Nikki passed by the dusty shelves, making her way to the table where Arnim sat, his eyes scrutinizing even more documents.
"Any luck?" she asked.
He grunted in annoyance and looked up. "The records here are badly kept," he griped. "It's a miracle I can read any of them."
"Who entered them?" she asked.
"An illiterate, by the looks of it. I'd have an easier time trying to talk to a dead man."
"What is it you're trying to read?"
"The records for the Wincaster Foot," Arnim replied, "specifically, the fifth company."
"That was the one Gerald was attached to?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. He looked at her a moment, considering his words. "I'm sorry I barked," he finally said, "but I'm finding the lack of progress distressing."
"I understand," Nikki said, "perhaps I can help?"
"How?"
"When I ran with the gangs, they often needed assistance with their records."
"Criminals keep records?" Arnim said in surprise.
"Of course," she retorted. "It's the only way they could make sure they weren't being cheated."
"How does that help us?"
"They were all from the slums. I'm sure if I could read their sloppy writing, this should be a breeze."
"Very well," he stated, "at this point, I'm willing to try anything."
He turned the book to lay it in front of her.
Nikki sat, flipping through and scanning the pages. "It's a tough read," she admitted, "but not as bad as some I've seen. What's the date of the riot?"
"Late summer of '53," said Arnim.
"And we need the names of all the soldiers, correct?"
"Yes," he admitted, "at least all the men that were at the riot. A company is fifty men strong on paper."
"On paper?" she asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he explained, "that in real life the numbers are often considerably less. There'll be minor injuries or deaths that haven't been replaced."
"But these are pay records," said Nikki.
"Precisely," he said. "We'll be able to compile a list of all the soldiers that were paid for that month. It won't tell us who was there, but it's a start."
"What about Gerald?" asked Nikki. "Can't he give us a list of names?"
"I've already spoken to him," said Arnim. "He offered up a few, but has a hard time remembering the rest."
"I find that unusual," she said. "He tends to know his soldiers very well, it's what makes him a good leader."
"It's the leaf," explained Arnim.
"Numbleaf?" she asked.
"Yes," her husband continued, "he suffered from a debilitating leg wound and was taking it to manage his pain. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he remembered as much as he did."
"Perhaps you can use that in his defence?" suggested Nikki.
"I work for the crown," he reminded her, "there's a very good chance I'll have to prosecute him."
"Arnim, you can't!"
"It's my job, Nikki. I don't have to like it, but I must do my duty."
"And what of your duty to the queen? Would you break her heart by going after her father?"
"He's not her father!"
"He is," said Nikki, "in all the ways that matter. If you prove him guilty, he'll be sentenced to death. It'll devastate her."
"If he's innocent, the evidence will prove it," countered Arnim.
"My poor, sweet husband, is that what you think? These men that are lined up against us are ruthless, and they'll stop at nothing to achieve their objectives."
"Oh, you know them, do you?" Arnim exploded.
"No," she soothed, "but I've met enough like them. They might wear fancy clothes, but underneath they're just as filthy as those gang leaders in the slums."
Arnim took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "I'm sorry," he said at last, "I find this whole investigation to be quite taxing." He glanced back over at the book, "Found anything useful?"
"I have," she responded. "If we remove the captain and Gerald, we're left with thirty names."
"Gerald said there were only twenty at the riot," offered Arnim, "so we'll still have to whittle the list down a bit."
Nikki began copying the names to a paper.
"There," she said, putting checkmarks next to two of the names, "now we only have to identify the other eighteen. What's the next step?"
"We have to check the order books," said Arnim. "If we're lucky, they'll mention the deployment to Walpole Street."
"Why didn't we start there?" she asked.
"It's a long shot," he replied. "The riots erupted rather quickly, and it's likely there's no record of the company orders."
"And if that fails to yield the information we need?"
"Then we'll move on to the next step," he said. "That will involve a visit to army records."
"Isn't this the army records?" she asked.
