Imperial Spy (17 page)

‘No, your Majesty. Lord Kempten alluded to Alyssa as something of a mystery woman at Court. This was hardly new information to me. He refused to expand on this, but he did tell me he owed
her a debt, the background of which he did not choose to reveal. In fact he said little about Alyssa at all, except to tell me you could help me find her, if you were so minded.’

‘A debt? Kempten said he owed her a debt? Now that is interesting,’ the Emperor said thoughtfully. ‘You’re sure those were his words?’

‘Yes, your Majesty. Lord Kempten was clear about that. He indicated his intent to offer her his thanks when he next sees her in Court,’ Danar replied, puzzled at the Emperor’s
interest in what he had considered a minor point in his conversation with the old Lord. It had obviously been of more significance than he had realised.

‘And why exactly do you wish to find Lady Alyssa?’ Emperor Surabar asked, and then shook his head as he finished the question. ‘Forget I asked that. It’s patently obvious
why you seek her. Why else would Lord Danar seek any attractive young Lady of the Court?’

‘Your Imperial Majesty, I assure you this is no passing infatuation. I respect and honour Lady Alyssa and wish to explore the possibility of a serious relationship with her,’ Danar
protested, his indignation making him bolder.

‘A relationship between you and Lady Alyssa would be impossible on many grounds. I suggest you desist in your search for her and concentrate instead on the more serious aspects of Court
life. Your father is no fan of mine, and I can empathise with his viewpoint. I’m an impostor on the throne in his eyes – a commoner who should never have taken the Mantle of Emperor.
But he is treading dangerously with some of his liaisons. I suggest you take notice of his meetings and his plotting. Don’t let him do anything stupid, or you may find yourself rising to lead
your House earlier than you expected. I will not tolerate treason. Those guilty will be punished in the traditional fashion. Don’t let your father be among those I make examples of, or
you’ll find your days of dallying with the ladies a thing of the past.’

Emperor Surabar lowered his eyes back to the sheets of parchment in front of him and Danar knew this was his dismissal. Anger rose in him like a well of fire brimming to the peak of a
volcano.

‘That’s it?’ he asked, his voice rising slightly as he failed to completely maintain his cool. ‘Politics are important, your Majesty, I’ll not deny that. I promise
I’ll do my utmost to convince my father to stop any traitorous activities, but please, I beg you, tell me something of Alyssa. Do you know where she is?’

The Emperor raised his eyes and there was a cool, calculating calm behind his gaze that chilled the heat in Danar’s heart to ice.

‘Yes, I know where Alyssa is. No, I will not tell you where. I’ll watch carefully to see if you keep your promise and then, if I am impressed by your efforts, I might reconsider that
decision. Now, go and do something worthwhile with your life.’

There was no denying that tone. It commanded with an absolute authority that Danar doubted anyone would dare gainsay. He could hardly believe he had found the gall to make his final plea to the
Emperor, but was pleased that he had. At least this way Surabar would not consider him a complete worm. Danar had demonstrated spirit, even if Surabar felt it was misguided.

Danar bowed low, but if Surabar noted the formality he did not acknowledge it. The Emperor was already deep in his paperwork again. Danar left the room silently. Lost in thought, he considered
Surabar’s command as he trudged through the corridors of the Palace to the nearest exit. There appeared nothing for it but to do as the Emperor wished.

Danar’s father was getting involved in schemes that could see him hanged. As the Emperor was clearly aware of this involvement and had supplied a timely warning, Danar could not ignore it.
All of a sudden the responsibilities of age and family position crashed in on him. He needed to act quickly to save his family’s reputation, but he was far from giving up on finding Lady
Alyssa. If this was what it took to get the Emperor to help him find her, then so be it, he decided.

King Malo was awash with emotion. He found his mind swinging wildly between anger and grief, and was finding it hard to think rationally about anything.

‘Why would the Emperor of Shandar send an assassin to kill Anton?’ he asked the empty room again as he paced up and down. ‘The Ambassador’s disguise was so effective she
could have struck me down with as much ease as Anton, so why him?’

