“I will not fail you, Master.”
9. ARTHAN
Rachard Castle, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
“Have you seen the physician?” Meriam asked.
Arthan gazed around the room, feigning interest in all the building schematics and measuring instruments of the engineer’s study. “Not yet.”
Meriam glared at him, laying her quill down. “Why do you put it off?”
“He’s never any help,” Arthan said. “Besides, as the eldest son, I have more important things to do.”
“As Maillard’s heir, what can be more important than ensuring your health?”
“A flutter now and then is not unusual, Meriam. Perhaps my heart simply tremors when it’s close to yours.”
“This is not a jesting matter. What about the squeezing in your chest?”
Arthan waved his hand dismissively. “That’s rare. It’s nothing to—”
“You’ve convinced yourself that it’s rare. What if it happens when you’re in battle?”
“I won’t let it distract me.”
“It used to not be this often. How can I convince you to see the physician?”
Arthan tinkered with a tool hanging on the wall, unsure what to say.
“What if I stop annoying you about us?” Meriam said. “I would trade that for your health.”
“It isn’t an annoyance,” Arthan said.
“You know what I mean.”
“I cannot wed you, Meriam.”
“But you can take me to bed? Hold me and talk with me as if we are wed? Is there another mistress, Arthan?”
“Of course not, Meriam.”
She picked up her quill again and turned her eyes to the writing table. “Perhaps I am ungrateful,” she said without looking up. “I should be thankful that a young commoner like me can apprentice under Chief Engineer Bellumet. And I should be satisfied with that.”
“Don’t be that way. We do have us. But I cannot give you what you want. Not now…”
“Then when?” She eyed him.
Arthan sighed. “I don’t know, Meriam.”
Meriam dipped her quill and made a notation on the castle schematic on the table. The silence between them made Arthan uncomfortable, but he was unsure how to fill it.
“I have work to do,” Meriam said. “Please, see the physician.”
Arthan left, feeling torn. If only Meriam could understand his responsibilities. He walked to Maillard’s solar, her words echoing in his mind. He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart through his tunic. Nothing unusual. Bouts of pain were mild and infrequent, if startling. He wouldn’t waste any more time talking about it.
As he approached the solar, he heard his father’s voice.
“I asked you to find Serdot for Arthan,” Maillard said. “And now I need him as well.”
“Apologies, my lord,” Medoff answered. “Serdot has not been in Rachard for more than a week. He does not tell me his comings and goings.”
Arthan entered the solar.
“The Almerian and Rugen delegations are settling into their quarters and I expect the Calbrians, Austveedes, and Ovelians to arrive tomorrow,” Maillard continued. “Your servant-garbed scouts are fine for chamber talk, Medoff, but I need Serdot for more complex matters.”
“I’ll send him to you straightaway if I see him, my lord.”
“Father, what can I do?” Arthan asked.
“Stay at my side and observe. You’ll learn more about diplomacy, trade, and war in the next few days than all your lessons hence. Where is Bardil?”
“Master Pelinaud has him practicing his crusader swordcraft.”
“Not today,” Maillard said. “Arthan, retrieve your brother. We need to discuss the protocol for the council.”
Protocol rang through Arthan’s ears as he exited the chamber and made his way down the corridors to the training hall. He was excited to have all these representatives of foreign kings and emperors in Rachard. But he was not looking forward to protocol. He heard footsteps behind him and turned.
“My lord.” A man with shorn hair and a stubbly beard not unlike his own bowed before him. “I already sent someone to fetch Bardil.”
“How did…Who are you?”
“Apologies, my lord. I am Serdot, ever at your service.”
“Serdot? My father is looking for you.”
“Yes, but it’s you I wanted to speak to first. Will you walk this way with me?”
“Why didn’t you just—”
“My lord, I’ve returned from Mordmerg.” Serdot led Arthan into a side room, where a tapestry of the Pemonian continent hung on the wall. “I smelled a stench and followed it there. I trust your cousin Count Golbane told you of the fires?”
“Yes…”
“Here is Mordmerg,” Serdot said, pointing to a city symbol just south of Rachard on the tapestry. “You don’t go there because your family has a bad history with the place. Your enemies know this—perhaps this is something they know better than you.”
“I know it’s where criminals killed my mother years ago.”
“Criminals…Yes, well it is a breeding ground for revolt, like all the free cities of Donovan. But this is different. Mordmerg will revolt again, soon. I’m still uncertain of the details, but there must be a new power behind it this time, one that remains hidden to me.”
“Shouldn’t you be reporting this to my father and Medoff?”
“Of course. I will. But Mordmerg will be your task.”
“Mine?”
“With the foreign delegations here and the Empire Alliance hanging in the balance, your father will be quite busy. And the general will be preoccupied making sure the Rachard guards keep the rowdy foreigners from each other’s throats. Yes, Mordmerg will be assigned to you, I’m certain. So I chose to tell you first so you can begin thinking about it.”
“Why do you think Mordmerg is so important?”