"No, these records are the property of the treasury. The army records should detail deaths, at least those that died in the army. I know the Wincaster Foot fought against us in the siege and they likely took some casualties, so that will make the list shorter."
"But it won't tell us who was present at the riot," said Nikki.
"No, but at least we won't be wasting time looking for dead men. If we can find survivors, perhaps they'll be able to give us the names of others who were there?"
"A good idea," she agreed, "but shouldn't we visit the fifth company directly?"
"We can't," said Arnim. "I already checked, it was disbanded when the army was reduced. Whoever was left was either transferred to another company or dismissed."
"If they were transferred, the army would have records!" declared Nikki.
"Precisely," Arnim agreed, "but once a soldier is dismissed, we lose track of him."
"You give me names, and I'll find them," promised Nikki.
Arnim smiled, "I was hoping you'd say that."
That afternoon found them in the bowels of the Palace, walking down long corridors in the gloom of Arnim's lantern.
"It's got to be here somewhere," mused Nikki.
"Here it is," said Arnim, pausing by a door. He tried to open it, only to discover it was locked. "Saxnor's balls! Now we have to go all the way back upstairs to get the key."
"Or not," said Nikki, lifting her skirt to pull a small packet from her garter, opening it to reveal her lock picking tools."
"You're still carrying those?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied, "I never go anywhere without them."
"But we live in the richer section of town now, and spend most of our time at court."
"And yet here we are," she said, "in need of a lock pick!"
She was about to insert her pick when she paused.
"Arnim," she said, "I think someone's been here before us."
"Why?" he asked. "Did you hear something?"
"No," she replied, "but there's signs that someone's tried to pick the lock."
He moved closer, holding the light to the door handle. Sure enough, rough scratches were visible.
"It was a poor lock pick that tried this," he stated.
"Yes," she agreed. "No one worth their salt would leave marks like this. It was clumsy."
"The big question is, were they successful?"
"There's no way to tell," she replied.
"If they were, it jeopardizes the entire investigation."
"How so?" she asked.
"They could have compromised evidence," he said. "There's no telling what they might have removed from here."
"Or," suggested Nikki, "they simply came to find information, just as we did."
"Let's hope that's all it is," he said. "Go ahead and get us in, Nikki. If they did gain access to the records, we might have to speed up our search."
She inserted the tools, twisting them slightly until she felt what she was searching for. "Here we are," she said, pushing slightly. There was a loud click, and then the door swung open, revealing rows of shelves beyond.
Arnim stepped forward, illuminating the room with his lantern. Dusty tomes filled the shelves, each a leather-bound book with rough numbers etched on their spines.
"These archives record all those soldiers who died while in service to the crown," he told her.
"Where do we start?" she asked.
"The books are all dated," he said. "You start on the day of the riot and work your way forward, and I'll look at the most recent first, then work my way back. We're searching for any recorded deaths that are on the list of names we made. Of course, not all records are completely accurate, so we may find that a few deaths are not listed, but I'm hoping we can at least reduce the number of names."
"Surely more witnesses is better for Gerald," Nikki pointed out.
"Yes, but they'd require more time to track down. I'm hoping we can eventually find one or two that can corroborate Gerald's version of things." He paused at the end of a bookshelf. "I've found my first book, you?
"I have it here," she said, pulling a dusty tome from the shelf before her.
They both moved to the table where Arnim set the lantern before them, illuminating both books as they began to peruse the pages.
"I wish we had a mage with us," commented Nikki, "an orb of light would be useful right about now."
"So it would," agreed Arnim, "so it would."
Beverly knocked on the door, watched by the guards that stood on either side of it.
"Enter," came the queen's voice.
The knight pushed the door open to reveal the opulent room within where Queen Anna sat before a mirror while Sophie brushed her hair.
"You wanted to see me, Majesty?" said Beverly.
Anna raised her hand, halting her maid's ministrations.
"Would you give us some privacy, Sophie?" she asked.
