Imperial Spy

by Mark Robson

  Femke was gratified to see the slight raise of the King’s eyebrows, indicating genuine surprise at the contents of the small chests. Surely Krider, or one of his other servants, would have briefed him on the contents of the chests, she thought. But apparently not, she concluded. Unless the King is a better actor than I am a judge of expression.

  She noticed the King glance across at the young man with fair hair who sat to one side of the chamber. The slightest of nods from him brought a smile to the King’s face. I wonder what that was all about? Femke’s mind raced with possibilities. From that look, the young man seems in too superior a position here to be the King’s son. Could the youth be Lord Shanier, the Sorcerer who outwitted Lord Vallaine and destroyed the Shandese invasion force? He looks younger than I am! Femke knew she looked younger than her twenty years unless she deliberately disguised her age. Perhaps this man was the same. He appears too young to be a threat, making him all the more dangerous, she mused to herself. Youth had often proved a useful deceptive tool when hiding her abilities, so she found a certain empathy with the young Sorcerer – if Sorcerer he was.

  As a mistress of disguise herself, Femke could appreciate the benefits of Shanier’s apparent youthfulness, but she knew it was possible she was not seeing Shanier’s true appearance. Lord Vallaine had fooled everyone, Femke included, into thinking he was the Emperor of Shandar for months. If the rumours were true, Shanier wielded powers of sorcery even greater than Vallaine. Who could say what he was capable of?

  ‘Lady Femke, I gladly accept these tokens from Emperor Surabar and I shall in due course provide you with a suitable response to his overture of peace. These last few months have been difficult times for us all, but Thrandor has always tried to court peace with its neighbours. I would do my subjects a great disservice if I were to turn aside such a proposal now. Be welcome in my Palace. Veldan will find you suitable quarters. I’m sure you’re tired after your journey and I understand you’ve had no time to rest since reaching the city. Go and rest now. We’ll talk again tomorrow. I would like to hear more of Emperor Surabar, and would value the chance to learn of his plans for peace and increased trade.’

  ‘Certainly, your Majesty,’ Femke answered, still smiling. ‘Thank you for your kind welcome. It is most generous, given the wrongs inflicted on you by my people recently. I place myself at your service for as long as I remain here, your Majesty, though I fear my stay will be brief on this occasion. His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Surabar, is keen to hear your reply to his offer of peace, and I am bound to his call.’

  King Malo inclined his head in acknowledgement, pursing his lips a little before replying.

  ‘I understand, Ambassador. I would wish the same given his position. For now, though, be welcome. You may wander the Palace and its grounds at will, for none will harm you within the walls. However, if you or your men wish to venture out into the city, then I insist you take an escort – for your own safety, you understand? There are those amongst my people who have lost loved ones recently. Blood still runs hot with thoughts of vengeance. Let’s not give unnecessary chances to those who might do something foolish in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘That sounds a most wise precaution, your Majesty. Until tomorrow,’ Femke replied, once again dipping in a deep curtsy before turning and walking out through the door that Veldan was quick to open for her.

  The Chief Butler led her to the West Wing of the Palace and showed her to a suite of rooms on the first floor that boasted luxury greater than any Femke had ever enjoyed. Even when playing the role of Lady Alyssa, Femke had never inhabited an apartment like this.

  The living area was huge, with beautiful chairs and tables arranged in a casual fashion around the room. Rich hangings and exquisite paintings adorned the walls, whilst a soft, thickly piled and intricately patterned carpet covered the floor from wall to wall. There were two bookcases laden with many leather-bound volumes, a writing bureau and a large open fireplace. The grate was set with kindling and a good supply of logs was stacked in a special recess in the wall nearby. Oil lamps, both in corner stands and on available surfaces, promised plenty of light in the evening and generous vases of flowers and bowls of fruit, together with other small snacks, were evident around the room. The bedroom and the bathing rooms were yet more sumptuous. Femke was hard pressed not to laugh when Veldan asked if the rooms were to her liking.

