The Queen's Executioner

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘The Holdings must have ordered him to evacuate,’ Shella said. ‘He thought they might have to at some point, if they believed that the situation had become untenable. In other words, they think we’re fucked.’

  Her advisors looked at each other.

  ‘Perhaps they’d gotten wind of the plan to assault the heights, and assumed its success?’ Bowda suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ Polli said. ‘Rijon probably expected the city to be under bombardment this morning.’

  Shella sighed, and closed her eyes, a dull feeling of dread creeping through her.

  Chapter 27

  Kissed

  Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 16th Day, Second Third Spring 505

  ‘Sorry, Jamie,’ Daphne whispered. ‘I should have visited more often.’

  The horse returned her gaze with its big brown eyes, as she brushed its flank.

  ‘I’ll take you out for a good run soon,’ she said, ‘then you can stretch your legs. You must be so bored here.’

  She glanced around the old gaien stables, and shook her head. She should have left Jamie in Plateau City, and never brought him to Rahain. The caverns were no place for a horse. Using some of the money her father had transferred, she had rented this small private building, close to one of the city’s great gates, and had fitted it out for Jamie to live in. She had also employed an old Rahain man to look after the stables, but had found little opportunity to visit. She missed the liberating feeling of being on a horse, and wished she was riding over the open plains with him, to anywhere but there.

  The old man was sitting on a wooden bench, smiling toothlessly as he watched her groom the horse’s soft brown hair. He was doing an adequate job, Daphne thought, though she was over-paying him.

  ‘Are you taking him out into the courtyard twice a day?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he grinned. ‘Just as you said. Morning and evening, before I give him his feed.’

  She lifted up a foreleg, and examined the hoof. The shoe had some signs of wear, but was still secure and sound.

  ‘They make sparks on the cobblestones,’ the old man said. ‘I showed the grandchildren a while back, they were amazed to see an animal with metal shoes.’

  ‘You’ve brought people here?’

  The old man’s smile dropped. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Only a couple of times, when I was watching my girl’s little ones while she was out looking for work. I couldn’t leave them in the house all by themselves, and I needed to feed Jamie. I’m sorry if I did wrong.’

  Daphne’s anger seeped away. With the money she was paying him, the old peasant was probably supporting his entire family, and she saw the fear in his eyes that he might lose his job.

  ‘Did the children like him?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the old man replied, his smile returning. ‘They were very excited. But don’t worry ma’am, I made sure they stood well back, and didn’t touch.’

  Daphne smiled back. ‘You can let them stroke him,’ she said, ‘if they’re very careful. But remember, only from the front, where he can see them.’

  The old man nodded, relief putting the colour back into his face.

  Daphne reached into her bag, and counted out a handful of gold ahanes.

  ‘This is a little bonus,’ she said, giving him the money. ‘Jamie’s in a fine condition. There will be more if he’s as well cared for next time I visit.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he gulped, as he gazed at the gold in his hands.

  She kissed Jamie’s head. ‘See you soon, boy.’ She nodded at the old man, and left the stables.

  She pulled her hood up over her head as she walked along the backstreets running parallel to the main road, not wishing to draw any attention to herself. She had been keeping her head down ever since breaking the Kellach out of the Tyrant’s Tower, and had sent a message to the embassy to say that she would not be back at work for a while. She knew they would come and find her if they needed to. She was confident that she had left no clue behind that would lead the Rahain to her, but she worried about Douanna, who well understood what Daphne was capable of.

  She heard the sounds of another disturbance, coming from the direction of the main road. More rioting peasants, she thought to herself. There were shortages of almost everything, food, fuel, water, clothes, and a hundred other essentials, with the economic might of the capital focussed on the siege of the Rakanese city.

  She paused as she reached a crossroads. On one side a thin line of soldiers were standing, their shields formed into a solid wall, while on the other side of the road a mob threw stones at them, their faces covered and hooded.

  Daphne dashed up a side alley, and climbed onto the roof of a nearby workshop to get a better view. She scampered across the tiles, leaping the short distances separating the buildings, and looked down. The soldiers were retreating, heavily outnumbered by the rioters.

  They’re losing control of the city, she thought. Street by street, district by district, the peasants were forcing the armed representatives of the state to withdraw, preventing them from carrying out more requisitions, whether of conscripted troops, or taxable supplies.

  Perhaps by accident, one of the soldiers fired his crossbow, and a rioter fell. The mob roared and charged. Some of the soldiers turned and fled, those that didn’t were engulfed in seconds, trampled under the roiling wave of rioters. Daphne leaped across the street above the screams, landing on the roof opposite, and kept running.

  She cleared her head as she sped across the buildings, drawing on a steady stream of battle-vision to aid her steps. Her mind turned to Killop. She missed him, ached for him, but smiled all the same at the memory of their moments together in his cell. She wondered where he was. The Rahain had been keeping quiet about their escape, but she was sure she would have heard something if they had been recaptured. She thought of him travelling with three other women, and if he would tell them the truth about what had happened. Even if he didn’t, she felt confident that he would stay faithful to her, no matter how long it took before they were together again. ‘I will come for you,’ he had said to her. But how?

