The Queen's Executioner

by Christopher Mitchell

  She longed for a friend to talk to, to share her pain. The old servant in Douanna’s house was polite enough, but his loyalties lay firmly with his mistress. She missed her old cavalry colleagues Chane and Weir, and smiled at the thought of them, even though the time they had spent together in the Sanang forest had been as hard as any she had experienced. It was Killop that she yearned for still. Even though they hadn’t shared a single word, she continued to think of him, continued to wish hopelessly.

  ‘Miss Daphne Holdfast?’ someone asked her. A voice she recognised. The voice of a young Holdings man.

  ‘I think you already know the answer to that.’

  ‘We’re here, miss, to escort you to the Embassy of the Holdings Realm.’

  She looked up. Six soldiers, all in Holdings army uniforms. At their head was the man who had approached her when she had first arrived in the capital, to inform her that she was still wanted by the Realm authorities.

  She was sluggish from the brandy, and the lack of sleep, but knew she could take them all if she had to. She checked the door, and loosened her cloak.

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘No, miss,’ the young man said, eyeing her up and down.

  ‘So you’re asking me to come, voluntarily?’ she said, lighting another cigarette.

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Six of you?’

  The young man smiled. ‘Showing an appropriate level of respect, I would say.’

  As she looked at the Holdings soldiers, she caught the eyes of two of them clouding over almost imperceptibly. She smiled to herself. Battle-vision.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let me finish my breakfast first.’

  While the troopers stood around waiting, she drank her coffee, then downed what was left of the brandy. She took a last draw of her cigarette, and stood.

  There was a carriage lined up outside the café, and the young man gestured for Daphne to board. He climbed in after her, and the others took up their positions, hanging onto the outside railings.

  As the gaien lumbered off, Daphne observed the young man sitting opposite her. He was good-looking in a boyish way, short-haired, clean-shaven, and smart in his uniform. He looked confident, although he was regarding her with a certain amount of wariness.

  ‘What’s your name, Lieutenant?’ she said.

  ‘Getherin,’ he replied, ‘of Hold Liant.’

  Minor aristocracy from the western plains, she thought. Back in the Holdings, her family would have looked down on him, and her father would have considered this man to be an unworthy suitor for his youngest daughter.

  She caught him looking at her.

  ‘What’s this about then?’ she asked.

  ‘The ambassador wishes to speak with you.’

  ‘Now?’ she said. ‘After I’ve been in the city for half a year?’

  ‘I’m sure the ambassador will explain everything.’

  She wondered what the young man thought of her. Throughout her life, she had never been considered dangerous. She had always been one of the good girls at school, and then at university. At the academy she had shown promise, and had impressed the combat instructors, but was still regarded as a lightweight by her peers, there only because of her father.

  Now, after all she had been through in Sanang, the Holdings, and Rahain, Daphne Holdfast required six guards just to politely ask her to come to the embassy. She saw Getherin glance at her again. That wasn’t the way he had looked at her when she had first arrived, she noticed.

  ‘Would you care for some tea, miss?’ the butler asked, as Daphne waited in the ambassador’s plush greeting room. Lieutenant Getherin sat a few feet away, holding his officer’s cap on his knees. The carriage had pulled into a small courtyard in the shadow of the High Senate complex, home to the comfortable and spacious Holdings embassy, the only diplomatic mission in Rahain from any of the other nations on the continent.

  ‘Do you have any coffee?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, miss,’ he replied, frowning.

  ‘Tea it is, then.’

  As the butler set out cups and saucers on the tea-stand, the doors to the embassy’s private quarters opened wide, and the ambassador strode in, flanked by consular officials. A pair of guards entered behind them, and took up positions by the door.

  Getherin stood. Daphne waited, watching.

  ‘Ambassador Quentin of Hold Terras,’ the female official to his left announced.

  Daphne rose to her feet.

  ‘Miss Daphne Holdfast,’ Getherin said, introducing her.

  The ambassador approached. She had seen him several times before, but only from a distance. He was tall, with skin the colour of roasted coffee. His short hair was receding, and his forehead wrinkled with something approaching trepidation, as he held out his hand.

  She took it, and they shook.

  ‘Please sit,’ he said.

  They all found comfortable seats by a roaring fire set into the south wall of the chamber. The butler served tea, and Daphne found herself enjoying it.

  ‘Made properly, at least,’ she nodded to the butler. ‘Unlike the savages around here.’

  The butler smothered a smile.

  ‘Quite,’ the ambassador said.

  She turned her gaze to him.

  ‘I have news,’ he said, looking her in the eye. ‘Tragic news of profound importance for the Holdings.’

  She leaned forward, her smile vanished. Let it not be father.

  ‘Her Majesty the Queen is dead,’ the ambassador said. ‘Succumbed at last to her long… illness.’

  The pause told her everything.

  ‘Mages have sent word,’ he went on. ‘Prince Guilliam is now our Lord and King, may the Creator preserve his reign. He was crowned a half-third ago, on the fifteenth day of the first third of winter, in the year five hundred and four.’

