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William was used to hearing Lady Anne’s high-pitched giggle as he approached Baron Broderick’s apartment. But he didn’t often hear other women talking and laughing there, too. He looked in on the parlor to see her ladyship at a card table with Duchess Flora, Lady Jorunn, and Francine Trevelyan, the Countess of Moltzig. Two empty wine bottles and a nearly empty cheese plate sat on the table among the cards. Clearly this was Anne’s way of lobbying for votes in the upcoming Gemot. As far as William could tell, she was making some headway. The four women looked like they were best friends now.
Then they noticed him in the doorway, and their laughter trailed off. He often had that effect on people at parties. The polite thing to do would be to greet them each by name and say something witty and charming. But that was well beyond the scope of his talents.
“Hello, Sir William,” said Duchess Flora. “Did you need something, perhaps?”
Lady Anne pointed him down the hall, smiling. “Broderick said you should go right in.”
He bowed again and left them to their cards and their wine. One of them, it sounded like Lady Jorunn, said something in a low voice, and the other three burst out in giggles. He ignored it. This was Anne’s world, not his.
Baron Broderick was in his bedroom next door, sitting in the window and writing on a lap desk. A long scroll lay beside him with the names of every nobleman in Myrcia, along with notations in the margins in different colors of ink.
“There we are,” said Broderick, finishing his sentence and setting the lap desk aside. “It’s a lot of damned work, William, but I think we’re getting there.” His lordship had at least two days’ stubble on his jaw—something William hadn’t seen since the war.
“What else can I do to help?” asked William.
“I’m glad you asked. Do you know anyone who thinks Jeffrey Sigor would make a good king?”
“Sir?”
Old Jeffrey Sigor was the current Duke of Newshire, part of the vast Sigor clan and a cousin of the royal family. His eldest son, Aldrick, Earl of Wellenham, had sent his knights to the army camp at Hamstowe.
“Have you ever heard someone say he ought to be king?”
“No, sir.”
“Not surprising, I suppose. People still remember when his elder brother, Fransis, tried to take the throne by force. It might look a bit tasteless to suggest Jeffrey follow in his footsteps.” Broderick slapped his thighs and stood up, crossing the room to a basin in the corner. “Even so, I need someone to do it.” He splashed water on his face from the basin and then poured himself a cup of wine from the nearby sideboard. “And my half-brother, Sir Robert Tynsdale,” he continued. “I need someone to nominate him, too.”
“Sir Robert? My lord, you recall he’s taken service with the queen, don’t you?”
“Of course. Oh, and Lukas thinks we should nominate Princess Elwyn, though he’ll be the one doing that, so you don’t need to worry about it. Perhaps you could find someone to nominate my Tynsdale half-sisters, too.”
“My lord, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Why would we do this?”
“It’s quite simple. The more claimants there are to the throne, the less legitimate Edwin’s claim looks. A lot of people still don’t even think this Gemot is necessary. They don’t think there’s any problem, since there’s one obvious claimant. Well, we’re going to show them that there is a problem, and much larger than they ever imagined it could be.”
“A problem we’re going to create, my lord.”
“Exactly. Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Broderick poured a second cup of wine and held it out to William. “How are things going on your end? What do you hear down in the city?”
William took the wine and drank a little. “Colonel Rath’s new troops are coming along well, sir. Their loyalty is still a bit...questionable, though. Some of the new lieutenants are refusing to help the colonel investigate the queen. They signed a letter calling the inquiry ‘a sham.’”
“They signed a letter? That was foolish of them.”
“Now those officers are planning to run off to Hamstowe with their men.”
“I assume you’ll make sure they have second thoughts.”
“Naturally, sir. Did you have something specific in mind?”
“Blast it all!” Broderick’s jaw tensed, and he glared at William. “I pay you so I don’t have to come up with specifics. Do you want me to do your job now, too?” Turning away, he flung his wine cup into the fireplace, scattering shards of glass all over the hearth.