"Certainly, Your Majesty," the young woman replied.
Sophie walked past Beverly, exiting the room and closing the door softly behind her.
Anna rose from her chair, moving across to where more comfortable seating awaited.
"Have a seat, Beverly," she requested, "there are things we need to discuss."
Beverly followed the queen's lead and sat, waiting for further enquiries.
"I take it you've heard of the charges against Gerald?" Anna asked.
"I have," said Beverly, "though I have a hard time believing them."
"What do you know of the events surrounding the massacre?"
"Only what I was told at the time," Beverly revealed. "From my understanding, Lord Walters ordered a full-scale slaughter."
"Yes," agreed Anna, "and died as a result."
"A fitting end for him, if you ask me."
"Gerald has been accused of murdering Lord Walters. His family claims to have proof."
"And?" asked Beverly.
"And, at first glance, the evidence appears substantial. Tell me, do you think Gerald would kill a man to save others?"
Beverly thought long and hard before making up her mind, "I would say it's quite possible, under the right circumstances."
"Yes," agreed Anna, "and, I would add, not just possible, but likely."
"So you think him guilty?" asked Beverly in surprise.
"Yes, though I can't blame him, and therein lies the problem."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I've always believed that a kingdom must be ruled by laws, laws which I've spent a lifetime learning. Now, I find myself at a crossroads. On the one hand, I desperately want the rule of law, but on the other, my dearest friend may pay the price for that belief."
"It's a dilemma," Beverly commiserated. "Given a reversal of our roles, I'm not sure what I would do."
"Tell me, Beverly, what would you do to ensure the safety of Gerald."
"Whatever it takes," said the knight, looking straight into Anna's eyes. The queen's own eyes stared back, unblinking.
"I was hoping you'd say that," Anna finally responded.
"What is it you wish me to do?" asked Beverly.
"For the moment, nothing, but at some point in the future, I may ask you to take action. If that happens, I'll need you to carry out my orders without questions."
"I stand ready to serve, Your Majesty."
"Good," said Anna. "In the meantime, say nothing of this to anyone, do you understand?"
"I do," the red-headed knight responded. "I shall speak to no one, on my honour."
"What time is it?" asked Arnim.
Nikki looked up to see his face bathed in the soft glow of the lantern. "I don't know, evening perhaps? We've been down here for quite a while."
"We're almost done," he said. "This book is the last to check. How does our list look?"
"We've eliminated ten names," she said, "but there's no telling if they were all at the riot or not."
"Ten out of thirty," he said, "at least we're making progress."
"Perhaps we'll find one or two more in that book you're reading."
"We can hope," said Arnim, "but we'll have to decide how to move forward."
"Have we exhausted all our options with the army records?" asked Nikki.
"Maybe not, there's still the chance that some transferred to other units."
"Would that be here, in the archives?"
"No," he replied, "the disbanding of the companies is more recent. We'll have to check the current records. We'll need access to the marshal's office for that."
"I can't see that as being a problem," commented Nikki. "The queen assured us of her full cooperation. She wants to get to the bottom of this as much as anyone else."
A look of worry crossed Nikki's face, causing Arnim to look on in concern.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"I hate even to suggest this," said Nikki, "but could Gerald be trying to bury his past?"
"What would give you that idea?"
"He's the marshal. He could post witnesses to the far end of the kingdom to keep them from answering questions."
"Isn't that a little unlikely? After all, it's Gerald we're talking about here."
"Think about it," she continued. "What do we know about him prior to his service with the princess?"
"I met him in Uxley," said Arnim.
"Under what conditions?" she pressed.
"I was captain of her bodyguard. You know that."
"Yes, but what was his position at the time?"
"He had fallen out of favour at court," said Arnim, "and been banished from the capital. They also removed him from his position at Uxley Hall."
"So, he defied orders to return to Uxley?"
"I suppose he did," said Arnim. "What are you getting at?"
"Just that we know so little of his life before Uxley."
