Traitor's Blade (The Greatcoats)

by de Castell, Sebastien

  Feltock didn’t favour that approach. Instead, he handed one of the guards the packet of credentials he carried on the Lady’s behalf. The guard looked them over and then passed them on to another man who scrutinised them more closely. The first guard walked up to us and stared me up and down. He was a younger man, with dark hair and a short, sparse beard that didn’t favour him. But he carried himself confidently, and looked like he must be solid under his plate-armour.

  ‘You’re one of them tatter-cloaks, is that right?’ His accent was thicker than I had expected. It reminded me that the three weeks we had been on the road had taken us far from the caravan market, and even further from Baern, where we should have been by now.

  ‘We don’t use the term, but yes, that’s right.’

  The guard stared at my coat and then reached out casually and pulled at a piece of it, examining it closely. A few of his mates were gathering around us. ‘Is it true then that you sleep in them coats?’ He turned to his fellow guards. ‘Sure smells like it!’

  Now the fact is, the greatcoat is the single most valuable thing a travelling Magister owns. It’s made of leather, but the thin, very light plates made from some kind of bone and sewn into different panels can ward off the occasional blow – if you’re lucky, even a knife-thrust in the back from some disgruntled plaintiff. And it can keep you alive if you’re stranded on the road in the cold.

  ‘And is it true,’ the guard went on, ‘that you hide a hundred weapons in those coats?’

  According to the stories, there were more hidden pockets in my coat than even I had ever been able to find. No one is entirely sure how they’re made, because there was only ever one Tailor of the Greatcoats and no one knows what happened to her after the King died.

  ‘No,’ I answered, ‘but I do keep a hundred chickens in my coat.’

  Brasti spoke up. ‘I keep a hundred fish in mine. I don’t eat chicken.’

  The other guards laughed at that, but we had stepped on the first one’s effort at a joke.

  ‘Well, maybe I should take me both of them coats, then. I like chicken and fish.’

  ‘Only one problem with that, friend,’ I said calmly.

  He looked at his fellow guards and then at me. ‘Yeah? What’s that?’

  ‘Well, if you had my coat, you’d have to wear it.’

  The rest of the guards broke out laughing again and the first one decided he’d had enough. ‘Damned right. But if I did want it, you’d hand it over quick enough, that’s for sure.’

  It was an idle threat – not because everyone knew there were more than a few weapons hidden inside our coats, but because no one has ever stolen a Magister’s greatcoat. In the old days, when we were admired, everyone knew that a man or woman who managed to take one from a Magister would be hunted down to the ends of the earth. Nowadays, no one wanted to be seen dead with one. So fame and infamy really weren’t that different after all.

  Eventually his commander let us through and we wound our way to the third gate. There are no armoured guards at the third gate, no crossbows, arrows, pikes or swords, just a small man with a quill and journal who sits at a small desk at the end of a thirty-foot-long tunnel. The ceiling is about twelve feet high, and both walls and ceiling are peppered with dozens of small holes and slots. The whole thing might look like it’s made from grey cheese, but everyone knows that if you irritate the little man at the desk, you will very quickly discover that there are a remarkable number of deadly things that can be shot, dropped or poured out of small holes in the stone.

  Feltock handed over the same credentials he had shown at the second gate. The little man barely looked at them before he said, ‘Denied.’

  Feltock stepped down from his seat at the front of the carriage and looked at me with raised eyebrows. Neither one of us knew what to do. We both knew for certain that arguing with the little man would be a grave mistake.

  ‘With respect, your Lordship,’ Feltock began.

  ‘Not a Lord. I’m a clerk,’ said the man behind the desk.

  ‘With respect, your – ah, clerkship, they … Well, they accepted our credentials at the second gate.’

  The clerk looked up at us. ‘Of course they did, you idiot, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You’d have steel bars going through your skulls. If it makes you feel better, you can go back and I’ll pass a message down for them to drop the gate on you.’

  Brasti smiled at me. ‘I like him. He reminds me of you.’

  The look Feltock shot us was half-threatening and half-pleading.