  ‘They are most comfortable, thank you, Veldan,’ she replied, careful to keep her voice composed and her face perfectly straight. ‘I would like to take a bath, if that would be possible? Could you arrange for someone to bring hot water for me please?’

  ‘No need to have it brought by hand, Lady Femke. We have some clever people in Mantor. One of them earned a knighthood some years ago when he developed a system of pumping hot water through pipes directly to the baths. I’ll send in someone to operate the pump for you and your bath should be full in a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you, Veldan, I will watch the procedure with interest. If this pump proves as efficient as you say, I would like to meet this knight. Do you think he would consider a commission to fit the Imperial Palace in Shandrim? I’m sure his Imperial Majesty would love to stop all the staff traipsing around his Palace with pails of water.’

  ‘Who knows, my Lady, who knows?’ Veldan said with a wry smile. ‘If you desire anything else, then please pull the bell rope in the corner.’

  ‘One last thing, Veldan,’ Femke called hastily as the butler started to leave. ‘Where are the rest of my party quartered, please?’

  ‘They’re in the South Annex, my Lady. The guest quarters there are not quite fitted to the same standard as these, but I can assure you they will not find their accommodation wanting,’ Veldan replied. Looking around her room, Femke did not doubt his word.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll look after them admirably, Veldan. I was merely thinking I would like to talk with them occasionally. I will have instructions for them during our stay, concerning preparations for our return,’ she said, her expression warm. Then she dropped her voice into a mock conspiratorial whisper. ‘Mainly in the form of a shopping list of souvenirs.’

  ‘Of course,’ Veldan said, clearly amused at her confession. ‘Simply ring the bell. Your room servant will lead you there at your request.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, Veldan, you’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘My pleasure, Lady Femke.’

  Veldan departed and Femke marvelled again at the size of the huge sunken marble tub in the bathing room. It would afford her more of a swim than a bath, she decided with a shiver of anticipation. It amazed her that something so heavy would be fitted in an upper-storey room, but it certainly fitted the surroundings. The entire Palace had been decorated on a grand scale.

  Force of habit made her check the rooms for signs of concealed entrances, spy-holes and escape routes. To her surprise, Femke found no sign of surveillance points. Either the King did not see fit to monitor his guests, or the spy points were so well disguised that Femke could not locate them. After her second sweep of the suite, Femke dismissed the second option and concluded that the King’s spy network, if indeed he had one, was not operating on the same scale as the one in Shandrim. Intrigue and plotting were a way of life to the Shandese.

  Femke was delighted with the results of her search. It would make her job here easier. With no organised spy network to contend with, the Thrandorians had effectively handed her the keys to the Palace and said, ‘Go ahead, take whatever you need.’

  Reynik was disappointed not to meet the King of Thrandor. To ride all this way and then be excluded from the main event was galling. He was still not sure that coming to the attention of Emperor Surabar during the fight after the coronation ceremony had been a good thing. He had worked so hard to get into the General’s Elite Legion. Now, before he had even begun to settle in, he had been yanked from the ranks to play travel guard for a Lady Ambassador.

  Ambassador Femke was pleasant enough. Reynik knew it was not her fault he was
here, but he was frustrated that his time in the General’s Legion had started with such a duty. Some of his fellow soldiers had been jealous of his opportunity to see Mantor. This would inevitably create friction upon his return, which was never a good thing as the new boy. All he could hope was that he would gain experience from this trip that would prove useful to his career.

  Sidis had been a miserable travelling companion. The sour-faced old File Leader had stifled any prospect of fun. Reynik suspected that had Sidis been more genial, the Ambassador would have made pleasant company. As it was, the entire two weeks had felt like slow torture. And what was more, Sidis had not wanted to engage in weapons practice, so Reynik felt sadly stiff and unfulfilled.

  Servants led Reynik through the Palace to his quarters. The place was a maze. He would get lost here for sure, he thought grimly. However, when they opened the door to his room, Reynik could not help but smile. It was more luxurious than anything he’d known in Shandar. Perhaps the trip would not be so bad after all, he mused.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  Lord Danar was infuriated by the placid face of Versande Matthiason. The innkeeper appeared imperturbable in the face of Danar’s anger. Like a rock on a stormy seashore, he let the waves of emotion wash over him, and if there was any wear from the pounding action of that crashing surf, then it merely served to make his surface smoother.

