The Faith: Book I of the Uprising Trilogy

by Michael Seeley

  Chapter XXIII

  The following weeks slipped by with little interruption. The last vestiges of summer wandered into the past, and the trees about the school began shedding their leaves like tarnished clothing. We woke each morning colder and colder as rivulets of frost coated the grass. Foliage crunched under foot as we wandered the paths around the institute, and each day carried on much like the previous one. This rest, while monotonous, proved to be therapeutic in a way. We were hounded by no one. Guards did not chase us any longer.

  In fact, we saw no Courtiers, and the school received few visitors. Simon had restricted the students' movements after our arrival. No one was allowed frivolous trips to anywhere anymore. Perhaps it was harsh, but Simon was adamant that our location remain hidden. One word from a drunken pupil and the Faith would descend on us like vultures.

  For several days after our arrival, we simply rested. The common room possessed an extensive library. It felt almost sinful to relax in an armchair by the fire and peruse through the latest work by Dumas. I was rather taken with his style, and Simon, being both a swordsman and Frenchman, had every published work by the author.

  Jacob continued to heal and eventually dispensed with the cane for his daily constitutional. Logan and I spent many a night drinking coffee and chatting wildly into the wee hours.

  And Eva grew close. We wandered the forests about the school, never fearful of discovery. We read to each other and exchanged our own bits of poetry. What's more, she told me stories of her life. I'd been enchanted before, but with each snippet of an anecdote she became more real somehow.

  During one such exchange, we nestled down by a shaded pond nearby. As the geese swam about, I asked her how she'd come to be with Kurt and the Faith. I'd seen the man; not only was he an ugly brute, but he possessed a cruel nature. How Eva could find herself attracted to him was beyond me.

  "He's not as bad as all that," she said. "And besides, you're judging him about what you know now. If I'd known he was determined to murder the king, I'd have avoided his advances. As it was, I knew only a bit about the man. He got the scar in the army, you know. He's a veteran of the Riktian cavalry, and he knows a bit about the world. I'd known he was a Courtier, but not exactly what that entailed. In court you hear rumors and all, but nothing substantial. It wasn't until Aloysius was dismissed from the king's service that we all learned how violent the Faith could be. And even then, there was no proof. Nothing connected the Courtiers to the bomb in the palace. Idealistic or afflicted with love, I'm not sure, but I refused to think that Kurt could try to kill the king. He was a soldier, yes, but he wasn't normally violent. After a few goblets of sherry, that'd be different, but every man has his vices."

  "Not every man," I cut in gently, touching her arm.

  She smiled beneath her eyelashes before continuing. "Anyway, when Kurt offered to take me around Europe, I was thrilled. Being the daughter of an ambassador can be stifling. I'd sit around the palace gossiping with others my age, but otherwise, there wasn't much chance for fun. Even the royal balls grow old. I tried hunting and target shooting next, but it was still monotonous. My mother, God rest her soul, used to scold me for that, but since she died, Father's been more distant. It's hard to even see him, he's so busy. So I saw Kurt's offer as a chance to do something. See something. Teimsfeld is a pleasant city, but it's not the world. I sent my father a letter after I'd gone; he'd never have agreed to it in the first place."

  I broke in again. "Eva, you didn't tell him? How'd he take it?"

  She laughed sheepishly, probably to cover her embarrassment. "I received a scolding telegram soon afterwards, but I was already gone. And I haven't seen him since to apologize."

  "You haven't seen him!"

  "Well no. I've been a bit busy saving the kingdom and all," she said dryly. "I didn't take time for family matters when I returned to Teimsfeld. I went straight to Mercedes' father and told him everything. You've been with me since, and there's no chance of me contacting him now."

  She had a point so I didn't press her.

  "The Faith took me to Switzerland and France. I know now what they did in Switzerland, but I had no idea while we were there. In France, I assume the Fuchs brothers were simply hiding away from Germany. I thought it was all a sightseeing tour. I had no clue. We traveled to enough places, and Kurt always went out of his way to ensure I was enjoying myself. We saw museums and famous landmarks, and all the while the scum had Phillip as their prisoner.