  ‘Right Honourable Clerk of the Gate,’ I began, using his formal title, ‘although there is no requirement of you to tell us, might we enquire the reason for your very reasonable decision to bar us from the city? Can I assume that we are “of person but not purpose”?’

  The clerk snorted. ‘Hah! Trattari, eh? You can always count on a Greatcoat to parrot the laws back to you. Yes, you are indeed “of person but not purpose”. So you can turn yourself around or we can see what this lever does.’ He motioned to a stout piece of wood inset into the stone wall by his desk. I already had a suspicion as to what the lever did, and I had no intention of being there to see what exactly would drop on my head from the ceiling if he pulled it.

  ‘Feltock,’ the Lady’s voice called from the carriage, ‘what is the reason for our delay in this dank little cavern?’

  Feltock looked at me. ‘You better tell her,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what all this business of “persons” and “purposes” is about.’

  I walked back to the carriage. ‘My Lady, the clerk informs us that your credentials of person, that is, who you are, are fine for entering the city. It is the credentials of purpose, the reason why you are asking to enter, that are being disputed.’

  ‘Disputed? I’m coming to see the Duke! Who is this little worm who questions me?’

  I prayed that the clerk couldn’t hear us.

  ‘I heard that,’ he shouted back. Then he hopped off his chair and half-waddled towards us. He came to a stop in front of the curtains. ‘You go home now,’ he said in a tone suggesting she was a half-witted child. ‘Crazy Lady no see Duke today. Duke important man. Has important things to do. Hump Crazy Lady some other day.’

  Then the clerk smiled and looked up at me. ‘I like you, Trattari. You know the law and that makes me happy. But either you turn her around, or in about ten seconds you’re going to discover which hurts worse – burning oil on your head or a dozen crossbow bolts in your chest.

  ‘It’s the oil,’ Kest said.

  ‘Enough!’ her Ladyship shouted from the carriage. I had never heard her shout before. She sounded almost childish. ‘You will admit me to the city this instant. You will signal ahead for an escort, and you will ensure we have the smoothest of journeys to the Ducal Palace.’

  The clerk looked like he was about to signal to someone I couldn’t see when the curtains of the carriage drew apart and the Lady emerged.

  I confess I’d had a small fantasy that the Lady Caravaner was actually Trin in disguise. After all, we saw a lot of Trin going into and out of the carriage, but we never saw the Lady herself. Trin, though she lacked the demeanour, certainly had the looks and grace for the daughter of a noble house. More importantly, it would have been nice to think that the woman in charge of this emerging disaster was actually capable of being sweet, even if only as part of some kind of elaborate game.

  The woman who exited the carriage wore several different shades of purple. Her silk blouse was fashionably low and her silk trousers were cut for travel. Her head was uncovered, but she wore a necklace and bracelets of cut gems, and rings sparkled from the middle fingers of each hand. Her hair was a rich shade of dark brown and almost as silky as her clothes, which surprised me because even inside a carriage it’s hard not to get messy travelling for weeks on end. For a brief moment I thought it might indeed have been Trin herself, emerging triumphant from her cocoon, but this woman was taller and more assured, and besides, Trin herself came
out of the carriage behind her. Oh well, so much for that fantasy.

  It occurred to me that the Lady must have been very careful to ensure her men – or most of them, at least – never saw her. Feltock didn’t look especially shocked, so I assume he had, but none of us had seen her even once in all the weeks we had been on the road. We certainly wouldn’t have forgotten, for she was a stunning beauty, with bright ocean-coloured eyes and delicate features. She saw me staring and smiled, and for some strange reason it hurt me more than she could possibly have intended. I looked at Kest and saw that even he was overtaken for the moment.

  The clerk wasn’t. ‘Yes, dear, you’re quite pretty, and I imagine you’re very rich. But the Duke is pretty too, and probably a lot richer, so you still can’t see him.’

  ‘And why not, little man?’ Her voice sounded the same but now I could hear it was younger than I had previously thought.

