A Crown Imperiled

  Anne had proven invaluable in getting what information she could from the palace. Princess Stephané was well, in the company of two young men whom Jim knew would die to protect her. She had said that King Gregory had given Stephané a state welcome, despite the odd circumstances of her arrival, and by some adroit eavesdropping, Anne had pieced together most of what had happened in Roldem which had caused the Princess to flee.

  So Jim decided if he couldn’t openly travel as part of the King’s entourage, he would travel on the same ship as a common sailor. His only problem was that the King and his guests travelled on a Royal Navy ship, and passing as one of the crew was nearly impossible. He had almost been caught twice, once sneaking into the palace and again as he left, but when he finally was back at the docks he had in his possession a very convincing transfer order signed by an admiral whose signature Jim had forged more than a dozen times.

  So, Able Seaman Tuckford Jones had reported to the Royal Gallant hours before she set sail. Jim knew enough both about common sailors’ duties and military protocol that he managed to fit in, just about.

  He had adroitly avoided the rare occasion when he might be recognized by Hal or Ty, and now he was mere hours away from resuming his position as head of the Isles’ intelligence apparatus. And that meant finding Lady Franciezka Sorboz. He found himself surprisingly anxious to find her, and was forced to admit to himself that he was probably in love for the first time in his life. He found it ironic that she was probably the one women he had bedded he couldn’t have if he wished. He had always wondered what it was about women that made him attractive; the more of a bastard he was, the more they wanted him. Franciezka was the exception: she was in her own way as big a ‘bastard’ as he was. Perhaps that was what drew him; she was the only woman who could truly understand him for what he was. Moreover, he was oddly taken by the notion that his most passionate lover was also a woman who could probably murder him with her bare hands should the need arise. With a rueful shake of his head, he considered his life a very odd one, indeed.

  He scampered down the ratlines and reached the deck. Moving with purpose always saved him from being put to an unwelcome task by one of the mates. As sailors went, Jim was neither a malingerer nor a volunteer. He stood his watch quietly, competently, and without complaint. He was always affable with the other crew on his watch, but made no close friends or bitter enemies. He worked diligently at being as nondescript as possible and usually succeeded.

  Jim made his way to the companionway down to the lower deck and then into the crews quarters. He had little by way of personal belongings, so he threw together his kit quickly. A small bag he could throw over his shoulders, and the only important thing within was a pair of low-cut boots he could don when he reached the shore. Jim’s impersonation of a sailor was perfect in all details, save one: he didn’t spend enough time out of boots to develop the heavy calluses on his feet that made walking barefoot over cobbles tolerable.

  He needed to find Franciezka. He had a good idea where to look, but that was no guarantee he would find her. But unlike the Isles, he had few eyes and ears in Roldem. Still, standing around and doing nothing was not his best choice, so he began to plot.

  Hearing footsteps coming down from above, he moved away from his hammock, making sure his kit bag was stowed, then headed for the rope locker in the forecastle. He listened as two sailors came down and did as he had just done, gathered their kits together in anticipation of a swift departure from the ship.

  Jim had planned on being among those sailors detailed to carry luggage to the King of Roldem’s palace. That changed when he overheard the second mate telling the cargo master that the palace luggage would be handled by garrison soldiers, and the ship’s crew would only help offload the commercial cargo.

  So he waited until the quarters were again empty then hurried back on deck. As he had expected, no one noticed his coming and going, so he hurried to the ratlines and again climbed to the topgallants. He would linger up there repairing a non-existent crack with a rope brace until it was time to reef sail.

  Time passed as Jim scampered about in the rigging, ignoring certain orders and effectively hiding himself from view behind sails when necessary. His one goal was to avoid cargo duty, for that would last for hours and keep him from reaching the palace quickly.

  At last the ship sailed into the harbour. Since they were flying the King’s flag along with a hastily-fashioned pennant to denote the Princess of the Royal House of Roldem, shipping in the harbour came to a standstill to allow the royal guests a swift passage.

