The normally stoic Galen blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing, doubling over and leaning on the door, stumbling as it opened wider in response. The other guards crowded in, wanting to know what was going on. Between howls of laughter, Galen managed to repeat what Relam had told him, and the others dissolved into helpless mirth as well, tears streaming from their eyes.
“Someone finally fell for it!” Johann crowed. “I can’t believe it!”
“He knows better now,” Relam warned him, “Or, he thinks he does. Now he thinks Johann is another false cover name you’re using. The whole thing is probably driving him up the wall.”
“Good,” Wil said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Too bad he suspects me though. We may have to scale back our operations for the time being.”
“How widespread were those operations?” Relam asked.
“Very,” Eric replied, fixing Johann and Wil with a mock scowl. “I’ve seen moats that were narrower and shallower.”
Relam winced. “Yes, let’s scale that back. The palace cleaning staff really don’t deserve to have to deal with such things.”
“They don’t have to,” Wil replied. “Eckle’s lackeys have to do the cleaning. Palace staff aren’t allowed into the guard barracks or that part of the palace, remember?”
“That’s right!” Relam remembered. “But, doesn’t that mean you’re torturing some of your old friends in the guard with this nonsense?”
“We didn’t have any other friends,” Johann muttered. “It was just us four, looking out for each other. I guess you could say we were misfits, kind of off on our own, once Eckle took over. Narin at least respected us and treated us well, as did Bannen.”
“Speaking of Narin,” Relam interrupted, grabbing his dagger off the desk and returning it to its sheath. “It’s time we were headed to Oreius’ house. Narin has something to show me, remember?”
“Right,” Galen agreed, morphing into the serious guardsman in an instant. “Form up, and prepare to move out.”
The others moved swiftly to surround Relam, Wil and Johann still sniggering about Eckle’s incompetence. By the time Relam had moved to the head of the formation and led them out the door though, the guardsmen had composed themselves and were vigilantly watching for signs of danger.
The young king led the way through the palace to a servants’ entrance, then from there out into the freezing, snowy landscape. Drifts were piled high on either side of the roads, which had been cleared by gangs of soldiers with shovels earlier in the morning. It was times like these when having a large number of otherwise idle city guards was useful.
Despite the fact the roads had been largely cleared of snow, there were few pedestrians taking advantage of the wide thoroughfares. Those few who were out and about moved quickly, bundled in multiple layers, never stopping or hesitating during their brief forays into the cold. Nearly every chimney Relam and his guards passed was emitting a thick stream of wood smoke, and the firewood and coal vendors were selling their wares at significantly higher prices than normal. Relam made a mental note to look into that later and see if it was causing any issues, then refocused on the task at hand.
They reached Oreius’ house in good time, skirting around to the back, where the frozen gardens and the ice-clad fountain waited to greet them. Relam moved immediately to the back door, since Oreius was nowhere to be seen outside, and rapped on the heavy portal sharply. Through the strange bubbled glass that made up the windows either side of the door, he could see the light of several candles and lanterns, so the sword master was clearly up and about.
Relam’s knock was answered within a minute by the sound of the bolt that secured the door sliding back. Then, Oreius pulled the door open and ushered them inside, grumbling about the draft they were letting in. The moment everyone was inside, he slammed the door shut again and threw the bolt home.
“About time you showed up,” he said to Relam with a false scowl. “Narin’s been here for hours.”
“Sorry,” Relam murmured, “I’ve been up for a while, but I didn’t think it wise to rush over here at the crack of dawn. Thought it might give things away.”
“And then Eckle delayed us,” Eric added helpfully.
“With his usual stupidity,” Wil interjected, grinning impudently. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like an old gray bear denned up for winter, Oreius?”
“Many,” the sword master grunted. “But since you are one of Relam’s guards, you will have the distinction of being the first to survive after making such an observation.”
Relam grinned. “Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Much more of this blasted weather and I just might,” Oreius grunted. “I’d guess we still have several weeks of this or worse before it gets any better.”
“Well, the season is just starting.”
“I know. It’s just such a lifeless time of year. And dark,” the sword master added, glancing through the windows either side of the door. “And it’s the time of year our enemies get emboldened. A season of shadows.”
Relam shivered, but not from the cold. “You and Narin have been trying to counter that though, right? And I hear you’ve made some progress?”
“Some,” Oreius grunted. “Come on, might as well show you what we’ve got.”
The old warrior stumped along the main hallway, but instead of crossing the hallway that ran parallel to the front and back door, he turned left and made for one of the house’s wings. Relam, caught off guard, turned quickly and increased his pace to keep up.
“We needed a proper working space for this project,” he explained, noticing Relam’s misstep. “And a good table to work at. So I cleaned out one of the other rooms and set up a big rough table that would suit our purposes.”
“Which are?” Galen asked.
“You’ll see.”
“I will?”
Oreius glanced at Relam. “They’re your guards, yes? They answer to you?”
