Von Koller would be livid, but they really didn’t have any choice now. Preusa would have to ask Ardhuin Kermarec for help. Again.
The longer Dominic lived at Peran, the more interesting features he discovered in forgotten corners of the grounds. The latest was an old stone fishpond, still in excellent condition, and as soon as it was cleaned up he had restocked it with fish and aquatic plants. He still felt the garden was his especial responsibility, even though he was not Ardhuin’s hired gardener anymore. And now he had another use for the fishpond—as a place to experiment.
Dominic peered into the murky depths of the water, trying to catch a glimpse of Hector through the glass. He could just make out a scampering blur of white fur. Hector was always agitated during submersion, and since he was small and pale the fish regarded him as a giant offering of their usual treat of bread crumbs and surrounded him with gaping mouths. Dominic shifted a lily pad for better light. Hector was still running around, but now would pause occasionally to take in a sunflower seed for sustenance during his trial. Dominic picked up the ladle and poured more water into the balancing tank, and Hector descended into the depths.
“If you are very nice to me, I will replace the ladle in the kitchen before Estelle notices it is missing.” Ardhuin’s voice was brimming with amusement.
Dominic quickly glanced up. Ardhuin was standing in the sunlight, wearing a light muslin dress and with her fire–red hair swept up under a wide–brimmed straw hat. She was carrying a large basket of flowers and smiling at him, altogether presenting such a delightful picture he completely forgot what she had just said.
“I think it is working this time! Look, he’s moving around just like he was in his cage. I think he is becoming accustomed.”
Ardhuin put down the basket and looked over his shoulder. “It looks like a large pickle jar.” Mischief danced in her eyes. “This is for your latest novel, a tale of underwater mice, yes?”
Dominic gave her a look of mock dudgeon. “Why would mice want to go underwater? It was a pickle jar, before I made a few modifications. This is just a proof of principle. See, the extra tanks attached to the jar allow it to go up and down at will. If empty, the buoyancy makes it rise, and by adding water…” he stared at the ladle in his hand, remembering. “Oh, right. I just wanted to see if it would work—it was too much trouble to go into town and get something suitable when this was right there in the kitchen.”
Ardhuin took the ladle and gave him a kiss. “Even if you didn’t want to have Michel get out the carriage, you could have him go and get it for you in his cart,” she pointed out. “He quite likes an excuse to use it.”
“Why does he keep that old thing? Is he afraid we will let him go and he’ll have to go back to delivery? Or perhaps he has changed his mind about working around so much magic.”
“We said he could keep it here, remember? And his horse. There’s plenty of room in the carriage house. And while he may be suspicious of magic, I think he also views us as protection. For his sister, if not for himself.”
That made sense. Michel was odd enough, but Amay was even more silent and fey than her brother, and Dominic had heard the whispers about her in the town.
“The carriage house isn’t as roomy as you think these days.” Dominic reached for the hand pump to raise the glass vessel. “It would be nice to have more space for a table or two for my experiments.”
“Why not move your experiments to the house? There’s plenty of room. Half of the cellar isn’t even being used.”
“Thank you, but no.” Dominic suppressed a shudder, remembering the chilly damp and the chains of Denais’s prison. “I have taken a great dislike to cellars of late.”
Ardhuin put a comforting arm around him. “Of course. I didn’t think…well, there is also that room next to the library. I think it is supposed to be a parlor, but it isn’t as if we are likely to entertain so much we will need three of the things.”
The tanks were now completely empty, and the glass vessel rested on the surface of the pond. Dominic bent and picked it up. The submersible exploration boat had worked quite well, once he’d gotten a few kinks ironed out. Hector capered and pawed at the rubber seal of the hatch, anticipating his freedom.
The door to the house opened and Henri, carrying a silver tray, came outside. An orange–and–white cat followed him with equal dignity—slightly marred when he noticed the suddenly motionless mouse and started stalking it.
“The post has arrived, sir,” said Henri, bowing slightly. A large letter with a familiar ornate crest was on top of the pile, and Dominic immediately handed it to Ardhuin while fending off the cat from pawing at the glass jar.
“Ah, a royal letter. That explains why you felt it necessary to provide an escort, Hermes. No, you may not eat him, he’s an employee.” Affecting disinterest, Hermes wandered off with great nonchalance to annoy the Sangré rosebush instead. “Why was it sent post instead of with a courier this time? Maybe it’s just an announcement of the new Mage Guardians. I was wondering what the delay was, after we did all that work for them.” Dominic shuffled the rest of the letters, selecting one with a Baerlen postmark. “Oh, excellent. Dieter Theusen has written. He promised to update me on his new flying machine design. I still think they can get it to work someday.” He started to open it, only to see Ardhuin handing the royal letter to him.
“It’s for you.”
It was in fact addressed to M. Kermarec, and he could think of no reason for anyone in the royal household to contact him. Ardhuin, of course, was a completely different matter. He opened the envelope. “A celebration of the cultural lights of Bretagne, is it? Gala at the palace, art, literature, drama…oh.”