"Beverly knows him well," defended Arnim, "as does Baron Fitzwilliam. They both think the world of Gerald."
"Yes," said Nikki, "but he was lost to them. Think about it, Arnim. Everything he held dear was ripped away from him. First, his family, then his very life as a warrior. That's a heavy burden to bear."
"And your point?" he pressed.
"People will go to great lengths to recover that which has been taken. Perhaps he seized an opportunity to vent his frustrations on Lord Walters?"
"Isn't that a little far fetched?" he accused.
"He lost everything," she insisted, "and he likely blamed the king's court. He was wounded, saving the king, wasn't he?"
"He was," confirmed Arnim, "and now that you mention it, I see what you mean. He never received any recognition for his part in the king's rescue, even though it cost him his livelihood. That's a bitter brew to drink, and then, on top of that, he's put under the command of a man that represents all that's wrong with the nobility."
"I think he snapped," said Nikki. "He was on numbleaf, which doesn't lead to rational thinking in the first place, and he stumbled across Lord Walters, yelling his head off and urging more death and destruction. I think Gerald took the only action he felt he could."
"So he killed the lord to save everyone?" asked Arnim.
"Possibly, or perhaps he saw the chance to give back some hate to the nobility in the form of his commanding officer. Think of all the rage he must have built up, being sent to the dregs of the army."
"That still doesn't mean he did it," said Arnim.
"Agreed," added Nikki, "but it does give him the motive to kill Walters."
"I hope you're wrong," said Arnim.
"So do I," she replied.
Beverly made her way to Gerald's quarters, the queen's words still fresh in her mind. The knight had thought to send an aide to ask him some questions, but the queen's insistence on keeping things between them made it imperative that she do this herself.
Upon reaching the third floor, she stepped from the stairwell into the long corridor that led to the marshal's room, but something was wrong. There should have been a guard on his door, but instead, all she saw was an empty hallway. Perhaps, she thought, he had merely decided to visit the queen, his guard following along, then she scolded herself, for if this were the case, they would have surely passed by her.
Senses alert, Beverly unslung Nature's Fury from her belt, gripping it tightly. As she drew closer, she spotted a mark on the floor and quickly identified it as blood. The door to Gerald's room sat partially open, and she moved forward, using her left arm to swing it wide.
A dead body lay on the floor, a ranger by the look of it, while a trail of blood angled off to the right. The knight crept forward, ready to fight, her pulse quickening.
Instead, she found Gerald lying face down, a large pool of blood beneath him. She rushed to him and felt for a pulse. It was weak, but he lived, though how much longer Beverly had no idea. Casting her eyes about, she looked for the intruder, but whoever had perpetrated this assault had fled, leaving little behind to follow.
She rushed to the door, calling for the guards at the top of her lungs. Hearing the distant echo of replying voices, she returned to Gerald in an effort to stem the flow of blood. Pulling a sheet from the bed, Beverly used her dagger to cut it up for bandages and packed the wound as best she could, but still, the blood poured forth, staining her hands.
Three Royal Guards appeared at the doorway.
"Get Lady Aubrey," she called out, "and seal the doors, someone's tried to kill the marshal!" Beverly cursed herself, she should have been here to prevent this.
Another guard approached, pulling a blanket from the bed and using it ineffectually to stop Gerald from bleeding out.
Footsteps out in the corridor announced the arrival of Aubrey. The young mage crouched beside Beverly to examine the marshal's wound.
"Can you save him?" pleaded Beverly.
In answer, Aubrey began casting, pulling forth magical energy until her hands glowed a brilliant yellow. She touched Gerald, and the light bled into him, pooling in an area lower down on his back. Finally, the marshal gave an audible gasp, and then his eyes fluttered open.
"Gerald, can you hear me?" called out Beverly.
"The guard," he stammered.
"He's weak," warned Aubrey, "and he'll need to rest; he's lost a lot of blood."
"Where's his guard?" asked one of the soldiers.
