The Agent (20 page)

“It will take them time to figure out where they lost us. If we keep heading east, we should crest the hill and find the old road leading to Opatia.”

“What are we going to do in Opatia?” Adam asked as he wiped at the fresh welts striping his face.

“Same thing we did here but hopefully with far better results.”

“What makes you think Opatia will be any different?”

“Anton was always a longshot. I knew he was hedging his bets by obliquely supporting your father. I had hoped to convince him that we were still his best long game, but I prepared for his stupidity.”

“But you think Mathias will support us?”

“Mathias is a potato and ruler in name only. Ingrid is the real power on the throne. She was the single largest supporter of your father’s road with the exception of the Free Traders, and she despises The Guild nearly as much as Remiel did.”

“I hope you’re right. Even if she hates The Guild and wants them destroyed, the risk to her and Opatia is even greater now than when she supported my father. Even if she supports us in spirit, the same argument Anton used against us holds for her and the other rulers as well.”

“You forget one very important thing.”

“What’s that?”

Garran crooked a lopsided grin. “I have a way with the ladies.”

CHAPTER 21

Evelyn smiled and nodded at the chandler as she and Aniston meandered down the palace halls during their nightly walk. The man smiled, ducked his head, and then made a sort of twitching, beckoning motion with his middle finger.

“Did you see that?” Evelyn asked Aniston after they walked past.

Aniston grinned and nodded. “I did.”

“What do you suppose it means? My chambermaid and at least half a dozen others have made similar gestures over the past couple of weeks.”

“It appears as though some rumors have been flying around the palace regarding a certain something that happened between you and Gordon during his last attempted liaison.”

Evelyn gasped and her face darkened to a deep red. “How would anyone know of that? I would never give voice to such a thing!”

“It is the palace, Highness. There are very few secrets. What you need to know is that those who have made such a gesture support you, and if you ever find yourself in need of people you can trust, those are the first ones you should seek out. They may not be true rebels, but they are unlikely to betray you.”

“It is not exactly the sort of revolutionary symbol the books and ballads describe is it?” she asked with a giggle.

“Not at all, but it is poignant nonetheless.” Aniston’s eyes traveled farther down the hall and noted the approach of several men. “Now here is a group far less likely to appreciate such a gesture.”

One of the palace guards appeared down the hall and stalked purposefully toward them. He stopped just before them and spoke to Aniston.

“His Highness requires the Queen to return to her rooms.”

“What is this about?”

“I was given no details, only to find you and relay his orders.”

Evelyn and her escort reversed direction and walked back toward her rooms. Her steps were leaden and her stomach churned.

“What do you suppose he wants with me?” she asked, wringing her hands. “Does he suspect I am working behind his back?”

“I cannot begin to guess. Just relax as best you can. Nothing makes a person more suspect than displaying fear.”

“I’ll try. I’m afraid I am unpracticed in the ways of theater, but I will do my best to be convincing.”

“It needs to be. If you die on this stage, there is no second act.”

Evelyn punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be so macabre. It does nothing to alleviate my fear.”

She ignored the two men standing guard outside her door. She took a steadying breath, nodded to Aniston, and strode into the room with a regal bearing while he held the door open. Gordon, Gregor, and Martin awaited them inside, none showing the slightest hint of bemusement. If their grim demeanors were not enough to put Aniston on edge, Martin’s accompaniment certainly did.

“Martin, you pulling a double shift?” Aniston asked when he entered, forcing an amiable smile.

“So it seems.”

“Gordon, what is this about?” Evelyn demanded.

“Gregor was concerned about the timing of your pregnancy,” he replied. “He thought it unusual that you conceived so quickly, what with only our one successful copulation. I tried to assure him that I am merely exceptionally virile, but he insisted that we make doubly sure.”

“Will you plant your seed a second time in front of a grand audience then? I am unwise in the way of men and women, but I am certain it does not work that way.”

Gordon gave her a condescending smile. “Of course not. Gregor has located someone who can tell us the exact day of your conception.”

Having been reared to treat palace staff as invisible, Evelyn had taken little notice of the hunched, old woman sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She was wizened and grey, and she wore a black shawl draped over her head. Gordon took his wife by the arm and guided her to lie down on a sedan. The old woman shuffled over, a string of crystal beads dangling from her shriveled hand.