  Something was wrong. Something was out of place, Daphne knew, as she stared across Appleyard Cavern in the direction of her apartment. The front door was closed, and appeared normal. She looked down the side of the low building. The shutters were all pulled shut, and locked. Just as she was starting to think she was being paranoid, she noticed that the latch on the fourth window along was sitting at a funny angle, and her nerves jangled.

  She leapt across to a neighbouring roof, and scaled the next-door apartment block. It was one of the highest in the cavern, and from its flat roof, she was able to jump and pull herself up by the edge of a huge sky window. She landed onto the grass on the hillside, blinking in the warm afternoon sunshine. There were several people out enjoying the weather, basking in the light, or having a picnic lunch. A few turned to glance at her, but most weren’t paying any attention, and she got up and brushed herself down.

  Use the stairs next time, she told herself. And remember, it’s the middle of the day.

  She strolled over to the aperture that was positioned above her own apartment, feeling the spring sun on her skin, and missing the scorching heat of her homeland.

  ‘Nicest day of the year so far, wouldn’t you say, miss?’

  She turned. A man was sitting on the grass near the sky window, his jacket neatly folded by his side.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t get out much.’

  ‘A pity.’

  She smiled. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  She dropped over the side of the aperture, falling six yards through the air, and landed on her own roof with a soft thud. She ran to the large vent over her vision room, unlatched it and jumped down, hitting the carpet, and rolling to the side.

  She knew her noisy arrival would have ruined any chance of surprise, so she grabbed a knife from under a cushion and sprinted to the door. She surged her battle-vision to i
ts fullest extent, and threw it open, then ran, taking in every detail as she went. Her eyes went to a tiny mark on the handle of her bedroom, and she burst through the door, using the armour protecting her left arm to batter it open.

  There was a flash of movement to her right, and she swivelled as a knife slashed an inch from her face. She ducked, and threw herself upwards, ramming her knife into the chest of a woman dressed in black.

  She scanned the rest of the room in an instant and, finding it empty, relaxed her vision. She staggered, dizzy from such a short but intense burst. She sat, and glanced around. The dead intruder lay bleeding by the door to her left. The rest of her room had been ransacked. Clothes were lying scattered across the furniture and floor, and her bedside table was on its side. Dirty coffee cups and ashtrays lay staining the rug.

  She leaned over, and looked at the floor where the bedside table had stood. It was undisturbed. She smiled, and pulled at the edge of a loose wooden slat, lifting it up. After removing two more cut floorboards, she pulled out a bag, and then a box.

  She got up, and took down a much larger bag from a shelf. Into it she threw the box and the other bag, and then hunted out some clothes, and stuffed them in too. She hefted the bag over her right shoulder, lit a cigarette, and walked back out into the hall.

  She ducked, but the crossbow bolt was swifter than she, and it tore through the skin of her neck below the right ear, removing an inch of flesh before embedding itself in the wall behind her. She stumbled, dropping the bag, her right hand going up to her neck, the blood pumping out.

  She pulled on battle-vision as she fell, drawing it in until the screaming pain subsided. She opened her eyes. The man from the hillside stood a few yards away, calming reloading his weapon.

  She reached across the floor, picked up her smouldering cigarette, and flicked it up into his face. As he spluttered away the sparks, she sprang at him, launching herself with all she had. She knocked him over, and they landed on the floor. His hands grabbed her by the throat, and he squeezed, blood from her neck wound seeping between his fingers. She rolled, until she was on top of him, and tried to pull herself away, but he was stronger, and kept his grip, and she started to choke and gasp for air. Her right hand scrambled across the floor blindly, feeling for anything to use as a weapon, as her sight started to fade.

  She pulled her left arm over, wrenching it as far as she could, the pain almost unbearable. She started to lose consciousness. She heard the man laugh, as her right hand tried to pull his fingers away from her throat.

  The last thing she remembered was clicking a catch with her left thumb, and the sound of another bolt being loosed.

  Daphne awoke on the floor, pain burning every part of her body. Her breath was coming in rasps and wheezes, and her neck ached.

  She opened her eyes. Inches from her face was the man from the hillside, a black dart sticking out of his right ear. She pushed herself up onto her knees, and looked round. Aside from the dead man on her floor, everything else seemed to be in place. She reached out with her right hand and grabbed hold of the end of the black dart. Placing her foot against the side of the man’s head, she plucked it out, and dropped it into her pocket. She picked up her bag, and stumbled to the kitchen.

  Stupid, so stupid, she muttered to herself, as she washed the blood from her face in the sink. There was a small hand mirror, and she examined her neck. The bolt wound was red and raw, but had stopped bleeding, while livid weals showed up where the man’s fingers had been. She tied a dish-towel around her throat, then pulled her hood up over her head.

  The pain was excruciating, but she tried to ignore it, and went to the back of her apartment, where a small door led out onto the garden. The lamps in the cavern had been dimmed for early evening. At the rear of the garden was a small service and ventilation shaft that she never used, keeping it as an escape route, though one she hadn’t imagined she would ever need. She removed the plant pot that hid the entrance, and crawled through.