Beverly, content to let her cousin look after Gerald, stood, examining the scene. "Which Royal Guard was on duty in this area?"
"Styles," answered the soldier. "He took over from me a little while ago."
"He must have killed the ranger, then entered the room."
"This wound is from behind," reminded Aubrey.
"So Gerald didn't expect it. I suspect the assassin dragged the ranger's body in here to delay discovery." She turned to the guard, "Search the entire Palace, find Styles and place him under arrest."
"Gerald will survive," announced Aubrey, "but we need to get him into bed." She looked at the blood on the floor. "We need to move him to a safer location."
"My room," said Beverly, "it's just down the hall, next to the queen's."
"We need more guards," said Aubrey, "but who can we trust?”
Beverly looked around in a mild panic. Who could they trust? Before this, she'd have sworn the Royal Guards, but now she had her doubts.
It was Aubrey who supplied the answer. "We can take him to Hawksburg," she suggested. "The Orcs will keep him safe at the manor."
"Very well," replied Beverly, "but we'll take precautions all the same. I'll watch over him here. Send word to Prince Alric. Tell him we need six men, and Jack, if he's available. Once you return with them, we'll carry Gerald to the circle. Is he sufficiently healed enough to go through?"
"Yes," said Aubrey.
"How did this happen?" wondered Beverly.
"It wasn't your fault," urged Aubrey.
"I should have anticipated it," the knight replied. "What am I going to tell the queen?"
"That we saved Gerald and that we're taking him to safety."
"We have another problem," said Beverly, "if a guard could get to Gerald, there's a very real possibility they could get to the queen."
"They've already tried," reminded her cousin.
"Yes," agreed the knight, "but we're stretched to the limit. We need people here that we can trust. Her safety is at stake."
"Once we get to Hawksburg, I'll bring Kraloch and some Orcs back here. I know it's a temporary measure, but at least it will buy you some time to sort things out with the guards."
Donald Harper had started soldiering at the tender age of fifteen, and now, ten years later, he had earned the coveted position of Royal Guard, a situation that was much to his liking, even if it did include this room to room search of the Palace. He looked to his companion, Evard Brenton, who was walking, sword drawn, beside him.
"What d'you make of it, Ev?" he asked.
"It's crazy," Brenton replied, "to think that a member of our own guard turned on the marshal. What was Styles thinking?"
They turned a corner to see someone kneeling in the hallway, a guard by the look of it, bent over a door handle.
"You, stop!" called out Harper.
In answer, the man looked in their direction and stood up.
"It's all right," he said, "I just lost my key."
"Don't lie, Styles," called out Brenton, "we know it was you that attacked the marshal."
In answer, Styles drew his own weapon and advanced, snarling as he did. He rapidly closed the distance, striking out at Brenton, driving the blade deeply into the man's arm.
Harper, surprised by the sudden attack, struggled to draw his blade, a somewhat worn piece he had used for years.
Brenton struck back, a weakened blow that was easily deflected by his opponent, then Styles replied with a lightning-fast stab, thrusting the sword into Brenton's stomach.
Harper finally slashed out, striking high to avoid any armour. The trusty blade dug deep, slicing into the sinews of the traitor's neck. Styles collapsed in a heap, his breath stopped cold.
What Harper saw next astounded him, for as Styles fell, his face contorted, losing all of its features, to then take the form of a blank face. This was the only way the guard's mind could explain it.
Brenton, who had fallen to the ground, clutched his wound, breathing heavily. "What in the Underworld is that thing?" he asked.
Harper poked it with his toe, ensuring it was dead. "I have no idea."
Alric looked at Anna, who was sitting beside him.
"He's safe in Hawksburg now," he soothed.
"Thank you, Alric," she replied, "but we still need to get to the bottom of this." She turned to the rest of the assembly, "Ideas, anyone?"
"I don't think this attack was the work of our political rivals," announced Hayley.
"Why do you say that?" asked Anna.
