A door to the left was a closet holding only a few old uniform jackets and a worn out side-ball bat, its padding frayed and spilling out of its case. That left only the desk, a beautiful mahogany creation with neatly organized pens in a stand, a brass inkwell, a blotter, and a letter opener laid out across its smooth red surface.
The desk held seven drawers, only two of which were locked. She quickly went through the others, tapping them for false bottoms, feeling behind them for anything concealed at the back. Nothing. She slid her lock picks out and had the first locked drawer open in less than a minute. Posy would be so proud.
The drawer contained a stack of files, and Telaine blessed the Count’s obsession with neatness; every one of them was labeled and every paper sorted within its file. Telaine skimmed the file names. It was probably too much to ask to find one with the words “Veribold Smuggling Operation” written on it in large block letters, but with luck one might hint at the Count’s connection with the rebels.
None of the files in the first drawer were related to what she was looking for. She tried not to think about the possibility that there was no documentation, relocked the drawer, and started on the second. Her patience was rewarded almost immediately; in a folder labeled “Western Trade” she found several letters, all written in the same careless hand, listing items, quantities, and drop locations within Veribold. Two other letters confirmed that the lists referred to shipments of trade goods, including weapons, received by the Veriboldans from the Count’s agent acting with the Count’s approval. Perfect.
She was about to fold the letters and slip them into her gown when she heard the faintest sound of voices, and footsteps, approaching. Instinctively she put the letters back where they’d come from, locked the drawer—did the lock actually catch?—and slipped into the closet, squeezing her light off and shutting the door. Her heart pounding, she tried to calm her breath and listened. Maybe the person would pass by.
About half a minute later, she heard the study door open, and a light went on, the narrow gap at the bottom of the closet door shedding a pale gleam across Telaine’s feet. “I can’t be gone long,” said a voice muffled by the closet door. Count Harroden.
Another male voice, one she didn’t recognize, said, “You should have thought of that before you became involved.”
“I’m involved against my will,” said the Count. “In fact, I should call my guard and have you thrown out. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“You’ll suffer far more than I if you do,” said the second person. “You still have things you can lose. Would you like me to call the guards for you?”
Silence, then, “What is it you want, Harstow?”
Telaine held her breath. Hugh Harstow, Baron of Steepridge. She’d never met him, but she knew his unsavory reputation. Her uncle suspected him of any number of shady dealings, but didn’t have enough evidence to convict him. He’d settled for exiling the man to the far northeast, pretending it was an honor for Steepridge to contribute to the defense of Tremontane against the Ruskalder. He wasn’t supposed to be here; his “honor” might be a thinly disguised fiction, but there was nothing fictional about his restriction to his lands.
“I’m not satisfied with the shipments I’ve received recently,” Steepridge said. “It’s shoddy work, frankly, and our deal was for top of the line material, not whatever fell off the boat on the way upriver.”
“I can only skim so much off the top, Harstow,” said the Count. “I’m doing my best.”
“Do better,” Steepridge said, “or I’ll have to send out a few letters. Drop a word in the right ear.”
“Don’t. Please. My family—”
“Oh, don’t pretend it’s your family you care about. That sissy boy of yours? Your fat wife? It’s your own skin you want to protect, you whining, pathetic failure. You’re in this because you’re weak, Chadwick, and if you disappoint me, I will destroy you. Do as I say, and you’ve nothing to fear. Understand?”
“I’ll do whatever you want.” The Count sounded defeated.
“Yes. You will.” Steepridge, by contrast, sounded pleased. “Do you have the latest request?”
“I keep everything in here. My security if I ever have to turn in my rebel ‘friends.’” The sound of a drawer sliding open.
“What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing. It’s nothing. I thought—but I must be wrong. See, it’s here.”
Paper rustled. “Can you fill this?”
“Yes.”
“I want it diverted to me. Make up some excuse. They don’t have any recourse if you tell them you can’t get it. I’m tired of your sloppy seconds.”
“Yes, Harstow.”
“Call me Baron Steepridge, Chadwick.”
