The King's Man

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “No,” I agreed. I stepped past him and inspected the damage. It looked worse than it was, but it was still pretty bad. I muttered a couple of healing spells, ignoring Dale’s swearing. The boy stared at me, eyes wide. “I think you gave him enough of a beating for that.”

  “We have to take him to the cells,” Dale said. The boy flinched. He would have run if Dale hadn’t kept a tight grip on his collar. “He’ll spend the rest of his life on Skullbreaker Island.”

  I stared at the youngster for a long moment. If things had been different, that could have been me. Ancients! I’d done enough stupid things, when I’d been his age, to know how lucky I’d been. Father would have disowned me on the spot if I’d been stealing things, but ... I swallowed, hard. The poor boy deserved a whipping, not a death sentence. I’d heard enough about Skullbreaker Island to know that being exiled there was a death sentence.

  “We’ll take him back to his father,” I said, firmly. Would Dale argue? Or demand that I took the boy to Sir Griffons? Or ... or what? “I don’t think he’ll be stealing again.”

  Dale glared. “On your head be it,” he said, as he shoved the boy at me and picked up the handbag. I hoped he’d make sure it went back to its owner. “And if you see him again, you can arrest him yourselves.”

  He nodded to his men. “We’ll see you again tomorrow,” he added. “Goodbye.”

  “Charming,” Caroline muttered. “Do they ever solve any crimes?”

  “They can normally be relied upon to find a suspect,” I said. I wondered, sourly, just how many people who’d been marched to the gallows had really deserved it. There were truth spells - I knew how to use them myself - but would the City Guard bother? Or would they simply arrest the usual suspects in lieu of doing any actual detective work? “Let me see ...”

  I gazed down at the boy. “What’s your name?”

  He had to think about it, I noticed. “Kevin.”

  “Really?” I didn’t believe it. People didn’t normally need to think about their own names - or the truth, whatever it was. A delay almost certainly meant a lie. “What would you say if I cast a truth spell?”

  “Brian,” the boy said, sullenly. I had the feeling that was a little more truthful. “It was a dare.”

  “Was it?” I met his eyes, evenly. “It wasn’t very clever, was it?”

  I sighed, inwardly, as I drew his address from him and marched him down the road. Caroline followed, ready to catch him if he tried to run. Brian didn’t live anywhere near Water Shallot, but in one of the tenement blocks on the far side of South Shallot. I had the feeling his father was probably a manservant, judging by the way Brian held himself. He wasn’t going to be pleased, not when he found out the truth. A criminally inclined son wouldn’t make him look very good.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” Brian moaned. “It was Joe’s idea and ...”

  “Let me guess,” I snarled. “You wanted some excitement in your life. You decided it would be funny to steal from someone who seemed to have plenty of money. And then ...”

  I shook him, none too gently. I knew what my father would have said, if he’d caught me stealing from anyone. The thrill would be replaced, sooner rather than later, with the fear of being caught. It would hang over his head until he either became a hardened criminal or confessed ... probably to a world that didn’t care. Or sent him to Skullbreaker Island. I imagined Brian being shipped there and shuddered. He was too young. It would be a fate worse than death.

  We marched him up the stairs and rapped on the door. There was a pause, just long enough for Brian to start shuffling nervously before the door slammed open to reveal a formidable-looking woman. I showed her my ring, explained what had happened and shoved Brian at her. The look on her face suggested he wasn’t going to be sitting comfortably for a few days. Better that, I told myself firmly, than Skullbreaker Island. I ignored the shouting as we made our way back down the stairs. Brian’s mother wasn’t keeping anything back.

  “Well,” Caroline said, as we stepped back onto the streets. “Did we do the right thing?”

  “He was just a silly idiot,” I grunted. What were we supposed to be doing now? Go back to Sir Griffons or continue exploring the city? “If he went to jail, it would be the end.”

  “I suppose.” Caroline frowned. “Did the old woman get her handbag back?”