  Jim paused for a moment to stare in amazement at the imperial dromon from Kesh that the Emperor’s agents had chosen. As no Emperor had ever left Kesh’s shores before, no royal transport had ever been required before. Jim recognized it at once as an imperial naval flagship, the vessel of some Trueblood admiral. The Truebloods of the Overn Deep were only freshwater sailors, and although the Overn was a large enough body of water that storms and tides were a problem, at its worst it was nothing compared to the unpredictability of the deep oceans on Midkemia. Three moons ensured that only a veteran captain could navigate uncharted waters.

  As a result Kesh tended to be a nation of coast-huggers, comfortable with patrolling the shallows near home, and relying on mostly overland trade, with the Kingdom and Roldemish ships carrying cargo between those two nations. A few brave and resourceful Keshian traders had, of course, mastered the tides of the Sea of Kingdoms and made a handsome profit trading between Kesh and Roldem or Rillanon directly, but they were few and far between.

  This ship had been refitted in a hurry, but even so the result was nothing short of miraculous. Every trim was golden or ivory, brilliant in the sun. The shutters on the sterncastle looked to be fashioned of ebony, an impossibly dense wood never used on ships because it had a tendency to sink. Nothing on this ship was base or mean. From his vantage point aloft, it looked as if the decks had been refurbished with teak. He laughed. Knowing the Keshians, this would be the only occasion on which the Emperor of Kesh would undertake an ocean journey, but the ship would never been used again, just in case the Emperor might decide to go fishing one day. All royals were prone to the gaudy and wasteful, Jim knew, but no one did it on as grand a scale as the Keshians. Even the banner, bearing the royal hawks of Kesh, looked to have been sewn with pure gold thread.

  The King’s ship eased into its berth as Jim furled the sails. When he had finished tying off, he kept out of the view of the bosun’s mate and watched as the main hatch was unlatched and moved, and cargo nets were swung into place, while the royal party departed from the rear gangway. The gangway was a lovely device, thought Jim, a canopied covered little landing with stairs and rails that ran right down to the docks. Jim took his time moving to the tip of the yardarm, then dropped a rope and swung down to the docks, everyone on the decks being too focused on the royals departing or on cargo duty to notice him. He wouldn’t be missed until that night when he didn’t show up to receive his pay.

  Moving along the docks he saw a party of nobles waiting to greet King Gregory and his retinue. Jim did a double-take for it appeared that Sir William Alcorn was waiting to meet the King, but upon close inspection it was a different man. The hairstyle was Roldemish, parted in the middle and left to fall on both sides to just below the ears, while Sir William’s hair flowed to his shoulders. But the resemblance was uncanny.

  ‘You!’ shouted a voice and Jim saw a Roldemish noble pointing at him. ‘Come here and carry this!’

  Jim knew better than to run so he lowered his gaze and ambled over. He saw bags sitting behind a roped-off area and wondered for a moment why he was being asked to fetch luggage that would be brought along to the palace in quick order. He looked at the noble who had ordered him over and recognized Lord Servan, nephew to the King.

  ‘My lord?’ asked Jim in neutral tone. He knew that this man was Franciezka’s most highly placed agent within the palace, and wasn’t sure if she knew that he knew. So he deci
ded to play the role of common seaman until he knew what was going on.

  ‘Take these at once to the Queen’s apartment.’ He took off his gloves and pulled out a piece of parchment and a travelling writing case. ‘Your back, sailor.’

  Jim turned and bent over so that Servan could rest the parchment on his back. He heard the noble spit into the dry ink, then felt as he scribbled something. As he wrote, Servan said, ‘My lady bade me find you as soon as this ship landed, Lord Jim. She warns you to be cautious in coming to the palace. Lord John Worthington’s men are everywhere.’

  ‘Is that Lord John in the deep blue coat?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Servan, affixing his seal to the note. ‘This orders you personally to deliver these two bags to the Queen’s major domo personally. He’s been instructed to take you to my lady.’