  Daphne’s face fell, feeling a sadness for the queen that was as unexpected as it was sudden.

  ‘The queen’s passing marks the end of an era in the Holdings,’ the ambassador said, choosing his words with care. ‘Change is afoot. Already we have heard that His Royal Highness has taken steps to end the war in Sanang, a most popular decision with his subjects. His Majesty has also announced that his court will be moving south, to take up residence in Plateau City, which will become the new capital of the Holdings Realm.’

  ‘And the church?’ Daphne said.

  ‘We all know that King Guilliam is a most pious man,’ he replied, ‘but there have been no major changes in religious policy thus far. A high priest has been sent out to join our embassy here, to offer advice, and guidance.

  ‘However, Miss Holdfast,’ he went on, ‘I am delighted to inform you there is also news that affects you personally. In her Majesty’s will were certain acts and proclamations, and among them, was a full pardon for yourself.’

  Daphne’s mouth opened in surprise.

  ‘Congratulations, miss,’ the ambassador said. ‘You are no longer wanted by the authorities, and it was with some pleasure that I tore up your arrest warrant yesterday when the news arrived.’

  ‘Then,’ Daphne said, ‘I can go back? I can go home?’

  Quentin sighed. ‘I would strongly recommend against it. While you are under no threat of arrest, there are still many in the Holdings who wish you harm. Perhaps if you give it more time.’

  She closed her eyes, and hung her head.

  ‘One day, miss, I’m sure,’ the ambassador said. ‘Your new status as a free subject of the Realm brings other privileges. For example, the embassy is now happy to act as an intermediary with your father, allowing a transfer of Holdfast credit to you here in Rahain. You can access this fund as of today. Your father has deposited the equivalent of two million ahanes to use as you see fit.’

  She raised her head again, smiling at the thought of her father reaching out to her in the only way he knew how, through money. He must have made a fortune in the last Sanang campaign.

  ‘You are suddenly a rather wealthy y
oung woman,’ Quentin said.

  And one now free of Douanna, she realised.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how does a subject of the Realm gain the legal protection of its embassy?’

  The ambassador smiled. ‘Is it possible that our trains of thought are converging?’

  ‘Tell me what you mean and I’ll answer.’

  ‘I will,’ he replied. ‘But first…’ He waved his hand to his officials to leave, and waited until they had departed.

  ‘It’s simple,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘To gain diplomatic immunity, you come and work for us.’

  ‘Doing what, exactly?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his chest, ‘I would hazard that it would be the same line of work that you are currently doing.’

  ‘And what do you know of that?’ she cried, her mind racing, her body preparing itself.

  ‘Please, miss!’ Quentin said, rising from his chair and holding his palms out. ‘No need to be alarmed. You will come to no harm here, I swear.’

  Daphne realised that she had half got to her feet, her right fist clenched, her teeth bared. Getherin’s hand had gone to the sword hilt by his waist, while the guards by the door were poised to rush over.

  She sat, running a hand over her face.

  ‘Apologies,’ she muttered.

  Quentin sat back down. ‘The truth is, miss,’ he said, ‘that we don’t know exactly what it is that you do, except that you seem to be very good at it. I have my suspicions. No evidence, though. Of course, as a wanted fugitive, it was my duty to have your movements monitored, and reported back to the Realm. It had been a fairly easy task to keep track of you while you were accompanying Lady Douanna, but once she had returned to Jade Falls, you became a most frightful nuisance to follow. It was a running joke here at the embassy, betting on how long each of our agents could track you before you slipped away.’

  ‘If you suspected something, then why didn’t you report me?’

  ‘Understand this, miss,’ Quentin said. ‘My loyalty is to the Holdings, and no one else. If some harm were to come to the enemies of the Realm, then why would I intervene?’

  Daphne sipped her tea.

  ‘We can have a more frank discussion if you agree to join us,’ Quentin said. ‘Until then, I don’t think I should say too much more about what I think you may, or may not, have been up to recently. We would require you to cease your employment with Lady Douanna, of course. Would that be a problem?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Our relationship is purely business. Look, I’ll need some time to think it over, and to take care of a few things. I also have several conditions.’

  ‘I would have expected no less, Miss Holdfast.’

  ‘First, I would need an apartment,’ she said. ‘Without a Rahain sponsor I’m not allowed to rent or buy property, and would require you to do so on my behalf. I was thinking of somewhere like Appleyard Cavern, central, comfortable, but not too ostentatious. An apartment with a balcony overlooking the orchards, from where I could see the sky.’

  ‘You have excellent taste,’ he said. ‘I can have an agent start looking for you immediately. Under a false name, of course, there must be no documents connecting you to the state apparatus of the Realm. Your name will not be mentioned by us in any correspondence with the government of the Holdings. If you agree to work for us, then you would not be paid, well, not officially. However, if we found you a suitable place to live, and furnished it, provided servants and so on, then would you accept that in lieu of payment?’

  ‘If you drop the servants and throw in a regular supply of coffee and tobacco, then we may have a deal,’ she replied.