The situation was confusing enough without the grief that had kept his eyes full of tears all day long. Killing Anton simply made no sense when the assassin could have struck at the King and
thrown the country into new chaos. It was possible that the Emperor saw Anton as the real driving force behind Thrandor’s recent military victories, but surely that was not enough to place
him higher on an enemy’s target list than the King.

Now there was the added confusion of Count Dreban’s death. Was this killing another assassination, or was Dreban simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? There were no obvious links
between Dreban’s interests and those of Anton, and it was hard to think of two men at further extremes of the political and social spectrums. Malo would not mourn the death of the Count, but
he would protest his murder in the strongest terms to the Shandese Emperor. Whatever the reason behind these killings, Ambassador Femke had a lot of questions to answer. King Malo was determined to
have her found and brought to him so he could pose those questions personally.

‘Krider!’ he called loudly. ‘Krider, get in here now, please.’

The door opened almost instantly and the old servant entered quietly. Krider’s eyes too showed the puffy redness of recently shed tears, but his emotions were under control as he bowed
stiffly before the King.

‘Yes, your Majesty?’

‘Summon the fastest message rider. I wish to send a letter to our neighbour, Emperor Surabar. There has not been an assassination in Thrandor for over a hundred years and I’m not
about to stand by and let this go unanswered. Get the stables to prepare their best horse. I want my letter in the Emperor’s hand in a week.’

‘Yes, your Majesty, at once,’ Krider said, bowing again.

Malo knew that to get to Shandrim in a week was impossible, but he was determined to speed the Royal Messenger on his way with all possible urgency. As soon as the old servant had closed the
door, Malo went to his desk and began composing his letter of protest. He pulled no punches with his language, laying blame for this atrocity firmly at the Emperor’s doorstep. As he signed it
off, he hesitated for a moment. Was he being too hasty? This was a damning missive that could easily spark a war. ‘No,’ he resolved firmly. ‘The time for rationalising things away
has long since passed. These last few months have seen one act of violent madness follow another. Let Surabar see my anger and grief at this latest act of aggression. I’ll not play the meek
ruler of a minor kingdom any more.’

Femke hit the floor and rolled smoothly into a fighting crouch, a knife drawn and her arm ready to hurl it with all force. Scanning the room in an instant, Femke realised that
Shalidar had gone. How far he had gone was not certain – her instincts told her he had left the building, but there was little point in taking unnecessary chances. Femke was not about to go
through the house to the front, as it gave far too many opportunities for Shalidar to prove her wrong. Instead, she snatched up her pack, threw in her belongings and slung it over her
shoulders.

Moments later, Femke left the house through the kitchen window. Like a spider she climbed the rear face of the building, drawing her body up onto the shallow slope of the slate-covered roof. The
aches and pains in various parts of her body were still present, but for the moment it was her professional pride that hurt more. The assassin’s stealthy approach in the house had taken her
by surprise, and now Femke was determined not to let Shalidar totally win the day. Stubborn perseverance drove the spy to push her body beyond weariness and pain.

With her senses heightened by the dangerous nature of the situation, Femke crept silently up to the peak of the roof and surveyed the road below. For a full minute her eyes probed the dark
corners and shadows of the street, looking for the assassin. Surely Shalidar could not have gone far in the short time that she had waited, motionless, in the kitchen, she thought, unable to
believe that the slippery character could lose her so easily. He could still be in the house below her, but again her gut instinct told her otherwise. He may also have anticipated her taking to the
rooftops. If he had, he would hug the near side of the street to minimise his exposure to her aerial view.

‘OK, Shalidar, which way have you gone?’ Femke whispered to herself. ‘If I were you, where would I go? I would go . . . left, I think.’

Mind made up, Femke pushed her body into a crouching run along the rooftop, keeping as low as possible and trying not to skyline herself against lights higher up the hill. It would not do to
give Shalidar his wish by getting herself caught by Royal Guards within minutes of leaving the house.

