by Mark Robson
‘Your family history doesn’t matter to me. It’s you who I want to know – the woman whom the girl has grown into. What of that person? Can I hope to discover more about the creator of Lady Alyssa and all the other characters?’
‘I’m not sure, Danar. Until the current situation here in Mantor is resolved, neither of us is likely to find out. The events here over the next few days will determine matters far more important than any personal relationship. I have dangerous work to complete. If I survive, then I’ll consider exploring your questions more fully.’
Danar nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I believe you’re wrong, but I do understand. Much is forged by personal relationships and the way people interact can have a profound effect on the world around them. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not completely in the picture as to what’s been happening here. However, I’m sure that one or two good personal relationships between key people would smooth those problems away.’
Femke laughed and instantly regretted it as she saw the hurt that her laughter inflicted. Danar was right – he did not understand. How could personal relationships heal the hurts caused by murder, deception and war? This situation was so complicated now that little short of a miracle was going to mend the growing rift between the two countries. Femke had a plan with the potential to go some way towards that goal, but it was fraught with danger and there were no guarantees it would work.
‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, Danar, as in some ways you’re right. If Surabar and Malo were best friends, then yes, I can see that things would be different. However, this is unlikely to ever become a reality unless I repair the damage Shalidar has done over the last few weeks. Shalidar must be exposed and that won’t be easy.’
‘Well, I don’t have your expertise, but if I can be of any help . . .’
‘It’s a kind offer, but I don’t think it would be appropriate to place you in that sort of danger, or to involve you in some of the less . . .’ Femke coughed and looked slightly embarrassed, ‘er . . . less legal activities we’ll have to undertake to make my plan work. It would be better if you don’t know what I’m planning. If you don’t know about it, then you can’t be accused of failing to stop it,’ she finished with an apologetic grin.
It was Danar’s turn to laugh this time.
‘My dear Femke,’ he chuckled. ‘It is Femke, isn’t it? Or is that another assumed name?’
Femke shook her head with a grin. ‘Femke is my real name,’ she confirmed.
‘Well, my dear Femke, you must know from your times in Court that I’ve lived my life permanently in trouble since I was about six years old. I’ve more of a reputation for breaking rules than any other Lord in Court ever had. Do you think you’re going to put me off because I’ll have to break a few rules here and there? I’m already involved in this up to my neck. I helped break you out of the Royal Prison, didn’t I? I doubt the local authorities would look too kindly on that if they were to find out.’
‘I suppose not,’ Femke agreed reluctantly. ‘But if you’re going to get involved any further, then you must agree to do exactly what you’re told. No improvising – understand? If you step out of line once, then I’ll have Reynik tie you up and stash you away in a hole somewhere until we’re ready to head back to Shandar. If you want to make yourself useful, go and get some food. The stuff I’ve been eating for the last couple of weeks has been nutritious enough, but it couldn’t be described as appetising. Anything tasty would be appreciated right now.’
Danar got to his feet and bowed. ‘Yes, my Lady. Is there anything else my Lady would like? A light wine? Or a jar of fragranced oil for her parlour?’ he asked, humour dancing in his eyes.
‘“My Lady” would like to see the back of Lord Danar disappearing rapidly to fetch me some food,’ Femke growled with mock anger. ‘Now!’
Danar laughed again, but did as he was bid. Femke sighed with relief as the door closed behind him. Maintaining her focus over the next few days would not be easy, she decided.
Much to Femke’s relief, it was Reynik who arrived back first about half an hour later with a largish bundle under his arm. By the smile on the young soldier’s face, she took it that his short shopping trip had been successful.
‘That didn’t take long. I take it you had no great difficulties?’ Femke asked, eyeing the bundle with anticipation.
‘Nothing drastic,’ Reynik replied casually. ‘The hardest item to come by was the scissors. For some reason, nobody had any they were willing to part with. Not to worry, I obtained some in the end.’
Reynik deposited the bundle on the bed and Femke began unwrapping it within seconds. She did not raise the question of where the scissors had come from, but hoped he had used discretion. Tunics, hose, boots, a belt, gloves, bandages, make-up – all the things that Femke had asked for were spread across the bed. Femke held the plain tunics up to her body in turn and nodded with pleasure at Reynik’s eye for style and size.
‘Perfect!’ she muttered and then thanked Reynik for his efforts. ‘You don’t mess about, do you?’ she added. ‘It would have taken me hours to get that lot.’
‘That’s why you will always find men in the tavern early,’ Reynik laughed. ‘My father taught me not to linger in the marketplaces looking for the ultimate bargain. It’s in, out, and into the bar. We spend a senna or two more, but look at the drinking time we save!’
Femke joined with his laughter, for she knew he was not a great drinker. It was all part of the military bravado that the young man had been soaking up in the Legion.
‘Tell me, Reynik, can you cut hair as fast?’
‘Sure, if you want to look like a man,’ he said with a snort.
‘That’s the general idea,’ Femke replied. ‘Why do you think I wanted the tunics and hose rather than dresses?’
‘Well, I’ve seen quite a lot of women here in Thrandor dressed in tunic and hose,’ Reynik said thoughtfully. ‘I thought you were simply going for a different style. So the bandages are for . . .’
