Quill

by A. C. Cobble

  “Would it be a lie?” asked Sam. “Bishop Yates will not direct me to continue working with Duke?”

  “Yes, it would be a lie,” confirmed her mentor. “Bishop Yates believes our part in the investigation is concluded. He did not know you were going to Archtan Atoll. He had me… he had me conduct another exercise while you were gone to tie up what he considered loose ends. Officially, the Church is done with the matter, and I don’t doubt Prince Philip will feel the same.”

  “I don’t understand. If the Church is satisfied, why are you continuing to pursue it?” questioned Sam.

  “You know why,” claimed Thotham. “There is a darkness looming here in Enhover. The duke will be at the center of it, and so will you. He needs you, Samantha. Without the skills the Church can offer, the man has no hope. Without him, you have no hope. The Church… Bishop Yates does not believe in these things — in my prophecy and what must be done. I believe an inflection point is coming soon, something that will match the Coldlands War in the importance of Enhover’s history.”

  “Then why don’t you accompany the duke?” snapped Sam. “If this is important, why are you not directly involved? We can both work with the duke and do whatever you believe needs to be done. I’m certain Bishop Yates would release you from… from whatever it is you do when you’re not sparring with me.”

  Thotham shook his head. “The Church is not what it once was, not in Enhover, at least. The Wellesley’s pay lip service to the bishops and the cardinal when he deigns to make himself known, but they don’t need us. They haven’t needed us for two decades. Why would they? They are the ones who last faced sorcery in this land. They will need us again, though, and soon I think.”

  “Your prophecy that no one else seems to believe,” remarked Sam darkly. “You want to know what I learned in Archtan Atoll? I learned powerful sorcery had been conducted there. Countess Dalyrimple formed a circle and used it to contact Ca-Mi-He. The spirit tainted an object, and she returned to Enhover with it. That’s why she was killed. Thotham, you say we are needed, and I agree. You are needed. I cannot face this alone.”

  The old priest leaned on his staff, frowning.

  “Whoever was responsible for Countess Dalyrimple’s death is still out there,” continued Sam. “Someone with that strength! It’s unheard of, not since the Coldlands were defeated. You have to open your eyes, Thotham. Your prophecy may be right, or it may be wrong, but this is real. The threat is real, and you’re watching from the shadows!”

  “Am I?” asked Thotham.

  “Bishop Yates doesn’t believe your prophecy, does he?” questioned Sam. “You told him, and he did not believe you. That is why this assignment comes from you and not Church leadership. They think you’re a crazy old man. What about the Council of Seven, the Whitemask? Surely, they will understand if we explain what was found. If this is so serious, what do they have to say about it? Do they trust you?”

  “No, they do not,” acknowledged her mentor. “They know most prophecies are false, just as you and I do. Most are false, that is a truth, but this one is not. This vision is not false, Samantha. I can feel it.”

  She shook her head.

  “You trust me, do you not?” asked her mentor.

  Snorting, she replied, “That is not fair.”

  “Trust me or not, you will stay by the duke’s side. That is a command.”

  “What about Archtan Atoll?” snapped Sam. “Are we to leave it alone? What about you? What will you be doing?”

  “No, the Whitemask and Council of Seven will address what you found in Archtan Atoll,” replied her mentor. “Other Knives are already being sent to the tropics to root out whatever sorcery remains there. You’ll be happy to know that they wanted both of us to participate in the venture, but I told them no. I told them we had matters to attend to in Enhover. They do not believe in my prophecy, Sam, but they granted me leave to stay here. It doesn’t matter if they believe, because you trust me. You are the one who will be at the center of this, not them, not me.”

  She glared at her mentor.

  “When we are done here, speak with the duke,” suggested the old man. “Continue your investigation, but keep it between the two of you. It is best if Bishop Yates forgets that you exist.”

  “What about you? What will you do?”

  “I will keep Bishop Yates busy.”

  Thotham smiled and raised his practice sword.

  The Cartographer XI

  “Take her out. Show her around. Introduce her to society,” instructed Prince Philip. “Consider it a command if you like, though I’m told the girl is quite attractive, so I don’t know why it should have to be.”

  “She is a girl,” retorted Oliver. “She’s barely eighteen winters.”

  The prince guffawed. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

  “I was younger before,” muttered Oliver. “There wasn’t as much of a gap. Now… it would feel… I don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right.”

  “It wouldn’t feel right?” challenged Philip. “I heard about the twins you know.”

  Oliver coughed and ran his hand over his hair, his eyes darting to the side.

  “To be clear, I’m not asking you to sleep with Isisandra,” continued the prince. “If you want to, that is up to you. What I’m asking is that you help introduce her to society. With her arm on yours, she’ll be invited to the right parties by the right people. The Crown benefits from stability amongst the peers, and we have a responsibility since her parents are gone to make sure she joins the ranks as smoothly as possible.”

  “On my arm, she’ll meet the right people and the wrong people,” complained Oliver. “You know as well as I, people will approach her and try to take advantage of her or use her for a connection to us.”

  “It will be good then that the girl will have such an experienced mentor to help her navigate those shark-infested waters.”