  She steeled herself, and began the slow journey through the tight service tunnels that honeycombed the rock between caverns, until she was far from her apartment. Over many thirds, she had laid down supplies at various points in this little-known network, and she stopped when she reached a large and comfortable niche carved out of the rock, where she had previously stowed a lamp, an assortment of weapons and blankets, and plenty of food and water.

  She lit the lamp, and pulled a blanket over her shoulders. She found a jug of water, removed the stopper that was keeping it fresh, and drank. She opened her bag, and took out the small box.

  At last, she thought. She removed a stick of mixed dullweed and dreamweed, and lit it. The pain subsided as she inhaled, and she sighed as the narcotics took effect.

  Too close, she thought. That had been too close. Having always worked alone, she felt foolish not to have guessed that there might have been a second assassin working alongside the first, and he had nearly got her. It had to be Douanna who had sent them. But why now, after so long?

  She remembered the dart, and took it from her pocket. She wiped the blood away, and examined it. The tip had been bent and blunted by the impact with the side of the man’s head, but it could still do damage, so she slotted it back into the bow mechanism built into the protective shell on the underside of her left arm. The drugs had also lessened the pain in her crippled limb, after she had strained it to be able to shoot the assassin. Her elbow was burning, and it felt as if she may have fractured the joint. She hoped it was just the muscles, and not the badly-fused bones. The idea of re-living the pain she had previously endured was unthinkable, and she shed a tear of self-pity. She had seen Killop look at her arm, when she had been getting dressed in his cell. Before that night he probably hadn’t known she was crippled. The first time he had seen her, she had been wearing a long cloak, and she wondered if he minded. She wouldn’t blame him if he thought her arm was disgusting, after all, that’s what she thought of it. A horrible, twisted, withered limb.

  She shook her head and told herself to snap out if it. Her guts churned, and she threw up the water she had drunk. She unwrapped the vomit-dripping blanket from around her shoulders, and threw it to the side. Turning the lamp down low, she curled up into a ball, and fell into the oblivion of sleep.

  She awoke sore and hungry, but her self-pity had fled, and she felt ready to act. She made up some breakfast, and smoked a little dullweed, just enough to numb the pain from her neck and arm, then lit up a keenweed stick, and pulled on a tiny amount of battle. She changed her clothes, and stretched out her limbs, performing her usual morning exercises within the cramped confines of the tunnel, while she planned her next move.

  A large part of her just wanted to get Jamie and ride out of the city, but she needed her money, and supposed it was only polite to let the embassy know she was leaving. She nearly lost her newfound composure when she realised that she had no idea where to go. Killop could have gone anywhere, in any direction. Would he come back to the city to begin his hunt for his sister, or stay hidden in the mountains? Why had he told her that he would find her? Why had they not thought of something more precise? And now he could be a hundred miles away.

  One step at a time, she thought. First, the embassy.

  She got a surprise when she emerged from a service tunnel to see that the lamps were set to early evening, and she realised that she must have slept for the whole day. She made her way through the tunnels to the gigantic central cavern where the embassy was located, and switched to travelling along the rooftops, as night approached.

  There was a huge armed presence in the cavern, clustered around the main roads leading to the City Council and High Senate buildings, and there were no peasants to be seen anywhere on the streets. She reached the small side alley that ran by one wall of the embassy, and dropped to the ground. The Holdings guard on duty jumped as she approached, his spear held out.

  ‘It’s only me,’ she said, pulling her hood back a little so he could see her face.


  ‘Miss Holdfast!’ the guard cried, while looking up and down the street. ‘You best come inside.’ He unlocked and opened the side door to the embassy, and ushered her through.

  The reception was closed for the night, and most of the building lay in darkness. She knew that Joley lived inside the embassy, and headed towards his office. The lights were on, seeping out under the door into the dark corridor.

  She knocked once, and entered.

  Secretary Joley looked up from his desk, and put down his pen.

  ‘Ahh, Miss Holdfast,’ he said, ‘I was wondering when you’d turn up.’

  She walked over and sat down in one of his armchairs.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he said, glancing at her makeshift bandage.

  ‘Crossbow bolt kissed my neck.’

  Joley leaned back, and pulled a rope attached to the rear wall of his office. A distant bell rang.

  ‘What happened?’ he said, getting a bottle of brandy from a cabinet next to his desk.

  ‘Two assassins,’ she said, watching him pour. He handed her a glass.

  ‘Assassins?’ he said. ‘Not soldiers?

  ‘They were definitely assassins,’ she said. ‘Why would soldiers try to kill me?’

  ‘There’s a warrant out for you.’

  ‘I thought they couldn’t arrest anyone who worked at the embassy.’

  ‘Technically they can’t.’ Joley said, shrugging, and picking up his glass. ‘Their warrant states that they want to question you, not arrest you. Frankly, I’m not convinced that the new Requisition and Mobilisation Committee care too much about the difference. All normal legal procedures have been suspended, now that the City Council has declared martial law, and the damned committee are making up the rules as they go along.’

  ‘They sent soldiers here to get me?’

  ‘They did,’ Joley said. ‘Of course, we told them the truth, which was that we had no idea where you were.’