by Mark Robson
Getting comfortable was difficult, but Femke found something that felt like an old wall-hanging or a thin rug and wrapped it around her body for warmth. Curling up in an old armchair she closed her eyes to rest, but despite the silent darkness, sleep did not come easily. The bruising across her body from her fall into the tree began to infiltrate her consciousness again. The pain crept over her like a vine. Growing. Squeezing. Invading. In comparison, the scrape on her leg where the dog had raked her with its teeth felt little more than a dull burning. Femke did not know where her scalp was cut, but the wounds there brought no pain so she left them alone for fear that poking around would restart the bleeding. Eventually, Femke drifted into a restless slumber.
Disturbing dreams troubled her throughout the lightless day. When Femke finally awoke with a start from a particularly disturbing nightmare, she could recall no specifics. One thing Femke knew with surety was that the Count had not come down to the cellar during the day. The spy felt sure she had never done more than skimmed the surface of sleep and was positive she would have shed her fragile slumber at the slightest of sounds.
There was no way of being certain of the time of day, but Femke knew instinctively that night had fallen outside. It was time for her to move and get down into lower Mantor before the Count handed her to the King.
It took a few moments to establish her orientation in the pitch blackness. Femke shivered as she shucked off her makeshift blanket. The stone floor felt freezing to her bare feet as she crept across to the door. For a moment she could not find the nail and cord. A surge of panic gripped her, but the dismay was fleeting as both came to hand seconds later. Femke sighed with relief and mentally berated her momentary loss of discipline.
With practised ease, Femke made no noise as she opened the lock. Adrenalin flowed as she took up the slack in the cord. There was always the danger that a sudden load on the cord would snap her link to freedom. With a silent prayer to any deity that chanced to be listening, Femke gritted her teeth and carefully increased the tension on the cord. Her reward was the gentle scraping sound of metal against metal. Slowly – ever so slowly, Femke pulled until she felt the cord give as the thin metal plug pulled free from the socket. She winced as it swung, knocking against the escutcheon plate with a sharp tapping that sounded loud in the silence of Femke’s dark prison. In reality the noise was not sufficient to carry far.
The door was open, but Femke knew that chance would now play a large part if she were to escape cleanly. Taking care not to open the door more than halfway, Femke slid silently out of the cellar. The stairwell proved as lightless as her prison, so she crept up the dark stairs on all fours, feeling ahead at every step for anything that could make a noise. The door at the top of the stairs opened into the passageway between the kitchen and what had appeared to be the main living area of the Count’s residence. When she reached it no light spilled around the edges of the door, so it was reasonable to assume nobody would be in the unlit passageway.
Femke tried the handle and was pleased to find the door unlocked. The next few minutes would be crucial. Clothing was top of her priority list, but if she had to flee without it, she would. The last place she had seen her clothes was in the kitchen. Her knapsack was also last seen there, so the kitchen was the first place to look.
Faint light shone in through a small window in the passageway. It lit Femke’s way as well as any torch. Before moving out into the passageway Femke paused to listen. The house was silent. Had Dreban dismissed his staff for the day to avoid one of them discovering her? It would not surprise her. It was also in character for him to renege on his promise of a blanket, and deny her food or drink.
The Count thought to parade me in front of the King’s Court as a desperate fugitive, Femke thought grimly. When I’ve found out who did kill Baron Anton, I’ll expose him for the slimy, underhand snake he is.
Again no light spilled around the edges of the kitchen door. She did not hesitate to open it. However, as she lightly turned the handle something pushed against the door, forcing it to open towards her. A dull thud echoed in the passageway as a large object impacted the floor by her feet.
Femke jumped back and jammed a hand into her mouth to stifle a scream, for as she looked down, a lifeless pair of eyes stared back. It was the Count. To Femke’s horror, the greater ambient light filtering through the windows of the kitchen revealed that one of her knives was buried to the hilt in his throat.