  ‘Whose bags are these?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Servan with a smile. ‘Baggage gets lost all the time in the palace. It’ll find its owner sooner or later.’

  Picking up the bags, Jim said, ‘If you can slip word to Duke Hal that I’m in the palace, that would be appreciated.’

  ‘Duke Hal? His father’s dead?’

  ‘Unfortunately, and King Gregory has named him “beloved cousin,” publicly, twice.’

  Servan winced. ‘I’ll get word to him. You’ll find him?’

  ‘I’ll find him.’

  Jim picked up the bags and hurried after the first carriage that was rolling out of the docks. The pace of the carriage was slow as crowds were pressing to cheer the foreign king and his party. There was a holiday feeling to the scene that lay at odds with what was really underway, which Jim feared was black murder and treason.

  Keeping to the side of the carriage away from most of the guards lining the road, the nondescript sailor hauling two bags up the hill garnered scant notice.

  Jim barely put the bags down before he was being hustled off by a servant barking orders that he follow her. He did as he was ordered, and was taken around the periphery of the royal apartment to a set of rooms occupied by Lady Franciezka Sorboz.

  Franciezka waved away the servant and inspected Jim head to foot. ‘I think I’ve seen you less kempt, but I can’t recall when.’ Her face was set in a controlled, faint smile, but her eyes shone with moisture.

  Jim began to speak, then suddenly was without words. He took two strides across the room and took her in his arms. After a deep and prolonged kiss, he whispered, ‘I thought I might never see you again.’

  ‘And I you,’ she whispered back. She forced herself back to control and said, ‘And you reek. You need a bath.’

  ‘I need a bath, a shave, and a change of clothing.’

  ‘I have a bath drawn in the next room.’

  ‘Are you joining me?’

  She spun out of his reach. ‘As much as I might like to, Jim, we do not have time if you’re going to sneak about and talk to all those people who you need to sneak about and talk to.’

  Jim frowned and turned his mind to the business at hand. ‘Clothing?’

  ‘I have a complete set.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I thought you might need court clothing, and besides,’ she added with a slight smile, ‘I know your size intimately.’

  In the side room he found a tub with warm water waiting. He quickly stripped off his clothing and stepped in. A moment later Franciezka entered with a shaving mug, brush, and razor. He lathered up his hair with a delicate scented shampoo she kept for her own use. The scent of it reminded him he was aching to touch her again.

  She poured a bucket of warm water over his head and said, ‘Lie back and I’ll shave you.’

  While she did so she went on, ‘I discovered something deeply troubling after you left, Jim.’

  ‘Only one thing?’ he said brightly.

  ‘Never make me laugh or get angry when I have a razor next to your throat.’

  ‘Fair point. Sorry I interrupted.’

  ‘After you left I retired to my villa and helped the Princess to escape.’

  He laughed and said, ‘Now she’s back, so one wonders what good all that did.’ Feeling the sudden pressure of her razor against his throat he said, ‘Sorry,’ and fell silent again.

  ‘She was away from Lord John, which was the point.’ She deftly scraped his cheek. ‘Word reached me of something odd taking place, and the servants being barred from the Lord John’s quarters.’

  ‘So you snuck back— Ow!’

  She had nicked his neck.

  ‘Stop interrupting! So I snuck back into the palace and watched through a window. I saw the damnedest meeting imaginable. Lord John hosted two other men: Sir William Alcorn and a Keshian prince—’

  He grabbed her wrist so that she couldn’t nick him again. ‘Harfum?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘How did you know?’

  ‘A pattern. What did you learn?’

  She continued to shave him. ‘First, all three of them appear to be the same man, or else some mother somewhere had triplet sons born in three nations to three noble families at the same time.’ She finished and handed him a towel. He sat motionless for a long moment, stunned by the news. ‘The same . . .’ He let the thought trail off. ‘The third player.’

  ‘Whoever was behind the war between the Isles and Kesh, certainly,’ she added. ‘We know the war made no sense, particularly given how it ended, and how this benefits the third player . . .’ Again a thought was left unfinished.