‘Flattening my chest – yes,’ Femke said with a grin. ‘Not that it needs a lot of flattening.’
‘I’m glad it was you who said that,’ laughed Reynik. ‘Yes, I’ll cut your hair for you. I think you’ll make quite a good-looking young fellow. No doubt you’ll have young maidens flocking into your arms in no time.’
Femke gave him a mock warning look and he laughed all the more. What a difference from a few hours ago, Femke thought with a small sigh of pleasure. From sitting in the darkness of her cell in the Palace, wondering when her trial would begin, to laughing and joking in the room of an inn. Life had been full of surprises recently. Not many had been pleasant. But then, when one lived the sort of life that Femke did, the tough turns of fate were common occurrences.
‘Tell me, Reynik, did you manage to find out anything about Shalidar’s activities? You look as though you’ve been busy,’ she noted, pointing at his lip.
Reynik’s hand went involuntarily to his face. He nodded, gesturing for Femke to sit on a chair in front of the small dressing mirror before setting about her hair with the scissors.
‘I discovered nothing, I’m afraid. I never saw Shalidar, though I did meet a few of his men. They’re not exactly a friendly bunch.’
‘You did well to walk away,’ Femke noted. ‘Thanks for trying. Did Shalidar see you?’
‘Well, someone did. I’ve no idea if it was Shalidar though. I thought I was pretty discreet. It seems I have a lot to learn about spying on someone.’
True to his word, Reynik did not take long cutting her hair. He was making the final few snips to tidy up the back when Danar returned.
Danar stopped abruptly, halfway through the door, as he saw what Reynik had done to Femke’s hair. To say he looked shocked was putting it mildly. Femke turned and had to fight hard to keep from laughing aloud at the look that bordered between pure shock and outright horror at the change Reynik had wrought with a simple pair of scissors.
‘Well!�
�� he exclaimed as he recovered his composure. ‘You’re constantly full of surprises, aren’t you? I wouldn’t have recognised you if I hadn’t known you were waiting for me here.’
‘That is the general idea,’ Femke said with a grin. ‘I’ll not be wearing a ball gown for a while – unless I have a wig to hand, of course – but then my role is not glamorous on this occasion.’
‘So I see,’ Danar said, looking regretfully at the locks of hair scattered on the floor around her chair. ‘Here, I’ve got us all some food. Let’s eat.’
Danar had bought a good spread of food and Femke was quick to tuck in. The two men ate heartily, but without the single-minded dedication that Femke was devoting to demolishing everything in sight. Once Femke’s initial hunger pangs were sated and she had slowed to a more regular eating pace, Danar broke the silence that had descended whilst they were eating.
‘So, Femke, are you going to tell us your plan? I’m intrigued to know what you intend to do now, but I’d like to know the background first. The Emperor told us you’d been accused of murder, but he also said you were on the run somewhere in Mantor. How did you get caught, and how were you set up in the first place?’
Femke took a deep breath and then, between mouthfuls, proceeded to relate her story of the disastrous visit to the Thrandorian capital. It took a while, for there was a lot to tell. Reynik nodded grimly, touching his bruised face once more when Femke told of her realisation that Shalidar had an entire network of people here in Mantor.
‘Then you kind gentlemen turned up, so now the game begins again.’
‘Game?’ Danar said incredulously. ‘Is that how you view all this – as a game?’
‘Well, it’s as good an outlook as any,’ Femke answered. ‘I’m sure your father would have you believe that Empire politics is deadly serious and never to be joked about, but I doubt you support that view. How is this situation any different? In the end it’s all about getting the results you want. Whether it’s viewed as a game to be taken seriously, or a hostile diplomatic incident with potentially deadly implications, doesn’t matter. I am a professional and I do what is needed to see the will of the Emperor is done.’
‘And what do you see as the will of the Emperor?’ asked Danar cautiously. ‘I told the Emperor I would try to convince the King of Thrandor you were not the murderer of Baron Anton or Count Dreban. I also told him we would be arriving in Mantor openly. So far I have done neither of those things. It would be good to think we’re doing something in line with what the Emperor wishes.’
‘Ah,’ Femke sighed, wincing slightly as she considered that. ‘Well, you’ll want to think twice before you agree to what I’m about to propose then.’
Danar groaned and put his head in his hands in mock despair. Reynik laughed.
‘Come on – tell me the worst. What do you have in mind?’ Danar asked, his tone resigned.
‘Well, before I say anything I need to know how much money you brought with you.’
‘Money?’ Danar asked, in genuine surprise. ‘More than enough to live comfortably for a while, I suppose. Why do you ask?’
‘Would you have enough money to hire an assassin?’ Femke asked, knowing what the answer would be.
‘Hire an assassin? Certainly not! At least, I doubt it. I assume they don’t come cheaply. What are you up to, Femke?’ Danar asked, shaking his head.
‘In that case we’re going to need a lot more money,’ Femke said, ignoring Danar’s question.
‘And of course you know just the place to get it from,’ Reynik suggested with a grin.