  ‘Well,’ said the clerk, ‘because you kind of look like a whore and the Duke is a married man with several important mistresses and we wouldn’t want to offend any of them, would we?’

  I expected the Lady to launch into a tirade at that point, but instead she calmly held out her hands, clenched into fists, in front of the clerk’s face. ‘Little man, look closely at my rings.’

  The clerk did so, and then he looked as if he’d seen the end of his life, right there in front of him. ‘Damn me,’ he said.

  I stepped behind him and got a look at the rings just before she pulled them back and crossed her arms in front of her. The ring on the left was the Ducal ring of Hervor, meaning her mother wasn’t the Duchess of Orison, as we had suspected, but was in fact Patriana, Duchess of Hervor.

  ‘Bloody hells,’ Kest said. It was unusual for him to swear, but I echoed the sentiment. Patriana was the worst of the nobles; it was she who had put the spine into the other Dukes and persuaded them to move on King Paelis. I could have slit her daughter’s throat right then with less regret than I had for the axeman in the market.

  ‘Hervor,’ I said to Kest, who was shaking his head.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. The other ring: it’s the Ducal ring for Rijou. She’s claiming to be the daughter of Patriana, Duchess of Hervor and Jillard, Duke of Rijou. She’s claiming transcendent blood!’

  The Lady smiled at us, then back at the clerk. ‘Do my “credentials” satisfy you now, little man?’

  The clerk sputtered for a moment. ‘Well, that is – I mean, I cannot verify – that is to say … Welcome, welcome to Rijou, your, ah, Ladyship.’

  ‘Highness,’ she said. ‘The term you are groping so ineffectually for is “your Highness”. Or if you prefer, your Royal Highness Princess Valiana.’

  The clerk bent down to one knee. Feltock, who didn’t look at all surprised, did the same, as did Trin. Kest, Brasti and I stayed standing. By King’s Law, Greatcoats bowed before no one, not even the King himself. And besides that, I was probably going to kill her.

  *

  Despite my prejudice against the place, Rijou is really a very beautiful city at twilight, if you can forget where you are for just a moment.

  The Clerk of the Gate had sent word for one of the Duke’s advisors, and a man named Shiballe arrived to escort us into the city. Shiballe was overfed and too well dressed for a messenger, but it wasn’t really my problem at this point. The worst he could do would be to assassinate Valiana, which might not be such a bad thing.

  When Shiballe kissed her hand, the Lady looked at me and smiled as if this was all a grand joke she’d played on me personally, as if I should somehow be stunned senseless by her cleverness. That itself would have been enough to make me dislike her, not to mention the fact that her mother was the bitch who helped kill my King. But for some reason what offended me most was watching Trin humble herself, walking three feet behind her mistress, as docile as a lamb off to be sheared. If we did decide to go back on every vow we’d ever taken and kill Valiana, we’d have to kill Feltock first – that wouldn’t be such a hard thing to do; the man was a soldier and he’d made his own bed. Trin would die too, though, before letting anyone touch Valiana, and that was just a shame. When Shiballe kissed Trin’s hand she looked as if a horse had just shat on it, which only served to make me like her more.

  The Lady stopped for refreshment with Shiballe. Feltock and Brasti stood guard while Kest and I were sent to scout the rest of the way. I took the opportunity to enjoy the city between sunset and moonrise: twilight in Rijou is quite possibly the only time when, for reasons only the Saints know, the nobles of the city don’t feel the same need to murder their fellow citizens. Unfortunately, we weren’t fellow citizens.

  ‘We have to do this, Falcio,’ Kest said for the hundredth time. He rarely repeats himself because he eventually just does whatever it is he thinks needs doing and deals with the consequences later, so I had to assume he wasn’t trying to change my mind so much as ease me towards the inevitable conclusion. ‘You know this is what they’ve been planning while we’ve been fumbling around the country,’ he went on. ‘To set up a new monarchy – one completely controlled by the Dukes, so they never have to fear the rise of a new King like Paelis.’

  ‘The Dukes run everything as it is,’ I said. ‘So what’s the difference?’

