Agent of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Aunt Weaver grunted again. Telaine smiled and left the kitchen through the back door.

  She came around to the front of the house and jumped, startled, because Morgan stood by the front door, leaning against the wall as lazy as a cat. “Miss Bricker,” he said without looking at her. “I wonder if you might be interested in a commission.”

  Her heart began to beat faster. “What might that be, Mister Morgan?”

  “Baron Steepridge has a Device he needs repaired. I told him of your presence in our little community and he was so pleased you could help him.”

  Not so much a request as a command, then. She didn’t care. Finally, she could start work. “I’d be happy to work for the Baron. When would he like me to begin?”

  “How does ‘now’ sound?”

  “I’d…certainly. Let me fetch my tools.” She ran back upstairs, checked the roll and bundled up the larger tools, and hid her lock picks in her boot. She probably wouldn’t get a chance to use them today, but taking them along was a good habit. She once again felt full of fizzy excitement. Time to begin.

  Today it seemed everyone she passed looked at her. Or maybe they were looking at Morgan, who was as elegant as before in a cream-colored silk shirt, full-sleeved, with a tightly laced black vest and black trousers of heavy twilled cotton. His boots still shone like mirrors, quite a feat considering how much rock dust came off the road. He wore a knife in a sheath dangling from his belt; it bounced off his leg as he strode.

  It was like having an extra shadow, him towering over her as they walked side by side down the street. Were they going to walk all the way to the Baron’s manor? Morgan’s footwear certainly wouldn’t survive that trip unscathed. And she had trouble picturing him doing anything so plebeian as walking any farther than the length of the town.

  They approached the forge, and Telaine remembered where she’d been going before Morgan accosted her. “Excuse me one moment, Mister Morgan,” she said, and went to the forge rail, smiling reflexively at Tanner and his cronies, whose conversation stopped when she neared. As far as she could tell, lounging around the forge was their only employment.

  Garrett turned away from tending the forge fire and flashed one of those quick smiles, but then he looked beyond her to Morgan, and his face went still. “Mister Garrett, I’m going to the manor, but I’ll be back this afternoon to finish that repair. If the gear is ready.”

  He looked away from Morgan and back at her. “Be careful,” he said quietly, and went back to his work.

  Morgan smiled when she returned to his side. Unlike Garrett’s elusive smile that flashed and vanished, Morgan’s smile was like a cat’s—pointed, wide, and rarely reaching his eyes. “Don’t tell me you have an admirer?” he drawled.

  “A job,” she replied. Even without Garrett’s warning and that of her actual admirers two nights ago, she would have found Morgan alarming. On the surface, his regard of her was the kind of appreciation the Princess was familiar with and could manipulate with ease, but Telaine had a feeling his interest went beyond simple admiration into a darker emotion that made her uneasy. She would think carefully before trying to captivate or manipulate him. He might see through her plan, and weave a far more cunning trap for her.

  “How nice that you’re making a place for yourself here,” he said, with an emphasis on “nice.” His drawling upper-class voice made everything he said sound as if it were invested with a double meaning, as if he were having a joke at everyone else’s expense. That was a mystery; what was someone who sounded as if he belonged in a palace drawing room doing in the back of beyond?

  “I don’t plan on staying long,” she said. She was about to add more, but caution held her tongue. If he was as dangerous as she suspected, it would be a bad idea to give him any more information about herself than necessary. But what exactly am I afraid he might do? Am I being paranoid? Good.

  Morgan led her to the tavern, where a beautiful bay horse was tethered to the porch rail. “Can you ride?” he asked, mounting, and reached down a hand to help her mount. Telaine almost refused right there; getting on a horse controlled by this man made her nervous. She steeled herself, took his hand, and let him pull her up behind him. The horse went from standing still to a trot in a heartbeat, and Telaine had to throw her arms around Morgan’s waist to keep from falling. She heard him chuckle, and she flushed, moving around until she didn’t have to grip him so tightly. It was a good horse, a tall gelding with an excellent gait, and Morgan rode well.