“The Empire Alliance is doomed. It will be a calamity that shakes the foundations of power on two continents and on the seas between. Quick minds will see opportunities in that. But with the knife that is Mordmerg sticking out of our backs, we won’t be quick enough to deal with the change. Mordmerg is an intelligently crafted distraction, though by whom remains unclear.”
Arthan stared at him for a moment. “You’re young to be a spymaster.”
Serdot grinned. “Only two years, thirty-four days, and seven hours older than you. But I learned from your father’s previous captain of the shadows: my father.”
“What happened to him?”
“Dead, probably. No one knows. Just disappeared.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s the dark game we play so that life in the light can be brighter. That’s the widsemer code.”
“The world seems gray to me…”
Serdot smiled. “Spoken true, my lord.”
“Thank you for the information. I will think on it. Shall we return to Father?”
“I suppose. I did enjoy seeing Medoff squirm when your father harangued him about me. The general has always been miffed that I don’t report to him, especially since its Medoff that your father complains to when I’m out on a ride.” Serdot grinned and led the way.
10. MILISEND
Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
Dearest Regaume,
I miss you terribly. I find myself longing to escape into your arms more frequently as the troubles at Father’s court intensify. Uncle Brugarn speaks more and more on his behalf, while General Chaultion regularly proposes war as the cure-all for the kingdom’s problems. He forgets the treasury is empty. Both are conniving, sinister men who too easily have father’s ear.
I also wanted to warn you that Chief Magistrate Tronchet has grown more persistent. He sees it as his personal crusade to catch me thieving, but of course he won’t. I look forward t
o our next job, perhaps a more challenging target. More than that, I yearn to be with you again.
Yours always,
Me
Milisend rolled up the letter and placed it carefully in the jewel-encrusted ceramic cylinder. She handed it to her handmaiden. “Do be more careful this time, Rosellen. I couldn’t bear the thought that my silly letters cause harm to befall you.”
“Don’t worry, Princess. I will ride with a royal courier this time, and during the day.”
“Good. It’s sad that even the roads near Eglamour are plagued with bandits now.”
Rosellen smiled. “If only all thieves were as gentle and discreet as you, my lady.”
“Which courier? The new handsome one, what’s his name?”
“No, I’ll be with Gerold, the one who was attacked in Wallevet.”
“Blind Gerold? They still send him?”
“They say he refused to give up the post. His scars make him more handsome though.”
“So there are some who are still loyal to Father…Off with you, Rosellen. And be careful.”
11. FETZER
Elme River, Barres Ministry
Midspring, 3034
Fetzer watched the river pass by from the railing as the sun set. He had spent most of the day belowdecks working and writing in his journal. It was good to finally breathe the fresh air.
The Meurden and her crew are bolstered by a stiff wind that carries us downriver faster than usual. Getting used to the movements of the ship has not been too difficult though. Greffid says the swells of the sea will be larger.
Worse is my disappointment to learn that we will not be venturing beyond the Sea of Pemonia, which lies between the mainland and Leauvenna Ministry. I had hoped that we would sail into the Middlesea, or perhaps even to the Old World. At least I will get a taste of Middlesea when we arrive in Port Lyonseln, the capital of Leauvenna. Greffid says the port is a gateway for the exotic spices and timber and other goods from the Middlesea archipelagos.
For now, Captain Renaud keeps me busy writing up false papers for our cargo, of which I’ve actually been told nothing. Judging by the papers I’m copying, it seems routine for these smugglers to pass off their stolen goods as merely sacks of oats and bundles of cotton cloth…
Fetzer scooted aside to let sailors pass and felt the scabbard of his father’s sword catch on the rail. It was stifling and reminded him of Perilune. He unbuckled it and lifted it over the railing, the blade pointing at the water. Then he let it fall.
“Peculiar,” said an old salt nearby. “I once heard told that a man who casts away his sword has already cast away his life.”
Fetzer ignored him and thought about tossing his Sember sapphire wist ring as well. But receiving it from his father was his favorite memory, and he knew Fernon would always wear his. Fetzer walked away from the railing, leaving the old smuggler puzzled, and returned belowdecks to finish his papers.
He found the state room locked. He put his ear to the door and heard Captain Renaud.
“…said before, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care—so long as the pay is good. But I must be prepared to defend my ship when we dock at Lyonseln.”
“No need,” said a young man’s deep voice. Fetzer detected an Almerian accent. “Your ship and crew will be fine,” continued the man, “and your pay will be as we agreed. You won’t have to see us again.”
“No passage back to the mainland?” Renaud asked.
“That is none of your concern. The pay was for the voyage to Leauvenna, then your job is done. Until then, ensure that none of your crew be allowed near our quarters below. Your cook has come down several times.”
“He’s a simpleton and no threat to you, and he’s used to seeing smuggled loot,” Renaud said. “Your quarters share space with our provisions, so surely the cook can—”
“I don’t care what he’s used to. I don’t want him to see us. Understand?”
“I will speak to him,” Renaud said. “Perhaps he can come down for provisions at specified hours. If there’s no food for the crew, there’s no crew for the ship.”
“Fine. Between the fourth and fifth bells. But not otherwise.”
