Imperial Spy (32 page)

The wall did not look far, but the moon was bright, washing everything in silvery light. The ground between his position and the wall was open with no shadow to hide his movement. Ennas scanned
the sky for clouds. Even a fleeting reduction of the moonlight would help. There were none. The weather would not help him tonight. He scouted around the edge of the building briefly to see if
there were any less exposed routes across. None were obvious. There was no choice but to run for it. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Ennas gathered his courage and with gritted teeth he launched
himself away from the side of the building in a full-out sprint for the wall.

To his surprise, the spy had not covered ten paces before a shout went up somewhere to his right ordering him to stop. He ignored it, focusing instead on the wall ahead. A surge of adrenalin
gave him strength to accelerate further. There were more shouts and the barking of dogs, but Ennas did not hear anything. All that mattered was reaching and scaling the wall.

The fizz of a crossbow bolt zipping past the spy reinforced the urgency of the situation, but broke his concentration for an instant. He stumbled, pitching forward onto the grassy lawn. The
landing was not pretty. Ennas skidded and rolled some distance before he could leap back to his feet to cover the final short distance to the high perimeter wall.

For a moment he could not find a first handhold. His panting breath became more laboured as he felt frantically across the surface of the wall for a place to begin climbing. Finding suitable
purchase he pulled hard, hoisting his body the first few feet off the ground. His feet scrambled for a moment against the wall before finding a tiny ridge on which to rest. He reached up again, his
fingers searching for another hold. It was taking too long. The guards were closing on him. Suddenly, there was a sickening thud and pain exploded in his back. Ennas fell and the ground rushed up
the short distance to meet his body with a terrific smash. Blood roared in his ears and he vomited before he could think about regaining his feet. With a determined effort, Ennas tried desperately
to stand, but all strength had drained from his limbs and he had a sudden involuntary urge to cough as his mouth filled with blood.

The realisation dawned on him. He had been hit square in the back with a crossbow bolt. He was dying. The dull thudding of approaching booted feet, the clamour of voices and the barking of dogs
wavered in his ears as a dreamy lassitude overtook him.

Ennas relaxed. It was over. There was nothing he could do now.

If ever justice guided an arrow . . . he thought as his mind slipped gently into the long sleep of death. I wish I hadn’t killed the guard.

As the first Royal Guard reached him, Ennas gave a cough and died.

‘Hello, Izzie, what are you doing here?’ Lord Kempten asked, surprised to find his wife walking into the Emperor’s office unannounced.

Lady Kempten looked at him with an expression of mild disapproval.

‘Do you know what time it is, dear?’ she replied, looking around the bleakly spartan office, notably unimpressed by her husband’s working environment.

‘Time? No. Should I?’

‘It’s the early hours of the morning again. You’re working too hard, dear. Come to bed.’

‘I’ve got a hard act to follow, Izzie. Surabar is a devilishly clever man, you know. I think the Noblemen here would do better to learn from him, rather than plot against him. Here,
look at this.’

Lady Kempten smiled indulgently at him and walked around to his side. ‘Two minutes, dear, then you’re coming to bed if I have to drag you there.’

Kempten smiled at her and nodded his acceptance. There were mountains of parchment arranged in neat piles all over the desk. Most were scribed in the same neat hand. Lady Kempten put an arm
around her husband and looked over his shoulder at the parchment immediately in front of him.

‘Look, the man thinks of everything. He’s been in office a few weeks and he’s already assessed more elements of life in Shandrim and in wider Shandar than I’d ever
considered. This is a report on the state of the military and the local militia – a subject clearly close to his heart, but look at this. Here’s a report on education and another on the
state of the treasury and detail of the tax collection process. Here’s one on the situation of the roads, irrigation, sanitation, the list goes on and on. Somehow he’s collated
preliminary reports on a whole host of subjects – collated, assessed and drafted his initial thoughts. He has plans on how to improve every area of life in Shandar.’

‘Well? That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Good? It’s amazing! Shandar hasn’t had an Emperor with a genuine interest in the people for longer than I care to imagine. The problem is the Nobility will never stand for it.
They’ll overthrow him regardless. To them, all that matters is to have one of their own wearing the Mantle. The worst thing is that until recently, I was the same,’ he admitted.
‘I would have given my life to stop him reaching power. Now I’d give it to keep him there.’

Lady Kempten smiled to hear him speak so passionately.

‘It sounds like your priorities have changed for the better then,’ she said, gently stroking his back. ‘It takes a brave man to admit he’s wrong about something,
particularly when he’s passionate about his initial belief.’

‘Yes, but shifting
my
priorities isn’t enough, Izzie. Somehow I’ve got to change the thinking of the other Noblemen. Surabar could prove to be the best Emperor in
Shandar’s history, but if they’re not stopped, the old-school Lords will dispose of him before he has a chance to demonstrate his ability.’

‘You need to talk to them. Convene the Court, dear, and tell them what you’ve told me. Your passion will win converts. Rally those around you and Surabar will have the support he
needs. You’re a good man, and you have the respect of many. You’ll do it if you put your mind to it. I know you will. But you won’t convince anyone if you look like death warmed
up. Now, come to bed.’

The knock at the door startled Femke from sleep. It was light outside, but it felt early. The air held an early morning stillness that spoke of a sleepy world reluctant to
rise.

Slipping from the sofa, Femke brushed the worst of the wrinkles from her tunic and ran her fingers through her short hair. Thank goodness for men’s hairstyles, she thought, throwing
herself a quick grin as she surveyed her appearance in the wall mirror.