  “i would have brought a mount for you, but I didn’t know if you were a rider,” he said without turning his head.

  “I do ride fairly well,” Telaine said. The lying echo confirmed her instinct that he’d wanted to make her uncomfortable. That she’d known what he intended left her unsettled. She was good at reading people, but this went beyond simple observation; it was as if they had some kind of connection, and it was a far from lovely feeling. She took a slow breath, then another, and thought This isn’t the job. Don’t let him rattle you.

  Morgan rode beyond Longbourne and up a wandering path to the end of the valley. It was a beautiful, sunny late summer day, and Telaine enjoyed the ride despite the company. At least Morgan had stopped speaking. The dark pines began to close in around them as the valley narrowed, but it was peaceful rather than oppressive, as if the trees were reaching out to shelter them, though why the trees didn’t shrink from Morgan’s presence was a mystery.

  After about ten minutes of their silent ride, Telaine could see the dark blot that was the fort in the distance, with another, smaller blot off to the right. Another ten minutes brought them in full view of both the Baron’s manor and the fort, which straddled a narrow cut in the mountains like a lion crouched over its prey. Morgan turned off the main road before they reached the fort and down a smaller road that turned into a graveled drive running in front of the manor.

  The manor, in contrast to its peaceful surroundings, huddled in on itself, shrinking from the pines that surrounded it on three sides. It was small for a noble’s house, but still bigger than any five buildings in Longbourne combined; four stories tall, it had the now-familiar stone foundation and wooden upper stories, with large glass windows gleaming in the morning sun. The foundation stones were light-colored granite, larger and more regular than the ones Longbourne residents used, but the wooden upper stories had been painted a dour brown which, with the black leading of the windows, gave the place a haunted look. Telaine could not imagine living there, however opulent it was on the inside.

  A long flight of stairs led up to the second story, to a double door framed in heavily carved square timbers. The abstract curlicues and triangles of the carvings were no older than the manor itself—Telaine judged it to have been built some fifty years earlier—but resembled those of the long-ago era when Tremontanans still worshipped gods instead of ungoverned heaven.

  Morgan pulled up his horse at the foot of the stairs, dismounted, and helped Telaine down before she could protest that she could dismount very well on her own, thanks. She followed him up the stairs, where two footmen dressed in what could only be the Baron’s livery stood at…you couldn’t call it “at attention,” could you, when they slouched and seemed not to notice the visitors? Morgan opened the door himself and bowed Telaine in.

  Her guess about the opulence of the interior turned out to be inadequate. The Baron of Steepridge might have gone into exile, but he had taken his wealth with him and turned it into mahogany paneling, fine art, tiled flooring, and furniture that would not have looked out of place in the palace. Sweeping staircases curved up both sides of the entry hall, meeting in a gallery on the floor above; doors of mahogany and glass on the entry level led further into the house. It was exquisite without being tasteless, and Telaine’s amazed appreciation for the place apparently showed, because Morgan said, in his lazy drawl, “Impressive, isn’t it? Even to a city girl?”

  “I don’t exactly move in these circles,” Telaine said. Not at the moment, anyway.


  “We will have to change that,” said a voice Telaine recognized. She looked up to the gallery and saw, for the first time, Hugh Harstow, Baron of Steepridge. She had pictured him as a lean, hawk-nosed man with narrow eyes. She was completely wrong.

  From this angle, she couldn’t tell how tall he was, but he had a bit of a paunch and unusually red lips. He wore a dove gray morning coat and trousers with a white shirtfront and a beautifully tied cravat pinned with a ruby the size of her thumbnail, exactly as if he expected to call on the King in half an hour.

  He came down the stairs slowly, allowing her to absorb his magnificence, and to do him credit, he was magnificent, despite his physical shortcomings. When he stood before her, she saw he was several inches taller than her and, when he inclined his head to her, that his brown hair was thinning on top.