  "After Otto died and some of the Courtiers began hunting you, the mood turned foul. When they went to murder you that night, Kurt didn't argue with them, but I wouldn't have it. He's never asked me what I did that night, but he never looked at me in the same way again. I was pretty sure he knew I tipped you off. By the time we settled at their manor near Fielburg, he was glowering all the time, and things were grim. I didn't ask to go home, but I doubt they would have let me. When I overheard Kurt talking with Fuchs, it sealed things. This wasn't the same man I'd known before. He was different, and I wanted no part of him or their plot. So I came to find Joseph." Hearing her story explained further did a lot for me. There was much to think about.

  In addition to the walks and chats, we took advantage of other benefits of our hideaway, namely the fencing. Logan and I had various fencing tutors throughout the years, a blessing really. The Italian school had become my favored method, and I was no stranger to the arts of tempo and the molding of the feet into the timed dance of precision.

  But we found new practice and new techniques with Simon and his students. I'd sat watching them drill for a few hours before the master noticed me. He pranced over excitably. "Nathaniel!" he cried. "Have you any background with a blade?"

  His excitement was catching and I mentioned my schooling back home. He was delighted and instantly dispatched a student to bring me a set of gear. I was suited up and prepared for a bout in no time. Simon selected a man my own age and build and squared us off along the piste. I smiled nervously and made some comment about my lack of practice, but the master shushed me and stepped back to observe.

  We saluted keenly and acknowledged Simon. Then we stepped into the match. I lost myself in the steps and rhythm of the sport. The other man won of course — I was too out of practice with the formal rules. But I was able to score three quick points in succession to open the match. I felt this was a good sign. In real combat that'd likely disable my opponent — the whole point of the game, so to speak.

  Afterwards, Simon congratulated both of us on our performances and proceeded to walk us through the match, pointing out flaws he noticed in each of our routines. He tapped my elbow, driving it closer to my side and bringing my guard tighter against my frame.

  He was impressed with my style though and patted me on the back. "In no time, friend, you'll be back in shape and we'll turn you into a fine fencer." The compliment warmed my heart and I thanked him for the praise. From that day onwards, I managed to work with the students and perform some drill every day. I wasn't as intensive as the other pupils. Still, the workouts made a nice break to the monotony, and Logan even joined me. We could tell our skills were improving.

  On the day of the first snow, Jacob wandered in from the cold to find the two of us fencing. He blew on his hands, rubbing them together as he shed his cloak. He walked up to us. We paused our drills and smiled at his approach. Although he still moved with a hint of difficulty, his recovery was wonderful, and the man was becoming more and more active.

  He pointed towards our equipment as he neared. "Where's another set of gear? I've had enough of lazing around for months. There's going to be a fight eventually, and I have absolutely no intention of sitting behind when it happens. I can shoot well enough, but I haven't fenced in years. Where's Simon?"

  I tried to protest, but Logan waved me off. "He's right. He can walk just fine, and more exercise won't hurt. Besides, Americans are always trouble anyway. He'd never listen to us."

  "That's right," snapped Jacob
good-naturedly and went off to find the fencing master. From then on he joined us too. Jacob was right. He wasn't good at first, and it took him awhile to master the basics. But he kept trying, and it was good for his health. As the fall crept towards winter, we all grew more wiry, our reflexes honed by the practice.

  Phillip was rarely seen. He'd attend meals and the occasional fencing practice. But he'd disappear for most of the day without comment, and when present, a dark cloud hung about the man.

  I followed him, out of sight, one morning. After eating breakfast with the group, he snagged a coat, selected a large book from the library, and bustled into the chilly air. He tramped along through the woods, and I lost him after a bit. He must've remained out of doors the rest of day, because I didn't see him again until evening. Just as the sun set behind the trees, I was taking a short walk with Eva when he came trudging back from the woods. We waved in greeting, but he appeared not to see us and continued into the institute.

  "Do you think he's alright?" I asked.

  She didn't answer for a long time. "If you'd had your entire life stolen from you, would you be fine? Better yet, if another man removed your brother, killed him and replaced him before the eyes of everyone else, and only you knew about it . . . would you be alright? I don't suppose he'll ever be alright. But perhaps in time he'll accept it." Neither of us spoke again as we wandered back to the school in the advancing gloom.

  Our friends gathered for the evening meal one night. The blades of the common room were silent, all the students were supping, and the setting sun cast her last rays through the room's many skylights. As we took our places at the head table, our quiet conversation petered out as we noticed that Simon wasn't present. He was never late for dinner. I half stood, not sure of what to do. The man bustled in then, so I sat back down.