Lord Danar rode back into Shandrim at a plodding pace ten days after he left on his quest to find Lady Alyssa. He was angry, frustrated and weary. Danar had left with high hopes that he would catch up with the young woman swiftly, and had ridden hard. However, Lady Alyssa’s trail went cold within the first day. Beyond the first few hours of travel nobody had seen or heard of her, which seemed strange – Alyssa was hardly the sort of person one could readily forget.
Once or twice there had been those who, at the sight of money offered in reward for information, claimed to have seen her. But when Danar questioned them more closely, it became apparent that they were merely trying to take his gold. Alyssa had vanished without trace.
When he realised she had eluded him, Danar continued with his plan to press towards the nearest coastal city, and rode like the wind until he reached it. He rode hard until well after dark and then rose before dawn each day to continue with all haste. However, when he finally reached the port city of Channa, the young Lord found that the mystery of Lady Alyssa’s disappearance deepened further.
Nobody amongst the nobility in Channa had heard of a Lady Alyssa matching the description that Danar gave. Apparently there was a Lady Alyssa, who was indeed the daughter of a rich Merchant Lord, but everyone to whom Danar spoke gave him the same story – Alyssa was neither attractive nor had she ever been to Shandrim. Danar found the stories difficult to believe. To make sure he took a trip to see this Alyssa in the hope that those he had spoken to were wrong. They were not.
The Merchant Lord was surprised to receive a gentleman visitor to see his daughter. None had ever called before. Danar noted the momentary hope that flashed in the Merchant’s eyes when Danar announced his wish to see Alyssa. He also saw that hope die when he asked if Alyssa had recently been to Shandrim.
‘No,’ the Merchant Lord answered. ‘She never goes anywhere these days.’
When his daughter emerged from a drawing room to greet them, Danar could see why. The poor girl was over-weight and not blessed with a pretty face. Her hair was lank and thin, and where some girls could disguise much with nice clothing and make-up, it appeared this young woman was beyond caring.
Lord Danar had made his apologies for his mistake and left.
‘It’ll be just my luck to find that Alyssa has been in Shandrim all along,’ Danar grumbled, as he steered his weary horse towards the city centre. ‘I’ll bet I’ve been flogging myself half to death hoofing it around the countryside whilst she’s been partying with my friends here in the city. No doubt Sharyll and the others will laugh themselves hoarse at my expense. Well, let them! I’ll pay my dues to Sharyll, but I’ll be happy to have them laugh if I get to see Alyssa again.’
On arriving in the city centre, Danar went straight to Sharyll’s house to see if his fears were well founded. Sharyll did laugh at Danar’s fruitless efforts. He also took Danar’s money, but the greatest insult was that Sharyll had heard nothing of Alyssa since the coronation ceremony.
Lord Danar was tired, dispirited and almost ready to give up on finding Alyssa altogether – almost, but not quite. There was one more avenue that he had not tried. The last time Danar had seen Alyssa she had been in conversation with Lord Kempten. Did the old Nobleman know where she had gone? It was worth a try, he reasoned.
If old Kempten doesn’t know anything, then I’ll give it up for now, Danar promised himself silently as he rode away from Sharyll’s house. Alyssa is bound to surface again, so I’ll make sure everyone is on the lookout for her. When she does, I’ll make sure I’m around to find o
ut more about her. If I could just put my finger on what it is about her that is so attractive . . .
The unfinished thought teased him. He could not identify what it was about Alyssa that made him willing to go to such lengths to see her. The young Lady was physically attractive, but no more so than many of the other young Ladies at Court. He had courted many women whose physical appearance had been more appealing. There was something – an indefinable quality about her that made him want to get to know her better. Was it that Alyssa was playing hard to get? Or was the young Lady really not bothered by his interest in her? It was hard to pinpoint. Both were new responses as far as Danar was concerned, and either held appeal for their freshness.
Danar was sure he wanted to see her again. He tried to convince himself that all he wanted was an opportunity to explore her character, but in his heart he acknowledged this was a deception to hide deeper motivations. Right now the motivation was irrelevant. He could not make progress unless he found her, and that was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated.
