he could make faces at her over the smaller man’s hat.

  “I might be prepared to trade,” the Blade said.

  “Trade for what?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t.

  He shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “Maybe a hint or two on the Trudy Stakes?”

  “Manners, Sir Blade!” Grin vanished, Bellman gripped the back of Hazard’s neck, putting his thumb threateningly on the pressure point below the ear.

  Hazard ignored him. “Well, if you don’t want to trade, sweet Sister, you don’t have to trade. Pity. It is important news. Truly, Trudy.” He was not lying. “How about a short list? The top three contenders, maybe? One-third my winnings at no risk, pay half my losses if you change your mind at the last minute.”

  Now Trudy knew what the Trudy Stakes were and felt her face blush madly. “Who are the favorites?” she asked, curious in spite of herself.

  Hazard leered. Bellman released him with a shrug.

  “Ansel, Hector, and Bloodhand.”

  “Bloodhand? That blowhard?” Trudy made a noise not approved in Oakendown. “I assure you that it will be none of those three.” She was going away, or Ansel would certainly have been in the running.

  “Sir Silver?” Hazard asked quickly.

  “No comment.”

  He chuckled. “And when do you anticipate awarding the prize?”

  Behind Hazard’s back, Bellman raised a clenched fist, looking to Trudy for a signal to use it.

  “Soon. I have narrowed the field to a short list.”