  He leaned forward and placed both hands on the table, sighing. Under his arm was a rolled newspaper, but he didn't look at this or us for several, long moments. I saw a small tear trickling down his face, coursing into his mustache, and resting among the bushy hairs. At last, he flipped open the newspaper and handed it to Logan, who was closest.

  "They're dead . . . They're . . . dead." He crossed himself and collapsed into his chair.

  Logan read the newspaper while we clamored for news. "Oh heavens," was all he said before flinging the paper towards me. By this point, the murmur enveloping the room was too much, and I began reading aloud to quiet the others' grim curiosity.

  I began with the headline and had to force myself to press onwards."'Traitors To the King Found and Hanged.'" Collecting myself, I launched into the article. "'This week, His Majesty's guards were fortunate to discover new evidence in the plot against the royal family. In the aftermath of Archduke Phillip's murder, the criminals responsible for the terrible deed escaped, killing more in the process. Investigation has since linked their escape with the Catholic brothers at St. Suitbert's Holy Monastery. These monks willingly and wrongfully gave the murderers aid, despite knowledge of their explicit guilt. Christian hospitality is never frowned upon, but to aid, comfort, and help murderers of the royal blood cannot be tolerated. Several monks, including their leader Abbot Baum, were found guilty by special tribunal and hanged at dawn this morning. If anyone possesses any information that will lead to the capture of Nathaniel Fletcher, Logan Harling, or Jacob Douglas, they are strongly urged to contact the palace. Know that all treachery will be dealt with swiftly.' And that's it," I finished.

  The news hung about the table like a dark mist, choking each victim. I heard sobbing, and moved to comfort Eva, her chest heaving in grief. It had been her idea to seek sanctuary there, and she had been close to Abbot Baum as well. For awhile no one spoke, and we let ourselves drown in our own thoughts. The rest of the dinner was understandably quiet. If anyone had doubted it before, we were dealing with a tyrant — one who would shed any blood to gain his ends.

  Every couple of weeks, a messenger from Joseph would arrive and strengthen this notion of fear. At first I was surprised at how he managed to send these messengers and remain discreet. I was worried for the security of both parties, but the information these men carried was too invaluable for us to stop. Phillip had been right. Fuchs was not sitting idle, and changes were falling like hammer-strokes upon the capital.

  Joseph told about the increased troops in Teimsfeld. The false king was protected by more and more men each day, none of whom knew the truth about their master's identity. People were stopped in the streets and searched at random. Petty crimes were dealt with harshly, and the city jails were filling fast. Little by little Fuchs was implementing the Faith's social structure to the letter. Things started with the palace. Over the course of a few days, all those without noble blood of some kind were dismissed from service. Despite their talents, the Courtiers couldn't tolerate the common raff serving their king. Servants with minor nobility in their bloodlines were allowed to stay on, but the others were expelled without notice, and fierce warnings were given should they wish to return.

  This policy soon spread throughout the city. All government jobs were purged of the lower classes, and more than one ministry was shut down for a few days while noble replacements were found for the vacancies. What's more, a new treaty was being formulated with the Austrian Empire. Fuchs had contacted the Habsburgs, inviting a special delegation to Teimsfeld. Rumor had it that a new alliance would take place; Riktenburg would bow to the Austrians economic and military goals. The populace was more confused than angry at the news, but the general sentiment was moving towards rage quickly. The minister of war urged us to continue our work and be prepared at a moment's notice. There were rumors circulating the palace about a coming change in the king's location, but he couldn't say if they were true or not.

  Then, in the dead of night, as a November chill circled the school like a feral wolf, another messenger arrived.

  Simon shook me awake, and I blinked up at him through the darkness of the dormitory. Like the students, we'd been placed in the common sleeping room. Simon had himself been moved, offering his suite for Eva's use. "Get up!" he hissed.

  "What's the matter?" I mumbled.

  "There's a messenger from Joseph. It's important. Help wake the others, and we'll meet in the library of the common room." I stirred at the news, rustling Jacob and Logan as well. We wandered sleepily into the open space and collapsed into the comfortable chairs. After a moment, Eva and Phillip joined us, accompanied by Simon.

