Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  “Do not worry. You are not staying for dinner, my son,” said Constanza. “You are setting off with Captain Smythe upon an important mission tonight.”

  “I am? Tonight?” Thomas repeated, astonished. “But I have had nothing to eat since breakfast and I am famished—”

  “I will order the servants to take a tray to your room,” Constanza said. “Come sit down and I will explain. Here, my son, sit close to me. Sir Richard, bring your chair nearer. Captain Smythe,” she said, pointing, “you will take a seat there.”

  They all arranged themselves, Thomas and his mother on the couch, Captain Smythe and Sir Richard across from them in chairs. Thomas imagined they must make quite a sight, all sitting in the darkness with their heads together, trying to hear over the pianoforte. The situation was too absurd. He wondered that a man of means like Sir Richard could be taking this so seriously.

  “You are traveling to Verisol this night, Thomas,” said Constanza in low, conspiratorial tones. “Captain Smythe will accompany you. I fear this means you will miss the ball tomorrow. I will make your apologies to the king.”

  Thomas found reason to bless the darkness, thankful that his mother could not see his smile. He had been trying to find a way to escape the ball and now he would not have to endure the flattery, his mother selecting his dance partners, and the embarrassment of her introducing him as the future king. He could not help but tease her, however.

  “Mother, I am devastated,” he protested. “You know I have been looking forward to the ball for a month now.”

  “I know you have been complaining for a month about having to go,” Constanza retorted. “Now please pay attention, my son. Sir Richard will explain.”

  “I have received intelligence that a wealthy young Freyan nobleman is interested in advancing your cause, Your Highness,” said Sir Richard, sitting forward. “His Grace, the duke, has become disillusioned with the current ruler of our country and seeks a change. He has been reading of your exploits and admires you greatly.”

  “I wish I could take credit for those exploits, my lord,” said Thomas. “As it happens—”

  His mother smashed the heel of her shoe onto his toes. Thomas winced and subsided.

  Sir Richard politely pretended not to notice the interruption. “His Grace was particularly impressed by your actions at the Battle of San Estevan.”

  “My son was the hero of the battle!” Constanza proclaimed. “The Bottom Dwellers laid siege to the fort, which was held by only a small Estaran force, many of whom were mere students, young officers of the Royal Military Academy. Upon hearing that the fort was under attack, they bravely rode to the rescue, led by my son.”

  Thomas thought it best that he not mention the fact that he and his friends had been roaring drunk at the time they had decided to ride to the fort. His mother continued the tale.

  “They found that the fort’s commander had been killed and the Estaran troops were about to surrender to the enemy. Even though Thomas had been wounded, my son took command, rallied the soldiers, and held the fort until reinforcements arrived. He then joined the assault that drove the Bottom Dwellers from the peninsula. Show Sir Richard your scar, Thomas.”

  “Some other time, Mother,” said Thomas, embarrassed. “I am glad this young nobleman of whom you speak thinks well of me, but why must I miss dinner on his account?”

  “His Grace is sailing here to join your cause, Your Highness,” said Sir Richard. “He will arrive tonight.”

  “He is, by God?” Thomas exclaimed in some dismay. He very nearly asked “What cause?” but he stopped himself in time. His mother would have been furious.

  “His Grace is due to arrive at a secret location near Verisol this night,” said Constanza. “You will travel by griffin under the cover of darkness to meet him. He is bringing with him money and a shipment of rifles and ammunition and I do not know what else. Captain Smythe will take possession of the money and the weapons.”

  Thomas was perplexed. “I beg your pardon if I appear difficult or ungrateful, Sir Richard, but what am I supposed to do with your Freyan duke once he arrives?”

  “His Grace has publicly expressed an interest in attending the Royal Academy, Your Highness,” said Sir Richard. “A patron has advanced his cause and he is to be enrolled as a student. This is not unusual, I am told.”

  “True, my lord,” said Thomas.

  Most of the young officers in the academy were there owing to patronage of some sort. He himself had been recommended by the king. The Estaran Academy, considered by many to be the best in the world in the teaching and training of young men for careers in the military, attracted its share of foreign students.

  “Are you acquainted with His Grace, my lord?” Thomas asked Sir Richard. “What sort of man is he?”

  “My dear, what can that possibly matter?” Constanza demanded, annoyed.

  Sir Richard nodded in understanding. “I have not met His Grace, Your Highness, but he comes highly recommended by people I trust. He has been described to me as bold and courageous, if somewhat impetuous in his decision making.”

  “Impetuous!” Thomas said, laughing. “The fellow sounds barmy! All this fuss over a few stories in a newspaper!”

  “Thomas!” Constanza said, shocked. Drawing herself up, she pierced him with an angry look. “How can you say such a thing when this young man risks his very life to serve you?”

  “I fear you do not understand the gravity of the situation, Your Highness,” Sir Richard added, frowning. “The queen has her agents on the watch for those who are known to favor the cause of the ‘Pretender,’ as Her Majesty terms you. Matters would go quite ill for this young man if he were discovered.”

  “As to that, Thomas, Sir Richard himself could be in danger if Her Majesty’s agents find out he has traveled to visit us,” Constanza said in a tone of rebuke.

  “No, no, dear lady,” said Sir Richard, making light of the matter. “I am perfectly safe. With my connections in the royal court, no one would dream of suspecting me.”

  “Still, we do not underestimate your sacrifice and the sacrifices of all our friends in Freya, my lord,” said Constanza, overcome with emotion, her voice husky. “Do we, Thomas?”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” said Thomas, truly contrite. “I meant no disrespect. I look forward to meeting His Grace and I am proud and honored that he has chosen to help my cause.”

