Imperial Spy (18 page)

It transpired that the heavenly odours of food that had drifted into Femke’s bedroom had not been coming from the kitchens of the inn, but from one of the stalls outside. All along the
lowest street of Mantor, market stalls lined either side. As far as Femke could tell, the market was a semi-permanent one. Poorer merchants hawked their wares from ramshackle stalls in direct
competition with the more permanent shops in the buildings on the road.

Several stalls were serving sandwiches. Thick slices of steaming-hot hog roast, dipped in rich gravy and placed between two slabs of freshly baked bread, made for fine eating. Each vendor
claimed loudly that his or her sauce was the best in Mantor. Femke could quite appreciate them all telling the truth, depending on one’s taste.

Femke gathered her knapsack of belongings and left the inn to join the lively bustle in the street. The innkeeper had insisted on being paid in full the night before, so there was no bill to
settle. Femke doubted she would stay in the same place twice for the next few nights. It was better, she decided, to keep a random element to her whereabouts for the time being. In her heart, Femke
hoped that with her experience in the field of intelligence gathering, she would be able to collate enough evidence to nail Shalidar quickly. That way she could repair any diplomatic harm done by
this whole affair before it got out of control.

Femke would have been far more at home tackling the problem had she been in Shandar. Shalidar was more comfortable here than Femke. The assassin had clearly visited Mantor before.

With a huge, hot meat sandwich in her hand, Femke weaved through the great market street, looking for suitable clothing and other necessities. Everything she needed was available in abundance.
Femke could have spent her money ten times over, but she was aware the small amount of gold she had grabbed during her escape from the Palace would need to last. Spending it all on the first day
would not be wise. Stealing money was always an option, but it carried an element of risk.

It had been several years since Femke had survived in her home city of Shandrim by making free with the money of others, but she was more skilled at the art now than she had ever been in those
bleak days. If Femke had not been the best young pickpocket in Shandrim, then she had been one of the best. For several years she had survived comfortably from her harvesting of purses and
trinkets, which she had fenced on the black market. During that time she had never come close to getting caught. Then one day Femke had chosen the wrong target and her life had changed for
ever.

In retrospect, attempting to pick the pocket of Lord Ferrand was actually a most happy mistake, for it was he who had turned her unusual collection of skills into something productive and
legitimate. He had trained her in the art of being a spy.

The process had taken some time – particularly learning the etiquette of the Nobility and the finer arts of acting like a Lady of Court. However, Lord Ferrand had been patience personified
throughout the training process and he had possessed a wonderful way of finding something good in even her most disastrous attempts at new skills.

Femke had lived at his house throughout the process, cut off from the outside world until her new Master was content she was ready. With constant encouragement and coaching, Femke had changed
from a streetwise urchin girl into a sophisticated and highly skilled spy in under a year. Femke had never known such an enjoyable time during her earlier childhood years. Her family home had never
been a happy place. Therefore, the restrictions that Lord Ferrand had placed on her freedom had not irked her much. They had also not stopped her from testing the Lord’s limits and resources,
but Femke quickly realised these were more than adequate to contain her. As he had caught her picking his pocket when they had first met, so the Lord had apprehended her in the act of trying to
slip out on a sly visit into the city. Ferrand’s seemingly all-seeing abilities, together with his warning that he would throw her back out on the street if she ever disobeyed him again, were
sufficient to keep Femke contained.

Femke had high hopes that she would somehow resolve the situation here in Mantor before it came to stealing, but it was comforting to know she would not starve – whatever happened. She
knew whom she was up against, which removed the uncertainties of yesterday. If Shalidar had not decided to gloat, then it could have taken her weeks to discover who was behind the sting. Shalidar
was a known quantity. Therefore, it should be straightforward to work out what precautions to take as she gathered information.

Patrols of Royal Guards were in evidence on the street, but none showed any interest in Femke. Given a couple more hours, the young spy knew she would be able to walk the streets without
apprehension. Like a human chameleon, Femke would simply disappear into the background of life in the city.

Femke took her time choosing two new sets of clothing and made discreet enquiries as to who supplied the Palace with uniforms for the Royal house staff. She remembered overhearing a conversation
between two of the servants whilst she was in the Palace. One of the senior maids was due to retire shortly. The snippet of information would be most useful.

As a spy, Femke had been taught that lies were always best when based around incontrovertible facts. This way, the vague hints that Femke dropped as to the nature of the maid’s position
she hoped to fill, when combined with the fact that there was a known upcoming vacancy, meant that, if questioned, the people whom she had talked with would piece fact and fiction together to fit
the situation. In effect, the vacancy made Femke convincing and she quickly learned the name of the uniform supplier.

A short while later the spy acquired a maid’s uniform for the Palace. This was purchased under the same premise. There were no questions asked and Femke did not volunteer any information,
instead allowing the merchants to draw their own conclusions.

A visit to an alchemist provided an oil that, when rubbed onto her body, would darken her skin to a deep golden tan for up to a week at a time. Femke also bought bleach to lighten her real hair
to a pale blonde and some make-up materials for colouring the lips and eyelids in the fashion popular amongst the ladies of all classes in Mantor at present. She purchased another wig of dark hair
in a different style from her current one and was pleased with both its fit and quality. The wig makers here in Thrandor had progressed their techniques well beyond the expertise of the Shandese,
and Femke vowed she would never buy another Shandese wig again.

Later that afternoon, having taken a room at a different inn, Femke emerged a different woman from the one who had booked in a short time earlier. Nobody paid her any attention in the inn or on
the street outside. The new, non-uniform, clothes had been chosen specifically to deflect interest rather than attract it. It appeared she had chosen well.

