The King's Man

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  The path twisted as I approached a bridge, inviting me to either walk under the road or step up to the road itself. I hesitated, then clambered onto the bridge. My father had often told me never to follow the canals under the bridges and, even now, I feared what I might find. There were supposed to be entire worlds down there, under the city. I found it hard to believe that hundreds of people might be living in the sewers, but it was true enough that some people went under the bridge and never came out again. I wouldn’t feel safe without a small army at my back.

  I sucked in my breath as I kept walking, the cold air gnawing at me. The streets were eerily quiet. I saw a pair of naked bodies lying in an alley, but I didn’t dare check for signs of life. Guardsmen, perhaps, or merely homeless who’d come off worse in a fight. Their clothes would have been stolen and sold to the poor and desperate. There was no room for sentimentality in Water Shallot. The aristos might have superstitions about wearing second-hand clothes. The poor couldn’t afford to have qualms. I ...

  “Stop,” a voice barked. “Stop!”

  A spell slammed into my back. My entire body went limp. I crumpled to the ground. I tried to muster a counterspell, but I’d been caught by surprise and - before I could cast the spell - I found a cuff wrapped around my wrist. My magic shivered, then vanished. A sense of tiredness threatened to overcome me as my hands were bound, then I was rolled over. I found myself staring at one of Lord Dirac’s armsmen.

  Shit, I thought. I’d been distracted. I’d practiced being aware of my surroundings, damn it! If nothing else, Francis had taught me to be wary at all times. I ...

  My body twitched. The spell was wearing off. I still felt oddly tired and heavy, as if I’d been hexed or dosed with a sleeping potion. My captor yanked me to my feet as a black carriage rattled up, then picked me up and shoved me into the compartment. It was larger than I’d realised, clearly designed for transporting prisoners. I moaned as my captor wrapped a chain around my ankle. Escape was clearly going to be tricky.

  “Be quiet,” he growled. Another black-clad man glared at me. “You’re under arrest.”

  I swallowed, hard. My voice felt thick and ungainly, as if it was no longer mine. “On what charge?”

  My captor eyed me, coldly. “On the charge of harassing a city merchant, remaining within the city despite clear orders to leave and whatever other charges develop in the course of our investigation.”

  He stepped back as I cursed under my breath. Rebecca. I’d pushed her hard and ... she’d made an official complaint. Of course she had. Her shop was in South Shallot, not Water Shallot. The City Guardsmen had taken her seriously. And so had Magus Court’s enforcers. Rebecca was a Bolingbroke client. They’d probably lit a fire under Lord Dirac. I guessed they’d told him to drop everything until I was in jail.

  My mind raced. Rebecca ... or Zadornov? He might have ordered his loan shark to make a complaint, gambling that it would get me removed from the city. He might ... I shook my head. There was no way to know. And it didn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to go to jail, not now. Sir Griffons would not be pleased. The political implications would be disastrous. If nothing else, Magus Court could use my presence to score points on the king.

  The door banged shut. I heard the armsmen scrambling into the front seat. The carriage shuddered, then started to move. I wondered, as I twisted as best as I could, just where we were going. It would take at least fifteen minutes to drive to the bridges, even with the streets practically empty. And if people had seen them yank me off the streets ... it was quite possible they’d try to free me. I shuddered, despite myself. The armsmen were just doing their jobs. They didn’t deserve to be beaten to death by an angry mob.

  I stared at the cuffs. The band wrapped around my left wrist was the real problem, but ... I forced myself to think. Cutting my hand off wasn’t an option, not here. I wasn’t carrying a knife. And yet ... I twisted and squirmed, trying to get my hands on the spellcaster. I couldn’t channel magic through it, but there was still a charge within the wood. It might just be enough to unlock the cuff ... I gripped the spellcaster in my fingers, then carefully jabbed it against the cuff. There was a surge of magic, powerful enough to make my fingers sting, and the cuff came free. I breathed a sigh of relief, then hastily freed myself. The handcuffs and the manacle were easy to remove with magic.