William took a step back, shocked by the sudden outburst, and then bowed. “I’m sorry, my lord. You’re quite right.”
Broderick ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “No, I’m being an idiot. I apologize, William, but I haven’t had much sleep recently. Don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you do.”
“Not at all, sir. It’s my pleasure. If you don’t have anything else for me, I’ll go talk to those officers and see if I can find people to make the nominations you requested.”
This loss of temper worried him. Not that William had never seen Baron Broderick get angry. His lordship had done it quite a lot back during the war. But he usually built up to his rages gradually.
Ah well. Things would be different after the Gemot. Everything would be settled, and people would go back to their normal lives. William, for one, would get to start spending more than a couple hours a day with his wife and son. He’d get to stop worrying about secret lists and whether someone would come in the night for Gwen.
Until then, all he could do was his duty. He stopped by several of the towers on the outer wall, where he had little chats with the mutinous officers. Most of them agreed that their talents would be better used elsewhere, and they quit on the spot. One of them required much more vigorous persuasion, and tried to put up a counterargument in the form of a hunting knife. William won the debate, though he was careful to leave the fingers on the fellow’s right hand unbroken, so he could sign his letter of resignation. Which he did, eventually.
Next, William turned his attention to the problem of the nominations. He still wasn’t exactly sure what the point of them was, but that was Baron Broderick’s business, not his. If his lordship wanted something, it was William’s job to get it for him.
At a wine shop near the university, he found a middle-aged knight named Sir Henry Boykin, who happened to be the steward of the Duke of Oaseshire. “Your master likes the Duke of Newshire, doesn’t he?” William asked.
“Of course,” said Sir Henry, nervously eyeing the hilt of William’s dagger.
“Good. Then when the Gemot convenes, maybe you could see to it that your master nominates the Duke of Newshire as king.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
William reached toward his belt, fingers inches from the hilt, and sweat beaded on Sir Henry’s forehead. Then William reached past the dagger and pulled out his purse, from which he counted out ten shillings.
“I’m sure you’ll think of some reason.” He pushed the money over in front of the man. “You’ll get ten more if he does it.”
Twenty shillings was a Sovereign—a lot of money even for the steward of a duke. But of course the man—terrified a moment before—had to get greedy. “I’ll do it for two Sovereigns.”
Now William drew the dagger. “How about fifteen Shillings, and I’ll let you keep all your fingers?” It was an irresistible offer, and Sir Henry accepted it eagerly.
Only a few minutes after Sir Henry left, William saw his old friend, Vincent Carling, Earl of Hambledon, walk in. Vincent came over to say “hello,” of course, and William saw his opportunity immediately.
“I’m looking for someone who can nominate Sir Robert Tynsdale to be king.” William took out the purse and counted out more shillings.
Vincent looked at the pile of coins like they were turds. “You know, William, I would do it if you just asked me.”
“So will you do it?”
“I suppose I could,” said Vincent. “But don’t ask me for any more favors.” He left the money on the table and went off to sit with someone else.
William could have kicked himself. “There I go, offending the only friends I’ve got,” he thought miserably. He finished his ale and went back out again.
On Bocbinder Street, east of the university and a few blocks from his home, he chanced to see two young ladies window-shopping on the long row of bookstores. Coming closer, he recognized Lady Gwenevir Dryhten, daughter of the Duke of Leornian, and Lady Sophie Byrne, daughter of Duchess Flora. Gwenevir appeared to be recommending to Sophie some novel she had read that was “absolutely shocking.”
“If I were subtle,” thought William, “I could go over there and say hello.” He could talk to them about books, if he ever read books. That was what Lady Anne would do if she were there. They would all laugh together, and then, very carefully, he would bring the conversation around to the Gemot. He would get them on Baron Broderick’s side, and then they would go home and use their influence on their parents.
As it was, though, anything he said to the girls would come across as a threat. And you didn’t threaten family members. That would be a complete violation of the rules.
The girls turned. They were coming his way now. In a panic, William ducked into an alley, going three blocks out of his way to avoid them.