  ‘I’m not sure where Lady Alyssa went, my Lord. It’s not my place to question guests on their movements, but I did notice her saddlebags were full. If I were to hazard a guess, then I would say she has left the city and is riding home,’ Versande answered in a calm voice.

  ‘Left the city!’ Danar exclaimed. His eyebrows rose so high they were nearly lost in his hairline and every crease of his expressive face showed disbelief. ‘When did she leave?’

  ‘This morning. Early. I’m sorry Lord Danar.’

  Alyssa had eluded him again. First she had evaded his efforts to see her after the coronation. Now she had made him look a fool in front of Versande. As an added insult, the humiliation would cost him ten gold sen when his friends discovered she had left. ‘Have you any idea when she’ll be back?’ he asked, with little hope in his voice.

  Versande shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, my Lord. When Lady Alyssa left, she gave no indication of when she might return.’

  ‘That seems to be one of Alyssa’s more consistent tendencies,’ Danar muttered. ‘She left this morning, you say? Well maybe I can catch up with her,’ he added, more to himself than the innkeeper. ‘Thank you, Versande. If you hear anything more from Lady Alyssa, I’ll be grateful for news of her.’

  ‘I understand, my Lord. If I hear anything of the Lady’s whereabouts, I’ll send word. If it helps, Alyssa and her servants turned down the Eastern Avenue.’

  Danar nodded, then turned and walked slowly out of the inn, his face thoughtful. Was he deluding himself? Had he really made a connection with Alyssa, or was it his imagination? He was used to women falling in a swoon at his feet the moment he showed interest in them. It was irritating yet strangely refreshing that Alyssa was not so easily won. Should he follow her? He did not even know her home city, but surely there could be few women who fitted Alyssa’s description and status in the coastal cities. He could try to follow her trail. If he lost it he could enquire at the next coastal city. Would Alyssa be impressed by his persistence if he followed her, or would he brand himself a nuisance to be avoided? It was a difficult dilemma. Danar did not yet know Alyssa well enough to make a balanced assessment.

  ‘Whatever I do, I must decide now. If I leave it any longer, her trail will go cold,’ he muttered. He stopped and stared silently into space for a moment. ‘It’s no use. I must do something. If I let her go, then I may never see her again. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering. Right or wrong, I must go after her.’

  The streets were busy. It was nearly time for the midday bell. Soon it would get busier as folk took time out from their jobs to seek food during the lunchtime period. People strode along with an air of purpose. There was no time for chatting, and those who did engage in conversation spoke in brief staccato sentences. Everyone was in a hurry to do something. With his mind made up, Danar launched into the bustling crowd and set to work.

  He left messages for his friends and family that he would be out of the city for a while, and then gathered some travelling gear. Danar was not well travelled and had never been on the road alone. He had no real experience of camping, or knowledge of the roads he intended to take. When he set off from his father’s residence along the Eastern Avenue later that afternoon, he did so with poorly-packed saddlebags, ill-chosen equipment and the flimsiest of plans. He was blinkered – unaware of his shortcomings and totally focused on his goal.

  The weather was fine as he left Shandrim, adding to his illusion that the journey would be a wonderful adventure. He had a good horse from his father’s stable, a fine sword, and plenty of money. He felt prepared to face anything. It was ironic that as he left the city heading east, Femke re-entered the city from the south.

  Femke had been at the Thrandorian Palace for two days before the luxuriant spell was rudely broken.

  ‘My Lady, my Lady,’ panted Kalheen as he burst into her suite without warning.

  ‘Manners, Kalheen!’ Femke snapped, her voice hard with reprimand. ‘You’ve been in service long enough to know you never enter a room without knocking – especially the room of a lady.’

