by Jack Porter
Ember sat up. "What do you want, Mordie?"
"I'm still working that out," I said thoughtfully. "Are you worried about Rolf in your basement?"
Ember turned over and laid down with her back to my chest, scooting herself so that we were laying completely together from our shoulders to our feet. "He can stay here as long as you need him to," she said.
I noticed that she hadn't answered my question, but since I didn't have anywhere else to put Rolf at the moment, I didn't exactly want press her for an answer. Still, I didn't want Ember to be uncomfortable. “Are you worried?" I asked again.
"As long as you have a plan for him," Ember said, "then no, I am not worried."
With Ember at my side, I slept surprisingly well. Her presence was enough to quell the noise in my mind—the questions I didn’t know how to put into words around my parentage, and Anwen, of course. It was far too early to expect anyone to have found the information I needed, but before Ember had entered my room, my restless brain had been fixated on that as well.
I could have spent the whole night tossing and turning, my mind chasing itself in circles and getting nowhere. Instead, I slept surprisingly well, and woke up refreshed with the light of a new day seeping in through the shutters on the window.
Ember had already taken her leave, and while that wasn’t a surprise, it was disappointing. I looked at the indentation where her head had rested on the pillow, and inhaled deeply enough to catch the faintest hint of her vanilla scent still lingering in the air.
All at once, I decided I was being foolish. I had been angry with Meghan for keeping my heritage hidden. Yet of all the women I knew, all my friends throughout the whole of Camelot, Meghan was the one I could talk to most freely.
I was at a crossroads in my life. My revenge was complete, as much as I wanted it to be, and I didn’t know what was next.
I didn’t have a firm grasp on my own purpose.
So I would swallow my anger and make the journey to Meghan’s cottage on the outskirts of town and talk to her about it.
7
But first, I figured I should check on Rolf, just to make sure his chains and gag were still in place.
Despite the early hour, there were already a few people sitting at the tables downstairs, although disappointingly, Ember was not among them.
I caught Jacob’s eye behind the bar, and he nodded in greeting. Without Ember there to serve, the Goose and Quill was shorthanded. But Jacob wasn’t working all by himself. He and Ember had taken on a couple of additional workers to help after the cocoa drink had become popular.
I wandered over to the big man and leaned on the bar.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” Jacob asked in his normal, affable tone. “Or did you just want to check on our guest?”
I thought about it for a moment and decided that Rolf could fend for himself for a little while longer. But before I could give Jacob an answer, I heard the tavern door open and out of passing curiosity, turned to see who might be entering the tavern so early in the morning.
I recognized him right away—an elderly man who stood tall and straight, and seemed to carry a certain dignity around with him. This was Rolf’s man. His spymaster. The one who had brought me to Rolf in the dungeons beneath the castle.
The older man saw me right away and started to head over.
I sensed Jacob move as if to greet him, and I gestured for him to stay as he was.
“It’s okay, Jacob. I’ve got this one. I’m pretty sure he’s here to see me.”
The older man proved my words true when he came right up to me and stood facing me with a serious look in his eye. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
I looked him up and down, seeking knives and hidden threats. And while I didn’t doubt that this man carried more than his fair share of weapons, I wasn’t sure that his weapon of choice would be made of steel.
Nevertheless, if he had wanted to hurt me, he likely would have just stationed a couple of his people near the door to the tavern and had me bludgeoned with knob-ended clubs as I sought to leave. So he must have wanted something else.
I gestured to an empty table near the wall, as far from the other tavern patrons as possible.
The older man accepted my choice without a word, and within moments we were both sitting, facing one another, measuring each other as we had done the first time we met.
“It surprised me,” the older man began, “when I saw you emerge from beneath the castle with Rolf under your sword.”
I didn’t say anything in response.
“I thought he would kill you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I knew who you were, of course, but at the time, I didn’t think it would matter. The fact that you chose to meet Rolf in a place and time of his choosing suggested you were too foolish to live.”
The old man stopped talking then. It was as if he wanted to see how I might respond.
I didn’t care if this man thought I was foolish. In truth, he was probably right. It had been foolish to take on Rolf like that.
But it wasn’t as if I’d had much of a choice.
“If you were there,” I said slowly, “why didn’t you act to save your precious master? Why didn’t you slip up behind me and jab a dagger into my back?”
The old man nodded as if we were discussing the weather. “I considered it. If you had been anyone other than who you are, I might have. But because you are you, that makes all the difference.”
Rolf’s spymaster was talking in riddles. I gritted my teeth and bit off a reply. “What does that have to do with anything?”
To my surprise, he actually smiled. “It has everything to do with it. Your existence, your birthright,” he put a peculiar emphasis on the word, “changes everything. It gives hope and purpose where before there was none.”
“How so?” I asked.