At least Femke was now dressed more suitably for stealth in her dark clothes. Her clean face and hair were less likely to draw attention to her in a crowd, but she had not had time to change her
appearance significantly. Anyone with a reasonable description of her would easily recognise her as the Shandese Ambassador.

Fortunately Shalidar had caught up with her before she had used the few disguise elements that resided in her pack. A couple of mouth inserts to change the shape of her cheeks, together with the
wig of dark hair to replace the light coloured one that she was currently wearing, and Femke knew that she would look very different from the description given to the Royal Guards. As soon as it
was safe to do so, she would effect the transformation.

Femke reached the end of the line of houses and crept back up to the peak of the roof. Sure enough, she located the assassin in the adjoining street. He had company. A patrol of Royal Guards was
talking to him. Given his gestures, he was giving them directions to the house where he had left Femke.

‘Damn you, Shalidar, but you’re a smooth son of a—’

Femke did not complete her muttered curse, for she had to duck back down behind the peak of the rooftop to avoid being seen by the patrol. Sliding gently and completely under control down to the
edge of the rear of the house, Femke started searching for a convenient route back down to ground level. The corner of the building proved suitable, with ample hand and footholds.

Within a few moments she had descended and slipped out into the street near to where she had seen Shalidar with the guard patrol. The guards had already moved into the cross-slope street in the
direction Shalidar had pointed. Femke caught a fleeting glimpse of the assassin disappearing around a corner some way down the hill into a parallel street. She knew she would have to be extremely
careful if she were to track Shalidar successfully. He would employ many of the tricks that Femke had tried to trap him with when she had been running from Count Dreban’s house earlier. Her
experience of the assassin told her that he was also likely to have a few novel tricks and traps of his own, so she would have to be doubly careful.

Shalidar would expect her to follow him, but a sudden thought crossed Femke’s mind that made the whole dangerous chase scenario irrelevant. On the day that she had entered Mantor with her
four companions she remembered seeing someone who had looked like Shalidar disappearing into one of the larger houses some distance up the hillside from here. Femke grinned as she recalled exactly
where the house was.

‘I’ll bet my last copper sennut that’s where you’re staying, Shalidar,’ she muttered gleefully. ‘It’s time to change the rules. We’ve been playing
cat and mouse under
your
rules for too long. Now you can fiddle to my tune for a while.’

Taking care to avoid being seen for some distance, Femke worked her way along streets in a completely different direction from that in which Shalidar had headed. Then, deep in shadow, tucked
down a quiet side alley, Femke removed her pack and extracted her limited items of disguise. The wig and mouth inserts would do the job well enough for this evening, Femke decided confidently.
Tomorrow it should be easy enough to augment her supplies from the market stalls in the lower city streets. By lunchtime tomorrow, Femke knew she would be all but invisible.

An hour later, settled into a small room in one of the inns in the lowest level of Mantor, Femke eased herself into the narrow bed. Despite the aches and pains that riddled her body, she slipped
instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep, confident that nobody would be able to trace her overnight.

The sun had been up for several hours when Femke awoke, and the smell of cooking food wafting in through her open window set her stomach knotting with hunger. It was then that Femke realised she
had not eaten anything for a full day, which explained the ravenous emptiness that gripped her now.

With a groan of pain, Femke rolled out of bed and slowly straightened her body as she got to her feet. There was not an inch of her body that was not hurting, but after collecting the bowl of
water and small bar of soap left outside her door, Femke was pleased to discover that most of the aches and pains receded with movement. Many of her muscles were stiff from the abuse she had dealt
them the previous day, but providing she did not attempt anything overly strenuous for the next day or two, the minor injuries she had sustained during her flight should heal quickly.

As Femke adjusted her wig in the mirror, it suddenly occurred to her that it was Shalidar who had been through her pack at Count Dreban’s house, rather than the Count as she had first
assumed. There was no point in taking any unnecessary risks, she decided. Therefore, Femke resolved that as soon as she had finished breakfast, the first task of the day would be to get a couple of
completely new sets of clothes and a more comprehensive set of items with which to build disguises.