Allies & Assassins

by Justin Somper

  Asta nodded as she continued writing. “So that fits.”

  “Yes,” Elias said. “And ergot causes a second set of symptoms… and this is where Silva’s recollections may prove particularly helpful. This poison causes severe convulsions, accompanied by vivid hallucinations. Typically, these might include wild imaginings…”

  Asta’s heart was hammering again. “He thought he saw animals stalking the royal chamber. And then blood running down the walls.”

  “He did see them, Asta. Neither you nor I would have seen them but to Prince Anders, they were completely real. Such was the power of the hallucination.”

  Asta nodded. “So the poison might very well be ergot,” she said. “It seems like a very good fit.”

  Elias continued. “The other possibility is savin. That could certainly provoke necrosis, as well as other physical symptoms we can observe on the Prince’s body.” He pointed. “These blisters, you see here, for example.”

  Asta scribbled a note furiously. “Savin is a plant, isn’t it?” She couldn’t resist showing off. “A species of juniper.”

  “Someone’s been doing their reading.” Elias nodded. “It is indeed a plant, a bitter plant that, in high doses, causes convulsions and vomiting—both of which we know, from the Prince’s widow, that Anders experienced prior to death.”

  Asta jotted down her uncle’s latest observations. As she did so, she thought of Silva. Poor Silva. The mere fact that Anders had been taken from her was horrific enough, but in such a violent and degraded way made it so much worse.

  “It may interest you to know, Asta, that there are some less scrupulous physicians who employ savin to encourage miscarriage.”

  Asta froze at her uncle’s words.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I never think of your having a sensitive disposition. It’s easy to forget you are a girl… a sixteen-year-old girl, I mean.”

  At any other moment, Asta would have enjoyed seeing him in the throes of such awkwardness, but now her mind was working furiously.

  “It isn’t that,” she said. “I was thinking of Silva. You know, of course, that she is pregnant?”

  Elias looked askance at his niece. “No, I did not know that. And, I wonder, how do you happen to be in possession of that information?”

  “She told me before, when you sent me to sit with her.”

  “And you didn’t think that, perhaps, it might be helpful to tell me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Asta said in a small voice, aware that this was his second rebuke in as many minutes. “I assumed that you would know. I mean she told me that she and Prince Anders were intent upon keeping the matter secret but you are the court Physician. I felt sure that they would have confided in you.”

  Elias shrugged. His expression was not a happy one. “It appears not.” His attention shifted away from Asta again and back to the corpse.

  Asta’s keen mind was racing now and she could not keep her thoughts to herself. “On account of her condition, Silva has been too nauseous to eat much over the past few days. In order to protect their secret, Prince Anders had been eating her food as well as his own.”

  Elias glanced up at her again. “Do you have a question?”

  Asta nodded. “Could Silva have been the intended recipient of the poison, rather than Prince Anders?”

  Elias’s eyes narrowed, as they often did when he felt uncomfortable. Asta had another question for him and she knew that it was likely to make him feel still more ill at ease.

  “What if the poison was not intended to kill her but merely to prompt her to miscarry.”

  Elias held her gaze for a moment. It seemed to her that he might be giving her hypothesis careful consideration.

  “I think that it is not for us to contemplate who was the intended victim or what provoked the attack. My job is to establish cause of death…”

  “But,” protested Asta. “Surely our job…”

  “My job,” Elias’s raised voice cut across her own, “is to establish cause of death. Your only job is to take notes so that we may hand them over to the Captain of the Guard, who I am reasonably convinced is more than capable of conducting this murder investigation without your colorful musings.”

  Even for her uncle, this was rather a severe outburst. Asta supposed that the pressure of the situation might be revealing itself, but she couldn’t help but feel that he was also angry that she had been privy to Silva’s secret before him.

  “We will confirm to the Captain of the Guard that Prince Anders’s death was caused by poison, with both savin and ergot as strong possibilities.”