  Quentin shook his head in mock sadness. ‘Coffee? Really?’ he laughed. ‘And your next condition?’

  ‘I need you to organise the transport of a horse,’ she said, ‘from Jade Falls to here. Then find me a place I can keep him, somewhere close to my new apartment.’

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ Quentin smiled. ‘Leave the details with the clerk at the front desk. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daphne said, lowering her voice. ‘I won’t kill for you, not unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

  Quentin sat back in his chair, nodding.

  There was a knock at the door, and a messenger entered. Quentin waved her over, and she leaned down and handed the ambassador an envelope. He waited until she had departed before opening it.

  His face paled as he read the note. A slight tremor shook him, and he handed the paper to Getherin.

  The young lieutenant scanned it.

  ‘Let her read it,’ Quentin said, and Getherin passed her the note.

  The words on the document described the most gruesome and bloody murder of a prominent member of the High Senate from the Patriot Party, whose body had been discovered that morning by servants coming to awaken him.

  ‘Before we agree anything formally, I must know this,’ the ambassador said. ‘Will the Rahain authorities find anything to connect you to this incident?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Why would they?’

  Getherin looked over at her, a smile forming on the edge of his lips.

  Jorge had been the last man she had slept with, she remembered ruefully, and that had been nearly two years before, in the final days before setting off to join the war with the Sanang. Two years. In just over a third she was going to be twenty-three.

  She glanced across the table at Getherin as he refilled her glass with red wine. His apartment’s small balcony overlooked a courtyard, which lay dark and quiet beneath them, the lamps dimmed for the night. The air had a chill in it despite the flow of warmth coming from the cavern’s heating grilles, and she shivered.

  ‘Here’s to working together,’ he said, raising his wine.

  She raised hers, and the glasses clinked. He smiled as she met his eyes. He had been trying to impress her all evening, with tales of the inner workings of Rahain, most of which she already knew, though she had kept quiet about that.

  He had hinted at knowing a lot more. This, she told herself, was the reason she had come back to his apartment, after they had shared dinner in an expensive restaurant. It was also the reason she had spiked his wine with a touch of dreamweed, which tended to loosen people up.

  ‘You were talking about the Patriots,’ she reminded him. ‘About how you think they’re less likely to attack the Holdings now.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But not so much because of the assassinations, though this latest one will put fear into their cold lizard hearts. No, it’s something else.’ He paused, looking unsure of himself.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, lighting a cigarette. ‘I can wait until the ambassador tells me himself.’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You’re right. The ambassador will tell you anyway, so there’s no real harm in me mentioning it to you now.’ He looked across the table at her. ‘This really is secret, though, you mustn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He leaned across the shadows of the balcony towards her. ‘Hundreds of thousands of Rakanese migrants have crossed the border into Rahain territory. There is a Holdings mage-priest accompanying them, sent by our embassy over there. He has made contact with us, and shared a vision with the ambassador here in the city. Hundreds of thousands, Daphne! They crossed over the lava fields all the way from Arakhanah!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To settle,’ he said, smiling in bemusement.

  ‘In Rahain? Uninvited?’

  ‘Can you imagine what the lizards are going to do?’

  ‘It depends,’ she shrugged. ‘Have the Rakanese brought an army?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘They’re all civilians.’

  She shook her head, leaning her right arm over the balcony rail. She gazed out into the dark courtyard, smoking. She remembered Douanna’s husband describing the Rakanese with contempt and disdain, and he was supposedly one of the more enlightened ones.

  ‘
What could make hundreds of thousands decide to get up and leave?’

  He shrugged. ‘Over-crowding? Secretary Joley mentioned a theory to do with migrating toads.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Still close to the border, but moving south towards the Vaharin River,’ he said. ‘That’s where they plan to settle, according to the mage.’

  ‘Do the Rahain know yet?’

  ‘The Rakanese must have been seen by now,’ he replied, lighting a cigarette. ‘If the senate don’t know already, they will soon.’

  ‘It’ll certainly keep them occupied,’ she smiled. ‘They’ve already got two hundred thousand Kellach slaves, who knows where they’ll fit the same number of Rakanese.’

  ‘How can you joke about it, Daphne?’ he said. ‘Have you seen the condition of the Kellach slaves? It sickens me, it truly does.’

  Her face darkened. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Ending slavery in Rahain is something I could fight for,’ Getherin said, as he finished his glass of wine. ‘The treatment of some of them defies imagining.’

  Daphne said nothing, trying not to think of the sights she had witnessed in the dead senator’s illegal den.

  ‘There are only a few lucky ones,’ he went on, slurring his words. ‘Or so I am told. Apparently a Liberal councillor is keeping three slaves hidden away in his mansion. He wants everyone to believe that the Kellach are there for scientific research, but the rumour is that he’s become fond of them.’

  Daphne froze. She had not heard about any of this from Douanna.

  ‘Would that be Councillor Laodoc?’

  ‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said, getting up. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

  She entered the apartment, walked to the small bathroom, and locked the door.

  Breathing heavily, she leaned against the sink, closing her eyes.