Imperial Spy (22 page)

‘You’ve been watching a certain ’ouse,’ the man said in a gruff voice. ‘The master don’t like it. ’E says you’re to stop.’

‘Watching a house?’ Reynik asked innocently. ‘Which house might that be?’

‘You know full well which ’ouse. We’re ’ere to show you that watchin’ the ’ouse is bad for yer ’ealth,’ he answered, his grin becoming wider and
uglier than ever.

‘Very well then. I’ll make sure I don’t watch any more houses. Thanks for the warning.’

‘It’s too late for that.’

At the leader’s nod, the four men attacked simultaneously. Reynik was ready. He spun, his right foot lifting into a high kick that sent one of the men behind him spinning to the floor.
Almost at the same time, his left hand flashed out to strike a blow at another man’s throat. The impact stopped him in his tracks as he clutched at his adam’s apple in shock and pain.
But fast as he was, Reynik could not stop all four of the men.

Even as he struck the second man, a third grabbed him in a great bear hug, forcing his arms to his sides. Before Reynik had a chance to think about trying to break free, the leader of the band
of four drove a fist hard into his stomach. He tensed against the blow as best he could, but was still left winded. The grinning thug followed his first punch with a roundhouse to the side of
Reynik’s face that connected with such force he wondered for a moment if his jaw had broken. He knew in that instant if he did not break free in the next few seconds, he would be completely
at the men’s mercy.

The thought filled him with fear and an inner strength he did not know he possessed. Using the leverage of being held from behind to his advantage, Reynik drove his right foot up with all the
force he could muster into the leader’s groin. As the man doubled over with a look of sick shock, Reynik’s left knee followed up the kick by smashing into the man’s face. He went
down like a pole-axed cow.

Having lifted both legs up, Reynik then forced them back down again, driving his heels down as hard as he could onto the feet of his captor. The man roared with pain and his grip loosened just
enough for Reynik to take advantage. With a rolling twist, the young soldier flipped the fourth man over his shoulder so that he crashed into the man who Reynik had previously hit in the throat.
Both of them went down.

Reynik quickly looked around. The man he had felled with his first kick was just recovering to his feet. The other three were all down. This was not a fight Reynik wanted to prolong, so he
decided it would be best to leave before the odds switched back against him.

Still slightly winded, he staggered away at a jog. As he suspected would happen, the one man who had regained his feet made no move to follow. Reynik knew he had been lucky. If he met them again
they would be more wary, and his chances of getting away with a couple of bruises would be slim.

Femke had tried on many occasions to engage the guards in conversation. For the most part this was unsuccessful, as fraternising with the prisoner was against their rules.
However, one of the younger guards had eventually begun to open up and talk to her when he was on duty. Worn down by the boredom of the long shifts, he started by giving occasional one-word answers
to Femke’s questions, whilst listening to her jovial-sounding chatter. Although he never told Femke his name, he did talk openly about all sorts of subjects to pass the time.

The guard spoke extensively about his family and how they had always lived out in the countryside, never wanting to come anywhere near a city, much less the capital. She learned that the
guard’s mother had worried terribly about him joining the army, but was terribly proud when he had been chosen for the Royal Guards. His voice was warm when he spoke of spending his first
wages on having a street artist draw a sketch of him in his uniform, which he had then sent home for his mother. It now sat in pride of place on her mantelpiece.

Femke heard all about the guard’s new girlfriend, their dreams and aspirations for a nice house in the upper city before retiring, wealthy and happy, back to the countryside. He had great
hopes of becoming a captain in the Royal Guards one day, which would provide him with the financial means to reach his domestic goals, and he bemoaned the fact he had missed a chance to gain rapid
advancement during the recent conflicts. Instead of going where the action was, he had been set another guard duty, protecting the Royal Treasury.

As the guard spoke of his time guarding the Royal Treasury, a tiny seed germinated within Femke’s mind. Ideas began to flow. The problem was, the seed could develop into anything from the
tallest, most magnificent tree of a master plan to the smallest, most insignificant weed. All she could do was to nurture it in the hope it would prove to be a wonder when it was fully grown.