  Once we were all settled Simon held up a slip of paper. "Good evening all," he began. "Unfortunately Joseph's messenger had to leave right away, and I took the liberty of responding to Joseph's message myself. After hearing the news, I've no doubt you'll agree with my proposed course of action." He swallowed for a moment, appearing to collect himself. "Fuchs has moved." Our whispered exclamations cut him off for a moment before he held up his hands for silence and resumed. "Yes. On the pretext of relaxing from the worries of the capital and escaping the grief of Phillip's death, he's moved to the countryside. For how long, we don't know, so our movements must be decisive. From his contacts within the palace, Joseph learned that Mercedes is with him. He's staying at the new summer palace in the Vielfurt region."

  I held up a hand. "Forgive the foreigner for asking, but where's Vielfurt, and what's the summer palace?"

  Phillip spoke up. "I forget we're not all Riktians here. Vielfurt is the eastern-most region of the county. It's known for its beautiful wooded lakes and rocky ground. It lies in the foothills of our mountains. As for the summer palace, most royal families own one. Our old one has grown too dilapidated for use. Of course we had the money to fix it, but we were hesitant to spend tax funds on the project. It didn't benefit the people, and Martin's egalitarian principles rankled at that. But one of our Austrian neighbors died last summer. He was a wealthy baron and owned a fine castle in Vielfurt; it was right across the border from his estates in Austria. To make a long story short, a treaty several decades back changed the bo
rderline, and his family's property landed on our side. A stipulation for the treaty allowed for the baron's family to keep the land. However, Martin and the baron grew friendly over the years and when he died, he bequeathed the castle to us. So it became our new summer palace. I've actually only spent a week in the place. I spent last summer in Russia hunting bears and hadn't had a chance to visit Vielfurt this year."

  Simon jumped in. "So the short of it is that Fuchs has moved there, and we have only a limited time to strike before he returns to the capital. I told the messenger that we'd act. Are we agreed?"

  All raised their hands, and it was decided. We announced the news and our intentions to the group at large the next morning. Most took it with calm resolve, but several seemed keen to set out right away. The cooler heads among the group settled these down and raised valid questions to temper the mood.

  "Have we any idea about the palace's layout?" One man asked, stroking his mustache in the skylight's glow.

  "What are the guards like? Just because he's left the capital doesn't mean they're not bottled up and armed to the teeth!" another shouted among the throng.

  Simon held up his hands, quieting the mob. "All very true." He turned to Phillip. "Sire, what can you tell us of the place?"

  The other man wrinkled his brow in concentration, and a single bead of perspiration coursed down these grooves. "As I mentioned, I've only been there once and only for a week. Martin was very taken with the place though, so it should be in good condition. The building's made to look like a medieval castle, although it's a relatively new construction. There's two turrets at the north and south ends, and each has an ornate suite of rooms at the top. I imagine Fuchs will take up residence in one of those. Other than that, the details are too few for me to recall. The manor sits directly above a deep lake, and the water's so close it even laps against the foundation. There's woods surrounding the area, and the mountains loom overhead. It's all very beautiful, but I wouldn't have the first clue about how to assault it."

  Simon nodded and turned to face the assembly. "Thank you Your Highness. That's helpful, but I'm afraid it won't be enough. We can't attack without knowing more. It would only do to get us all killed. It's simple really. We'll have to send someone to learn more."

  I chuckled, despite myself. The fencing master turned to me. "Something funny?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

  I coughed. "Well you said that like it'd be a walk in the park and not some midnight caper with half a chance of survival."

  He smiled sadly. "To the brave, there is no difference."

  The cliché was a bit much, but seeing the others around the room, it was true. No one was reticent of risking their lives in the venture. And when Simon asked for volunteers, every hand shot upwards. Phillip, Jacob, Logan, Eva, and I were eliminated right away for obvious reasons. Still, the sheer amount of eager volunteers forced us to draw a lot. The younger students were eliminated. Then all those without trade skills were removed; our man needed a cover story of some sort.

  Finally the lot was drawn, and a lanky fellow with shockingly blond hair was selected. His name was Rupert. He was apparently a mason's son, and could pass himself off as such. There was likely to be ongoing renovations on the manor anyway. Giving him money for his travels and the purchase of masonry equipment, we sent him off and settled in to wait.