The Charnel Prince (44 page)

“Oh. Good.” Or maybe not. How long had the soldiers been outside? They might have caught him as he left.

But there was nothing he could do about it right now, not with Mery. She was probably in more danger than he was.

“How did you know to run, Mery?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “It was like you had the whole thing planned out.”

“Yes,” she said, after a silence.

“Why?”

“I always have a way planned out.”

“But why?”

“Mother says they may come to kill me one day.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. Only that they might come one day, the king’s men, and kill me and my brother. So I figured out ways to run and places to hide. It’s how I found the music room.”

“You’re a very clever girl, Mery.”

“Are you going to marry my mother?” she asked.

“What?” For a moment his dizziness returned. “Did she say something like that?”

“No,” Mery replied.

“Then why do you ask?”

“Because I like you.”

He took her hand. “I like you, too, Mery. Come on, let’s find someplace warm.”

They found the canal easily enough, and several small narrow-boats. They were approaching them when Mery suddenly grabbed him by the arm.

“Shh,” she said.

There were voices in the darkness, and straining, Leoff made out several indistinct figures near the canal. He and Mery crouched behind a bush.

“They captured the lady Gramme and her son,” one of the men said in a husky baritone.

“That’s of no concern,” a second man said. Something about that voice sent a chill through Leoff. It wasn’t the voice itself, which was perfectly normal, tenor, cultured. But just as any note played on a lute had numerous smaller tones hidden within it, there was something hidden in that voice—something somehow
wrong
.

“How can you say that?” the baritone asked. “Our plans are ruined.”

“Hardly. I’m amazed that Muriele discovered this, much less acted on the information, but once our spies reported them coming, I did my best to encourage them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of my men met them at the docks with bow and arrow and killed one or two, then fled into the darkness. After that, the queen’s men didn’t ask questions—they stormed through the front door, where the guards naturally reacted to them before they understood who they were fighting. What was probably meant to be a peaceful interrogation ended up in bloodshed. Do you know how many were killed?”

“I’m not sure, my lord—but more than a few.”

“I feel foolish for not having planted the evidence of this meeting myself,” the tenor said. “Still, it’s all worked out quite well.”

“I really don’t see how.”

“He’s right,” a third voice said. This one sounded familiar to Leoff, but he couldn’t place it. “If one of us had been found there, things might be different. As it is, Muriele’s men will find little of substance—little to justify this attack. It will seem as if they burst into an innocent gathering and began slaughtering landwaerden.”

“Indeed,” the tenor agreed. “Even the few loyal members of the Comven won’t be able to support this action. I believe this moves us well ahead of our schedule.”

“I urge caution, my lord,” the third man said. “Give the kingdom time to absorb this before you move.”

“No, I don’t think so,” the second man said. “The time to strike is now.”

“You mean tonight?” the baritone asked incredulously.

“Not tonight. But soon. Go to the camp. Tell them to be ready to cross the water.”

“Yes, my lord.”

One of the figures moved to the narrow-boats, and soon he was rowing away on the canal.

“I’ll take my leave now, as well,” the familiar voice said. “But heed my advice—moving too quickly could be a mistake.”

“No, this is the perfect time.”

“There are many who still sympathize with the queen, and many more who will not care for you, milord. The situation does favor you, but there might be ways to sweeten it.”

“Well, your advice is always welcome,” the tenor said.

“After tonight, the landwaerden will be incensed,” the familiar voice went on. “Through Gramme, you can be certain of their support. The nobility, however, will not care much about a few dead waerds. In fact, this might actually draw a few of them back to the queen.”

“She’s worried them enough by forming her own Lierish guard.”

“Yes. But what if she began truncating all lines of succession other than Charles and Anne?”

“You mean by killing Gramme and her bastards?”

“Precisely.”

“But we need Gramme, I think, and her son could prove useful. He is, after all, William’s.”

“Yes. The assassinations of Gramme and the boy might be seen as bungled. But the girl is of no use to us.”

“Mery? No, I suppose she isn’t. And she’s probably in the queen’s custody right now. I suppose it couldn’t hurt matters. Can you arrange this?”

“It wouldn’t be hard,” the familiar voice said.

“Before tomorrow?”

“Are you in that much of a hurry?”

“Three days. No more.”

“That’s sufficient time, I suppose,” the familiar voice sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Just be ready to play your part, and all will go perfectly.”

“That’s just it. My men won’t arrive for another month.”

“We don’t need your men, Praifec. Only your word. Do I have it?”

“You have it.”

They left then, the praifec on foot, the other man in a narrow-boat. Leoff held Mery still, shivering to the bone, only partially from the cold.

“I told you,” Mery said softly.

“It’s not going to happen, Mery,” Leoff promised. “They aren’t going to kill you. Come on.”

“If we go to the castle, they’ll find me.”

“I know. We’re not going to the castle.”

They took one of the narrow-boats and went the direction the other man had not. By morning, they had reached a small, cheerful-looking town called Plinse. There Leoff carefully obtained directions to the vicinity of Meolwis. He also bought a cloak to hide Mery’s dress, and from there the two of them followed Leokwigh Road north. They reached Meolwis near sundown and stayed in an abandoned house. The next day, they went west along the dike of Saint Thon’s Graf, and within a bell had come upon a malend.

Hiding Mery below the birm, Leoff went to the door and rapped on it.

To his great relief, Gilmer was the one who answered it, his eyes bugging in gnomish surprise.