‘OK, Shalidar, let’s see what you’re up to, shall we?’ Femke muttered to herself. ‘Firstly, a visit to the house I saw you entering a few days ago, I
think.’

Femke knew that establishing a link between Shalidar and Baron Anton was not going to be easy. Furthermore, proving Shalidar had murdered the Baron, when her brooch had been found in his dead
hand, would be tricky, if not impossible. Comparison of the knife wounds would also demonstrate a match with her blades, but Femke knew that such evidence should be viewed as circumstantial unless
her missing knife had been found at Anton’s murder scene. The second murder may help. It meant Shalidar would need two alibis. That could tip the balance in Femke’s favour a little, but
it was too early to tell.

It took an hour to walk up through the city to the large house where Femke had seen Shalidar. For what felt like an age – but was barely more than a minute – Femke studied the large
detached property, lost in thought.

‘Are you all right, miss? Can I help you?’

The voice of a passing merchant caused Femke to start slightly. She had been aware of his presence, but the spy had dismissed him as being irrelevant and no threat. Alerts were now triggered
throughout her brain and body. Anyone taking an interest in her spelled danger, so Femke answered with care, trying not to arouse any further undue interest.

‘I’m fine, sir, though if I may be so bold as to ask, do you know to whom that beautiful house belongs? The design of the building and the gardens is enchanting.’

‘Indeed, yes! That house belongs to one of the few regular Shandese merchants here in Thrandor. He has been trading in Thrandor for some years now and is well respected for his honesty and
business acumen.’

‘His name wouldn’t be Shalidar, would it?’ Femke asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Shalidar, that’s the one. Do you know him? A nice man by all accounts, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t suffer a hard time over the coming weeks,’ the
merchant said, lowering his voice for the last sentence, as if sharing a secret.

‘I know of him by reputation, sir. He’s to have a hard time, you say? Why is that?’ Femke asked curiously.

‘Surely you’ve heard the news? Firstly, the Shandese Ambassador killed Baron Anton the night before last, and it’s said she struck again last night. Count Dreban was the victim
this time. Naturally the situation has sparked more bad feeling towards the Shandese, if that’s possible.’

‘I had heard something of the sort,’ Femke replied, nodding knowingly. ‘There are patrols out all over the city looking for her, I understand. Please, sir, indulge me for a
second. Although I’ve heard of Merchant Shalidar before, I was not aware that he owned property here in Mantor. Has he had the house long?’

‘Some years I believe, miss. He’s been trading in Mantor for a long time, though I believe he has interests in many other places around the world – a wealthy man by all
accounts. I believe he’s in the city now, though he often travels. Before he arrived about a week ago, he’d not been seen in Mantor for some time, but in view of the recent troubles
that’s probably wise. I expect he’s wishing he’d stayed away a bit longer, in light of this Ambassador affair.’

‘Thank you for your time, sir; I don’t want to hold you up any further. I’ll be sure to compliment Merchant Shalidar on his taste in houses if I should meet him.’

Femke moved on down the street at a steady walk. Shalidar owning a substantial property in Mantor was an unexpected development that could easily prove problematical. If Shalidar owned a
residence here and had a good reputation as a merchant, he was likely to have a good number of allies in the city. It would therefore be more difficult to convince the Thrandorians that they had
been harbouring a snake in their midst for all this time. If Shalidar had been trading here legitimately over a period spanning some years, then his word as a respected merchant was going to be
held in a lot more esteem than that of an ambassador who had been here for only a few days and already was the prime suspect for two murders.

The game was getting more complex by the minute and it was going to be difficult to win if Shalidar continued to hold all the trump cards. ‘Come on, Femke – think! What would Ferrand
have done now?’ she muttered, trying to focus on anything that would provide a ray of light in the black pit of darkness threatening to swallow her. Ferrand would not have lost his cool, she
thought. And, above all, he would not have given up. That thought lightened her step.

‘Ambassador? Is that you?’

Femke froze. For a split second her heart leaped in her chest and her right hand went automatically to the hilt of a knife. It took a moment for her brain to register the voice and complete the
identification process.

‘Kalheen! What are you doing wandering around the Palace at this time of night?’ Femke asked, keeping her voice low as she turned to face her Shandese servant. How he had recognised
her, Femke could not begin to guess, but the fact he had done so unsettled her. Was her disguise so poor that it could be seen through readily? No, surely not, she reasoned silently. The guards had
not shown the slightest glimmer of recognition as she had entered through the staff gate.

‘I could ask you the same question, Lady Femke,’ Kalheen replied in a hoarse whisper closing the distance between them and looking all around as if he was expecting trouble at any
instant ‘Are you completely mad returning here so soon? You’ve walked into a trap, my Lady. The Royal Guards are expecting you. I overheard them being briefed to that effect yesterday,
so I’ve been hanging around this part of the Palace all evening in the hope of finding you before the guards do. Fortunately, Shand has blessed me with success, but now you must leave and
quickly. Get away from here and don’t come back.’

Kalheen’s tone was so urgent that Femke almost gave in to the temptation to run for the nearest exit, but curiosity and the need for information held her firm. The young spy could do
nothing unless she learned more about what was happening. She was exceptionally keen to look around Baron Anton’s quarters in the hope of finding something, anything, which tied his death to
Shalidar. Without evidence to support what she knew to be the truth, Femke realised she had no hope of getting out of this situation with her future looking anything but bleak.