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In the days of confusion after the Sigors broke the siege lines, William suddenly found it much easier to contact the Immani spy, Intira Stylianos. Both armies were sending out regular patrols of scouts and cavalry, jostling for position as the new front lines were established. A little hamlet or farmhouse might be occupied by Gramiren men in the morning, Sigor men in the afternoon, and be back in Gramiren hands by nightfall. All William had to do was capture one of these Sigor scouts, frighten the fellow senseless to make sure he didn’t talk too much, and then give him a shilling to take a message to “the Immani woman.”
He told her where to leave a reply—in the hollow of a dead tree on the road south of Escomb. That was barely four miles from the west gate of the city, and as he anticipated, she had no trouble getting there and leaving him a note.
She, in turn, suggested a place they might meet. It was on the north side of the river, a wooded, rocky hill overlooking the spot where a narrow country lane from Champsford to Chickwell intersected another little path running from Hutton to Lovell. On the map, it looked like the sort of place someone might have built a village. And when William got there, it seemed someone had—long, long ago. He saw fallen stone walls, and bits of chimneys, and sunken patches where root cellars had been, perhaps. There were low earthen burial mounds half-hidden in brambles and rhododendrons, too. In the early morning, with fog rising from the river, it looked like something out of a fairy story.
Intira arrived a few minutes after him. He waited in the shadows until he was sure they were alone, and then he walked out to join her.
“Nice place you’ve chosen,” he said.
“Thank you. I found this spot a few weeks ago when I was hiding from one of your patrols. I’ll try to be here at least twice a week. Shall we say Friday and Monday mornings? We can always change it later if we need to.”
“Friday and Monday are fine,” he said.
He gave her his latest letters to his family—one to his wife and one to his son. Robby was barely 4, but Gwen would read it to him. William had written about all the birds and animals he saw along the river. He didn’t mention that most of the time when he was down by the river, he was there to dispose of a body. Robby didn’t need to know that, and neither did Gwen.
Intira tucked the letters into a pocket, then readjusted her left glove. William thought he saw a flash of metal there. He thought of an old sergeant he had known back in the Loshadnarodski War. The man had lost his hand in battle, and wore a false hand made of bronze. Was Intira the same?
Then she flexed the fingers of her left hand, in a way no metal hand could ever move, and pulled a tiny slip of parchment from a different pocket.
“This is where I’m staying in Docent Lane. Don’t write to that address or come there in person unless it’s absolutely necessary. But I probably don’t need to tell you that.”
William memorized the address, then knelt with his flints to make a fire and burn it.
“Let me do that,” said Intira, plucking the parchment from the ground. She held it between her left thumb and forefinger, and it burst into flame.
William tilted his head back and studied her. “Was that magy?”
“Possibly.” She grinned. “Or maybe it’s a trick I picked up somewhere. I’ll see you later, Lord William. Hopefully soon.”
He wondered and worried about her all the way back to headquarters. Whether she could use magy or not, there was something mysterious about her, and he didn’t like having to trust someone he didn’t know. It went against all his instincts.
When he got back to Bestandan, he tried to go directly to the mansion where the king was staying. But a staff officer intercepted him and said Lieutenant General Rath wanted “a quick word.” William couldn’t very well say, “no,” so he followed the man up to the high street.
Rath had appropriated the town’s second-largest tavern as his personal headquarters. It was a big brick building with a green and gold façade, sitting directly across the road from the parish church, like a kind of counterpoint.
Most of the tables in the tavern had been shifted aside, and someone had covered an entire wall in fresh white paint. A dozen staff officers stood along the wall, making notes in charcoal and pencil, writing lists, and drawing quick, crude diagrams of military maneuvers. On the other side of the long, narrow room, Ned Slorcus stood behind the mahogany bar, playing barkeep and pouring mugs of ale for himself and the others.
Rath had his office at the back, in a private dining room that had a door and green shuttered windows for privacy. He had a sturdy old table for a desk, covered in books and papers.
“Where did you go today?” he asked.
“I was following a Sigor agent, sir, as the king instructed me to do.”
“The king is concerned about people acting on their own. He’s worried that some people aren’t as loyal to the cause as they could be. We all have to pull together at a time like this, don’t you think?”
“I’ve always worked alone.”
Rath nodded. “But it’s good to try new things, isn’t it? From now on, I want you to work with Ned.”
William’s guts turned to icy slush. “Is there some...reason, sir?”
