Chapter 6

Senator Pellus leaned over Lily to get a better view out the window. “Good gods, is that supposed to be a city? What a dump.”

Privately, she shared his opinion, though. From the top of this hill—called Gleade Hill, apparently—they could see the entire Myrcian capital of Formacaster. Wealdan Castle, with its four towers and its huge glass dome, rising above those soaring red cliffs, was certainly picturesque. And the cathedral was impressive, though clearly unfinished. But the rest of Formacaster was a grubby little patch of houses that would barely have rated as a market town in the Empire.

“I don’t even know what we’re doing here,” grumbled Pellus. “This whole trip turns out to be a waste of time.” He’d been saying that all day, since their innkeeper at Hamstowe had informed them that the Myrcian king was dead.

“And the new king,” Lily said, for about the fifth time, “will naturally have a regent.”

“Who probably wipes his ass for him,” said Pellus, slumping back in his seat. “Might as well turn around right now.”

But they didn’t, of course. Having come this far, it would have been stupid to stop. And Lily felt quite excited about visiting the Myrcian court. This was the first time she had ever been to another country, and not even the senator’s constant grumbling could dampen her enthusiasm.

At the base of the hill, their carriage rolled through a small village, which was called “Abertref” in Lily’s notes. Then there was a ferry ride across a broad river. This, she informed Pellus, was the famous Trahern.

On the far side, they had hardly docked when they were intercepted by a squad of soldiers, who informed them that the city was under some sort of martial law, and only “authorized persons” were permitted through the gates.

“We’re on a diplomatic mission,” Lily told the soldiers. “This is Senator Linus Pellus, who is here as a personal envoy from Emperor Tullius and Empress Vita.”

The soldiers nodded at Pellus for a few seconds, clearly impressed. Then they resumed staring at Lily. They had been openly staring at her since she had stepped off the ferry, but then, Lily was used to being stared at by men. “And who are you?” their leader asked.

None of the soldiers looked like they believed her, and even if they had, Pellus, who hated euphemisms, then said, “She’s my mistress. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The soldiers quickly conferred amongst themselves. Their captain was summoned, and after he found out who Pellus and Lily were, he sent for someone called Colonel Rath, who was apparently in charge of the troops patrolling the city.

Rath was a short, slender, somewhat potbellied man, well past middle age, who looked as if he spent more time in taverns now than in the training yard. He greeted them quite politely, but then explained, with an expression of genuine sadness, that he couldn’t admit them to the city. “It’s too dangerous now,” he said. “I couldn’t guarantee your safety.”

“We’re perfectly willing to take the risk,” said Lily. She looked down the river docks, with fishermen mending their nets and fat alley cats sunning themselves. She had seen more than her share of shady neighborhoods in her young life, and this wasn’t one of them.

“You’re very brave,” said the colonel. “Most admirable. But even so, you’d be one more concern for my men. One more thing for them to worry about. One more thing to protect. And it can get expensive to protect things, as I’m sure you know.”

Lily looked at him, pursing her lips. So that was his game, then. “What if we agreed to cover the cost of our own protection?”

Rath smiled, clearly pleased she had grasped the point so quickly. “Why, that would be a marvelous idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself, in fact.”

After some tasteful haggling, Lily’s purse became four gold aurei lighter, and Rath gave them permission to enter. She and Pellus got back into their carriage and drove through the city and up the long, winding road to the castle. Lily had spent an hour that morning studying her notes before Pellus woke up, and she remembered that they were supposed to present themselves to the Lord Chancellor, whose name was Ranulf Harris, Earl of Ardenford.

When she told Pellus that, however, he sneered, “You’re such an expert at court etiquette. Did they teach you that at the brothel?”

She bit her lip, and then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she replied, “Yes, they did, in fact.”

At the castle, the guardsmen treated Pellus with proper deference, and the officer conducted them inside to the famous Palm Court. Lily was astonished at the bright tropical flowers, the huge trees soaring overhead, and all the pools and waterfalls. But the most marvelous thing of all was the vast dome of glass and steel. Nothing like it existed in the Empire, not even at the imperial palaces in Presidium and Albus Magnus. She had to remind herself not to gawk at everything.

The Lord Chancellor came out to meet them, and he offered them any sort of food or wine they might desire. “However,” he said, with a pained look, “I regret to say that we cannot provide you with a room at the moment.”

“Um...no,” said the earl, frowning. “We simply have no more rooms. The privy council has gathered, and a great many nobles have come up to town for the late king’s funeral and his majesty’s coronation. I do hope you will not feel slighted, but I would be happy to arrange for a room at one of our city’s better inns. At no charge to you, of course.”

That was a sad disappointment; it would have been so marvelous to have a room that looked out on that beautiful indoor garden. But she quickly told the earl they would take the rooms in the city, because Pellus looked as if he was itching to make a stink about it for the sheer joy of being disagreeable.

Lily asked after the royal family, and Pellus grumbled and rolled his eyes, muttering about needing a nap.

“Her majesty is well,” said the earl, “as is his majesty. Though as you might imagine, they are both indisposed. I shall let you know as soon as they are ready to receive visitors.”

“So until then, we sit on our asses?” said Pellus. “Fantastic. What a treat.”