The back of the invitation, ostensibly blank, had a sheen of magic. Illusion. He could just make out the simple, handwritten message concealed underneath. He sighed and handed it back to Ardhuin. “Apparently a courier would attract too much notice. Her Majesty wishes to speak with you immediately on a matter of some delicacy.”
Chapter 2
Rain trickled down the grimy panes of glass, obscuring the view even more than the dirt alone. Gutrune cracked open the casement window at the far corner of the room, just enough to allow the field glasses space but not enough to be seen from outside. From her vantage point on one of the upper floors, she had a clear view of the street below. A carriage approached her warehouse hideout slowly, as if it were searching for an unfamiliar address. She peered through the glasses—Stoller was driving, as expected, and one glove was removed. The signal.
When the carriage was one building away she reached for a large metal lever with a grip lock and pulled it sharply. She heard the low grumbling of the gate and felt it through the rough plank floors. The carriage swept in with a burst of speed. She engaged the grip lock and shoved the lever up to close the gate behind them, and descended to meet her visitors.
Down in the open stone–flagged courtyard, Stoller was carefully helping her brother descend from the carriage. Heinrich leaned on his cane and awkwardly shifted one leg from the hip, his lips compressed and pale.
“I am still…becoming accustomed,” he managed. “It’s not completely like a real leg, after all. Do you really think I should work here?” He looked around at the high wall of dirty windows that surrounded the court, frowning. “I can walk quite a distance now, but I don’t think I can…”
Gutrune took his arm, unobtrusively supporting him. “Do not trouble yourself about stairs. I made some arrangements.” She led him to the metal cage resting on the floor of the carriage room. “A small lift apparatus. It uses counterweights, so you should have little difficulty using it.”
Heinrich, distracted, did not move when she tugged on his arm, instead pointing to a shadowed bay. “Why do you have a lamplighter’s cart?”
She raised an eyebrow. “They go everywhere, and are not remarked on. You may find this useful in your new line of work.”
“As you did, I presume?” He sig
hed and allowed her to guide him over the uneven concrete floor. “I must say, Tru, this place does not seem at all your style. More like a seedy warehouse.”
“Good. It is an impression I have been at some pains to achieve. One does not wish to draw attention,” she said, smiling at his bemused expression. She showed him the central rope mechanism used to move the lift, and while she had to hold his cane for him, he had no trouble putting it in motion.
“Clever.” Heinrich was breathing hard with exertion. “I was wondering how I would take exercise now.”
“If you dislike moving it by hand, you can consider adding a small engine, but anything unusual or loud should be avoided if at all possible.”
She had him go all the way to the highest floor, to a room unreachable by stairs. With the lift raised and locked in place, it was a very secure location. She showed him the mechanism that prevented anyone without a key from even reaching the top level, and the electric signaling device linked to the lower floors.
“A bell or a buzzer would not be suitable here, so the levers move up, and then you select the proper speaking tube with the matching number. And here,” she said, pointing to a device with several gears and a long stylus resting on a horizontal cylinder of paper, “is the telegraph. It is set to record messages automatically that come over our own secret line. You can send directly to the palace at need, or indeed anywhere. This device is why, in addition to the information stored here,” she waved at the bookshelves, “this room needs to be kept completely secure.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting such a well–appointed office in this shabby building.” Heinrich looked about at the desks and deep leather chairs as Gutrune lit several lamps. “It looks quite comfortable. You even have a little stove. No windows…oh. Of course. You are not provided something like this at the Imperial Palace?”
Gutrune smiled. “I am. And it is thoroughly searched at least once a month, sometimes more. There are…let us not say enemies, rather, adversarial factions at court. All of which would very much like to know what the King thinks of certain matters, or what he knows of them. Sometimes I am shockingly careless and allow carefully selected papers to be left in that office, if I think it would assist His Majesty’s purpose.”
Heinrich laughed. “Oh, very clever indeed. But is it really necessary to have such stringent vigilance even at court?”
“Especially at court. You must also watch that spies leave nothing incriminating behind for others to find, as well. Some would just as soon see me…us removed from favor.” She considered her brother more carefully in the lamplight. He had recently started to affect a neatly trimmed beard, the better to hide the still–red scars the explosion had left on his face. It also accentuated the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones, and for a moment she saw him as a woman other than his sister might. “There is another, more delicate danger I must warn you of,” she continued, choosing her words with care. “Court intrigues are not exclusively political. You will be in a position of power, and there are those who will seek any means to win you to their side. Even seduction,” she said bluntly.
Heinrich reddened. “You should have better confidence in my character to even think of such a thing.”
“I should hope so, especially since the…invitations would come from precisely the sources that would be most likely to embarrass the King should you accept. But it is not even necessary for you to agree for these sorts of whispers to cause damage.”
Heinrich looked away, grimacing. “I am not likely to be a creditable topic of such gossip in my current damaged condition.” He gestured jerkily at his leg. “Such attentions are beyond me now.”
“I assure you, you are mistaken. Your scars will fade, and any man under the age of fifty has a distinct advantage to those court ladies swayed by a handsome face,” Gutrune remarked dryly. “But this is mostly about power and influence, and you will most definitely have that. You would be quite surprised, I think, at some otherwise improbable affairs that have taken place.”