“What is she doing?” Evelyn exclaimed, holding her hands protectively over her swollen stomach. “I will not have some witch curse my child with vile magic!”

“There is no hexing involved, Highness,” the crone rasped. “The crystals only tell me how long the child has been growing within you.”

Evelyn tried to push herself into the sofa as the old woman stretched out her bony arm and held the string of crystals over her. The crystalline beads began to glow with an eldritch light, first one then the others in a slow succession until finally stopping partway through the strand.

“Congratulations, it is a boy.” She glanced at Gordon standing nearby. “You are certain of the day you laid with her?”

“Of course I am.”

“The child within her predates you by more than a week—almost two.”

“She lies!” Evelyn shouted.

Gordon asked Evelyn, his voice absent of emotion, “Who is the father?”

“You are.”

Evelyn had tried to make her voice as convincing as she could, but her eyes betrayed her. Gordon and Gregor followed the flick of her eyes.

Gregor nodded to the two guards standing in the doorway. “Take him.”

Martin’s head twisted from side to side, his eyes flashing to Gregor, full of surprise and fear. “What? I didn’t do anything, I swear it!”

“Can you tell me who the father is?” Gordon asked the old woman.

“Not until he is birthed, Highness.”

Gordon looked to Martin. “It looks as if your execution shall be stayed until
my
son is born. It is either a very brave or very foolish man who cuckolds the King.”

“Your Highness, I would never!” Martin’s eyes flashed to Aniston, his terror turning to rage. “It was him! It has to be!”

Gregor clapped Aniston on the shoulder as he walked past and motioned the guards to carry Martin away. “I think we all know it can’t be Aniston, don’t we?”

“Everyone, leave us,” Gordon ordered. “I would speak to my wife in private.”

Gregor and the two soldiers led Martin away, likely to some place unpleasant. The old woman shambled off, her cane tapping against the floor with every step. Aniston stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

“Is he the father?” Gordon again asked his wife once they were alone.

“I will not betray him.”

“You already have.”

Evelyn held her hands over the small bump of her stomach. “What will you do?”

“What do you think I should do? What would any king do if he found out that his heir was not of his making? Even your glorious father would put an end to the pregnancy if he could, or he would smother it in its crib if he could not.”

“He would never!”

“Yes, he would, and if you truly think otherwise, then you do not understand kings well at all.”

“As if you do!”

“I might never be a good one, but I understand them.”

“What are you going to do?” Evelyn asked again, her tone making it sound more of a defiant challenge than a question.

“You despise me because I am selfish and shallow.”

“I despise you for many reasons. Those are but two of your more obvious shortcomings.”

Evelyn prepared herself to face a number of reactions. She expected him to fume, rail at her, hurl things across the room in an epic tantrum. She braced herself should he decide to strike her. His soft chuckle took her by surprise as he sat at the end of the sedan near her feet.

“Do you appreciate irony? I certainly do. Isn’t it ironic that the same traits you find so despicable in me are the very ones that will save your bastard son? You see, it is because I am so selfish and superficial that I do not even care.”

“You are tormenting me.”

“Not at all. I’ve never understood why everyone puts so much stock into their lineage. I came from a noble line, but what good did it do me? My father and brother treated me like filth, and I am complicit in their deaths. Let your bastard succeed me. A monkey can sit the throne after I’m gone for all I care. Why should I give a whit what anyone does after I am dead? Let the entire damn kingdom burn to the ground. Dead men do not care about the world of the living.”

Evelyn felt the terror she held deep inside slowly ebb away. “You will let me keep my son and treat him decently when he is born? On your word?”

“I will treat him as my own. On my word. In fact, everyone, and I mean everyone, will believe he is mine. That condition is paramount for his continued well-being. Not everyone is as ambivalent as I am.”

“Thank you, Gordon.”

“I know I have done some greatly distasteful things to attain my crown, and I have some deep character flaws, but I am not the monster you think me to be. I hope you see that someday so we can enjoy a more amiable relationship.”

Evelyn did not comment as Gordon stood and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and turned back toward her.