The knock sounded again at the door – a little louder and more insistent this time. Femke walked to the door and unhooked the string she had tied across the top corner from the little bell
she had rigged. Composing her face into a mask of quiet servitude, Femke partially opened the door to find two Royal Guards outside, one with his fist poised to knock again.

‘Good morning, sirs, what can I do for you?’ Femke asked politely, nodding to the nearest soldier.

‘Is his Lordship awake yet?’ the nearest guard asked, keeping his voice low.

‘Not yet, sir. It’s still early. Lord Danar had a busy day yesterday.’

‘I’m sure he did, but the King requests his presence immediately,’ the guard said earnestly. ‘Please ask his Lordship to come at once.’

‘Of course, sir. Would you mind waiting out here until Lord Danar is dressed? I’m sure he won’t be long,’ Femke said smoothly. She did not want to risk the guards
noticing the security measures she had installed around the suite. If they thought the Shandese Lord did not trust Palace security, it would do little to endear Danar to them.

‘Not at all, but please hurry. The King does not like to be kept waiting.’

Femke nodded and closed the door. Her curiosity itched. What was important enough to get the King up at this time in the morning, and require Danar’s presence? Had they discovered
Shalidar’s profession on their own? Had there been another murder? What if Shalidar had now set Danar up as well? She quickly ruled that out. The pattern would be too obvious; Shalidar
possessed more subtlety. One Ambassador accused of a serious crime was unlikely, but two would simply be unbelievable. Besides, the King was no fool. He would see through such an obvious ploy and
Shalidar would not make things that easy.

This was something new. Femke hoped it was good. Until now, bad news had dogged her path in Mantor. Surely it was time for her luck to change.

Striding across the living area, Femke threw open the door to Danar’s bedroom and marched across to the bed. Grabbing Danar by the shoulder, she gave him a solid shake and then moved on to
throw open the curtains with a flourish.

‘Come on, sleepy head. Get up! The King wants to talk with you and he doesn’t want to wait all day,’ she said loudly, grinning at the groans Danar made as he shielded his eyes
against the bright morning sunlight.

‘What does he want?’ he asked through a long yawn. ‘Can’t it wait until later?’

‘No it can’t wait until later. When the King asks you to jump, you don’t ask “Why?” you ask “How high?” Now get out of bed and make yourself
presentable. You have two minutes before I tell the Royal Guards outside that they can come and drag you there in whatever state you emerge in.”

‘You wouldn’t!’ Danar laughed, making no move to climb out of bed.

‘Try me,’ Femke said haughtily and swept out of the bedroom. ‘Time’s running, my Lord. Don’t dally,’ she called over her shoulder, for both his benefit and
also for the guards, who were sure to be listening at the door.

Lord Danar did not believe Femke would make good her threat, but there was enough doubt in his mind to make him dress swiftly. He would not let the Royal Guards see him doing less than his
utmost to meet the King’s wishes. He was here in the guise of an Ambassador, so Ambassador he would play.

Danar chose a silk shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it over his head in one unbroken movement. For the briefest of moments he luxuriated in the feel of the silk against his skin before moving
on to find underwear and clean trews, and then to slip his boots on. He made a quick dash to the bathing room where he drew water with the ingenious pumping mechanism over the bath. He then
splashed it over his face and hair until it was totally soaked. A quick rub with a towel, followed by a few sweeps with a hairbrush and he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

‘Dashing as ever, you devil,’ he muttered with a grin, and then strolled through to the living area where Femke was waiting for him impatiently. I definitely look more civilised and
prepared to meet a King than you do, he thought, but then he realised this was how it should be. He was the Lord and Ambassador. Femke was the servant boy. The contrast was fitting.

‘Ready?’ Femke asked.

‘Yes, I’m set. Any idea what this summons is all about?’ Danar asked quizzically.

‘None at all. Stay on your toes this morning, my Lord. There are many things that could harm us here – and not just physically,’ Femke answered in a normal voice. Then she
lowered her volume so that nobody outside the room could hear. ‘The King is an astute man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. See what he wants, but be careful. Think before you speak
and above all, keep your eyes open for Shalidar. I’ll be watching your back, but you must stay alert at all times.’

‘Very well, let’s go.’

Femke opened the door. In true servant style she gestured for Lord Danar to precede her. The two Royal Guards immediately came to attention and bowed.

‘Please follow us, my Lord,’ one of them asked politely. He turned on his heel to lead the way down the corridor. The other guard fell into step beside him.

Danar did as he was bid, maintaining a gap of a few paces to gain some visibility ahead. Femke followed along at the rear, her head constantly moving as if she were looking in awe at the
pictures and décor along the corridors, but actually scanning for the slightest hint of danger.

The Palace was not so much one large building as a complex of buildings all linked by stone built corridors that gave the impression of one huge construction. It had gradually expanded over the
centuries. Different kings had added new sections, nominally to increase the magnificence of the place, but in reality to leave their personal mark. Thrandor had historically been a peaceful
country, so without the national drive to expand and conquer that many nations felt, Kings were left with little to do but try to keep taxes low enough to content the populace and to build
something that future generations would associate with their reign.

Femke had walked through some of the Palace and the grounds during the short period of her visit before Baron Anton was murdered, but the two Royal Guards quickly led them into an area she had
never explored. The unfamiliarity made her doubly nervous. She kept her movements as calm and untroubled as she could, though her eyes were darting around like flies, unable to settle.

Eventually, the two Royal Guards reached a door and knocked firmly on it twice.

‘Enter,’ a voice ordered.

The moment she entered the room, Femke’s nervousness climbed to a new height. It was a morgue; and that meant one thing – another death.