But instead of answering directly, the old man sat back on his chair. “You think I am Rolf’s man,” the older man began. “And in some ways, it is true. I have accepted it as my calling for a number of years, growing a network of people that I have used for Rolf’s benefit. And that of the King beyond him. Whatever happens in this city, I am always among the first to know of it, whether it is trivial or momentous. In truth, sometimes it can be hard to tell which is which.”
Even though the old man appeared calm and relaxed, his gaze never wavered. “It is through my efforts that Rolf has been able to do what he does. It is through my efforts that he took down every underground crime boss of any significance, and took over their interests. It is through my efforts that Rolf was able to create his scams and funnel a river of gold into his own pockets and those of the King.”
All at once, I understood that the man in front of me had as much knowledge of Rolf’s scams as Rolf did himself. I had kept the Blackcoat alive at least in part because I thought I might squeeze him for that information, although I wasn’t yet certain what I might do with it once I had it.
But now it seemed like I had kept Rolf alive for nothing.
The mysterious man sharing my table could tell me all I wanted to know.
And yet, all that was secondary. I’d had another thought that pushed all the rest to the side.
“Did you suggest Anwen as a target?” I asked.
The old man bit his lip as he studied me. “Whether I did or not–” he began, but I interrupted.
“Did you know she was intended to be another of Arthur’s concubines?”
“That isn’t important–” he said, again, not answering my question.
And that told me all I needed to know. The man in front of me had indeed offered Anwen to Rolf, knowing full well that she was a far more dangerous target than she appeared.
Which in turn told me that this man’s loyalty to Rolf was far from complete.
It was my turn to sit back in my chair as I studied the man.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The spymaster seemed quietly pleased b
y my question, but as before, he failed to offer a direct answer.
But he did offer a response of a sort.
“I am a man with a purpose. I am someone who knows how to get things done. I am someone willing to wait for years to use people like Rolf, and to do what it takes to see my purpose fulfilled.”
As the old man spoke, I wondered again at my own purpose, or lack thereof. Almost, I couldn’t help myself. I had to know.
“And what is your purpose?” I asked, leaning forward again.
The old man offered me a grin.
He didn’t so much as glance around at the other few other customers in the tavern, and yet I became very aware of where I was. At the same time, I was certain that the spymaster shared this awareness.
Even Sir George seemed to pick up the tension. He shifted his weight about on my shoulder as if he was suddenly restless. Like a dog searching for the just the right spot on a rug in front of a fire, Sir George turned his small, scaly body around, then settled himself down.
Then, in a normal voice that carried not even a hint of rational fear, the old man spoke again.
“My purpose is to remove Arthur from his throne,” he said.
8
I couldn’t match the man’s casual aplomb. I had to glance around, to make sure that he hadn’t been overheard. Even speaking such words aloud could be dangerous.
But the old man’s delivery had been perfect. A whisper might have drawn more attention, solely due to its intimate nature. But his casual words had gone unnoticed.
I felt a tingle of dread in the pit of my stomach. I already knew why the old man was there, why he hadn’t slipped a knife into my back when he’d watched me march Rolf out from the labyrinth beneath the castle.
But I needed to say it out loud. I needed to get the confirmation from him.
“And what does that have to do with me?” I asked, feeling as if I had asked the same question several times before.
“Everything,” the old man said, just as calmly as before. “You are the only surviving son of King Arthur. He has appointed no heir. Camelot is my home. I will not see it descend into chaos, even if that means living under the yolk of one such as Arthur. But with you… With you, that chaos need not occur. We can usurp King Arthur’s throne and have you installed in his place, no fuss, no foul, and minimum bloodshed.”
Even before the man had finished speaking, I was shaking my head. This was not the time or the place for such discussions. I became acutely aware that somewhere beneath our feet, Rolf himself sat chained to a post. In my mind, the walls had suddenly grown ears, and every single one of the patrons had become a spy for the King. Even Jacob, big, easy-going Jacob, seemed to have a snarl on his face, and appeared to be reaching for the knob-ended club he kept hidden behind the bar.
“No,” I said distinctly. “No, this is not what I want. You can’t be saying this.”
At the same time, a whole bunch of disparate thoughts came together. My search for a purpose. Meghan’s hints that I was destined to be more than just a petty thief. Even Rolf’s occasional comment that I could have had it all.
Could this be what I was meant to do with my life? Was I supposed to usurp the King and take his place?
I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t see it. To usurp the King seemed to be such a huge thing. Something to fill the pages of a history book. And at heart, I knew that wasn’t for me.
I was a thief. A con man. The only noteworthy thing I’d done in my life was embark on a quest for revenge, and even that was such a small thing.
The old man didn’t seem willing to accept my refusal.
“Do you not see?” he demanded. “Have you not felt the weight of King Arthur’s yoke about your neck? Have you not felt the desperation and pain he has caused? You have heard the rumors of what his rule has become. You know better than most how so many suffer because of his decisions. Why, your very existence, your very life would be at risk if he knew existed–”
“I said no!” I snarled, louder than I intended, banging my fist on the small table at the same time.