“You will bear me my own children as soon as you are able. I am not totally immune to nature’s demands.” He opened the door and faced Aniston. “I do not need to remind you that what you have witnessed is a state secret. Should I hear so much as a rumor that the child my wife carries is not mine, I will execute everyone who was in this room.”

“Of course, Highness.”

“And do a better job of keeping her secure. I’ll not have every man in the kingdom jumping the fence like dogs after a bitch in heat.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Aniston waited for Gordon to leave before entering the room and closing the door. “Why not me?”

“I beg pardon?”

“Gregor said he knew it couldn’t be me. Why not me?”

Evelyn smiled, sat up, and patted the cushion next to her. “I have let slip a few rumors here and there about your…preferences.”

“I guess that’s a good thing under the circumstances, but still…” Aniston sighed. “So what happened? What did Gordon say?”

“He promised not to hurt our son.”

Aniston let out a long breath. “Do you believe him?”

“I do, as long as everyone believes it is his.”

“Well, I guess that removes any doubt as to your acting skills.”

“I was born into politics. Lying convincingly is as natural a development as walking.”

“I can’t help but feel bad for Martin.”

“Martin is a conspirator. He deserves what he gets.”

“I can’t imagine it will take long before someone begins to believe his protests of innocence. Gregor was not fooled with your pregnancy, and I am sure he will soon doubt the parentage as well.”

“Perhaps not as soon as you think. I have left a few clues lying around that hints at our liaisons. I deliberately spilled wine on him several weeks ago. While he was changing shirts in his room, I flung one of my earrings under his bed.”

“You are good at this sort of thing. Remind me not to get on your bad side. Still, even if Gregor does search his room, which he probably will, what are the odds that the earring is still there? Surely it has been swept up by now.”

“He does not allow the maids to clean his room, and men never sweep under the bed.”

Aniston looked at his feet and muttered, “I clean under my bed.”

Evelyn leaned over and kissed his cheek. “And that is why not you.”

“Damn it.”

CHAPTER 22

“What do you mean it’s not a fair trade?” Garran demanded. “These are better horses than what you’re giving me in return!”

“They have constable brands!” the man countered.

“As if you don’t have a brand back in your shop that will fix that in an instant.”

“I run an honest business.”

“Like hell.”

“Even if I didn’t, you aren’t going to get full value on a stolen horse.”

“I told you, they aren’t stolen!”

The man crossed his arms and gave Garran an accusatory look. “I ain’t never heard of an auction surplus.”

“What’s not to understand? The constabulary buys more horses than it needs and decides it is better to sell off the surplus than to stable and feed them.”

“Then show me the bill of sale.”

“I told you, I lost it!”

“Yeah, that seems to happen to a lot of fellows wanting to sell me horses. If you want me to take those horses in trade, you need to throw in another twenty argats per.”

“Good, you are open to negotiation. All right, how about a counter offer of—”

Garran’s fist collided with the man’s chin and dumped him onto the floor. Two stablehands reached for pitchforks and made to intervene.

Garran slapped a hand against one of his reaping blades and held up a finger in warning. “Ah! Don’t even think about it. It’s a fair trade, and when he comes around, he’ll see it. Just go about your business, and I won’t put you down too.”

Garran grabbed the fresh mounts’ reins and led them out of the stable when the grooms backed off. Adam took the lead of one and swung into the saddle.

“Was it necessary to hit him?” Adam asked once they had galloped a sufficient distance from the small town and slowed their horses to a walk.

“You saw how unreasonable he was being. We didn’t have time to haggle with him with Victor riding down on our asses.”

“His argument seemed reasonable to me. Don’t you have some coin left from what Anton’s seneschal gave you? You could have offered him something.”

“I need that money and likely more in the days to come.”

“For what, drugs and whores?”

“No! Not
just
for drugs and whores.”

“You need to take this seriously, Garran!”

“I just punched a man in the face and stole his horses. How much more serious can I get?”

“I mean you need to prioritize. You need to place the success of our mission higher than your vices.”

“My vices are a key component to the success of the mission.”

“How is that remotely possible?”