  Femke was amazed Kalheen had broken such basic protocol. If the servant thought he could be familiar with her because they had travelled together for three weeks, then Femke was ready to stamp on him hard to eliminate such misconceptions immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry, my Lady,’ he gasped, quite obviously struggling to recover from having run to her room. It was difficult for Femke to imagine how far Kalheen had run, as she did not yet know the full layout of the Palace. He was not fit, so she suspected he had not run far. ‘I promise I’ll observe due manners in future, but this is too important to wait on politeness. There’s been a murder, my Lady – here in the Palace.’

  ‘A murder, Kalheen? Who?’ Femke asked. Hairs prickled at the back of her neck. Instinct told her she would not like Kalheen’s news.

  ‘Baron Anton, my Lady. He was found dead in his room this morning, but that isn’t the worst of it . . .’

  ‘Spit it out, Kalheen, what is it?’

  ‘Everyone thinks you killed him,’ Kalheen wheezed. ‘Well – when I say “everyone”, I exclude myself, of course. Phagen, Sidis and Reynik won’t believe it either, but the Thrandorians believe you killed him. There’s a party of guards on their way here to arrest you. That’s why I ran. You have to get away, my Lady. Now. You have to run. If they catch you, who knows what they’ll do?’

  The words came tumbling in a panicked rush, made less intelligible by his thick chest heaving from recent exertions.

  Femke did not panic. She took a deep breath and counted slowly to five in her mind. The discipline worked. ‘Thank you, Kalheen, but I’m not ready to run yet,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve committed no crime, and certainly not murder. I’ve been here in my room all night, so why do they think I’m responsible?’

  ‘They found your brooch clutched in the Baron’s dead hand and a Shandese-style knife in his chest. It was the brooch you wore yesterday on your green dress.’

  ‘Did they indeed,’ she stated more than asked. ‘Let’s see about that, shall we?’

  Femke strode through to her bedroom and over to the large, walk-in wardrobe where she had hung her clothes. The green dress was on the front hanger where she had put it the night before, but there was no sign of the brooch and the dress was ripped slightly where the piece of decorative jewellery had been pinned through the material. Someone had torn the brooch from the dress, but Femke doubted it was Baron Anton. Whoever had stolen the brooch was out to frame her. Worse, when she checked her knife belt, a blade was missing. The match
ing hilts had a distinctive Shandese styling that would be hard to mistake. A few moments before the idea of running away had seemed foolish – suddenly it appeared to be a much better idea.

  Femke knew she could never prove her innocence from the inside of a dungeon, or worse, dangling from a gibbet. Running would make her appear guilty, but at least it would give her the freedom to seek out her unknown adversary and try to discover his motive. Femke had little knowledge of the Thrandorian justice system, and less of how they would deal with a foreign diplomat charged with killing an eminent Nobleman and friend of the King. With a shudder at the wave of possibilities that assailed her, Femke decided not to wait around to find out.

  ‘Bar the door, Kalheen,’ she ordered. ‘I’ve been set up. You’re right – I have to get out of here, and I don’t think I’ll get far through the corridors.’

  Femke ran into the living room and over to the window. Throwing the larger section open, she leaned outside for a moment and studied the escape route she had in mind. It was a dangerous one. She had not expected to have to leave the Thrandorian Palace in a hurry, yet force of habit had led her to search out all exit options. This was the best shot she had. It was not the first time her preplanning had proved useful.

  Rather than climb straight out of the window, Femke ran back to the bedroom and rifled quickly through her things. Grabbing a small knapsack she threw a variety of items into it. Thrandorian money, a couple of changes of clothes, her small collection of knives and lock-picks, along with the small wooden jewellery box containing her store of poisons in tightly-corked tiny metal phials concealed under the false bottom. A loud knock at the door to the living room made Femke’s heart leap in her chest. Time was up. She had to leave.

  Femke slung the knapsack over her shoulders, swapped her court shoes for short slip-on boots and ran to the open window. A dress was hardly suitable clothing for this sort of activity, but there was no help for it now. As she climbed out onto the ledge, Kalheen helped her maintain her balance. Femke turned back for a moment. She noted the burly servant had already thrown the bolts on the door.