“Not at all.” Rath smiled and folded his hands over a stack of paper. “It’s not a matter of mistrust, William. It’s a simple matter of accountability. And of transparency, too. If we work together, then we all know where we stand, don’t we?”
William had no idea what that meant, exactly, but he had a very bad feeling that this change in policy was no coincidence. Rath didn’t trust him, and Rath knew more than he was letting on. William wanted to object, to ask for anyone but Ned Slorcus for a partner. But he stopped himself, realizing just in time that saying anything other than, “Yes, sir,” would make Rath even more suspicious.
“Yes, sir,” he said, bowing. “Of course, sir.”
As he left the office and walked out past the bar, Ned called out, “Where are you going? Wait! I should come with you.”
“I’m going to speak to the king,” said William. “I don’t think you really need to come, do you?” He tapped the bar. “Go ahead and have another round.”
Fortunately, Ned didn’t need to be told twice, and William was able to walk down to the king’s mansion alone.
The big house was full almost to bursting with guests, and had been for most of the past week. Even if the war wasn’t going nearly as well as everyone had hoped, many people had still wanted an official party and feast for Finstertide. Duchess Flora had graciously stepped in to act as hostess and had started planning the festivities.
However, two days before the holiday, Queen Muriel herself arrived in Bestandan with her daughter, Princess Donella, plus dozens of courtiers. Duchess Flora had, with equal graciousness, conceded the role of hostess to her majesty. The party had been a smashing success, or so William had been told; he had never been much of a judge of the quality of parties. Now there was talk of the queen and her retinue remaining in Bestandan straight through to Seefest, the Solstice, and New Year’s.
William tried to avoid the crowd in the great hall and larger parlors by slipping around the side through the servants’ corridors. He came out in the conservatory, which seemed empty until he heard a burst of giggling from a far corner.
Princess Donella sat on a low couch with her best friend, Lady Lauren Byrne, framed by giant ferns. Both were the image of their mothers—Donella with the queen’s strong, sharp features and golden blonde locks, Lauren with Duchess Flora’s flowing red hair. The teenage girls each had a pen in hand, and they were sharing a lap desk. One would write a line, and they would both laugh. Then the other would add something, and they would laugh even more.
“They’re writing a novel, apparently,” said a honey-smooth feminine voice.
He turned and saw Queen Muriel sitting in a little ivy-covered nook by a fountain. She had on a close-fitting dress of black silk with highlights of metallic silver thread, and had a book propped open on her lap. To her left sat a handsome young Odelandic knight in tight leather trousers and a sleeveless tunic. William didn’t know the fellow’s name, and there was no point in learning it. Her majesty changed her lovers with the seasons.
To her right, Baron Theodore “Teddy” Musgrove was fussing with the fine lace cuffs of his own dress. Once upon a time, Musgrove had favored outrageously loud colors and foreign styles when he wore women’s clothing. In the past few years, though, he had chosen more staid and sensible dresses—the kind that elderly duchesses and maiden governesses might wear.
William bowed. “My apologies, your majesty. I didn’t see you there.”
“We’re trying not to be seen.” She gestured toward the two girls. “I wonder what the book is about. I fear they will make me read it at some point.” She sighed and shook her head.
“You should write a novel, your majesty,” said Lord Musgrove.
“Yes!” said the anonymous Odelandic fellow. “You’d be a natural, my dear.”
“Me? An author?” The queen laughed. “I love reading fiction, but writing it? I don’t think so. Just because I enjoy going for a ride doesn’t mean I want to be a horse.”
William bowed again. “Very good, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.
“Oh, wait,” she said. “William, I’ve seen Lady Jorunn around camp, but I haven’t had a chance to speak with her privately, yet. Do you know where she’s staying?”
“Yes, ma’am. She has a room at the Dog and Pony Inn. That’s the one by the—”
“By the apothecary shop. Yes, I know. Thank you. I would hate for her ladyship to feel neglected. I sometimes think, William, that people on our side lack the imagination to see all the ways that a hillichmagnar could be useful to us. I shall try to...cultivate her.”
William thought about magy as he climbed the stairs. His mind kept going back to the way Intira Stylianos had burned up that little bit of parchment without flints or a candle or anything. Yes, magy could be awfully useful. And the queen was right—a lot of people didn’t spend enough time thinking about ways to use it properly.
He found the king in his study, standing at a window and glowering down at the rose garden, which was full of courtiers, in spite of the cold. William coughed slightly to announce himself.
“There you are,” said the king without turning. “I asked for you earlier, and no one could find you.”