By Femke’s count it was the afternoon of the fifteenth day of her confinement when the sound of multiple sets of feet descending the stairs set her heart pounding with apprehension. Were
these the men who would take her to the King’s Court for her trial? Had the King decided to progress the trial without allowing her any independent representation?

The young guard had recently gone off shift. Femke knew there was no use in asking the current guard for information. But she did not have to wait long for an answer.

‘Open the door. Let the priests in,’ ordered a voice to the current guard.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, and the sound of jangling keys and bolts being drawn back heightened Femke’s apprehension further.

Did the presence of priests mean she was to be blessed then executed? Had there been a trial in her absence? Her heart was pounding in her chest and she wrapped herself in her blanket, sitting
back on the small cot bed to hide the nervous shaking in her arms and legs. The door was thrown wide open. Three figures dressed in dark brown robes entered the small cell with the guard.

‘You may leave us alone with the prisoner,’ one of the priests said, in a serene voice. ‘I’m sure this one young girl will not harm us in the few minutes we’ll be
here.’

‘Very well, Priest, but you know what charge she is being held on, don’t you? Murder. The girl is a killer, Priest, so don’t get too complacent.’

‘We’ll be careful, Captain. Thank you for your concern. Please allow us to keep one of the torches so we can see whom we’re blessing. We’ll then complete the task our
goddess has called us to,’ the priest intoned calmly. ‘Now, child, we are priests of Ishell, and we’re here to . . .’ the priest began, his voice lowering as he spoke until
Femke found she had to strain to hear what he was saying to her.

The door thudded shut, but with one of the priests still holding a torch, the little cell was filled with more light than Femke’s eyes could cope with. Holding her hands as shields against
the brightness and squinting for all she was worth, Femke tried her hardest to focus on the man who was talking to her in a low voice.

As soon as the door had shut, the lead priest took a glance at it to ensure that the viewing plate was definitely shut and then threw back his hood. Femke blinked in astonishment as she
registered who was standing in front of her.

‘Lor—’

He clamped a hand over her mouth and grinned. ‘Surprise!’ he whispered with a chuckle. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’

As he whispered, the other two men started chanting prayerful-sounding incantations to mask their conversation. The sound filled the small chamber with solemn tones that were somehow both
fitting and yet out of place.

‘But how?’ Femke whispered back, shivering slightly with excitement and the discomfort raised by the doleful sound of the chanting. ‘If we overpower the guard, there’ll
be more to contend with around the Palace.’

‘Don’t worry, Ambassador, we’ve figured it all out,’ whispered a familiar voice. Reynik pulled back his hood to reveal his boyish grin as he resumed his chanting. His lip
was split and swollen on the right side of his mouth, but otherwise he looked fine. Femke was so pleased to see him alive that she gave him a spontaneous hug. Questions filled her mind, but she
knew this was neither the time, nor the place for a discussion.

‘There won’t be any need for violence,’ Danar assured her, a touch of jealousy in his tone at the show of affection to Reynik. ‘Ennas here has agreed to take your place
for a while. Hopefully he’ll be able to keep the guards fooled for some time before they realise you’re gone.’

‘Ennas? Do you realise you’ll then be an accessory to my escape and will be held accountable for it?’ Femke asked, not wanting to place him in danger.

‘Don’t worry, Femke, I’ll be ready to leave when the time comes,’ Ennas replied, removing his robe and tossing it over to her.

‘You! I take it the Emperor sent you to fetch me?’ Femke asked, recognising Ennas immediately as one of the better Imperial spies.

‘Actually, the Emperor thought you’d still be on the loose. I’m surprised you were caught so quickly. You must be slipping,’ Ennas commented softly, his face twisting
into a teasing sort of grin.

‘Don’t! I’ve been well and truly stitched up from the moment I stepped through the city gates. I’ll tell you about it some time,’ Femke breathed, her voice full of
suppressed anger at her ignominy. Moving swiftly, she divested herself of the tunic and threw it to Ennas. ‘Sorry about the smell,’ she said with a grin as he caught the unwashed
garment. ‘The Thrandorians don’t believe in allowing their prisoners much in the way of personal hygiene.’