CHAPTER SIX
Lord Kempten’s house was large and imposing. Shandese buildings were generally uninspiring to the eye, as the architects preferred practical designs. There were few even amongst the Nobility who wasted time and money with frivolously fancy façades that served no purpose. The exception, of course, was the Imperial Palace, but that was a matter of Imperial pride. The Empire could not be seen as being ruled from a soulless square brick building, no matter how practical it was. Therefore the Palace had been an ongoing project for generations of the best stonemasons in the land, and its presence and beauty dominated the central area of Shandrim.
Danar reached up and rang the brass handbell sitting in a recess in the wall to the right of the main door. He smiled as he placed the bell back and wondered how many bells Lord Kempten had been forced to commission during his lifetime. Most Noblemen these days had given up on the old tradition of handbells and had settled for having ornamental doorknockers fitted instead. This was due to several spates when collecting doorbells had become fashionable amongst the youth culture of both commoners and Nobles alike.
The daring involved in acquiring some of the more ‘difficult’ bells had made them all the more desirable. Danar remembered some of his own exploits. He particularly recalled the beating he had received from his father when he was caught attempting to relieve Lord Vittara of his brand new bell only minutes after the crotchety old fellow had placed it outside his door. The beating had been painful, but it had not stopped him from returning the following day and adding the bell to his collection.
The door to Lord Kempten’s house opened. A maid in a plain brown dress with a starched white apron greeted Danar politely, inviting him to step inside out of the cold. Danar was happy to oblige, thanking her kindly as he moved quickly in over the threshold. More memories were triggered as Danar looked around the entrance hall at the pictures, hangings and old battle flags that decorated the walls. He had been here once before with his father some years ago. Nothing had changed – nothing at all. The entire hallway was identical to the way he remembered it.
‘Ah, young Lord Danar, what an unexpected pleasure!’ exclaimed Lord Kempten, as he strode into the hall from a side door. The old Lord extended his hand in the greeting of equals as he approached, which momentarily surprised Danar, for he was used to his father still treating him as an itinerant young boy. ‘Come now, join me in some dahl. I’ve just had a fresh pot brewed and from the flush of your face I’m guessing it’s chilly outside. A drop of something warm inside you will no doubt be welcome.’
‘Thank you, Lord Kempten, that would be most kind,’ Danar responded, genuinely surprised by the old fellow’s welcome. He remembered Kempten as a sour-faced old man who had no time for youngsters and rarely uttered a good word about anyone. At the coronation ceremony he had worn his usual dour expression. This warmth was suspiciously out of character.
Lord Kempten led the way into a drawing room where Lady Kempten was sitting in a comfortable chair with a needlework frame on her lap and an open box with a mass of thread reels on a small side table. A steaming pot of dahl on a tray with two empty cups and a small pot of sweetening were arrayed on a nearby table. As Danar bowed to Lady Kempten and began to apologise for interrupting their relaxation time, another maid with a third cup entered and began to pour out the dahl.
‘Not at all, Danar, not at all,’ Lady Kempten said graciously, placing her needlework to one side and gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the other soft chairs nearby. ‘It is always a pleasure to have visitors. I’m afraid all of our youngsters are away from the house at the moment on one errand or another. Which of them was it you wanted to see?’
‘Actually, my Lady, it was Lord Kempten I wanted a quick word with, but it will be my pleasure to join you for a cup of dahl first,’ he replied with a slightly embarrassed smile.
‘Ah, man’s talk is it?’ she said with a wink. ‘I’ll not embarrass you. Would you like to be alone with my husband for a few minutes? I can easily find something to do if you’d rather I left.’
‘Nonsense, darling, I’m sure there’s nothing young Lord Danar here would have to talk about that would not be suitable for your ears,’ Lord Kempten stated firmly. ‘Isn’t that right, young man?’
‘Well . . .’ Danar started hesitantly.
‘Don’t bully him, love. If he would feel more comfortable talking man to man then it’s no problem for me to leave you for a minute or two.’
