Lady Trent (18 page)

So much for that lead. Not that Marcus had
fully expected to get any details from the prisoner. This had
happened so many times. Men were taken into custody for speaking
against the emperor, some of them claiming Jacob would draw his
final breath very soon. They were questioned. They refused to
speak. They were tortured. They still refused to speak.
Subsequently they were put to death.

“Have you any word from the emperor?” He was
asked.

“Not recent.”

“Have there been more letters?”

“Two that I am aware of. Amos has done well
in keeping them from him. But I’m afraid Amos will stop doing this
in time. He shows signs of guilt. The last message was all the more
threatening. It is obvious that whomever is behind this was trying
through that particular message to make him angry, to instigate a
reaction which is what I do not want, nor does the emperor.”

“The lad shouldn’t speak now. Then he would
be forced to admit keeping the threats from him all along. He would
suffer his consequences. We
all
will when Jacob learns of
it, and he will—with time.”

“He should by then understand. I hope.”

“I have something here,” said the duke, and
reached into a pocket to remove a small parchment of some sort. “A
message in code.”

Marcus took it from him, studying the
peculiar markings and words…ones that did not make the slightest
bit of sense, at least not to him. Pearce was the one in charge of
decoding such messages. Unfortunately, Jacob hardly let the man
from his sight except to tend to a matter of importance outside of
the city…and it had to be important, indeed. He was skilled when it
came not only to numbers and figures but to coding or decoding
either one. But the enemy’s secret codes differed from those of
Jacob’s and the noble’s. They bore nothing in common. Getting used
to them was taking Pearce some time. But he was certain his
solution for them was becoming more and more accurate.

Presently, very few were even aware of
Pearce’s whereabouts. He was in hiding for supposedly defiling a
maiden of fourteen, which both he and Jacob knew him to be innocent
of. Pearce was not the kind of man to overstep such a boundary. But
the girl’s father was convinced and seeking his life. Marcus was
certain Jacob would get to the bottom of this during his absence.
No matter the case, he could continue with his attempts at properly
decoding these messages that kept springing up and landing into his
hands, almost as if to have been purposely placed there. The
situation left much to be desired…answers foremost.

“Where did you get it?”

“My prisoner had somehow hidden it upon his
person.”

Marcus studied the confusing words and
markings. “I will hand it over to Pearce,” he assured. “According
to him, those last messages, the ones in code—to say the least, if
properly decoded, insist his chief enemy may no longer seek his
life, but that he be taken alive.”

“Alive?”

“That very message was blatantly conveyed in
a letter that was intercepted at Port Templeton. The man caught
passing it was arrested and is being held, the same as some of
these others. I am starting to suspect a second or even third
party. For some reason, it has gone from death to taken alive.”

“I imagine someone who has rights to the
Great City.”

“A man should have more sense.”

“Or woman,” the duke commented, obviously
referring to the female cousin.

“The emperor will give it to whomever he
chooses. Besides that, if Jacob was to be murdered and anyone
suddenly appeared claiming rights to the Great City, the emperor
would not allow it so easily. The entire matter would be examined.
As of now there is complete silence when it comes to who may be
entitled to step up when Jacob dies, if anyone at all. I am not
sure if this is because someone intends to speed his death and hide
themselves from being accused of inflicting it, or if nobody truly
knows who may be entitled to the position. That is, if this has
anything at all to do with the position. I am not so certain. But
now, murder is no longer the issue…but kidnap, which would surely
lead to murder.”

“This makes me very uneasy.”

“Me, as well. It is one thing to think of him
dead; another to think of him suffering by the hands of whomever is
against him.”

“Proof of anything would be hard to come by
if it was for the cause of the Great City.”

“It now seems more a matter of revenge,” said
Marcus, and kept the rest of his thoughts on the matter to himself.
Not everything was meant to be said. Not now. Not to these.

He fell silent for a time, remembering
Westerly and the money he’d been asked to deliver, which he yet
felt honored to do. He imagined the look upon Rachel’s face when he
would announce it had been accomplished. But he felt an urge to do
something more. To prove something to her…as if any brave feat on
his part would accomplish anything. What would it matter to her if
he fought off an entire army of thieves to get the money to this
Agatha character? And what would he care?

He had been bragged about, had he not? Jacob
forever put him on a pedestal where he actually felt he belonged.
But did she truly see and believe how very capable he was of
handling just about anything at all, himself, let alone something
that’d been placed into his care.

“How long will you stay?” The duke asked.

“Seeing as to how the prisoner is now dead I
need not sail over into the Isles…and in light of this,” he
referred to the letter now in his possession, “Not long. I must cut
my visit very short as I have even other matters to attend. You
will be pleased to know I have dealt with the Northerners. Both
Lord North and Fleming are now at peace with you.”

“That easily?” His brows rose. Then he
frowned heavily. “They have not dismissed their guards.”

“They will,” he assured him. “So soon as you
dismiss yours.”

“Hum.” He massaged his chin between the tip
of thumb and finger. “Me first?”

“…and it will be done.”

“You are sure of this.”

“I would stake my life on it.”

”Then it is done,” he announced, dropping his
hand. “I had started to wonder if I would be forced to retaliate.”
He folded his hands together atop the table. “I have messages for
Lord Harvard and General Hagar concerning troops from Harvard
Plains.” He referred to the place where nobles were known to send
their men to learn and practice methods of warfare. “Would you
deliver them in passing?”

“They are safe with me. You know it.”

“Of course.”

Duke Norton yet again reached into a pocket
and removed a document of some sort. Marcus unfolded it, viewing
its contents. It was a deed to a parcel of land. He studied it. He
studied it closely, closer than he normally would before the very
eyes of any noble. Its description birthed some questions which he
verbalized after having thought on them for a time.