  He wiped the residue soap off his face. ‘How long before I insinuate myself into the royal hullabaloo?’

  ‘All the nobles are resting while their luggage is being unpacked. I expect you’ll want to sneak about a bit and speak to someone or another.’

  ‘Hal is now Duke of Crydee. His father perished before the siege of Ylith. I want to speak to him and Ty Hawkins.’

  ‘You have some time. Why?’

  He reached over and grabbed her, hauling her into the tub with him. She shrieked for a moment, then her cries turned to laughter.

  ‘Too long I have thought about this reunion, Franciezka, and too long have I thought about what I would say. I’ll sneak about later.’

  She kissed him. ‘Shut up or I’ll find that razor.’

  He returned the kiss and began unfastening wet laces.

  Miranda looked at the matrix and probed it, pulling back instantly. ‘There is a demonic element there; subtle, which is why you missed it, but there all the same.’

  Pug and Magnus were both silent for a moment, then Pug said, ‘Is it a trap?’

  ‘It is hard to judge. As I’m sure you’ve both come to appreciate, it’s a complex energy net.’ Miranda overlapped her outstretched fingers, as if forming a grid. ‘Interwoven spells, and something else, other energy states . . .’ She closed her eyes for a moment, then they popped wide open. ‘We need Nakor.’

  And she was gone. While the three of them had been examining the matrix, Nakor had been in another part of the building exploring the Pantathian archives with a guide.

  Magnus said, ‘I don’t know what unnerves me more, that she is so exactly like mother or how easily I forget she’s not mother.’

  ‘I also have to force my mind to that—’

  Suddenly she was back with Nakor standing next to her. With a grin he said, ‘Pug! Magnus! There are some wonderful volumes and scrolls here. A lot of history . . .’ He stopped speaking as he saw the energy field behind his three companions and pushed past them. He looked at the large oval of light. ‘This is the matrix?’ He leaned over until his nose was less than an inch away. ‘This is wonderful.’ He sat back, his hands just inches away from the surface, but not touching it. ‘Demon, yes,’ he said. ‘But something else, something . . .’ He nearly jumped back. ‘I recognize it.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Pug, struggling to cope with the appearance of his dead friend as he had his dead wife.

  ‘I felt this in the pit on Omadrabar. There is a touch of the Dread here.’ He glanced at Magnus.
r />   ‘We think it might be Valheru.’

  Nakor nodded. ‘Yes, I sense it. Elf, Valheru may be what I’ve missed, Dread, demon . . . But nothing human. This was created a very long time ago, by people who were not human. No hint of dwarf or goblin either! This is from before the Chaos Wars!’

  ‘Tomas said the Sven-ga’ri in the Peaks of the Quor were already there before humans came to Midkemia.’

  Grinning, Nakor rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s a lock, I think, and picking it will take some time.’ He closed his eyes, hummed a nameless tune, then said, ‘Ah! Dragon! There’s dragon essence here, as well.’ He laughed aloud. ‘All the ancient races! This is quite a lock!’ He looked around. ‘Don’t be shy. Come, see what’s inside!’ He closed his eyes as if meditating, and the other three sat and joined him in studying the matrix with all the magical skill they possessed.

  Later Jim and Franciezka lay in bed, entwined in one another’s embrace, her head on his chest. ‘You’re a very bad man, Jim Jamison,’ she said softly.

  ‘Please tell me I have a few good qualities you’re fond of?’

  ‘That’s just my point.’ She pushed herself up on one elbow. ‘I am too fond of you. Fool, I’ve tried to kill you twice.’

  He grinned. ‘I like to think that’s because you didn’t know me well at the time.’

  ‘Perhaps it was because I got to know you better?’

  He kissed her. ‘Seriously, what are we to do?’

  She laid her head back on his shoulder and said, ‘About us, or about everything else?’

  ‘I fear “us” depends on everything else.’

  She sighed. ‘Well, then, to business. I have a few agents I can trust inside the palace. Fewer in the city. None beyond our shores.’