Ennas wrinkled his nose, shrugged, and then drew the long tunic over his head. Femke was dressed in the priest’s robe equally quickly. With a flush of pleasure she pulled the hood up,
allowing the cowl to droop down low over her face. Grabbing the blanket, Ennas wrapped it around himself and lay down on the cot bed with his face away from the door.

‘Ready?’ asked Danar.

Everyone nodded, so Danar thumped on the cell door with the side of his hand. ‘Open up, please,’ he called to the guard. There was a slight pause, followed by the sounds of the key
being turned in the lock and the bolts being drawn back. The door opened and the captain and the guard were both waiting outside with interested expressions.

‘Is everything all right?’ the captain asked suspiciously. ‘You weren’t in there for long.’

‘It appears the Ambassador does not believe in our “pagan worship” of Ishell. The lady told us she would only accept blessings from priests of Shand, so there is little cause
for us to remain any longer. We have offered our prayers, but there’s no more we can do without her cooperation,’ Danar replied sadly.

The captain looked past the priests. In the semi-darkness of the cell he saw the figure of the Ambassador settling down under the blanket on the small cot. Her back was towards the door in what
looked like a deliberate snub. ‘Each to their own,’ he said with a shrug, the suspicion dropping from his tone. ‘Follow me then. I’ll show you back out to the
gate.’

‘Thank you, Captain. Your help in facilitating this visit is much appreciated. I’ll be sure to offer prayers for you and your family when I get down to the temple.’

Femke smiled quietly under the shadow of her hood. If Danar lays the oil on any thicker, we’ll struggle to follow the captain up the stairs without slipping, she thought with a mental
giggle. Then the cold fingers of doubt slid around her heart as Femke considered Danar’s inexperience at this sort of deception. Don’t go over the top, she willed silently, hoping with
all her heart that the young Lord did not do anything silly. He had done so well until now. It would be a terrible waste for it to fall apart at the last moment.

Femke need not have worried. The walk through the Palace went without incident. Before long they were outside the Palace and walking down through the city towards the temple of Ishell. Once they
had moved down out of the immediate vicinity of the Palace, Danar turned to talk to Femke. She rebuked him quietly.

‘Stay in character until we are out of the robes,’ she told him sternly. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for talk later. Are we really going to the temple?’

‘Yes,’ Danar replied. ‘There’s a dressing room at the back where we can leave the robes. There are some suitable clothes for you stored in one of the lockers there along
with ours.’

‘Good,’ Femke replied shortly and then resumed her head-down shuffling walk.

Nobody took the slightest notice of three priests walking slowly through the streets. It was almost as if they were invisible, Femke thought wryly. People paid more attention to priests in
Shandar, as the senior priests of Shand tended to dabble in politics. Here, the priesthood almost exclusively served the poor and the afflicted. The rich, together with those who felt they were
upwardly mobile in society, did not associate themselves with the churches at all. When one wanted to avoid the gaze of the Nobility, what better disguise than as a person they would ignore on
principle? It was a nugget of information that Femke stored jealously in her mind, wishing it had been her idea.

When they reached the temple, Femke was also surprised to find that it was not the grand affair she had been expecting. It was large but practical, with none of the trimmings of the great temple
of Shand. The three of them shuffled, heads down, around to the rear of the building and entered into the changing room Danar had mentioned. A row of wooden lockers lined one wall and a long coat
rail with regularly spaced hooks sported a smattering of robes along the middle of the room. The place was conveniently empty of people, so Danar retrieved keys from inside his robe and opened some
lockers.

‘Here’s your clothing,’ he said to Femke, with a tenderness in his voice that rang warning bells in her head.

All the way down from the Palace Femke had been playing over in her mind the question of what had brought Lord Danar the many leagues to Mantor and into her cell. The obvious answer was one that
the young spy did not want to face. The moment when he had removed his hood in her cell had nearly caused her to scream in fright. She had dreamed about him a few times during her imprisonment,
fondly thinking of how she might have fostered a relationship with him had her life been different. It was as if one of her dreams had come to life in front of her eyes. For an instant, Femke had
wondered if she was hallucinating, but as soon as Danar had spoken, she had known he was real.