  Move, I thought. The hatch was closed and warded. Unlike most ward designs, it was crafted to make it difficult to remove from the inside. They’d taken precautions in case a prisoner managed to break free. Don’t give them any time to react.

  I gathered myself, then carefully unpicked the wards. Alarms howled as the spells came undone, the carriage coming to a halt before I could cancel them. Whoever had crafted the wards had added a charm to raise the alarm if they were opened, even if whoever opened them was meant to be there. I kicked the hatch open and jumped, ducking a spell that flashed above my head. The armsmen reacted quickly, too quickly. I threw back a hex of my own, using the carriage for cover as I scanned the street. We were nearing another bridge ...

  The carriage lurched, nearly toppling over and crushing me. I cursed - they were using their carriage as a weapon - and cast the brightest light spell I could. They staggered back, rubbing their eyes as they tried to cast cancelation spells. That wasn’t going to get them anywhere, not in a hurry. I hadn’t hit them with blinding spells. I jumped back, then turned and ran towards the bridge. I wasn’t going to risk injuring or killing them. They were just doing their jobs.

  Another spell crashed out at me. I blocked it as I reached the bridge. The churning water below looked sickly-gray, as if someone was dredging the river somewhere north of Shallot. I took a breath, then cast a breathing spell and jumped into the canal. The cold struck me like a hammer as I forced myself to swim under the bridge, my eyes stinging as I tried to stay underwater. They wouldn’t come after me, would they? I didn’t believe it.

  My lungs started to hurt, spell or no spell, as I reached the surface. It was dark and cold ... I saw a pair of children living under the bridge, staring as I treaded water. My heart went out for them as I kept swimming, ducking back under the water as I came out from under the bridge and kept moving. The foul water would make it harder for the guardsmen to catch me, I was sure. They didn’t have the numbers to place a guard on every possible way out of the water.

  I surfaced again, my lungs gasping for clean air. The breathing spell didn’t seem to be working. I wondered, as I turned and peered at the water, if there was oxygen in the canal. There certainly should have been. It looked as if no one was chasing me, but I kept swimming regardless. I had to keep moving until I reached cover. A barge drifted by the side of the canal, a teenage girl sitting in the prow. I waved to her, then pulled myself to the edge and scrambled out of the canal. The girl stared at me, then vanished inside the barge. I didn’t blame her. I could be anyone.

  And most smart people don’t go swimming in the canal, I thought, as I muttered a pair of spells to dry myself. My cloak and tunic were horrifically stained. There was no way I could pass them on to anyone, not now. If I’d ruined my clothes as a kid, my father would have been enraged. We didn’t have the money to waste anything. He’d have thought I’d done it deliberately.

  I looked up as an older man stepped out of the barge. “Who are you?”

  “None of your business,” I said. “Do you have a set of clothes I could buy?”

  “A cloak,” a man said. “And you get your ass out of here at once.”

  I nodded, passed him a silver piece and took the cloak he offered me. It was a tatty thing, but it would do. I wrapped it around myself, cast a pair of illusion spells to conceal my face and started to walk. The air felt colder, somehow. I kept a wary eye open for more guardsmen - the bastards had found me somehow - as I walked. I saw nothing, even when I got a glimpse at the bridge I’d used as a diving board. I hoped the armsmen had headed back to the bridges. I felt a twinge of pity. Lord Dirac was going to blast them both for inco
mpetence.

  They should have taken my spellcaster, I thought. And everything else I was carrying too.

  I stayed in the shadows as I made my slow way back home. The streets were starting to liven up, long lines of shoppers forming outside the shops. A crowd was shouting curses at a storekeeper who’d taken advantage of the chaos to raise his prices, demanding that he put his prices back to normal or else. I hoped he’d have the sense to do as they wanted before it was too late. Desperate people wouldn’t hesitate to take what they needed if they thought they were being cheated. I heard the crowd grow louder as I walked away. It sounded as though the storekeeper wasn’t smart enough to realise the danger.