“Yes, Baron Steepridge.”
“Very well. Now, what about the other matter?”
“It will have to come in pieces.” The Count sounded as if he was afraid Steepridge might get angry, but the Baron didn’t respond. “It will all be there before the snows come. You’ll need to find someone to put it together.”
“Don’t worry about that. You get those shipments to me. More roundabout this time, too. I don’t want anyone connecting us and neither do you.”
“Of course.”
Paper rustled again, and Telaine heard the drawer close. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Chadwick?”
“No, Baron Steepridge. I’ll make sure everything’s in hand.”
“See that you do. I’m going to leave now while the party’s still going strong. You should return to your guests.” The light went out, and the door closed.
Telaine waited five minutes before opening the closet door. The room was empty. She pulled out her light Device and scanned the room. No one waited silently to grab her. She went back to the desk and unlocked the drawer again. She didn’t think she’d successfully relocked it before hiding; had the Count noticed?
Quickly, she dug through the file and retrieved a handful of the most damning letters, leaving enough papers that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious the rest were missing. Someday, some clever Deviser would figure out how to turn those enormous photography Devices, with their glass plates more than a foot square and the need for the subject to remain perfectly still, into something small enough you could carry in one hand. Until then, she’d have to settle for collecting evidence the old-fashioned way.
With some reluctance, she put back the list dated most recently; that one he would certainly miss, if it was the one the Baron wanted diverted to him. She folded the papers and tucked them away in her skirt, then relocked the drawer, tugging on it and its mate to make sure they were secure, and put her lock picks away.
As she crept through the hallways toward the facilities, Telaine considered what she’d learned. Steepridge roaming free was a problem; the Count smuggling goods to him was another. Harroden had access to trade coming to and from both Veribold and Eskandel, and it wasn’t impossible that he was using that access to conceal illegal foreign shipments, or even stealing goods that came in legally. She’d have to get her report to the dead drop immediately.
She worried, too, about that unlocked drawer. Her instincts told her Harroden had noticed and had kept silent, probably to keep the Baron from becoming angry at his lax security. The Count’s fear of his blackmailer had kept her mission from going completely pear-shaped, but he knew, she was certain, that someone had been in his papers. And unless he had more than one illicit operation going, he would suspect someone was now aware he was smuggling arms and supplies to the Veriboldan rebels.
Chapter Three
She put her most cheerful face on as she ascended the stairs to the ballroom, and ran into Michael, literally ran into him, making him spill a few drops of his drink. “I do beg your pardon,” she said.
“You need never apologize to me, my dear,” he said. “But sit down, you look a little shaken. Have some of this wine.”
She hadn’t concealed her agitation well enough. “It mu
st be the heat,” she said, fanning herself with her hand and realizing, as the breeze brushed her skin, she wasn’t wearing her gloves. “Oh, look at how scattered I am!” she exclaimed, aware that she couldn’t exactly pull them out of the hidden pocket in her skirt. “I must not have put my gloves back on after I used the facilities. How careless of me.”
“i find you charming in every circumstance,” Edgar Hussey said, appearing out of nowhere like some kind of ancient imp, bringing a dark curse with him. “I was about to send a search party for you, you were so long.”
Telaine playfully slapped his wrist. “Now, Mister Hussey, you would never be so indelicate as to comment on how long a lady takes to refresh herself. I am sorry to keep you waiting—oh, I am so sorry, I see my partner for this dance. Will you excuse me, both of you? Mister Hussey, I positively depend on you to walk on the verandah with me later.” She sailed off into the crowd, moving quickly so Hussey couldn’t stop her, and took Roger Chadwick’s arm.
Chadwick looked down at her in surprise, then an elated smile spread across his face. “Your Highness,” he said.
Telaine dimpled at him and watched his fair face flush. “I know how forward I sound, but I am quite certain you meant to ask me to dance earlier,” she said, drawing him toward the center of the room. “And you must know how I adore dancing.”