“Done.”
Chair legs scooted across the decking. Fetzer froze, not knowing where to go. As boot steps neared the door he rushed back down the corridor and turned, as if he was just now approaching the state room. Renaud and the big man with the Almerian accent were surprised to see him.
“Afternoon, Captain,” Fetzer said. “Shall I continue the cargo papers?”
“Yes,” Renaud said, pushing past him. The big man regarded Fetzer carefully before following Renaud.
Fetzer worked on the papers until evening when Greffid served up a hot meal of cod stew and ship biscuits. Afterward they spent time in their quarters with their ration of grog, and Fetzer gave Greffid a reading lesson. But his mind soon turned to the three mysterious folk aboard the ship. He grew more curious as he replayed the conversation between Renaud and the Almerian in his mind.
“How long have you worked aboard this smuggling ship, Greffid?”
“Nigh on twelve years now. Been to every major port from Durrow to Nore, and down south past Lambochardy. Cold, strange waters there…”
“Ever been caught or seen battle?”
“We’ve been caught a few times, but nothing a bribe or good threat couldn’t resolve. Our group is well connected, too, but that’s beyond my duties to know. Battles? Mostly with pirates near Middlesea islands even the Almerian patrol ships won’t sail near. But the captain and his first mate are expert at avoiding trouble wherever it is.”
Fetzer almost asked Greffid about the three people hiding down in the hold. But he could not be sure Greffid would keep it to himself if he didn’t already know. So he put aside his curiosity and slept.
---
The state room was empty when Fetzer arrived the next morning. His mind wandered as he settled into his routine. He turned and looked at the captain’s writing table. It was cluttered with parchments and maps, heaped candle nubs, and frayed quills.
The corridor was quiet, so Fetzer pushed up from his slender table and stepped toward the captain’s. He pretended to look out the windows at the stern, glancing down at various bits of correspondence on the table. He spotted Rilranef the Round’s signature and what he assumed were references to various stolen cargos, but nothing unusual. With the state room door still open, he dared not touch any of it.
Fetzer walked to the door and quietly closed it, stopping short of turning the key to avoid suspicion. He quickly returned to Renaud’s table and flipped through the parchments. More letters from smugglers in Perilune, Eldreim, Oradrond, and other places. Nothing about the secret passengers.
Fetzer opened the drawers but found nothing. The last one was locked, but he had not seen any keys. He looked toward the door and gritted his teeth as he listened. Silence, except for the lantern swaying on its nail above the table. He squinted up at it, then quickly pulled over a chair to stand on. He peeked inside the lantern and found a key resting at the bottom. He picked off a few dots of wax as he came down, then inserted the key into the lock.
Inside he found a gold-bladed knife, small coin pouches, and a few loose gemstones. There was also a stack of letters. Most of them were from a woman, except one. It was hastily scrawled on a scrap of wrinkled vellum.
Captain Renaud,
Thank you for your aid in our safe passage to Lyonseln. After giving the issue more thought, I’m certain it is a risk we cannot take. I prefer you dispose of the clerk, in case he did overhear us. I don’t care when or how, so long as it is done before we reach port. I expect your cooperation in return for another purse of silver for your trouble.
Bertwil
Fetzer swallowed hard and felt his brow bead with sweat. He looked at the door, then back to the drawer. He quickly pocketed the note and the gold-bladed knife. He returned the woman’s letters and t
hen stood on the chair to return the key to the lantern.
Footsteps came down the corridor. Fetzer rushed for his table, planting himself in the chair and picking up the quill just as Renaud opened the door. The captain gave him a peculiar look.
“Why is the door shut?”
“The men were getting loud, sir. I needed to concentrate.”
“I see…” Renaud glanced up at the swaying lantern, then walked toward his writing table. Fetzer froze as he realized he had forgotten to relock the drawer. He dared not turn to see whether Renaud would notice. Renaud rummaged through the stacks on the table before returning to the door with a navigational chart in hand. He paused to regard Fetzer for a moment.
“Carry on,” was all he said before departing.
Fetzer sat back in his chair and sighed. His mind quickly turned to Bertwil’s letter. It occupied his thoughts until he could write in his journal later that night.
…even if he doesn’t act on Bertwil’s order, it’s only a matter of time before things turn bad. There is nowhere to hide on this ship. We’re within view of the Sea of Pemonia, so five more days until Port Lyonseln. Perhaps the captain will have crewmen quietly take me from my hammock. Or have Greffid poison my food. Or send me to bump into Bertwil while fetching supplies down below.
I must be cautious and think of something. I do not expect to survive for long…
“What’s that?”
Fetzer turned to see Greffid peering down from his hammock. “What’s what?”
“That book you’re always pulling from your pack.”
“My journal.” There was no reason to hide it, since Greffid couldn’t read.
“What’s it for?”
“My thoughts. It’s like talking with the pages…”
“That’s what crewmates are for.” Greffid smiled.
“I like talking to you too, Greffid. But today has exhausted me. Good night.” Fetzer blew out the lantern and lay wide awake.
Lords of Deception Page 5