  “Miss Bricker, thank you for coming,” he said, extending his hand. Telaine reached out to shake his hand, but he grasped hers and lifted it to his red lips, just as Morgan had done. She forced herself not to jerk her hand away; his lips were wet and surprisingly cold. “Has Morgan explained my little problem to you?”

  “Only that you need a repair done.” Steepridge released her hand and she refrained from wiping it on her leg.

  “I hope you’ll find it an interesting challenge. Please, follow me.”

  The Baron led the way through one of the glass-paned doors into a room brightly lit by half a dozen windows looking out over the approach to the manor. Chairs and couches upholstered in golden brown velvet made a half-circle around a glossy pianoforte, sheets of music spread out on it as if waiting for a performer. To the left was the huddled shape of a harp swathed in sheets, almost blocking a glass-fronted cabinet containing bound books of music. Their footsteps were swallowed up by the thick carpet, making the room feel dull, as if any sound, even the most beautiful, would simply fly into the walls and fall disregarded to the floor.

  In one corner a large birdcage made of ornate wires of many different metals hung from a hook in the low ceiling. The Baron opened a wire door in its side and reached in. He pulled out a dead bird and showed it to Telaine. “Remarkable craftsmanship, don’t you think?”

  Telaine overcame her revulsion to look closer, and was stunned. The Baron held a large bird-shaped Device whose black feathers were iridescent in the indirect light. Its head was made of gold and its lidless eyes were round, cabochon sapphires.

  “Take it,” the Baron said, offering it to her, and she accepted the thing with wonder. It was heavier than it looked—the body under the feathers might be as gold as the head—and warm from more than the Baron’s body heat.

  “It’s astonishing,” she said with real feeling. The Baron smiled, his red lips glistening.

  “It’s two Devices, actually,” he said. “The cage accepts wax discs imprinted with music—or, rather, with grooves and depressions it translates into music—and the bird produces the sound. It’s supposed to move its body as well, to look as realistic as Devisery can achieve. Unfortunately, it’s stopped responding altogether.”

  “Are you sure the cage is still working? Milord?” She almost forgot to add the honorific, and mentally shook herself. Time to be impressed with the collection after she’d achieved her goal.

  “That’s an excellent question. Of course, it would be hard to know without the bird, yes? But I believe it’s still functioning.”

  “Then if you would have someone bring me a table, milord, I can begin the repairs.”

  The Baron looked surprised she would address him so directly, if respectfully. “Morgan, see to it,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d let me watch?” he asked Telaine, and she thought he looked wistful.

  “I—to be honest, milord, I think your attention would make me nervous,” she said, with a laugh she hoped struck the right note of discomfort and awkwardness. The Baron nodded, disappointed, and said, “Please ask any of the servants to fetch me when you’re finished. How long will it take?”

  Telaine said, “I won’t be able to tell until I’ve taken it apart, because I’ve never seen anything like it. But I hope it will only be a few hours.”

  The Baron nodded again and left the room, passing a servant carrying a folding table she set up without looking at Telaine. Then the servant was gone, and Telaine was alone. She thought briefly of sneaking away to explore the manor after they all left the room, but it was a bad idea. Too many people knew why she was here, and being caught where she shouldn’t be would probably mean never being allowed inside again, which would make her job infinitely harder. She’d have to work quickly and skillfully to make a good impression so the Baron would give her a return invitation.

  The hardest part was opening it up; it was so well made the seams were virtually invisible. Finally, with a tiny pop, the head came off and the body fell into two pieces joined by a concealed hinge. Telaine was disappointed to find that the Device was of the most basic design, once you got past the ornate exterior, and had to remind herself again that speed was important, that having a challenge would work against her in this case.

  The repair was simple, none of the pieces were broken, just misaligned, even the motive force was fully imbued…oh, that would have given me an excellent opportunity to wander around, she thought after she’d put the whole thing back together. She’d have to remember it for next time.