“Everyone has a system—a process. Like a musician or an author has a process that helps spur their imagination to create brilliant works.”

“You are as far from a brilliant work as one can get.”

“I am a masterpiece in human form.”

“I’ve seen you crap your pants.”

“I fell really hard!”

“You were so drunk you tripped over a shadow. Maybe if your diet included something other than booze, you would have the consistency not to soil yourself during a sneezing fit.”

Garran dipped and rolled his shoulders. “Oo, look at me. I’m a prince with breeches that stay closed, and my bowel movements are well-formed and smell like roses. La-tee-freaking-da!”

“The fact that you think not exposing or soiling oneself is the height of social graces makes me weep inside.”

“Bah, you’re probably just on your period.”

***

Cimmaron lay fifty miles from the border with Opatia. It was where Garran declared they would stay the night before pushing on to Glidden and into Opatia. Opatia was a landlocked country, and its capital lay more than two hundred miles into its southern heart.

Garran rented a room at an inn and paid extra for the innkeeper to feign ignorance of their existence if anyone asked. Adam stayed downstairs to enjoy a proper meal. Garran complained of stomach distress and went up the room. Adam finished eating, hustled upstairs, and found Garran in the middle of the room squatting over a small box.

“What are you doing?”

Garran looked up, his face flush and his brow beaded in sweat from his exertions. “I’m shitting in a box, as if it weren’t readily apparent even to those who lack the deductive skills of a trained agent.”

“I can see what you are doing. My question is directed toward the why of it.”

“Because I keep my promises.”

“You promised someone you would do your business into a box?”

“I promised that prick of an innkeeper back in Brolla that I would mail him his payment.”

“Why did you not just pay him when we were in Brolla?”

“I tried, but the constables interrupted me.”

Adam gave him an exasperated sigh. “Why did you not just give him the money we agreed upon?”

“Because he was a prick.”

“So are you!”

“I’m…incorrigible.”

“You are crapping in a box.”

Garran grinned. “The look on his face when he opens it will be priceless.”

“Yeah…I don’t think it will be. How exactly do you plan to get it to him?”

“Express courier.”

“And how much is that going to cost?”

“Seven Dinarins.”

“Our bill was seven argats, which is around five dinarins. You spent an extra two dinarins over what it would have cost just to give the man silver.”

“A man cannot put a price on principle.”

“In this case, the price of your principles is two dinarins. Of all the principles a man could espouse, honesty, loyalty, integrity, courage, you choose crapping in a box. We have the best field agent on his way to kill you and arrest me—”

“Second best,” Garran interrupted. “I’m the best.”

“You stand in defense of your argument while the rest of the world refutes it. Not only is he an agent, but also a transcended.”

“I’m a transcended too.”

“A somewhat retarded one by your own admission.”

“That was your word, not mine.”

“But instead of preparing for what you say is an unavoidable clash, you are in the middle of our room crapping in a box. That is the cornerstone of your guiding principles?”

Garran groaned. “I think a cornerstone is what I am trying to shove out of my ass and drop in this box. I should not have held it for this long. I bet I was riding three inches taller in the saddle for the last couple of days. Ah, there it goes!”

Garran hitched up his trousers, applied a sticky resin around the lip of the box to create an airtight seal, and nailed the top on. Slipping his reaping blades back into his belt, he tucked the parcel under his arm and made to leave.

“If you will excuse me, I have a package to send.”

“Nothing in this world could possibly excuse the likes of you.”

“Still on that period, are you? I should have taken you for a heavy bleeder. Don’t answer the door for anyone, and be ready to make use of the escape plan should it be necessary.”

Adam watched Garran leave with his disgusting package tucked under his arm, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Despite the exhaustion he felt from the days of forced riding, the fear of impending doom prevented him from falling asleep. As the minutes dragged into hours, his fear only increased. Growing so restless that he could no longer find comfort lying down, Adam began pacing the room. With luck, he would tire himself enough to get to sleep.

***

So wrapped up was he in his anxiety, the sound of the door opening startled him so much that he nearly fell to the floor. Adam found himself pulling the window and shutters open, ready to jump out into the street, before he looked over his shoulder and realized it was Garran and not Victor.