“Yes—that is, I’ve heard—your Highness, of course I’m pleased—” he stammered, and Telaine smiled and swept him a low curtsey as the music began.
Roger Chadwick wasn’t a good dancer, though he seemed unaware of this. Telaine didn’t care. She was too busy surveying the room, looking for his father. There, standing near the stairs. He looked better than she’d remembered, less sagging and more muscular, but his face was unhealthily bloated and his skin pasty. Possibly he was still sweating from his meeting from Steepridge. He didn’t seem self-conscious or guilty, but his gaze fixed on her longer than necessary. Of course, she was dancing with his son, but she was uncomfortably aware of the papers nestled in the hidden pocket of her skirt. There was no way he could know she’d been in his study.
She extricated herself from young Roger at the end of their dance, smiling in a way that promised nothing, and made a circuit of the room. Her shoes were pinching her feet, but she put on an even brighter smile and vowed to get rid of them once she returned to Aurilien. The first part of her mission was over, leaving her feeling tired and achy as if she’d run the stairs of Harroden Manor from top to bottom ten times without stopping. But the Princess couldn’t leave so soon, so neither could Telaine.
Concealing her weariness, she flirted and laughed and dimpled at everyone she knew—that was almost everyone at the ball, wasn’t it? She knew all of them, and not one of them knew who she truly was. The thought was enough to make her feel more cheerful, though it did nothing to ease the needles stabbing her toes.
Stella Murchison stood near the ice sculpture, which had started the evening as a swan but now looked like a molting duck. Edgar Hussey had vanished, so Telaine sailed over to Stella and said, “I’m having such a delightful time, aren’t you?”
“Your Highness, I wondered where you’d gone,” Stella trilled. “Such a long time to use the facilities!”
“Stella!” Telaine said, pretending to be shocked. “So indelicate!”
“I think you had an assignation,” Stella said. “Tell me, who was it? Not Mister Hussey, he was with us, and not Roger Chadwick, he’s barely an adult. Stephen Wainwright?”
“Of course not,” Telaine said. “I don’t know how you can think such a thing.”
“Richard Argyll? Fortunate for him he didn’t inherit his father’s ears. Desmond Lowery?”
“Stella!”
Stella laughed her brainless giggle. “You were gone far too long to simply have been refreshing yourself. I won’t give up until you tell me who your newest swain is!”
“Can a lady not simply have a moment’s peace?”
Too late Telaine realized Harroden was standing about ten feet away. Stella’s high-pitched voice carried, and Harroden was looking at her with narrowed eyes. She laughed again, mirroring Stella’s titter. “You’ve found me out,” she said. “But I won’t tell you who. You’ll have to guess.” She linked her arm with Stella’s and drew her away into the crowd. Harroden suspected something, Telaine was certain of it.
She wanted to flee the room, get her information to the dead drop and get out of Ravensholm, but that would make her look more guilty. She would simply have to dance and flirt more outrageously than ever, and emphasize her reputation as a giddy socialite. Tomorrow…no, this was too important to wait for the dead drop. She would have to send word of Steepridge’s involvement to her uncle via telecoder. Then perhaps a trip far from Ravensholm, far from the capital, was called for. Something to make Harroden believe she could have nothing to do with spying on him.
***
The telecoder office in Ravensholm, a blocky red brick building with narrow windows, had both public operators and private booths, an innovation Telaine was grateful for. She approached one of the empty booths and nodded politely at the operator. “Good morning,” she said.
“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing. So he recognized her. That might work in her favor.
“How much for a booth?” she said.
“Seven staves.” The telecoder operator held out a hand. So, he recognized her, but was unimpressed at dealing with royalty. Not helpful.
“Expensive,” Telaine said, handing over the silver coins.
“Don’t think you’ll miss it.” He eyed Telaine’s expensive summer dress and new hat with calculating assessment. Telaine resisted the urge to take him down a peg.
“Of course not,” she said airily. “And here’s a little extra for your trouble.”
He looked suspicious. “What do you want?”