  “It feels wrong,” Oliver grumbled. “I don’t want to lead the girl on.”

  “Then don’t,” said the prince with a sigh. “Be honest with her. Tell her what it’s about. Or even better, don’t make it a fling. Make it a serious courtship. You could do worse than a beautiful girl with an extensive holding. Between the herds of sheep, the land around Derbycross, and whatever the governor had salted away in Company shares, Isisandra should be quite wealthy.”

  “I don’t need the land or the sterling,” complained Oliver. “If you insist—”

  “I do.”

  “If you insist,” continued Oliver, “I’ll take the girl out and introduce her. That’s all.”

  “While you’re at it, I have something else for you to think on,” advised Philip, leaning back in the chair behind his desk. “Her or the Child twins or anyone else who fits your fancy… Don’t you think it’s time to move past simple flings? Lucinda and I had three children by the time I was your age. Franklin and John had one each. Father had all of us but you. The Wellesley line has ruled for centuries only because our ancestors met that most important need. They sired children.”

  “There are plenty of children to wear the mantle if necessary,” complained Oliver. “My heirs would be, what, twentieth in line for the throne, twenty-fifth? I can’t even do the mathematics, and that’s assuming you are all done producing progeny and that the next generation doesn’t get started. We’re better off ensuring the rest of you keep breathing than worrying about my own offspring.”

  “It’s a long line to the throne, but we have cities and a ministry to rule as well, brother,” argued Philip. “Cities and territories. If something were to happen to Father tomorrow, then I’d be in Southundon on the throne, and I don’t doubt Franklin and John would agree to seat you here in Westundon. It will be several years before any of our children are of age, and even then, they’d need an experienced hand, like yours, to guide them. Someday, little brother, your adventures are going to come to an end, and you’ll be officiating meetings, presiding over disputes, and dealing with the same headaches the rest
of us do. A wife and children will make it easier, Oliver. When you rule, you won’t have time for all of this chasing around.”

  “Are you commanding me to get married?” questioned Oliver.

  “I’m commanding you to introduce Isisandra to society,” declared Philip, sitting forward and pointing a finger at his brother. “Whether you turn that into a marriage or not is up to you. On that front, I can give you good advice, but neither Father nor I want to force you into a partnership you won’t be happy with. Not yet, at least. Make your own match, and we’ll never have to discuss it again.”

  Oliver scowled at his brother.

  “Tell me,” said Philip. “What of this sorcery you witnessed in Archtan Atoll? I saw the report, and even on paper, it gave me a shiver down my spine.”

  “It’d put a shiver down anyone’s spine,” responded Oliver. “It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s saying something,” remarked Philip.

  Oliver nodded. “Dark powers were called within that circle. I could feel it. Souls taken and abused, used in an evil ritual. The purpose, though, I cannot tell you. The priestess with me believed that the sorcerer was somehow contacting a powerful spirit. The powerful spirit if you get the distinction.”

  “And what could someone do with a spirit like this?” wondered the prince. “Could they bind it?”

  Shrugging, Oliver replied, “I don’t think even she knew. She said this spirit somehow tainted an object, a dagger we believe, and that may be why Countess Dalyrimple returned to Enhover. Everyone who would know anything about it has turned up dead, so the trail has gone rather cold.”

  “Most of the men who fought the raiders from the Coldlands are gone. Retired, dead, or never the same after that war,” mused Philip. “Perhaps some of them are still around. I could ask the inspectors to find and question anyone who served during that time. It’s possible they may recall some clue which could help.”

  “I can check with the royal marines,” offered Oliver. “Perhaps send a glae worm transmission to Admiral Brach.”

  “Let the inspectors and Bishop Yates handle it, Oliver. That’s why we have them,” replied Philip. “You did your part, and there’s no need for you to spend more time on the investigation.”

  Oliver sat back, frowning.

  “Though, there is one person you could interview,” mentioned Philip, sitting back in his chair. “Our uncle led a battalion into the Coldlands itself, remember? It would be better for you to speak with him about it than some low-ranking inspector. Why don’t you check with William while he’s here and see what he can recall?”

  “William is here?” inquired Oliver. “I had no idea. What is he in town for?”

  “Just keeping an eye on things, I suppose,” answered Philip. “He’s the prime minister. It’s his job to ensure the efficient function of the ministry. Most of the administrative staff in this palace are under his command. He makes several quiet visits a year out to each province. I dined with him last evening, and he seemed in high spirits. I think getting out of Southundon, out from under Father’s eye, does him a bit of good.”

  “I can relate,” muttered Oliver. “It’s been years since I last saw him. Every time there is an official visit to Westundon, it seems I’m always away.”

  “You’re always away… always,” suggested Philip. “It will be good for you to catch up with our uncle. Maybe a dinner where you can reacquaint yourselves, and then you’ll have an opportunity to ask about the Coldlands. Report whatever you find to the inspectors, will you?”

  “I’m supposed to be going to the Westlands…” murmured Oliver.

  “Not until the airship resupplies,” challenged Philip. “You’ll be here a week, at least. Use that time to meet with our uncle. If you were to take over rule of Westundon tomorrow, he’ll be running your administration after all. It’s foolish not to build your relationship with the man now.”