  Father wouldn’t be so stupid, I told myself, as I heard the sound of a beating drum. What the hell is that?

  I blinked as a line of guardsmen walked up the street, the leader beating the drum. The guardsmen had weapons in their hands, ready to fight ... they looked like soldiers, not guardsmen. I frowned, wondering if they were soldiers. It was unlikely - Magus Court wouldn’t have asked for troops - but still ... I put the thought out of my mind as the streets cleared rapidly. Pieces of debris rained down from high overhead. I turned and ran down the streets as more and more rioters appeared from nowhere, ready to give the guardsmen a very hard time. I wondered if my arrest and short detention had made matters worse. Too many people had seen me run from the armsmen and jump into the canal ...

  The sound grew louder, somehow, as I turned into the alleyway and made my way towards the inn. The innkeeper had slammed the shutters into place, but the receptionist opened them as soon as she recognised me. I hoped she hadn’t noticed I was wearing a new cloak. Who knew what sort of conclusions she’d draw? I suspected she probably had noticed. People who weren’t observant tended not to live very long in Water Shallot. If nothing else, she’d need to be able to tell the difference between tough and dangerous men.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way up the stairs. Caroline and Louise were safe. The inn would have been smashed to pieces, literally, if the guardsmen or armsmen had come calling. Or another assassin ... I shuddered, remembering what Magistra Loanda had told me. The assassin couldn’t even feed himself, let alone tell us what we wanted to know. He might as well be dead. Suicide was a mortal sin - the Ancients would reject anyone who took their own life - but someone who wiped his own memory? The thought nagged at my mind as I undid the wards. Would there be two versions of the assassin in the afterlife? Or would they both be rejected?

  There’s no way to know, I told myself. And we don’t have time to wonder.

  The door opened. Caroline sat on the bed, a spellcaster aimed at me. I raised my hands as she stared at me, her magic probing mine before she relaxed - slightly - and returned the spellcaster to her belt. I breathed a sigh of relief as I closed the door, then looked around for Louise. She stepped out of the washroom, holding another spellcaster. I nodded to her. She gave me a sharp look, then nodded back. I guessed she hadn’t forgiven me.

  “What’s it like out there?” Louise picked up her coat. “I have somewhere to be.”

  “Tense,” I said, carefully. I didn’t want Louise gadding about on her own. “I got arrested.”

  “What?” Caroline stood. “What happened?”

  “I got snatched off the street,” I explained. I ran through a brief explanation. “I think I lost them, but I can’t be sure.”

  “That’s not good,” Caroline said. “If they’re looking for us ...”

  Louise shrugged. “Right now, I have places to be,” she said. “Or are you going to try to keep me here?”

  “The streets aren’t safe,” I said. “The guardsmen have started to march patrols through the streets again. There’s a brewing riot ...”

  “Then I have to take control before matters fall out of my hands,” Louise said, briskly. “If I meet you both back here this evening ...?”

  I hesitated. I had a lot to discuss with Caroline. And I didn’t want to have that discussion in front of Louise. But, at the same time, I didn’t want Louise to go outside. Lord Dirac’s men were looking for her. If they caught her, they’d ship her off to Skullbreaker Island without bothering with a trial. They wouldn’t care she was innocent. They’d be far more concerned with depriving the socialists of their most effective leader.

  “We’ll see you this evening,” Caroline said. “Be careful who you trust.”

  “I will.” Louise didn’t look pleased. “I still can’t believe it. I know my comrades.”

  “Akin thought he knew Francis,” I reminded her. “And Francis betrayed his cousin for ... what? Laughs?”

  “Yeah.” Louise grimaced, as if she’d bitten into something nasty. “Point taken.”

  I scowled, feeling everything start to catch up with me. “Don’t tell them where you’re staying and don’t tell them where you’ll be,” I warned. “They’ll tell their masters and then you’ll be dead. Or wishing you were.”