‘Absolutely,’ Femke replied. ‘The Royal Treasury – where else?’
‘Your Imperial Majesty, another messenger has arrived from Thrandor. He says that he bears grave news for your immediate attention.’
‘Another one? You’d better bring him in immediately. Let’s see what disaster has occurred this time,’ Surabar said with a sigh that spoke of fatigue and stress.
‘Right away, your Majesty.’
The servant scurried off after the briefest of bows, and Surabar watched him go with a degree of tired amusement. Sitting patiently behind his desk, he stared at the latest pile of reports without attempting to read them. There was so much information to sift through every day, but he was gradually learning which reports needed careful attention and which he could skim through. The intelligence received from the borders with Thrandor had not mentioned anything unusual. If King Malo were considering military action then he had made no significant moves yet.
There was another knock at the door and Surabar called out for the person to enter. It was the same servant again, his face slightly flushed but his breathing controlled and his voice steady as he introduced King Malo’s messenger.
‘Welcome,’ Surabar announced warmly. ‘Please, do come in. I understand you bring urgent news from King Malo. I would be glad to hear it. Our last tidings from the King of Thrandor were grave. I hope your tidings are of a happier nature.’
The messenger looked uncomfortable and shifted his shoulders slightly in an unconscious gesture before he replied.
‘Well, your Imperial Majesty, King Malo wanted to inform you that Ambassador Femke has been found and detained. Further evidence of her guilt in the deaths of Baron Anton and Count Dreban has also surfaced. There are character witnesses present who have named her an assassin, which has placed grave doubts over future international relations between Thrandor and Shandar. Ambassador Femke has requested an advocate from the Empire to represent her interests at the trial, which is to be held in the Royal Court at Mantor. The King asks that you reply with all haste. He is keen to commence the trial and see justice done.’
Surabar was genuinely shocked by the news. From all that he knew of Femke, she was quick-witted, clever and excellent at blending in so well with her surroundings that he would have wagered half the treasury on her not being caught by the Thrandorians. The situation in Mantor was dire indeed.
‘A representative? Did the King specify what sort of representative?’ he asked.
‘No, your Majesty. King Malo said that Ambassador Femke had requested a representative to be present at the trial to view the evidence and make a defence. The King did not specify any particular rank or profession.’
Emperor Surabar got slowly to his feet, his right hand rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. For a moment he looked lost in thought, then he looked straight at the messenger with a piercing gaze.
‘Very well,’ he said firmly. ‘Ambassador Femke shall have her representative. I had not planned to make a visit to Thrandor yet, but the outcome of this trial is of such importance to the future of our two countries that I believe it would be best if I come in person to see her interests are properly represented.’
The messenger gulped and much of the colour drained from his face.
‘I trust you will not come alone, your Majesty,’ he croaked, his voice cracking as he voiced his immediate concern.
‘No, that would not be wise,’ Surabar replied thoughtfully. ‘But equally I should not arrive at the head of a small army. I don’t want to cause alarm. Would a troop of about twenty to thirty guards cause any problems, do you think?’
‘I think twenty to thirty would be fine, your Majesty. I cannot imagine such a small contingent causing major consternation. I will bear the news of your impending visit as quickly as I can to the King.’
‘Thank you, I would appreciate that. Do take time to rest and enjoy some refreshments before you get underway. I’ll not be able to set out any earlier than tomorrow. It will take a short time for me to get my affairs here in order, and my party will travel slower than a message rider. Go and get some sleep. You have earned it.’
The messenger bowed deeply and turned to leave the room. The servant, who had remained standing inside the door during the brief exchange, opened it again to allow the messenger to go. He too bowed and prepared to leave, but Surabar called to him before he left. ‘Once you’ve seen King Malo’s messenger to his qu
arters, could you send for Lord Kempten please? I need to talk to him urgently.’
The servant bowed again and closed the door behind him as he left. Surabar looked distantly at the door and wondered if he were doing the right thing. He had hardly had a chance to establish himself as Emperor. There had been visible opposition to his rule in the attack on the day of the coronation. There was still no firm evidence as to which of the Nobles were responsible for that, but he had a good idea who the key players were. Should he dash off on an errand to Mantor? He could easily send someone else. Femke was ostensibly an ambassador. Ambassadors were as expendable as soldiers or spies. True, it was not good to lose ambassadors – particularly under circumstances such as those presently being faced – but it was not for the Emperor to take a close personal interest in such things.
‘It’s a good job that I see being Emperor as a temporary inconvenience,’ Surabar said aloud to himself. ‘Let’s see what old Kempten is made of, shall we? Who knows – maybe he’ll prove to make a good successor to the Mantle. At least by leaving him in charge I won’t have to worry about one of the old-school Lords trying to seize control.’
There were never any guarantees in high-level politics and power mongering. Surabar knew that as well as anyone, but the General felt he could do far worse than leave Kempten as Regent in his absence. Time alone would tell.
‘The Royal Treasury! Are you completely out of your mind?’ Danar exploded.
‘Shhh! Do you want everyone to know? Keep your hair on – I know what I’m doing,’ Femke replied, her voice calm and placating.