  I frowned. I hadn’t seen Dale give it back to her. And that meant ... I sighed, promising myself that I’d check. The old lady didn’t deserve to lose her handbag either.

  “I’ll check,” I said. “And now ...”

  I looked around as we started walking back towards the bridge to North Shallot. The streets felt tense, but not that tense. I could see children running and skipping during recess, trying to get as much fun in as possible before they were called back to class. A grim-faced man wearing a mortar board sat by the schoolhouse, smoking something that released an unpleasant-looking green smoke. I felt a flicker of pity. I’d probably driven my tutors mad, when I’d been a little boy. But then, I’d hated school with the passion of a million white-hot burning suns. I hadn’t started to enjoy learning until I’d gone to Jude’s.

  A broadsheet seller walked past us, offering copies of the latest newspapers. I bought a couple and skimmed through the pages, looking for anything on the Working Men or Prince Jacob. There was nothing on the Working Men - there wasn’t even the usual advert for the clubs - but there was quite a lot on Prince Jacob. The foreign prince was apparently a very well-dressed man, who’d fitted perfectly into High Society. The story was so sweet that I felt my teeth starting to ache as I read my way through it, but ... it lacked a certain substance. All the people who would normally have provided statements that set the course for the Great Houses and Magus Court were missing. It read as if no one really knew what to do with Prince Jacob.

  Caroline finished her paper. “Is there ever anything of importance here?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrugged. “The newspapers are owned by the Great Houses, mostly. They only print what their masters want them to print. There’s a handful of printing houses that are more independent, but they don’t tend to last very long. Father wanted to open a newspaper, once upon a time, yet ... I think the costs were too high. He certainly didn’t get past the planning stage.”

  My ring grew warm. I touched it, lightly. “Adam.”

  “Adam.” Sir Griffon’s voice seemed to appear in my head without going through my ears. “I’ve heard an ... interesting report from Captain Dale.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, carefully. What had Dale told him? The truth? Or ... or what? “Do you want us to come back now?”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Sir Griffons said. “Be back here in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll back you up,” Caroline said, as the ring cooled. “We can both get in trouble.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “Better I get in trouble alone.”

  I sighed as I folded the papers under my arm and started to walk. I’d done the right thing, morally ... but legally? Dale had had a point. We’d caught Brian in the act. He deserved punishment. And yet ... he didn’t deserve to lose everything. A good butt-kicking had been more than enough, I thought. Who knew? Maybe he’d turn his life around and join the Kingsmen. Stranger things had happened.

  Caroline snorted. “This isn’t the time to be a hero,” she said. “Besides, I thought we were supposed to be in this together. Let me share the blame.”

  She grinned, humourlessly. “Besides, there’s probably more than enough blame for both of us,” she added. I had a nasty feeling she was right. “We’ll both get in deep shit.”

  I shook my head. “It was my call,” I reminded her. “I didn’t ask you. I should have, but I didn’t. Let me take the blame.”

  “Honestly.” Caroline shook her head. “That hero complex will be the death of you.”

  “And you,” I said. “Why did you join if you didn’t have a hero complex?”

  “I wanted a new challenge,” Carol
ine said. “Just like you. Right?”

  I nodded, but said nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’d expected Sir Griffons to be furious, despite my explanation. I’d expected everything from press-ups to being stripped of my rank and sent back to the gutter. But instead, Sir Griffons merely listened and then sentenced me to cook dinner for the three of us. I wasn’t sure who was really being punished - I was an indifferent cook at best, despite high marks in potions - but I wasn’t fool enough to argue. I cooked a very basic stew and served it with bread and tea. They ate without complaint.

  “Go get some sleep,” Sir Griffons ordered, when we’d washed and dried the dishes. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  I nodded and hurried upstairs to wash and change into my sleepwear. It was astonishing how the habit of washing quickly had become ingrained, after what felt like years of training. I honestly couldn’t believe it was only three months. I slipped into bed, trying to ignore a vague sense of unease as I mulled over the events of the day. I had the strangest sensation I wasn’t going to hear the end of the whole affair.