  Louise nodded, cast a glamour on herself and headed out the door. I watched her go, hoping and praying she’d be fine. Part of me wanted to keep her in the room, but she wouldn’t stay of her own accord. We’d have to imprison her and ... I didn’t want to do something that would turn her into an implacable enemy. My feelings were a mess. I didn’t know how I felt about her. Or anyone.

  “Well,” Caroline said. She sat back on the bed. “What happened?”

  “It’s an aristo plot,” I said. I ran through everything, from what I’d learnt from Magistra Loanda to what Malachi Rubén had told me. Stregheria Aguirre was dead, but she still cast a long shadow. “They’re planning to cause an uprising, then use it as an excuse to take complete control.”

  Bitterness welled within me. “I suppose it should have been obvious,” I said. I knew aristos. They didn’t give a damn about commoners. “The infernal devices were carefully planted. No one got killed ... no one important got killed. Saline’s party? They placed the device to make sure none of their little brats got killed.”

  I glared at my hands. Why was I not surprised? People who rigged the game in their favour would have no qualms about resorting to mass murder if they thought they were going to lose control. “I should have seen it coming. You just can’t trust a fucking aristo.”

  Caroline stood, slowly. Her eyes met mine. “Adam ... I am an aristo.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.

  “What?”

  “I am an aristo.” Caroline stared at me, evenly. “And you are being a prat.”

  I stared at her, my head spinning. Caroline couldn’t be an aristo. She’d been recruited for the Kingsmen! She had magic and power and a gritty determination never to give up ... I couldn’t believe she was an aristo. None of the aristos I’d met came close to her. Alana had been cruel, Francis had been a traitor ... even Akin lacked Caroline’s heart and soul. It couldn’t be true.

  And yet ... I forced myself to think coldly, logically. Caroline knew magics I hadn’t known existed. Caroline had been strikingly comfortable in the Great Houses. Caroline had danced with an ease and skill that suggested she’d been dancing almost as soon as she knew how to walk. Caroline had ... I swallowed, unable to process what I’d been told. It was true. It couldn’t be true. It was true ...

  “How?” I wanted to say something, but my brain refused to work. “How can you be an aristocrat?”

  Caroline’s voice was very even. “Father was a high-born brat, little older than yourself when he sired me. Mother was a serving girl who had dreams of rising above her station. She didn’t realise she could get pregnant ... they had something of a falling out, after she realised what had happened. Father formally acknowledged me, but Mother ... she didn’t want me to grow up in a Great House. Father paid for us to live in Caithness. When I turned twelve, I went to Grayling’s and studied there. I’ve been told it’s nothing like Jude’s.”

  “I thought it was a finishing school,” I said, numbly. “One of those pla
ces that specialise in turning young ladies' brains into mush.”

  “I studied hard,” Caroline said. “Miss Grayling is harsh, unbelievably so. But she’s also a good teacher. My marks were as good as yours, perhaps better. The Kingsmen recruited me shortly after I finished my exams.”

  “But ...” I had to think, to find the words. “If you’re an aristo, why did they try to recruit you?”

  Caroline shrugged. “I gave up my family ties,” she said, simply. “It wasn’t as if I was going to inherit anything. I’d seen enough of my family to know I didn’t want to spend my days looking pretty and doing nothing. When the Kingsmen came calling, I said yes.”

  I swallowed, hard. “I don’t understand ...”

  “No, I suppose you don’t.” Caroline held up a hand, cutting me off before I could say a word. “I get it. I really do. You grew up in a place where the only real way to get ahead was to become someone’s client. And then you went to Jude’s, where every aristocrat you met was as unformed as yourself. You saw them at their worst and never at their best. You said it yourself. The only aristo you met who was remotely decent was Akin, who was just as unformed as you. And you never realised you’d met me too.”

  “I ...”

  “Let me finish,” Caroline said, eyes and voice sharp. “I understand. I don’t blame you for hating aristos when you were a child. You had every reason, just like Louise, to resent a rigged system and to hate those who’d rigged it. But you know what? You have to grow up! You have to realise that aristos are just like everyone else. There are good aristos and bad aristos, and you need to learn to tell the difference.”