"They already have a strong case against Gerald, why kill him?"
"That makes sense," agreed Aubrey, "but if not them, then who?"
"Yes," said Alric, "and what was that creature they found?"
"A bartok," offered Revi.
"I've never heard of them," said Hayley. "Are there many of them?"
"They are a creation of Necromancers," he stated, "though my understanding is that their image must be based on an actual person."
"So the Dark Queen is in play," mused Beverly.
"It would appear so," added Anna. "It makes sense, she did have to flee Merceria. This is her way of telling us she's not done with us yet."
"How long has it been amongst us?" asked Anna.
"I'm afraid there's no way to tell," said Revi. ”Months, perhaps even years."
"Is there any way to discover if there are more?" asked Beverly.
"Perhaps," offered Kraloch.
"Care to explain?" said Anna.
"A creature such as this, a construct, if we use that term, would have no representation in the spirit realm."
“And what does that mean?" asked Hayley. "Are you saying they'd be invisible there?"
"No," explained the Orc shaman, "but living creatures look different than the non-living."
"The washed-out colours?" said Aubrey.
"Yes," agreed Kraloch, "their colours would have the same hues as the other non-living things, like furniture."
"We need to check this room," said Hayley. "We have no way of knowing if one of us isn't one of these bartoks."
"I can vouch for myself," offered Alric.
"That's precisely the point, Alric," said Anna. "If you were a shapeshifter, that's exactly the answer you'd give."
"So what's the solution?" asked Alric.
"I shall go into spirit form and examine the room," offered Kraloch.
"No," said Anna, "not alone, you won't. Take Aubrey with you."
"Majesty?" said Beverly.
"He must," explained Anna, "don't you see? If he were one of these creatures, he could lie to us. This way, they'll both be able to view our spirits."
"And if they're both in on it?" asked Revi.
"A risk I'm willing to take," said Anna, "though I suppose we could send Beverly with them. Would that satisfy everyone?"
They all nodded their heads in agreement.
"Very well," said Kraloch, "I shall cast the spell." He moved to an open space and lay down, waiting as Beverly and Aubrey joined him. He began the incantation, the words of power causing the air to buzz. Moments later, there was the familiar snapping sound, and the room changed around them.
Aubrey rose first, her eyes on Beverly. "Your hammer's glowing brightly," she said.
Beverly, the next to rise, held it in her hands in wonder. “Is it? I don’t see anything.”
"It is magic," said Kraloch, "enchanted with the power of nature."
"It has an aura," remarked Aubrey.
"What colour is it?" asked the Orc.
She examined it in more detail before answering, "It's a light brown colour."
"Appropriate for magic of the earth," said Kraloch.
Aubrey looked about the room. Revi's aura was multicoloured, much as she had seen it before, whereas the queen's aura was still a bright, white light.
"I don't see any sign of a bartok," she said.
"Nor do I," responded Kraloch. "What do you see, Dame Beverly?"
"No auras," said the knight, "and no sign of any of those creatures. Still, I wish Albreda were here."
"She's due back any day now," said Aubrey. "She's been taking some measurements at Bodden."
"Measurements?" asked Beverly.
"For the next magic circle," Aubrey explained, "or rather, a circle of stones."
"I thought the Whitewood was close by," offered Kraloch.
"It is," said Aubrey, "but that wouldn't help us if the Keep were under siege."
"No," said Beverly, "I don't suppose it would."
"Well," said Kraloch, "it appears we're safe from these creatures, at least for the present."
"Yes," agreed Aubrey, "though I'd like to repeat this spell to check over all our guards."
"A good idea," said Beverly, "but we'd best reassure the queen. She'll be worried about us taking so long."
Kraloch cast again, and the familiar tugging pulled at them. Moments later, they were back to lying on the floor.
It was Aubrey that raised her head first. "It's safe," she announced. "There's no sign of any bartoks in the room."
"Yes," agreed Beverly, "but we'll check the guards, just to be sure."