The queen was informed of their arrival, though, and she sent down two of her young ladies-in-waiting to give them her regards and to escort them to their rooms at the inn. Lily chatted with the two girls, Lady Gwenevir Dryhten and Lady Emily Cuthing, both of whom seemed very sweet and well-mannered. They were bright, too, and eager to hear about Lily’s three-week journey from Presidium. Lily, following her instructions, said nothing about Moira Darrow or Faustinus. The two girls asked no awkward questions, though, which was fortunate.

From them, she heard all the sad news of King Edgar’s final days, picked up a little court gossip, and learned which nobles lived in the various mansions they passed. Pellus, meanwhile, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

Their inn, called the Old Ivy, was near the market square, easy walking distance from the castle hill and the mansions of the nobles. It was clean and prosperous-looking, with a newly-thatched roof outside and freshly whitewashed walls indoors, covered in floral stencils in blue and yellow and green. The innkeeper, on instructions from Lady Gwenevir and Lady Emily, gave Pellus and Lily his “best rooms,” which included mosaics in the parlors and a tremendous four-poster bed in a separate chamber that seemed to sag under its own weight.

Once they were settled in, the two young ladies politely excused themselves, and Lily told the innkeeper to bring a bath up. She asked Pellus, with her most suggestive smile, whether he might want to join her.

“Maybe later,” he said. “Right now I want to take a shit in peace and then have a nap.”

So she let him sleep while she cleaned off the grime and dust of the road. Then she curled up by the fire in her blue silk robe and studied her notes until he woke again.

They had lunch in the early afternoon, and then Pellus was feeling good enough that he took her up on her earlier offer, and they had sex. Afterward, as they were dressing again, the innkeeper’s wife knocked on the door and told them they had a visitor: a very important lady, apparently, named Baroness Muriel Gramiren. And they barely had time to fasten all their buttons and tie all their laces before the woman arrived.

She was tall and beautiful, with pale blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. Only a few delicate wrinkles—most visible when she smiled—betrayed her as middle-aged.

“I was appalled to hear the stupid chancellor wasn’t able to find rooms at Wealdan Castle for you,” she said. “I wanted to let you know that I am entirely at your disposal if you need anything at all.”

Her Immani was flawless, so much so that Lily was surprised to learn she had never visited the Empire. Pellus was most impressed by her gift of a bottle of fine Annenstruker Rodvin from the royal vineyards (her mother was related to the King of Annenstruk), which he insisted on trying immediately. There was a basket with little scented soaps and candles, too, which he completely ignored.

“These are lovely!” said Lily, taking up the basket and cradling it like a child. “I’m going to...um, go put these in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.”

She shut the bedroom door, pulled out her notes, and flipped frantically through them, searching for the name, “Gramiren.” She was sure she had read it that morning. After a few minutes, she found it:

Broderick, Baron Gramiren

Captain General of Myrcia (commander of the army), member of the privy council.

Natural son of King Ethelred, who preceded his brother, Edgar II, on the throne

Age: 52 (looks younger)

Wife: Muriel Ostensen (39), daughter of the Duke of Severn and Princess Vibeka of Annenstruk, sister of current duke.

Their two children were listed, followed by a paragraph about his life and career—things the Prefect had thought Lily might want to know about him. But there would be time to read all that later. The salient point was that the innkeeper’s wife had been correct—Baroness Muriel was someone very, very important. And she was smart, too. Smart enough to know that a friendship with an Immani envoy was worth cultivating.

Sadly, when Lily emerged from the bedroom, her ladyship was already on her way out the door. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to leave her alone with Pellus, who had almost no conversational skills at all.

“Haven’t the foggiest.” He raised his glass. “Forgotten her name already. Good judge of wine, whoever she is. Nice ass, too.”

Lily told him who she was, but he shrugged. She suggested they pay a return call on the baroness soon, which earned her a withering look.

“If you’re going to start making me do work,” he said, “then I’m not sharing my wine with you.”

It didn’t take him long to drink himself into insensibility, and then Lily took her notes out again, along with a little writing set. She flipped to the very end of the sheaf of parchment, where the code was located, and then, slowly and carefully, wrote out a message announcing their arrival and reporting that she had met Muriel Gramiren.

When she had finished the letter, she signed it, “Scriptora LS.” Then she folded it carefully and sealed it with her personal seal. This was made of brass and had a stylized picture of a lily on it, which Pellus thought was “something a 12-year-old girl would have.” Not that she cared. The seal had been given to her by the Prefect, and Lily found it cute. She waited for the wax to dry, and then put on the direction:

For a few minutes, she pondered whether to take the letter to the official Immani embassy in town. It would get to the Prefect a lot faster that way. But the trouble was that Lily didn’t work for the Foreign Ministry, and it might be difficult to explain to the diplomatic legate why a random courtesan had shown up in Myrcia, thinking she was entitled to use his couriers. And it wasn’t as if her letter had any news of vital import.

So, opting for the slower method, she put the whole letter in another envelope, on which she wrote a second address:

Lily and Pellus had stayed at the Oxcart the night before, but Miss Oakley had the night off, so Lily hadn’t been able to meet the young half-Immani bar wench who would be the first strand in Lily’s slender, tenuous connection to her employer. This was an awful lot to trust to someone she had never met, and Lily had learned not to trust easily.

But the alternative was bothering the people at the embassy, and there was no guarantee they would help her. So Lily took the letter downstairs to the common room and asked around until she found a tinsmith who said he was going to Hamstowe in the morning.