If our conversation had been ignored until then, my response turned every eye in the tavern toward us, and even startled Sir George on my shoulder.
I sat back and waited until the other guests turned away from us once again, and tried to keep my voice calm. “What you are talking about is treason,” I said. “If a Blackcoat were to overhear us, that would be enough.”
The old man’s eyes bored into mine. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he said.
His words alone were enough to make me bristle in anger. Yet I had to consider them. Is that what I was? Too cowardly to accept my place in this man’s plan?
“I’m done talking with you,” I said. And no, I decided, I wasn’t being a coward. Instead, I was being true to myself. I’d spent my whole life going along with somebody else’s plans, never my own. I had sworn to not do that in the future, and I was determined to stick to my word.
The fact that I had no true plan of my own at the moment didn’t change that simple truth.
“I’m done listening to you.”
But the spymaster was determined. He leaned forward and hissed at me. “I have spent my life looking for the sort of opportunity you represent. King Arthur must be removed from his seat of power. This is a given. And the time is drawing ever nearer for it to happen. If we don’t act soon…” I couldn’t guess at what the old man intended to say, but knew he was holding back from some secret or other. “You have the power to save countless lives,” he finished.
I was done playing nice. “I’ve listened to your words. And I have given my answer. Your plans, even if what you tell me is true, are not for me.” Belatedly, I wondered if even Anwen’s attempt to poison King Arthur was somehow related to what the spymaster had said. Then I shook my head again. Even that didn’t matter. “I never wanted to be king. Never wanted to be a puppet for people like you. And I still don’t.”
“Do you not care–” the old man began.
“Of course I care! But it is not on me to do anything about it! The fact that the townsfolk suffer is on people like well, people like yourself, and the King. And if things come to pass as you say, and people die in your attempt at rebellion, then that is on you as well!”
I glared at the man, and he glared back at me. “I can force you to be part of it,” the spymaster said, and the threat in his voice sounded real.
“Try it!” I snarled. At the same time, I felt a pang of anxiety. He believed what he said.
Either way, I’d heard more than enough. As fast as thought, I drew one of my daggers, and plunged it into the table between us.
No longer caring that we were once again the focus for everyone in the tavern.
“I said this conversation is done,” I grated. “I heard enough of your plans, and your threats. Now go. Leave me alone, before I decide that the easiest way to ensure your machinations do not come to pass is to bury this blade into your chest!”
Credit to the old man, he barely blinked at my threat. Perhaps he felt I wouldn’t go through with it. Or perhaps he considered himself more than capable of keeping the blade from his heart.
Either way, he measured me once more for some moments, then abruptly nodded his head. In a fluid motion, he stood. But before he turned to go, he leaned close enough that Sir George shifted again on my shoulder, sensing a threat.
“Remember,” the old man said. “I gave you a chance. You could have joined us willingly.”
I snarled at him, but before I could come up with a response, the old man turned and strode out of the tavern, letting the door slam shut behind him.
For long moments I sat in my chair, thinking about the conversation. But it only made me angrier. I wrenched the blade of my knife from where I’d buried it in the table.
“Fuck!” I growled, and buried the blade in the table again.
Then, I stood, tucked my blade away, and with anger boiling inside me, I made my way to the bar.
Aware that more people were looking my way then I wanted, I waited for the interest to wane before raising an eyebrow to Big Jacob, the only communication necessary for me to ask if I could head down to the cellar.
He cast a glance over the tavern and gave a short nod, and I made my way down to the person I held responsible for this entire mess.
Before Rolf had betrayed me, my life had been good. I had drifted along, more than happy to live one day at a time.
And now, things had become complicated.
And I knew there was little Rolf could tell me that I couldn’t find out from the old man, if I chose to ask him.
With these thoughts in mind and a simmering rage in my belly, my hands were already clenched into fists before I reached the cellar floor.
I could have asked Rolf anything I wanted. Further information about Anwen, or about his various grifts and scams. But I didn’t. I didn’t even remove the gag from his mouth. I just pounded on him with my fists until my arms grew tired and my knuckles started to bleed. Then I hit him some more, aiming for his face for the most part, but also anything else, just because I could. I even kicked him a few times for good measure, letting out my frustration and anger, sometimes pretending it was the old man I was hitting, and sometimes King Arthur himself.
I didn’t say a word throughout the entire beating, and after a few muffled curses spat into his gag, Rolf lapsed into silence and simply endured the treatment I gave him.
By the time I was done, I was huffing, and the sweat had started to bead on my forehead. As for Rolf, he was battered and bruised, and he was having trouble holding his head up.
I turned and spat on the floor, my anger largely spent, but replaced by a certain disgust at what I had done. At the same time, I felt a certain satisfaction that went well with my bruised and aching knuckles.
I glared at Rolf for a moment in the dim light offered by the open trapdoor, and if he was confused by the beating, I decided he could live with that confusion.