  She had to work out how to fit the Device back into its cage, but once that was done, it began to move like a real bird. She poked around to figure out how the cage worked. A casket on a nearby stand contained the wax discs the Baron had mentioned; more investigation turned up a slot where the discs could be inserted. She slid one in, shut the lid, and the bird rewarded her by breaking into the first notes of “Let Me Sit Beside You.” Apparently the Baron was fond of music-hall tunes.

  “Lovely,” said Morgan, clapping a slow rhythm. “And so is the music.”

  Telaine allowed herself to blush, which was no doubt what he wanted. “Just doing the job I’m paid for,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, you’ll want paying. I suppose it’s too much to ask you to do it for King and country.” He approached her too closely, forcing her to step back as he unlatched the lid and removed the disc.

  “I have to eat, Mister Morgan.”

  “Speaking of which, will you dine with us? It’s nearly noon.”

  The time had passed without her noticing. Four hours. “Me? Is the Baron in the habit of dining with his hired help?”

  “Only the Devisers, who you must admit are not ordinary craftsmen. Or women.” He inclined his head, but kept his intense eyes on her. His attention was beginning to overwhelm her to the point that it lost all meaning. Did he realize he was overplaying his hand? No, that peculiar, uncomfortable extra sense told her sleek Archie Morgan meant to seem not in control. But to what end? Leave the analysis for later. Stay focused.

  She plucked at her trouser legs. “I’d feel uncomfortable, dressed like this.”

  “Nonsense.” He ran his finger down a crease in her sleeve. “It’s like a uniform, isn’t it? And uniforms are acceptable everywhere.”

  “If you’re sure his lordship won’t mind, then I accept,” she said, quashing the nervousness that had sprung up again as he touched her. This would be an excellent opportunity to get to know her target, if she could keep from giving too much of her game away.

  Chapter Nine

  If Telaine hadn’t been used to the palace, which had at least five dining halls twice the size of the Baron’s, she might have been impressed. The oak-paneled room—the Baron was fond of wood paneling, wasn’t he?—was two stories tall with a plaster ceiling crossed by dark, intricately carved beams. A balcony that was probably accessed from the gallery at the top of the entry staircase ran along three sides of the room, perfect for a string quartet to provide music for dining or for dancing. Telaine guessed the room doubled as a reception hall, or would if the Baron had anyone to receive.

  Extravagant floor-to-ceiling glass panes gave a view o
f the pine forest that pressed close against the manor. It was a depressing view, and Telaine reflected that if the manor had been oriented differently, most of the rooms could have looked out over the beautiful valley toward Longbourne.

  She put on a properly overawed expression and went to greet the Baron, who stood looking out the window. He turned to face her and Morgan as they entered.

  “Were you successful, my dear?” the Baron asked.

  “Yes, milord. I’d be happy to demonstrate my work after the meal. That is—I don’t expect any special treatment, and it’s an honor to be asked to dine with you.”

  The Baron waved this away. “Not at all. I have a great respect for Devisers. It was my ambition to become one in my youth, but I’m afraid I lacked the necessary dexterity and sufficient ability to sense source. Please, have a seat.” He, the Baron, actually held a chair for the lowly craftswoman. If Telaine didn’t know better, she would have believed this man to be a genuine, kind egalitarian. She might even have believed it if she’d only heard about his abusive personality secondhand. Having heard how viciously he’d threatened Harroden, she wasn’t fooled at all.

  The Baron seated her on his right hand, and Morgan took the chair on his left. Servants in formal livery brought beef in gravy, green vegetables, soft rolls, and a selection of wines from which the Baron chose a favorite. Telaine fumbled her silverware, tried to serve herself from the platter of fresh chard instead of waiting for the servant, and made a point of watching the Baron closely and mimicking his actions. She decided against appearing to have a poor head for alcohol, choosing to save that ploy for a possible future event.

  “Miss Bricker, please tell me about yourself. How did you come to be a Deviser?” asked the Baron, his red lips moving unpleasantly as he chewed.

  Telaine said, “It’s not an interesting story. I was apprenticed several years ago, worked my way up, got my Deviser’s certificate and went out on the road.”