“Your land extends westward toward Westerly,”
he acknowledged.

“Westerly,” the duke repeated as if
absolutely disgusted. “I have long requested it from the emperor.
He refuses to grant it. There is but two hundred or so acres that
separate my land from the despicable little place.”

“The land that separates it…doesn’t it belong
to Duke Berlin.”

“The nuisance,” he criticized. “The man owns
too much as it is, and also stations guards at every angle which I
find to be very intimidating.”

“You are not alone. It seems to have become a
ritual amongst the nobles…stationing guards along their boundaries:
A symbol of distrust, more-or-less.”

“Yes, well, the honorable Duke Berlin has
also requested Westerly from the emperor.” He paused a moment
before saying, “You show interest in the land, or is it
Westerly?”

“Jacob’s new bride is familiar with the
town.”

“I regret not being there for the wedding.
Then again, I don’t recall having received an invitation.”

“It seems the transferal of messages has
become endangered. I am starting to question a choice few of the
heralds and messengers.”

“Which reminds me of Patrick.”

“Patrick?”

“Patrick of Lawrence…I suppose you know he is
detained.”

“I hadn’t heard so, no.” The news was very
disappointing. Patrick was a spy for him…and few were aware. He
wondered how he’d gotten himself arrested and looked forward to a
time when he could see to it he was freed.

“Why was he detained, and where? Who detained
him?”

“The emperor, I had heard.”

“For what cause?” He asked a second time.

“That I don’t know. I assumed you had heard
yourself. I was going to ask you.”

“I imagine I have missed the emperor’s
message. I have not gone into Sainte Louise in a long while. It may
be time I do so.”

“Be careful there. I hear several men entered
the city not so far back and went into homes simply murdering
people.”

“That cannot be true.” One thing he
appreciated about Duke Norton, he always had valuable information
to pass along, some fact, some fiction. Some of the times it was
news he figured he should have already caught wind of or
discovered. Then again, he was always moving about from place to
place and city to city. Some news was bound to slip past him.

“My source says it is.”

This concerned him, particularly because
Sainte Louise was the city he most considered home. It lied outside
the walls of Castle Goth and he had friends there.

He suddenly stood. “I may cut my visit even
shorter if there is nothing else you have for me, or any reason to
linger.”

“Only the letters to deliver in passing.”
They walked along, side by side. Marcus was in his own little world
when the duke said, “It would be a shame to see this plot succeed
against Jacob. Especially now. I hear he has become a very happy
man, and lucky; that his new wife is a fine woman, very fine to
look upon. Not much longer he will be a father again. Sons,
maybe.”

He imagined it and said nothing at all. Then
he considered a very ironic thought. The duke was not aware, but
the very bride he’d just boasted about had been a citizen of the
very town he openly criticized. But only a short time did he
entertain the thought. He began to slowly fold together the deed in
his hand, thinking for sure he would visit Duke Berlin as soon as
he left there.

CHAPTER TEN

Rachel fast became exhausted writing letters
in response to those of other noble ladies. She received many
invitations, and sadly turned them all down. She and Jacob were not
prepared for a visit abroad…not just yet. She explained this as
kindly as she possibly could.

Just when she thought she was down to the
last of these letters, Percival would come in with an “I am sorry”
sort of expression upon his face and hand her even more. She spent
a great deal of time reading these messages, feeling honored by the
contents of them, and then dreading to respond—not only because it
often meant turning down an invitation but that it was time
consuming as well.

“This, milady, is why Lord Trent has others
write for him,” said Zaria. “Perhaps you should consider doing the
same. There are scribes. He would assign you one or even two upon
request. However many you desire. This is too much time it’s
taking. When was the last time you even enjoyed the gardens?”

She made a valid point. Rachel took this
advice to heart. Where once upon a time she could not comprehend
someone having another write their letters for them, she now
understood completely. Maybe Zaria was right. Maybe she would get
someone else to write them—one of the scribes, perhaps, or a
secretary. But she had yet to meet any one of these so-called
scribes, as if they were secluded away in some secret wing of the
palace. Quite possible, she presumed, seeing as to how she had yet
to see it all, and some areas were strictly off limits. But even
with a scribe…who could one trust to write each and every word
exactly as spoken, without either adding to or taking away from it?
Then again, she was well able to read over these letters prior to
the transfer of them.

Zaria, yes, she could trust. Tilly, yes. But
these maidens were busy enough as it was tending to her and the
chamber and duties outside of it. As for Roselyn, well, she was
just another story altogether. Rachel had begun to dislike her
almost as much as Holly.

Jacob’s secretary, Darius, was a likable man.
It was he who handed messages over to Percival to deliver to her in
his stead. But he on occasion made an appearance of his own as he
delivered package after package containing gifts of all
sorts…mostly jewelry, some of which according to the messages
attached had been passed down from generation to generation.

“Your necklace,” Jacob one day noticed, “I do
not recall it.”

“A gift from Lady Steepleton,” she explained,
raising a hand to toy with its golden dove-shaped pendent.

She’d been pleased to have him sweep her away
from the palace and onto the sandy ocean’s shore. But the air
between them had made an unusual shift. There was this tension that
although harmless seemed quite dangerous at the same time. She
despised it and was sure he did as well. But what could one say
about it or do if they hadn’t a definite understanding of it to
begin with?

Now they fell once more into a deep,
unsatisfying silence; lost in their own private meditations. Hand
in hand, they strolled along the shore, barely even hearing the
roar of the waves, the sound of them crashing into and slapping
against the boulders and rocky cliffs.

“I imagine myself at fault for this silence,”
he came to say.

She glanced over at his profile. “How so?”
She asked, curious as to what he would have to say on the matter.
She had tired of relying upon her predictions alone. But opposed to
responding in regards to it, he changed the subject.