“Technically. And they have no loyalty to Eckle.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Wil muttered.
“And they’re quartered separate from the other guards.”
“May as well include them then,” Oreius decided, stopping in the middle of the hall and looking back. “So long as you can swear them to complete secrecy.”
“We can keep it quiet, your majesty,” Galen promised.
“Can you keep it silent?”
“We can do that too,” Eric agreed.
“Johann?” Wil asked. “You been paying attention?”
“Of course!”
“You can’t discuss this with anyone,” Relam reminded them. “And try not to discuss it with each other either. You never know who might be listening, even in the palace.”
“We get it,” Wil promised. “We can keep a secret, sir.”
“Good,” Relam replied. “Show us what you and Narin have come up with Oreius.”
The sword master nodded gravely, then turned towards a door on the left and knocked on it quietly. There was a quick rustle of paper, then Narin’s voice.
“Enter.”
Oreius shoved through the door, ushering Relam and his guards in as well. There was hardly space for them all to stand, and it took several moments of careful shuffling around the edges of the room before Oreius could close the door again.
The source of the problem was the massive table dominating the vast majority of the room. It was made of roughly sawn planks, nailed together in haste with no finishing details, a simple flat surface for working on. The legs were not even straight, and one of them was slightly shorter than the others, so it only just touched the ground.
At the back of the room, leaning over the far edge of the table, was Narin. He was garbed in a nondescript cloak and dark clothes, his sword at his hip, a dagger laying close at hand in front of him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled, but he smiled up at Relam as the young king moved to stand beside him.
“Does it have anything to do with the Masks?”
“Yes,” Narin confirmed. “Nothing definite, mind, but progress nonetheless.”
The Master of the Citadel shuffled a few papers on the table, rearranging them, then drew one closer. “You remember this map?”
Relam nodded, recognizing it as the original sheet Narin and Oreius had been tracking the movement of suspects with. “Fairly cluttered isn’t it? And if I’m not mistaken it hasn’t been updated recently. Not for a few weeks, actually,” he added, squinting at the tiny dates marked alongside some of the lines.
“And you would be right,” Narin agreed. “We’ve moved beyond something as crude and simple as this. We have a new strategy. Remember when you suggested tracking individuals on their own maps?”
“Yes.”
“We took it a step further,” Narin said grinning, “With the help of a brilliant idea from Oreius.”
“It wasn’t too brilliant,” Oreius grunted. “Bloody obvious thing to do if you ask me.”
“And what was it?” Galen asked.
“Look at this sheet,” Narin said, pulling another across the table.
“Not much to look at,” Relam grunted. “It’s thin, I can see the wood grain in the table through it. But it only has a few lines . . . the city isn’t even laid out here, Narin, it’s just random scribbles.”
“Ah,” Narin said, holding up a hand and grinning. “Not so random as you think, Relam. Observe.”
He reached into the center of the table and selected another sheet, thicker, with darker lines on it. Relam realized it was a map of the city in extremely dark ink with thick lines. The Master of the Citadel laid the thinner sheet on top of it with a flourish, pressing it perfectly flat on top of the darker map.
Relam leaned over the table, studying the result. The seemingly random lines now delineated a clear path through the city streets and to several buildings. He shook his head in amazement, and looked up at the two spymasters.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured. “So this is what you’ve been up to?”
“Yes,” Oreius confirmed. “We figured out early on that making enough maps was going to be difficult. So we changed our strategy. One map, interchangeable records of enemy movement. It’s made keeping track of everything a challenge.”
“But everything is dated and labeled by subject,” Narin interjected. “We draw these paths while the sheet is sitting on the larger map, then file it with the others. Each of these piles,” he added, gesturing to the parchment-strewn surface of the table, “Is a different subject we have been tracking.”
“Okay,” Galen said, “So you can see the path for one day for one subject by overlaying it on the original map there. Why is that so helpful? One day and one path is not going to show you a pattern or allow you to track down the Masks.”
“He has a point,” Relam admitted.
“Ah,” Narin said, grinning. “We can do so much more with this method though. Observe.”
With a slight flourish, the warrior grabbed another sheet of parchment, marked with different colored lines and the same date. He carefully arranged the second record on top of the first, lining them up perfectly.
“Now,” he said, “We have the movements of two people on the same night.”
Relam leaned over the stacked maps to observe them better. The map on the bottom still shone through amazingly well, and the layered records ran through each other and overlapped as though they were on the same page. “How many of these can you stack up at the same time and still have it be legible?”
“Depends on your definition of legible,” Oreius grunted. “And how good your eyes are.”
“Mine are decent,” Narin replied, “If I stack about fifteen records on the map, I can still make everything out clearly. Past that, the image on the original map starts to fade and this makes it difficult to tell exactly where all of these paths are going – ”
“But it would still allow you to identify clusters of activity,” Relam pointed out. “Even if you can’t see the bottom map anymore and the furthest you can see is the first of these extra thin sheets, you would have a network of lines and records showing hotspots of activity around the capital.”