  “Aren’t you tempted to go for one over the other?” Asta asked. She knew she was pushing the bounds of her uncle’s patience and temper but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

  “No,” Elias said, firmly. “I find there to be sufficient cases to be made for either poison. I will leave my findings there and let the Captain of the Guard build his investigation accordingly.”

  “But,” Asta persisted, already knowing she was going to regret it, “we don’t know if the assassin was intending to kill Prince Anders or Silva or both of them. We don’t know if he or she was merely attempting to cause Silva to miscarry but too strong a dose was administered.”

  To her surprise, Elias did not look flushed with fresh anger as she finished speaking. “You’re right,” he said. “Those are all valid questions. And there are more besides. Was the poison swallowed via tainted food or was it absorbed through the skin? There are some small lacerations on the Prince’s leg, which may be accountable as wounds receive while hunting. The poison could certainly have been administered through these—via an ointment, say, or contaminate bandage. If so, it is likely to have had a much swifter impact than if it was in his food. Then again, there are some who take ergot in mild doses to relieve headaches. It is possible that the Prince did this and merely took too many doses himself. In which case, there was no assassin at all.”

  Asta found her head spinning with all these possibilities. She had thought, and expected, that her uncle’s examination would narrow down the possibilities of what had occurred. Instead, it seemed that a veritable Pandora’s box had been opened and her brain was full of dark, fluttering shapes, each signifying a different kind of evil.

  She stared at her uncle, feeling powerless in the face of this dead end. He gazed back at her, seemingly amused. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She fumbled for the right words. “I suppose I thought that the body would tell us why he died and we’d begin to solve the mystery, but it feels like, if anything, we’ve opened up an infinite number of possibilities.”

  Elias shook his head. “I told you before, Asta. It is my job to establish cause of death. This I have done, with help from you and Silva.” He glanced down at the Prince’s corpse. “A dead body cannot tell us why it is dead but, with luck and a certain degree of knowledge and experience, it can tell us how it became so. Now we must depend upon the knowledge and experience of others to carry the investigation forward.” He smiled. “I feel you exaggerate, by the way, when you say there are an infinite number of possibilities. Try to maintain perspective.”

  Sometimes, Uncle Elias was such a scientist. All right, so there was not an infinite number of possibilities, but he had himself identified a fair few. Asta couldn’t help but dwell upon them. And, as much as she beginning to sift through the possible scenarios now, she knew herself well enough to know that this was only going to get worse.

  Her heart was thumping and felt faintly sick and she knew exactly why. Somewhere deep inside herself, she had resolved to solve the mystery of Prince Anders’s assassination. And nothing and no one, from her uncle to the Captain of the Guard, was going to deter her from that path.

  TEN

  The Captain of the Guard’s

  Office, the Palace

  KOEL BLAXLAND WAS CURLED UP IN THE WORN leather chair, in the corner of her older brother Axel’s office. In front of her was an intricately carved oak s
creen that she was able to look through, but without being seen. This was not the first time she had secreted herself away there—it was a surprisingly cozy, and generally rather informative, bolt-hole. Still and silent, she watched as the door to her brother’s office opened and her brother strode in, followed close at his heels by their father.

  “So how can I help you, Father?” Axel asked. Not only his tone of voice, but every aspect of his body language, revealed his impatience.

  “I wanted to speak to you,” Lord Viggo said, rubbing his beard as he often did when he was brooding over something or other. He walked over to a side table, atop which stood a decanter of aquavit, next to some glasses. He turned to Axel, his eyes—the same intense gray-blue—were bright. “Shall we have a drink?”

  Axel shook his head, sharply. “I don’t have time, I’m afraid. The Physician is due at any moment with his postmortem report.”