  “Very well,” said Oliver, standing and starting toward the door of his older brother’s office.

  “And don’t forget Isisandra,” called Prince Philip as Oliver slipped out the door.

  The Initiate II

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling you, Isisandra,” murmured the hushed voice.

  She grimaced.

  “You asked for my help tracking down your parents’ killer,” continued the voice. “That help comes at a price. He’s a good-looking man. I’m surprised you’re not… eager.”

  “He is a man,” mumbled the girl. She brushed a lock of raven-black hair behind her ear. “What assurances can you give that you will find who Captain Haines’ employer was? The Crown, Company, and Church all seem to be fumbling in the dark. If they cannot—”

  A gloved hand slapped down on the table. “They are fools, and fumbling in the dark is what fools do. You joined us, girl, because we are not fools. You contacted me because you know that I can find who pulled the captain’s strings.”

  “If you want me to… to do what you ask,” she stammered nervously, “then I need proof you can find out who was behind my parents’ murders.”

  “I don’t need to find them. I already know who it is,” snapped the man.

  She blinked at him. A black cloak, the cowl pulled over his head, a red-silk mask covering his features, thick black gloves, and a silver pendant hanging around his neck. The mask and the pendant, the only identification he had offered, the only assurance that he was who he said he was. Could she trust the man?

  No, she thought. Of course she could not trust him, but that did not mean he couldn’t provide what he claimed. And if he failed, then what was the loss? The duke wasn’t any closer to finding the person behind her parents’ death than he had been the moment he’d set foot on the atoll. Oliver Wellesley was lost, over his head and sniffing around all of the wrong places. If she wanted justice for her parents, she would have to get it herself.

  “If you know—”

  “Everything has a price, girl. Everything has a price.”

  She frowned.

  “There are worse things I could be asking of you,” reminded the masked figure. “A simple liaison with Duke Wellesley? Most of the women in this city wouldn’t need to be asked.”

  “Why don’t you have one of them do it, then?” she snapped.

  Redmask tilted his head, staring at her with cold blue eyes. He did not reply.

  She swallowed, cursing herself for losing her temper with the man who held the secret to her parents’ murders. Finally, she allowed, “I will do it.”

  “Leave,” the man instructed, waving his hand toward the door. “When I hear from you again, it should be done.”

  She stood and walked out of the well-appointed room.

  The hall in the Chapter House of the Feet of Seheht dripped with wealth — wealth, prestige, and power. The building was steeped in it. It had been for centuries. The Feet of Seheht, the home of countless peers, merchants, and others who led Enhover to be what it was. That was why her parents had joined, to achieve the next rank in society, the next tier of power. There were things that gold could not buy. Her parents had known that, and she had learned the lesson well. It did not mean those things were free, though. The man in the room had made that clear enough.

  She shook herself and glanced at the cloaked figure standing in the hall, waiting for her.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” asked the woman.

  “Not yet,” she responded.

  The woman turned and led her down the hallway.

  Isisandra followed, her gaze drifting over the furniture, the tapestries, the rich paintings. There were cityscapes of Westundon, dramatic storms over the sea, and rolling pastureland that spread for leagues inland. It was Enhover without the people. Below the paintings, there were silver bowls, crystal candlesticks, polished oak paneling, and pale yellow fae lights. The place was decorated like a wealthy lord’s city abode, which she supposed it likely had been once. Now, it was home to the Feet of Seheht, Westundo
n’s premier society, the place her parents had told her things could be made to happen.

  “The elder would like to see you before you go,” said her guide.

  “What about?” questioned Isisandra.

  The woman smirked. “The elder does not tell initiates his desires. He only tells them instructions. He instructed me to take you to… to that room, and he instructed me to take you to him when you left. If you are willing to go, that is. You are not an initiate yet and are welcome to leave if you desire.”

  The woman phrased it like a choice, but it was not. Isisandra knew enough to know that.

  She was led to the front of the building and into a small library. This room had windows and was braced by a well-stocked bar and an even better stocked bookshelf. Leather-bound tomes covered an entire side wall of the room from floor to ceiling. Isisandra’s eyes scanned over the volumes, though no names were stamped onto the outside spines. She could only imagine the knowledge contained within, what could be possible with access to such a library.

  “More extensive than what your family kept at the governor’s mansion, I imagine?”

  She turned to see a small man seated in a giant, leather-covered, wing-backed chair.

  “It is,” she responded.

  The man gestured for her to sit, and she settled across from him in an identical chair. It made her feel foolish, like she was a child sneaking into somewhere she didn’t belong. She would have squirmed with discomfort if the diminutive man greeting her didn’t look even more ridiculous, almost swallowed by the giant chair.

  His head was exposed, unlike Redmask. She wondered what that meant, that one was inclined to hide their identity while the other was not. Before speaking, she studied him. Large, round ears stood out from a small, round head. Wild, white hair stuck up from that head at an odd angle, as if he’d had no time to comb it when he woke, but his chin and jaw were clean-shaven. Small, brown eyes twinkled as he watched her assess him.