“I begin to agree that you are best leaving this situation.” Heinrich pulled out a chair and sat down stiffly. He winced and grasped his artificial leg to adjust it, which had shifted to an awkward position. “What other delights are in store for me?”
“I wrote up some notes you may find useful,” Gutrune said, pulling out a sheaf of papers from a drawer. “The investigations I mentioned in Anatoli are turning up interesting information, and I may have to leave sooner than I planned. They should not leave this office.”
He picked them up, interest smoothing the lines of pain from his face. “Does this have to do with these guardian mages you mentioned?”
“The Mage Guardians are mentioned in a general way. Now that you are cleared to know the details, I can tell you more of the specific issues at hand which must not be written down anywhere, and spoken of only in secure places.” She gestured at the windowless room. “One of the mages of the Grand Armeé survived, and escaped. He goes by the name Denais now, and he plotted to destroy the Mage Guardians and ignite a war between Ostri and Preusa.”
“But you said—”
“One Mage Guardian survived, from Bretagne. Denais’s plot was discovered and thwarted thanks to that mage, but Denais himself escaped. When we learned that he had a base of operations in Anatoli, we sent people to search for it.”
Heinrich stared blankly at the wall, the papers in his hand forgotten. “So. That is why…Anatoli? Do you intend to go there yourself?” he asked, giving her a fierce look. “Is this what you consider a ‘more active role’?”
Gutrune spread her hands. “Someone who knows the full story must go. Denais must be captured or killed. His plans endanger all of Aerope, Heine. And he is a very dangerous man.”
“Well, why can’t this Mage Guardian go then? You are a skilled shot but no magician, Tru!”
“Anatoli is where Denais was. We have no idea where he is now, and we must find out. The Mage Guardian of Bretagne is too valuable to be risked. We can’t afford to lose her along with the rest.”
The papers fell to the floor in a cascade. Heinrich stared at her in shock, eyes wide. “Her?”
Gutrune sighed. “And now you understand the need for secrecy.”
It was not as bad as she had feared, despite the crowd of people present in the room. For one thing, Dominic was with her, and he was the ostensible reason for their presence at the soiree. For another, a gathering of artists, writers, and composers was by its nature less noisy and hectic than a ball. Ardhuin had also been surprised at how much she enjoyed listening to music when there was no danger of being expected to dance to it.
In comparison to the palace in Baerlen, the only other royal residence she had visited, the Bretagnan palace was less heavily ornate and less rigidly formal. The salon the soiree was held in had several tall, glass–paned doors that opened onto a terrace, admitting a refreshing evening breeze, and it was decorated with flowers in small, scattered vases rather than large, imposing arrangements.
The gentlemen—and the attendees were mostly gentlemen—were all resplendent in formal attire. Dominic had quite cheerfully acceded to the need for a new suit, and it pleased her to see his enjoyment of his new prosperity. She was less happy that he had insisted she also obtain clothing more suited to the occasion. She stifled a sigh, wondering if her mother had encouraged him, and made a mental note of the fashions the other ladies were wearing. Bright, jewel–like silks with lace overskirts were popular, as was pale velvet covered with floral embroidery. All far too eye–catching for her tastes—and to think she had worried that her soft yellow dress, with its full, flowing skirt, was too bright. But perhaps if she mentioned the latest fashions in her next letter, her mother would think Ardhuin was cured and stop worrying. And stop conniving with Dominic to bring her into fashion.
Ardhuin and Dominic walked slowly about the room, meeting the other notables and the members of the court. The Queen had opened the festivities e
arlier, but Ardhuin had not seen her recently. The Queen was rumored to be in the family way, so perhaps she had retired to rest. Would they be meeting with her, or just her advisers? The illusioned note had not given many details except that the meeting was important.
Dominic was clearly enjoying himself, and she supposed she didn’t mind the soiree so much as she had expected. All she had to do was smile, murmur a few conventional greetings, and listen to Dominic’s conversation. Quite a few of the guests had not only heard of Dominic’s books, but read them. All of the attention was directed at him, and she could fade into unnoticed obscurity, just as she preferred.
“How much longer?” she asked, as yet another invitee, a poet this time, excused himself with a bow from their conversation.
“Soon, I would imagine,” Dominic said. “The Royal Presence left nearly half an hour ago. I only hope we can escape without being missed.” He grinned. “You are making quite a stir, you know.”
Ardhuin started, and felt her face heat. “Is something wrong? Is this dress too noticeable?” She brushed her hand over her jonquil–yellow silk skirt.
More amusement in his eyes. “Only in the sense that it suits you very well. And no more arguing about whether you needed it or not! If you did not dress in the style of the court ladies you would stand out. No, I have been keeping a running count as you pass by. So far I have seen four extremely blatant stares, a dropped wineglass, and two collisions between gentlemen who were both trying to watch you instead of where they were going. I suspect one of the artists is trying to sketch you on the back of his program, as well.”
Ardhuin hastily unfurled her fan. “Dominic! Why didn’t you warn me sooner? We should go to another room until we are summoned. What if he remembers me?” She fanned herself slightly, concealing her face, and scanned the room for the alleged artist.
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