  The Guard Commander probably bitched to Sir Griffons, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep. They won’t be pleased about me overriding them in public.

  Sir Griffons woke us, what felt like bare seconds later. “Wash and dress, then get downstairs,” he ordered. “We have a situation.”

  I sat up, blinking the sleep from my eyes. The clock insisted it was five in the morning. I was sure it was lying. I hadn’t slept at all ... had I? Caroline sat up, her hair spilling over her shirt as she stumbled to her feet and hurried into the washroom. I forced myself to stand, ignoring the aches and pains. The hours I’d spent on that wretched horse were starting to catch up with me. I needed a long soak in the bath. I was fairly sure I wasn’t going to get one.

  “There’s been an incident at House Califon,” Sir Griffons said, as he thrust mugs of black coffee at us. It tasted vile, but shocked us awake. “Lord Redford has been murdered.”

  I blinked. I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t remember where. I’d never been inclined to waste my time memorising who was related to whom. It wasn’t as if it was going to be important to me. I snorted, inwardly. I might have made the wrong call. Lord Redford might be related to someone I knew.

  Caroline had a more practical question. “He was murdered in a Great House?”

  “Quite.” Sir Griffons nodded as he pulled his cloak over his tunic. “Not the easiest place to carry out a murder, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  We followed him into the courtyard. A carriage was already waiting for us in the gloom, an armsman sitting at the front. He wore a uniform that made him look like a bumblebee. I concealed my amusement with an effort. The Great Houses trained their armsmen very well. They tended to be far more effective than the City Guard, even if they looked absurd in their house colours. I scrambled into the carriage and forced myself to relax, despite a thrill of excitement running through me. This was it! I was going to investigate my first murder! I couldn’t wait.

  Caroline leaned forward. “What else do we know?”

  “Very little,” Sir Griffons said. He seemed completely at ease as the carriage rattled into life. “And that’s quite interesting, don’t you think?”

  I frowned. The Great Houses were supposed to be practically invulnerable. Sneaking through their endless layers of wards was almost impossible. A murderer would do better to wait until the victim was outside the wards, at least if they wanted to get away afterwards. I felt my heart sink as I realised the case was going to be political. The murderer might not have gotten away. And that meant ... what? A vendetta? Another House War? Or ... or what?

  The carriage rattled to a halt. Sir Griffons didn’t wait for the armsman to open the door. He unlatched it himself and jumped down to the ground. We followed, looking around with interest. I’d known the Great Houses were huge, but the building in front of us made Haddon Hall look tiny. The armsman had parked by the servants’ entrance, by the side of the building. I had the feeling that was an unsubtle insult. Sir Griffons ignored it as two tired-looking men materialised by the door. One of them was dressed in a butler’s uniform. The other wore a bland suit that bothered me. I wasn’t sure why.

  “Sir,” the butler said. “His lordship will see you now.”

  “I’ll see the crime scene first,” Sir Griffons said, curtly. “Take us there at once.”

  The butler looked as if he wanted to argue, but his companion merely nodded. I wondered just what the relationship between the two men actually was as the butler turned and led us into the hall. I could feel layer upon layer of wards probing at us, scanning our bodies so intimately that it was hard to believe we could smuggle anything into the hall without permission. Beside me, Caroline smiled faintly. I knew what she was thinking. The wards hadn’t been enough to save Lord Redford.

  It was the first time I’d been inside a Great House and, despite myself, I was curious. The walls were lined with portraits of the great and the good, people I guessed had been important once upon a time but now largely forgotten outside their families. Statues stood everywhere, some so realistic that I wondered if they were family enemies who’d been permanently turned to stone. A handful of servants in drab uniforms gave us a wide berth as we moved down the corridor, up the stairs and through a maze of rooms. The butler seemed to have no trouble navigating his kingdom. I felt lost, as if the wards were interfering with my sense of direction. They probably were. The Great Houses had secrets they didn’t want us to see.