Adam closed the shutters and faced Garran. “Where have you been all day?”

“Doing what a good agent is supposed to do—prepare.”

Adam recoiled from the overpowering smell of alcohol assaulting his olfactory senses. “I hope you didn’t spend all of our money on booze and prostitutes during your
preparations
.”

“No, mister judgmental. In point of fact I spent most of it on children.”

Adam took three angry paces and put his face within inches of Garran’s. “I have tolerated a great deal of delinquent debauchery from you, but I absolutely will not abide you exploiting children to satisfy your lecherous habits! I would sooner turn myself over to The Guild than ally myself with someone who would do such a thing!”

Garran blinked and leaned away. “What the hell are you talking about? You think I would…I paid street children to keep an eye out for Victor or anyone asking about a pair of strangers in town. Those little beggars are the best eyes and ears in any city. The fact that you would automatically assume that I would do something like that, well, that’s as insulting as it is preposterous.” Garran stepped away and pointed a finger at Adam. “You got problems, buddy.”

Chagrinned, Adam sat heavily into a chair next to the small table. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I never know where you might draw the line when it comes to terrible behavior.”

“I might drink donkey piss if it will get me drunk, but when it comes to women, I like whores. The bigger the better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. The mere fact that you are able to offend the likes of me should make you take stock of your own character. You have some pent up frustrations, and you need to deal with them before they come flooding out and I’m the one looking down my nose at what you did. That would be like a whore calling someone a slut. You don’t want that.”

“Other than drinking and bribing waifs, what have you been doing?”

“I have never beat Victor in a fair fight, and I don’t see that changing now.”

“So what will you do?”

“Make sure it isn’t a fair fight by choosing my battlefield and setting it to my advantage. With any luck, it will be enough to give me the edge I need to beat him.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you can get your hands on some cocaine. You can’t can you?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Yeah, no one else seems to either. I guess I’ll have to rely on my skill and cunning without chemical enhancement.”

“So, are there any special funeral arrangements you want me to make?”

“You’re really pushing for that court jester job, aren’t you?”

***

An insistent knocking on the door roused Garran from his sleep. He chased the cobwebs from his brain, noted the hour to be around midmorning, and walked toward the door.

“What if it’s Victor?” Adam asked.

“Assassin’s don’t knock, Pickle Tits.”

Garran opened the door and stared down at two boys of ten or eleven years of age. They were filthy and wore tattered clothes, but their eyes projected the wary wisdom of life on the streets. One of the boys stood behind and just to the side of the one who had knocked holding a short, flat length of iron that looked to have been sharpened on a cobblestone to resemble a stiletto. Its crude construction did not reduce its lethality in the slightest.

“What?” Garran grumbled.

“We saw your man ride into town a few minutes ago,” the one nearest the door said.

“Are you sure it was him?”

“He looked just like you said. He had three blokes with him, and they was definitely looking for someone.”

“Where?”

“You promised us coin.”

“I’ll pay you when I know you aren’t lying to me.”

“We ain’t lying, and we ain’t telling you nothing until you pay us!”

Adam called out, “Just pay them, Garran.”

Garran glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll try, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I don’t know if I can work up a—”

“With money!”

“Fine!” Garran groused, pulled two argats from his pocket, and dropped them into the boy’s grubby palm.

“They rode in on the west side of town about ten minutes ago. They stabled their horses and started asking for two fellas and showed a drawing.”

Garran scratched at the stubble on his chin. “They’ll ask at the inns and stores closest to the edge of town and work their way in, so we have a little time. How would you boys like to earn a little more money?”

“Sorry, we ain’t fancy boys, but I can find ya some who’ll turn a trick for the right price.”

“I’m not asking to—what the hell is with people automatically assuming I want to prostitute children?”

“Well, when a grown man answers the door with his dilly dangling in front of a pair of young boys and then offers them money, it’s not an unreasonable assumption to draw.”

Garran’s hands darted for the laces on his breeches and retreated into the room. “Damn these trousers all to hell!”

“Looks a bit lit like a thumb don’t it, Ronnie?” the one boy asked his fellow, nudging him with his elbow.

“Shut up!” Garran snapped as he buckled on his weapons belt.