“It’s good to see you well,” the little man said, after they’d embraced. “I heard about the trouble at Her Ladyship’s. Almost caught some of it myself. I guess you must have heeded my advice.”

“I was still there,” Leoff said. “Someone helped me escape.”

“One of the young ladies, eh?”

Leoff smiled. “I need a favor, Gilmer.”

“You’ve just to ask.”

“This isn’t an easy favor, and it’s dangerous. Let me explain it before you say yes.”

He called Mery in and related everything that had happened, including what the two of them had heard that night.

“Who do you think it was?” Gilmer asked. “Besides the praifec? Who were the other two?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“One of them was Prince Robert,” Mery said.

Gilmer looked at her. “Prince Robert’s dead, lass.”

“It was him,” the girl insisted.

Gilmer made a long, low whistle. “This aens’t good. Not one bit good.” He slapped his knees. “But you’ve done the right thing. There’s nothing you can do back there. The royals will settle that mess and that’s that. But the praifec—well, they go that way sometimes.”

“I can’t let anything happen to Mery,” Leoff said.

“No, of course you can’t,” Gilmer replied. He tousled the girl’s hair. “I don’t care if the fratrex Prismo himself has come up from z’Irbina, there’s no little girl getting killed while I’m around. No, you two will stay here. When this all blows over, we can reckon what to do.”

“Gilmer, I need you to keep Mery safe—that much is true. But I’ve got to go back.”

Gilmer shook a finger at him. “That’s crazy,” he said. “You think you’ll stop a palace coup all by yourself? Or that anyone would be grateful to you even if you did? You were the guest of honor at that party. Even if the queen wins, she’s going to think you a traitor. Learn your lesson, son—stay away.”

“I can’t. The queen needs to be warned.” He squared his shoulders. “Besides, I have a commission to finish and a concert to perform.”

ROADMARKS

The Year 2,223 of Everon

The Month of Decmen

Ponto, the fifth mode, invokes Saint Diuvo, Saint Flenz, Saint Thunor, Saint Rooster. It evokes the passionate new love, the raucous banquet, the freely flowing wine. It provokes delight, giddy joy, lust.

Sesto, the sixth mode, invokes Saint Erren, Saint Anne, Saint Fiendeseve, Saint Adlainn. It evokes the ache one will not wish away, the quiet sadness after physical love, unrequited longing. It provokes erotic sadness.

—from
The Codex Harmonium of Elgin Widsel

ANNE PULLED A COMB through her salt-knotted hair and watched the gulls on the strand fight over the scraps of fish and more dubious once-living things. The birds weren’t the only scavengers; twenty or thirty people—mostly children—were also searching the sand for treasure from the waves.

Farther down the shore, the battered hulk of the
Delia Puchia
was dry-docked in scaffolding, and beyond that lay the huddle of whitewashed cottages that was the Gallean village of Duvre.

It was hard to remember any particulars about the storm. The bells of vicious thunder, snapping spars, and plunging waves all blurred together into a single long terror. It had left them adrift and sinking with only a single makeshift sail and the good fortune to be within sight of shore. They had followed the coast for nearly a day before finding the fishing village and the anchorage it offered.

A cold wind was coming off the sea, but the clouds were gone. The only remaining signs of the storm were its wreckage.

The comb snagged, and she yanked at her hair in frustration, wishing for a bath, but the village didn’t have an inn, as such, just a small tavern. Besides, their money was all but gone. Cazio had the last of it and was trying to buy horses and supplies. Captain Malconio had figured it would be a week before the ship was ready to sail again, and she had no intention of waiting that long.

According to its inhabitants—at least as best as any of Malconio’s men could understand them—Duvre was about ten leagues south of Paldh. They had planned to go by land to Eslen anyway, so they had decided that they might as well get started.

With a sigh, she rose and started back toward the village, to make sure Cazio was doing what he was supposed to be doing, and not playing nip with Austra someplace. The brief solitude had been nice, but it was time to get going.

She found him in the tavern, of course, along with z’Acatto, Malconio, Austra, and a crowd of locals. It was close and smoky inside and smelled overwhelmingly of the dried cod that hung everywhere from the rafters. The two long tables were pitted and polished by use, and the floor—like the walls—was built of a sort of plaster made of ground-up seashells.

Malconio was speaking—something about the wonders of a city named Shavan—and a wizened little man with no more than three or four teeth was making a running translation in Gallean. Children in red and umber tunics of rough wool and women with their hair wrapped up in black cotton scarves all leaned in, laughing sometimes and commenting among themselves. They glanced at her when she entered, but quickly returned their attention to Malconio.

Anne put her hands on her hips and tried to catch Cazio’s eye, but he either hadn’t seen her or was ignoring her in favor of Austra, who—with him—was quaffing wine from a ceramic jug. Z’Acatto was slumped with his head on the table. Impatiently, Anne pushed through the crowd and got Cazio’s attention by patting his shoulder.

“Yes, casnara?” he asked, looking up at her. Austra turned her head away, feigning interest in Malconio’s story, which just rolled right along.

“I thought you were buying supplies and horses.”

Cazio nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he said. He patted the shoulder of a stout, middle-aged man with a sunburnt face and startling green eyes. “This is Tungale MapeGovan. I’m doing business with him.”

The man—who seemed well on his way to being thoroughly drunk—smiled up at Anne.

“
Hinne allan
,”
he commented, scratching his belly.

“Well, can’t you hurry it up?” she asked, ignoring the disgusting fellow.