“Yes,” Narin agreed, “That’s what we have been trying to do these last few days, identify denser areas of activity and hopefully the lair of the Council of Masks.”
“Or at least the general area,” Oreius grunted. “They’re probably too smart to have any of these paths lead directly to their lair.”
“True,” Relam agreed. “But, have you discovered anything of interest in researching these maps?”
“A few things,” Narin confirmed. “Some of them are rather . . . concerning. For instance, subject seventeen – ”
“Who is subject seventeen?” Relam interrupted.
“Sorry,” Narin said, “Subject seventeen corresponds to a male servant by the name of Irtag. He works for Lord – ”
“Garenes?” Wil suggested. “Never did like him, disagreeable, stuck-up fool of a noble.”
“He’s no fool,” Oreius replied, “And Irtag is not his servant. Irtag is a leading figure in the Laurencian household.”
“Delan’s family?” Relam asked, blinking in surprise.
“Yes,” Narin confirmed. “Irtag is a bit strange as servants go. He has significant physical gifts for someone working as a servant, and answers directly to Laurencian’s head of household, who answers only to Lord Laurencian himself.”
“Has he had any military training in the past?” Relam wondered.
“Irtag? None we know of. It might be worth digging into the records at the Citadel and any records Hadere keeps though to find out more about him.”
“Let’s hold off on that,” Relam grunted, wary of exposing how much they knew or suspected. “For now, I’m not trusting anyone outside of this room.”
“A wise decision,” Oreius growled. “This world is full of vipers, boy. And a lot of them seem to have become very adept at concealing their markings.”
“Anyway,” Narin interrupted impatiently, “If I overlay subject seventeen’s records over the last two weeks . . .”
He put actions to words, removing the two records he had stacked on the map and replacing them with a different and much larger grouping of records, stacking them with the utmost care and precision to ensure a clear image.
“If we observe all of these records together,” Narin continued quietly, still fussing with the alignment of the pages, “We see a pattern of activity. Notice how he leaves Laurencian’s estate most nights and proceeds to one of these two points. He seems to wander around the city quite a bit, but there is a third location here he spends a lot of time in.”
“And a dense grouping of other paths around it,” Eric observed. “Could that be from trying to shake off tails and pursuers?”
“It could be,” Narin agreed. “Viewed individually, the paths he takes to get from one place to another do not seem to make much sense at all. For instance, on his way to this point here – ”
“Are those dots on the paths places where he has stopped or entered buildings?” Relam interrupted.
“Ah, yes!” Narin said enthusiastically, “Good catch, Relam, I forgot to mention those.”
“So he’s making a lot of stops in this area,” Relam observed, gesturing to the denser network of lines Eric had observed. “And that would be . . . a neighborhood not far from the Assembly Hall?”
“Yes,” Narin confirmed.
“Interesting,” Relam murmured. “Who lives in the area?”
“No one of note, but the first story of all of these buildings are taken up by stores, rather like that stretch of buildings along the River Road. It is possible he is not seeing the people who live there, but others that are at those stores.”
“Stores open that late at night?”
&nb
sp; “They could be bars,” Galen suggested.
“And many of these stops are actually during the day,” Narin pointed out, “And that would be far less suspicious since the stores would be open for business.”
“Let’s see another subject,” Relam suggested. “Who else do you have information on?”
“Let’s see,” Narin said, looking through his stacks of reports. “Here’s an interesting one, a known operative of the Masks. He’s been recruiting for them from what I hear.”
“Sounds like a good target,” Relam agreed. “Where all has he been recently?”
The meeting went on and on, layering one group of records after another, comparing subjects’ paths over the last few weeks and observing patterns for a single day. Noon came and went, and Oreius provided the group with a simple meal of warm bread, cold sliced ham, and wedges of cheese. Relam and Narin did most of the talking and most of the research, but Oreius chimed in occasionally to clarify some detail Narin had missed. Even Relam’s guards, Eric and Galen in particular, participated in the discussion with theories and ideas of their own. The prospect of being able to identify the source of the threats against their king seemed to appeal to them greatly.
For his part, Relam was enjoying the mental challenge of sifting through the records and identifying any patterns that presented themselves. It was long, slow work and not terribly rewarding, but over the course of the afternoon the small group slowly began to amass suspicions and theories about several of the subjects.
When the world outside the single bubble glass window had gone entirely dark, Narin straightened from his hunched-over position, joints creaking and popping. “So,” he said, looking over his notes. “To sum things up, there’s a few individuals we want to pay closer attention to. Irtag, the recruiter we discussed . . . that captain in the city guard . . . a squad leader in the Citadel.”
“Knew we didn’t get all the rats out of there,” Oreius muttered. “D’Arnlo did a fair bit of recruiting before he revealed his hand and put his scheme in motion.”
The Captive Page 42