  Lord Viggo smiled, reached for the decanter and calmly poured two glasses of the liquor. He lifted one in his hand and took a hit of the drink, then handed the other glass to Axel. “As your grandfather Erik was fond of saying, one of the key lessons in life is identifying what is important and what is urgent. The two are not the same. Whatever other pressing business calls you, this conversation still falls into the important category.” He clinked his glass against Axel’s.

  Axel set his glass down on the edge of his desk, without drinking from it. “Father, I’m sorry to be blunt but I really do need you to come to the point. We’re in danger of being interrupted at any moment.”

  Careful not to make a sound, Koel leaned a touch closer to the screen. Watching her brother and father maneuver around each other was like observing wild beasts stalking one another in the forest.

  Still refusing to be rushed, Lord Viggo drained his drink and smacked his lips. “It’s impressive, don’t you think? Someone got right to the heart of the court in order to assassinate the Prince.”

  “Yes, Father, and it’s my job to identify that person and ensure he, or she, pays the Blood Price. I must make safe the princedom.”

  Lord Viggo nodded, rubbing his beard once again. “That is indeed, on the surface, your job. But, son, you must keep your eyes on the bigger prize.”

  Axel sighed. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Lord Viggo winked at him and slapped his shoulder. “I never think it hurts to remind you. This unexpected situation is rich with possibilities for you. It’s vital that you make the maximum capital out of these events. Every move you make now counts.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Axel said. Koel could see the pressure of the situation etched across her brother’s face. He was twenty-five years old, yet he looked as if he had all the worries of the world on his shoulders. In certain ways, she supposed, he did.

  Lord Viggo brought his face up close to his son’s. Axel grimaced—whether from their father’s breath or his invasion of personal space, Koel was unsure—and stepped back a pace.

  “This is the moment our family has been waiting for,” Lord Viggo declared. “The moment of change. For too long my sister and her spawn have held sway in Archenfield. And, tell me, what good has that done the Princedom? Two Princes dead in the same span of years. That’s not stability by any measure.”

  “No,” Axel agreed.

  “The Wynyards have had their day and been proved unfit to rule. Once the crown is raised by the steadier hands of the Blaxlands, it will be strong enough to repel any attack.” Lord Viggo grabbed his son by the arm. “All my hopes—the hopes of all your living family and your ancestors—rest in you, boy.”

  Axel carefully loosened his father’s grip. “No pressure, then.”

  Lord Viggo laughed. “Ha! You thrive on pressure. Always have. You got that from me. Your mother is shockingly intelligent, cultured, but she’s a softer creature—like your sister. They are like pearls, Axel—rare and precious. It’s down to you and me, son—brutes that we are—to get the job done.”

  Koel frowned. It was no surprise to hear herself discussed and dismissed in such a fashion, but still it rankled. The worst of it was that she had no doubt her father thought he was paying her a compliment of the highest order.

  A sudden rapping on the chamber door snapped all three of them to attention.

  “That will be the Physician,” Axel told Lord Viggo, seizing the empty glass from his father’s grip. “Time to go.” Marshaling his father toward the door, he barked, “Enter!”

  Koel glanced toward the chamber door. Elliot Nash, Axel’s thickset deputy, came in first, shaking hands with Lord Viggo. Nash was followed by Elias Peck and his apprentice, Asta, the niece who had arrived from the settlements some six months earlier. Koel surveyed the girl with interest. Asta Peck was sixteen—a year younger than Koel herself. She was pretty, albeit in a way more suited to the woods than the inner sanctum of the court. Asta’s flame-red hair made Koel think of raging forest fires.

  “Thank you for the visit, Father,” Axel said, as Lord Viggo lingered on the threshold. “I’ll be sure to consider all your worldly wisdom.”

  “Do that,” Lord Viggo said. Though clearly reluctant, he took his cue and departed the chamber. As the door closed, Koel returned her eyes to Asta.