“My apologies, your majesty. I was north of the river, looking into a report that the Immani woman, Intira Stylianos, had been seen there. I found her and I followed her, but she returned to Leornian.”
The king clenched his fist and tapped his knuckles against the window frame. “You might as well give her our whole fucking war plan.”
“Sir?”
“What does it even matter?” The king hugged his arms tightly to himself. “I don’t trust many people, William. And even those people, I’m starting to trust less and less. Did you see that my wife brought Baron Musgrove here? Do you know what his presence in camp means?”
“Um...no sir.”
“It means we now have a quorum for the privy council. Which means I’m probably going to be pestered by those damned fools all winter long, blast it all!”
William had forgotten that the king had named Musgrove to the privy council—probably as a favor to the queen.
“You could send them home, your majesty.”
“That’s just what they want me to do!” The king pounded his fist against the window frame, making the glass rattle in its leading. “Keep an eye on them all, William. If any of them—especially Musgrove—leave this camp, I want to know where they went and who they talked with.”
“Of course, sir.” William hesitated, then said, “General Rath has ordered me to take Ned Slorcus with me whenever I go scouting.”
The king’s frown deepened. “He did, did he? H’m.... That’s probably a good idea. Keep an eye on Slorcus. And Rath, too. I’m still not entirely sure why Lady Jorunn was so keen to insinuate him into my headquarters, but I have my suspicions. She visited Diernemynster earlier this year. Did you know that? Never trust Diernemynster, William. They have had two thousand years’ practice at double crossing people and stabbing them in the back.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“That’s all for now. Keep an eye out, and don’t trust anyone.”
For the next few days, William tried conscientiously to follow the king’s orders and watch the members of the privy council. But whenever he tried to go anywhere, suddenly Ned Slorcus would appear.
“You’re not trying to leave without me, are you?” Ned would say.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” William would answer.
Ned was a fairly good scout, as it happened. But two men together could never be quite as stealthy or secretive as one. Their quarry kept spotting them, and then William and Ned would have to pretend to be going somewhere else.
As Friday drew closer, William wondered exactly how he could get away to see Intira Stylianos when Ned was tagging along with him everywhere. His first thought was that he could easily slip a knife into Ned’s back and dump the body in the river. But then Rath would notice Ned was gone, and of course it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that William had been the last person to see him alive.
He could also try threatening Ned. Or begging him as a favor? Or maybe bribing him? No, threats were better. William knew himself well enough to know he was much better at delivering threats than at begging. And while the king paid him very well, he didn’t have money enough to make Ned forget he had been bribed, if anyone ever asked. On the other hand, if he threatened Ned, there would be nothing to stop Ned from running straight to Rath.
Luckily, William happened to stop by Rath’s office in the tavern on Thursday evening. And when he saw Ned playing barkeep again for the staff officers, an alternative plan quickly formed in his mind.
He sat down across from Ned, dropped a few pennies on the bar, and said, “Look, if we’re going to spend all this time together, we should probably get to know each other a little better.”
After the first mug of ale, William stopped drinking entirely. Ned poured them a couple fingers of whiskey each as he told a long and complicated story about a girl he had wanted to marry, but who had turned him down because she was “stuck up.” William carefully lowered the glass under the lip of the bar and poured the liquor on the floor while nodding sympathetically.
Rath retired to bed around ten o’clock, with the young staff officers leaving an hour or so after that. Ned kept drinking, though. He didn’t seem to notice that William wasn’t even pretending to keep up with him. William had control of the whiskey bottle now, and whenever Ned’s glass was less than half full, he quickly refilled it.
Ned vomited around midnight, then again half an hour later. William helped him to bed and then retired to his own quiet bunk. After a refreshing night’s sleep, he woke up, saddled his horse, and went across the river. Ned, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be seen.
He found Intira in the abandoned village, seated on one of the old burial mounds, whittling a stick with her knife.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” she said.
“I almost didn’t.” He told her how Rath had ordered him to go everywhere with Ned Slorcus.
“Do you think Rath suspects you?”
“No. Perhaps. Maybe. I hope not.”
“Me, too.” Intira sheathed her knife, then stabbed the stick into the mound like a gravestone. “How did you manage to get away this morning?”
“I got him drunk. I don’t know how many times that will work.”
“In my experience, a man who will get drunk once will do it again.”
William almost managed a smile. “Fair enough. But I can’t guarantee how often I can meet you here.”
“Do what you can. Take care of yourself. Now, hurry up and tell me everything you know about Volker Rath. I need to get back. There’s a wedding this afternoon.”