“For you to walk away and give me some privacy.” Telaine put steel into her words and was gratified to see him flinch. She smiled pleasantly, and entered the booth and shut the door firmly behind her.
The telecoder was the latest model, no bigger than a shoebox, its long brass arm and base plate screwed to a block of ash stained black and polished to satiny smoothness. Telaine checked to make sure the pressure-sensitive tape was aligned properly, then entered the receiver code on the interlocking wheels at the back. It was a code that would connect this Device to one of the private telecoders at the palace, manned night and day by agents whose only job was taking messages from agents in the field. It was the most secure connection in the entire kingdom.
She sent the “clear all” signal, four distinct long taps with the key, and waited for the return signal that meant she was clear to send her message. While she waited, she took a scrap of paper, folded it to the size of a copper, and wedged it between the duplicate key and its tape. She didn’t want any record of this conversation.
She’d worked out the coded message late last night, using a code known only to herself, Posy, and her uncle. Telaine was aware she was being paranoid, but the way Harroden had looked at her—that he suspected her at all, the frivolous socialite—left her inclined to paranoia.
HAVE DOCUMENTS. STEEPRIDGE CONSPIRING WITH HARRODEN. DETAILS UNKNOWN. MAY HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED. REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS.
She leaned back in her seat and flailed to catch her balance when she remembered it was a stool with no back. The telecoder began tapping out the return message.
MISSION COMPROMISED OR PERSON COMPROMISED?
She thought for a moment, then tapped out a quick response: UNSURE. GOING ON LONG TRIP AS PRECAUTION. This development meant her uncle couldn’t act immediately on Harroden’s involvement with the Veriboldan smugglers, despite now having documentary evidence. He wanted the Baron’s head even more than he wanted Harroden’s.
Telaine leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. Where should she go? A resort on the Eskandel coast, that sounded like a relaxing way to spend a few weeks. Pity she had to go as the Princess, but bathing
in the warm ocean currents could make up for wearing her public persona for a few more weeks.
There went the telecoder again. Telaine took up the tape and decoded the message as it arrived. NEGATE. REASSIGNED TO STEEPRIDGE. INVESTIGATE BARON AND REPORT. FIND HOLD HE HAS ON CHADWICK AND CONFIRM ITEMS BEING SMUGGLED. DO NOT SAY THIS IS NOT THE JOB I WAS TRAINED FOR. YOU ARE ONLY OPTION AT THIS TIME AND WILL GET YOU OUT OF SIGHT. SEND DOCUMENTS BY DEAD DROP.
Telaine gripped the tape in nerveless hands. A field assignment. Never mind her uncle’s instructions, this genuinely was not anything she was trained for. How was she supposed to learn anything about the Baron? She obviously couldn’t go as the Princess. Why under heaven couldn’t they send someone else? What would Julia think? She read the message over again, but its contents hadn’t changed.
With a shaking hand, she tapped out PLEASE CONFIRM THAT YOU ARE NOT OUT OF YOUR ROYAL MIND. This had to be a mistake.
Almost immediately the reply came. Uncle was clearly expecting her reaction. CONFIRMED THAT YOU ARE DISRESPECTFUL GIRL. GO TO LONGBOURNE AND FIND MISTRESS WEAVER. SHE WILL PROVIDE ROOM AND INTRODUCTION TO TOWN. YOU WILL BE HER NIECE. FIND A WAY TO ACCESS BARONS HOME. SEND REPORTS THROUGH CODED MESSAGE ELLISMERE TELECODER.
Ellismere was a city in Barony Silverfield, in the foothills of the Rockwild Ridge and Mount Ehuren. Wherever Longbourne was, it didn’t even have a telecoder. Lovely. She was being sent to the back of beyond, to find a way into the home of a dangerous man, to learn what kind of crime he was committing with Count Harroden and how he was able to manipulate someone ranked higher politically than he. And she was supposed to do all this with no support other than a local woman who didn’t even know her. It was one thing being the Princess. It was quite another to pretend to be…what? A peasant? A laborer? She had no idea what life was like on the frontier.
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