  It was evident that Elias had commissioned a new wardrobe for his niece. She was wearing an elegantly cut dress in the same silvery shade of gray as her eyes, with matching shoes. She looked smart enough, but Koel sensed that Asta felt constrained by the dress—in spite of her good looks, Asta Peck had the air of the wild about her. Koel imagined she’d be far more at home in breeches and boots than in such dainty clothes.

  Koel now turned her attention to the Physician. In his left hand, he appeared to be clutching his post mortem report. For now, though, it wasn’t the papers that drew her interest so much as the way his hand shook slightly. It was a subtle movement but Koel Blaxland was adept at picking up on such things.—it was what came from attending innumerable functions but never being asked for her opinion. If you are intelligent, Koel thought now—and she knew without being overly arrogant that she had been blessed, or very possibly cursed, with a fair degree of intelligence—then you have to devise your own ways to engage and sharpen that intelligence, even if others around you seemed to have little use for it.

  “I’ve brought you the notes from my examination of Prince Anders’s body.” The Physician offered the navy folder to the Captain of the Guard.

  “You didn’t have to bring this to me yourself,” Axel said, taking the folder from him and dropping it onto his desk. “I’m sure your little apprentice here could have done a perfectly adequate job.”

  Koel watched Asta bristle at Axel’s words. He, of course, did not notice. She felt a momentary kinship with the Physician’s niece.

  “Given the importance of this case,” she heard Elias say, “I wanted to deliver the notes myself.” He cleared his throat. “And to talk through my findings with you.”

  Axel sat down at his desk and gestured for the Physician to take the chair on the other side. Asta and Nash remained standing. Axel flipped open the report, glanced at it momentarily, then lifted his head again. “So tell me, Elias, what are your findings?”

  The Physician clasped his hands together in front of himself. Koel noticed that his head twitched slightly as he spoke. “It’s all there in my report, for you to read. I trust I have been sufficiently thorough.”

  Axel smiled up at the Physician. “You always are most thorough, Elias,” he said, the small smile swiftly fading. He tapped the folder. “I assure you I will read this from cover to cover. But why don’t you fill us in on your main findings?”

  Elias took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then began. “Prince Anders was poisoned,” he said. “That much is certain.”

  Axel looked appropriately somber. Standing at his shoulder, Elliot Nash’s expression mirrored that of his commander.

  “I believe I have narrowed the poison employed by the assassin to two possible toxins,” the Phy
sician continued. “Savin or ergot.”

  Axel nodded sagely. Koel had little doubt that it was the first time he had ever heard of either substance.

  “The Prince’s body was blistered in patches. And his feet were gangrenous. As I’m sure you’ll know, either of these poisons could have caused such an effect.”

  The Physician’s words conjured up a vivid image in Koel’s imagination. Cousin Anders had always projected such an image of flawlessness; it would be intriguing, to say the least, to see her perfect cousin with his newly deformed feet.

  “If we know the assassin employed poison, are we saying someone tampered with the Prince’s food?” The question came from Elliot Nash.

  Not for the first time, his voice caught Koel by surprise. To look at him, you would expect him to speak in a coarse, thuggish tone, but his voice was rich and resonant without being showy. It was, she decided, a voice for declaiming poetry rather than military commands. Perhaps he had missed his true calling.

  “Poisoning by food is the most likely scenario,” the Physician informed the others. “But it’s not the only possibility. The poison might also have been administered intravenously or even as some kind of bogus medicine.”

  “But poisoning by food is the most likely?” Axel leaned forward as he spoke.

  “Yes.” Elias nodded.

  Axel’s fingers drummed on the pages of Elias’s report. Koel could see that her brother’s mind was racing, his eyes brighter than ever.

  “If there’s a strong possibility that Prince Anders was poisoned by food, then we must act fast. We need to close down the risk of another attack. If someone managed to tamper with the Prince’s food, any one of us could be targeted by the same means.” He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “We have to send out a very strong and swift message that we’re on to this assassin.”

  “What do you have in mind?” the Physician inquired.