‘Thank you, Lady Kempten. I appreciate your understanding. I promise that I’ll only take a moment or two of your husband’s time.’
Lady Kempten finished pouring the dahl before taking her cup and quietly exiting the room with a gentle smile on her face. Danar fervently hoped that Kempten was not involved in some form of extramarital relationship with Alyssa. Lady Kempten looked a wonderfully content wife and Danar could not bring himself to think of her hearing that Lord Kempten was having an affair.
‘Now then, Danar, what is all this about? Are you courting one of our girls? If so, then my wife is more than able to cope with news of that . . .’ Kempten began, a little annoyed by the departure of his wife.
‘No, no, my Lord, it is nothing like that. I want to talk to you about the young Lady you were with at the coronation ceremony a couple of weeks ago,’ Danar interrupted quickly, keeping his voice down at a conspiratorial level.
‘Lady Alyssa?’ Kempten asked, not lowering his voice in the slightest. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, my Lord,’ Danar continued, embarrassed by the old man’s boldness. ‘Firstly I wanted to ask what . . . I mean . . . well, you were walking closely at the ceremony and I wondered . . .’
‘Ha, ha, ha . . .’ Lord Kempten roared loudly with laughter at Danar’s awkward attempt to broach the subject of the older man’s relationship with the young Lady. ‘You think Alyssa and I . . . ha, ha, ha!’
‘Well!’ Danar sighed loudly, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment. ‘That answers that question, I suppose. A more important question to me, though, is if you know where I can find Lady Alyssa? I’ve been searching for nearly two weeks and there’s no sign of her anywhere.’
‘Well, young Danar, I appreciate your trying to save me the embarrassment of talking of this in front of Lady Kempten,’ the old Lord said, the sound of mirth still evident in his voice. ‘I have no relationship with Lady Alyssa of the sort you were thinking, but I do owe her a debt, which I’ll be sure to thank her for when I next see her in Court. Unfortunately, I don’t know where she’s likely to be found, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Alyssa were to remain a mystery woman for a long time to come. I doubt there are many in the Empire who would know where she was at any one time, for I have my suspicions about her.’
‘May I ask what sort of suspicions, my Lord?’ Danar asked, curiosity bubbling inside him as his mind sought to consolidate his relief, frustration and interest with what Lord Kempten was telling him. The i
dea that the old Lord was in Alyssa’s debt was fascinating, but Danar knew enough to stay focused on his primary goal. If he allowed Lord Kempten to begin imparting long tales unrelated to Alyssa’s whereabouts, Danar knew he might lose the opportunity to learn where she had gone. Any clues the old fellow had would be better than nothing.
‘I cannot voice such things in any company at present, I’m afraid, but I’ll make one suggestion for you to try if you’re determined to find out where Alyssa is,’ Lord Kempten replied, his voice lowering slightly as if he were about to reveal a secret.
‘Anything,’ Danar responded eagerly. ‘Please, I’ll listen to any suggestions.’
Lord Kempten looked at the young Lord with a curiously pleased expression and Danar began to feel a strangely uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades. Why was the old Lord enjoying this so much? Did he have a positive lead, or was he just enjoying the power of having Danar in the palm of his hand?
‘Well, if you want to know where the Lady Alyssa is, then I suggest that you book an audience with the Emperor and ask him,’ Kempten said slowly.
Danar’s jaw dropped.
‘The Emperor? Are you serious, my Lord?’ he spluttered. ‘I know I have a reputation for practical jokes and retribution is ripe for the taking, but I would appreciate it if you would put that aside for a moment. I deserve reprisals. I deserve to have my leg pulled. However, this matter is of great consequence. I need a straight answer, my Lord. This is more important to me than anything that I have ever done in my life.’
‘I am serious, Danar. Go and ask the Emperor. I have reason to believe he knows where Alyssa is. Of course, I have no idea if he’ll disclose the information to you, but if you don’t ask him, then you’ll never know.’
‘What in the name of all that’s sacred . . . ?’ Femke breathed, her mind reeling in horror as she stared down at the body of Count Dreban.