  The butler opened a door, revealing a large suite. A middle-aged man sat in a comfortable chair, a knife protruding out of his chest. I didn’t have to check his pulse or cast any spells to know he was dead. The runes carved into the hilt composed a thoroughly lethal curse. The poor bastard probably hadn’t had a chance to cast a counterspell before the curse got him. I frowned as I inched closer, studying the blade. It was tainted by dark magic. I honestly couldn’t understand how someone had managed to get it through the wards.

  Caroline’s thoughts were moving in the same direction. “This was an inside job.”

  Sir Griffons looked at the butler. “Do you know who did it?”

  The butler shifted, uncomfortably. “That’s a family matter ...”

  “Then you’d better take it to the Patriarch,” Sir Griffons said. “I want him down here, right now.”

  He turned back to the body as the butler spluttered in outrage. “Adam, what do you make of it?”

  I leaned closer, careful not to touch the corpse. “Cause of death, a cursed blade,” I said, slowly. “No other wounds, as far as I can tell. Do I have permission to use forensic spells?”

  “Not yet.” Sir Griffons looked oddly irked. “Caroline? Do you have anything to add?”

  “He was taken by surprise,” Caroline said. “There’s no sign of a struggle. There’s no hint he had any reason to expect attack. He didn’t even sense the blade before it was plunged into his chest.”

  I nodded. The curse was so strong it should have been easy to sense. Lord Redford should have known it was there, even if he didn’t know the blade’s owner intended to stick it in him. A lack of imagination? Or arrogance? People didn’t craft cursed blades for fun. Whoever had carved the runes into the metal had done it inside the house, risking detection if the master of the hall decided to carry out a security scan. I didn’t think anyone would take it lightly if they detected the blade. It was a weapon with only one purpose. Whoever was cut with it was going to die.

  The door opened. I felt a surge of magic as I looked up. A tall man stepped into the room, wearing long dark robes and a grim expression. He looked oddly familiar, but ... I couldn’t place him. He had a natural air of authority that suggested he couldn’t be pushed around, not even by us. I straightened, bracing myself. I’d heard horror stories of what happened to people who found themselves no longer welcome in a Great House. If this was an inside job, the master of the hall
might want to cover it up ...

  “Sir Griffons,” the Patriarch said.

  “Lord Califon.” Sir Griffons nodded, curtly. “I assume you’re not going to waste my time?”

  “No,” Lord Califon said. “We need an independent inquiry into the murder. And the murderer.”

  “So you know who did it,” Caroline said.

  Sir Griffons shot her a quelling look, then returned his attention to Lord Califon. “Who did it?”

  “Saline,” Lord Califon said. “She stabbed her uncle with a cursed blade.”

  I reeled. Saline? I knew her ... in hindsight, I should have realised we were going to Saline’s house. And she’d murdered her uncle? I couldn’t believe it. She’d been an odd duck, but she’d never struck me as a murderer. But ... if she’d lived in the house, she wouldn’t have any trouble carving the blade and taking it to Lord Redford’s room without being detected. I swallowed, hard. Saline might not have planned to make her escape, afterwards. I had the feeling I’d been right, when I’d been woken from a sound sleep. This case was political.

  “Why?” Sir Griffons cocked his head. “Did she say anything to you?”

  “She’s waiting in a side room,” Lord Califon said, without answering the question. “Get your answers from her, before the family council meets. We need to know why before we proceed to judgement.”

  He nodded to the butler. “Escort the Kingsmen to Saline’s room and wait outside,” he ordered. “And then have Lord Redford’s body transferred to the family crypt.”

  Sir Griffons held up a hand, casting a series of forensic spells. I watched, impressed. There was no magical signature on the blade, as far as I could see, but there were fingerprints. Sir Griffons carefully copied them, placing the record on a piece of charmed parchment. They weren’t proof of anything - we’d been taught that fingerprints could be faked or simply scrubbed through magic - but they were indicative. If nothing else, they might suggest what the murderer wanted us to think.