  ‘The difference is that their rule will be entrenched across the entire country, not just in their individual Duchies any more.’

  ‘Look around,’ I said. ‘The world has become as corrupt and oppressive as any of us could ever have imagined.’

  ‘Yes, and if we let them sit this girl on the throne it will get much worse. As bad as they are right now, the Dukes still shy away from actively breaking King’s Law. They know it would put them in jeopardy if a strong, decent Duke comes to power or, Saints hope, a new King rises. But if we let them get away with this then the most self-serving, oppressive rule in our history will become law. King’s Law, Falcio.’

  ‘If it goes that way then we’ll fight, won’t we? And we’ll win – we always win in the end.’

  ‘Don’t make Brasti right about you,’ Kest said. ‘You know as well as I do that there aren’t that many of us left. We were a hundred and forty-four at our peak and now we’re fair game for anyone with a blade. I doubt there are still fifty Greatcoats left. And who knows what most of them have turned into? I can beat anyone with a sword, Falcio, but I can’t beat ten men with pistols. The old rules won’t work for us. We can win the fight, but I don’t think we can win fair.’

  I stopped my horse for a moment. ‘You want to pass judgement before she’s even committed a crime. The King never would have allowed that. It would have destroyed him. It would destroy us.’

  ‘What about Tremondi?’ he asked.

  ‘Tremondi? What’s she got to do with him?’

  Kest sighed. ‘You really haven’t figured it out?’

  ‘Pretend I haven’t.’

  Kest pointed at the carriage. ‘We know Tremondi was having an affair with the woman who killed him. Who fits the old pervert’s tastes? Valiana does. Who benefits by his death? She does. Who, when we appeared at the market in Solat, managed to find a way to both keep us on a short leash and to ensure the rest of the caravan guards hated us? It was her, with that challenge she put you up to.’

  ‘Which you made me accept,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing gets by you, Falcio, except for the bloody obvious. Almost as soon as we left the caravan, once we were away from the city and anyone who might have believed our story, Lynniac and his Knights show up – and what does she do? She makes us fight them barehanded.’

  ‘She could have just let them take us.’

  ‘No – too much chance we might’ve escaped on the road. This way she’d know for sure we were dead. It’s her, Falcio. She’s the one who killed Tremondi. If it wasn’t for the aeltheca she hit us with, we’d be able to identify her. But it’s likely that she kept hidden from us as long as necessary to make sure any partial recollection we might have had would be well and truly gone by the time
we saw her.’

  I had nothing to counter with. Everything Kest said made perfect sense. We’d probably convicted men on lesser proof – Saints know the Dukes would have convicted us on less. But we were supposed to be different. We were supposed to be better.

  ‘It’s all right, Falcio,’ Kest said quietly. ‘I know you can’t do it. I’m not asking you to.’

  ‘Do what? Commit murder?’

  ‘Set things right. But I’ll do it. I can do this by myself, when the time is right, when we can be sure. But for the sake of our friendship, don’t try to stop me when it happens.’

  I stared at him. ‘What kind of friendship will we have then?’

  ‘The same kind we had before we became Greatcoats. I know you loved the King, Falcio. I did too. But they killed him. They can’t kill his dream, too.’

  No, I thought as I pushed my horse forward, they can’t. We’re doing that ourselves.

  *

  Half an hour later I signalled a stop to the carriage. A group of men in black uniforms were surrounding a large mansion. They had pikes in hand and were blocking the windows and doors with great slabs of stone that were arriving on ox-carts. There was also a wagon filled with casks.

  I motioned to Feltock to come forward and asked, ‘Do you have any idea what’s going on?’

  ‘You’ve seen what a war looks like, haven’t you?’ said the captain.

  I ignored him and dismounted. I walked over to the man driving the wagon with the casks. Two of his fellows stood in front of me with short-swords in hand, but I called out to him, ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘What do you think is going on, man? Come midnight it’ll be the first day of Ganath Kalila, so keep to your own affairs if you don’t want to find yourself on the wrong side.’