  He cast his mother a glance, seeking some sign of her approval. Constanza favored him with a smile, and the meeting ended shortly after, with Sir Richard saying he had another engagement and needed to be going.

  It was probably just as well the meeting was ending, Thomas reflected. The musician’s strength appeared to be giving out.

  Constanza rose to her feet and the gentlemen rose with her.

  “You and Captain Smythe have a long journey ahead of you, my son,” she said. “I have provided clothing suitable to a clandestine mission. While you are changing, I will give Captain Smythe the details regarding the location of the meeting site.”

  “What is the name of this young nobleman, my lord?” Thomas thought to ask, accompanying Sir Richard to the door. He added jokingly, “Unless I am not to know it.”

  Sir Richard seemed not to notice Thomas’s jape; instead, he replied gravely, “His name is Phillip Edward James Masterson. Note that he bears the name of our martyred king and your ancestor James the First. His Grace is the Duke of Upper and Lower Milton.”

  He bowed again to Thomas and expressed his pleasure in meeting him. Constanza kissed Thomas and told him to have a safe journey and to bring His Grace to meet her. Summoning Captain Smythe, she drew him off with her and the two departed.

  “You can quit playing now, madame,” Thomas called to the musician.

  She gave him a grateful glance, stopped mid-bar, and began massaging her hands.

  Thomas bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was in an excellent mood. A secret midnight ride to a mysterious location to meet a ducal
gunrunner and an excuse to miss the ball.

  His prayers had been answered.

  EIGHTEEN

  Thomas found that his mother had provided everything he needed for a swift journey and secret rendezvous: dark cloak, dark clothing, leather coat and helm that he presumed—knowing his mother—were covered with protective magical constructs. She had also provided two pistols, powder, and shot.

  Thomas laughed out loud at the sight of the pistols. Nestled in a rosewood box, each had a long barrel of etched silver with a flower-and-vine motif and, of course, the Stanford coat of arms that continued with rosewood inlays down the handle. The powder horn was inlaid silver and matched the pistols. The shot was probably silver, as well, Thomas reflected. The pistols were beautiful, expensive, and completely useless for actual combat.

  He changed his clothes, wolfed down his food, and gulped a glass of wine. He wasn’t planning to take the pistols, figuring Captain Smythe would provide adequate weaponry, but then realized that the servants would find them and show them to his mother. He would have to endure questions, recriminations, and tears. He tucked them into his belt.

  Having visited the manor only once before and that for just a single night, he was unfamiliar with the extensive grounds of the manor house. He wondered where to find the griffin stables and finally asked a servant, who offered to guide him. His mother would have disapproved of involving the servants, but Thomas didn’t want to waste an hour bumbling about in the dark.

  When he arrived at the stables, he found that the ever-efficient Captain Smythe had two griffins saddled and ready. The captain introduced the beasts to Thomas, who greeted them politely. Griffins were touchy creatures who thought well of themselves, considering themselves to be equal to humans, if not slightly above. They deigned to permit humans to ride them, but only if the humans treated them with the proper respect.

  Thomas took note of the army-issue saddles and harness, and the rather astonishing fact that the griffins observed a disciplined silence. He realized these were not griffins-for-hire, who generally complained about everything from their saddles to their food and the accommodations. He was not surprised when Captain Smythe indicated he and the griffins were acquainted.

  “I thought it best to bring beasts that are military-trained, Your Highness,” said Captain Smythe. “They are accustomed to the sound of gunfire. They do not participate in combat, of course.”

  Thomas understood. At the dawn of time, griffins had considered human flesh a delicacy, and no sane commander would ever allow the beasts to think that they could kill humans with impunity.

  When one griffin made a legitimate complaint about the cinching of the saddle around its leonid body, Smythe was quick to alleviate the problem. The griffin acknowledged his assistance with a nod of its elegant eagle head.

  “Are the griffins in your employ, Captain?” Thomas asked, checking over his saddle and harness as he had been taught. He did not want to be flying among the clouds only to feel his saddle start to slide off.

  “The griffins are in your employ, Your Highness,” Smythe corrected. “They are among six who accepted a commission to serve in your army.”

  Thomas shook his head. “My army again. You never give up, do you, Captain?”

  “I should be a poor officer if I did, Your Highness,” said Smythe with a faint smile.

  Thomas was impressed. The man has a sense of humor. Who would have guessed?

  He grinned. “I believe you almost made a jest, Captain. Now tell me, since you brought an extra griffin for me to ride and one for our duke, did you honestly have no idea what my mother was plotting?”

  “The marchioness sent me a message to attend her posthaste, to travel by griffin, and to bring two griffins with me,” Smythe replied. “That is all I was told.”

  “My mother certainly does have a gift for intrigue,” said Thomas.

  “Eminently wise, under the circumstances, Your Highness,” said Smythe.

  Thomas climbed onto the griffin’s back and began the complicated procedure of strapping himself into the saddle.

  “Oh, come now, Captain,” said Thomas impatiently. “My mother is under the delusion that Freyan spies are everywhere. Our servants do not hide under the bed in hopes that they will hear something incriminating. I have never been followed down a dark alley, nor are people steaming open my letters.”

  “I pray God continues to preserve Your Highness,” said Smythe, mounting his griffin. “Your lady mother is right to take precautions, as you should be doing yourself, if I may be so bold to advise. I have friends in Freya and I read their reports. All is not well inside that country. Your moment approaches. Are you armed, Your Highness?”

  “If you want to call it that,” Thomas said, laughing.

  He showed off his mother’s gift. Smythe regarded the silver-inlaid target pistols in silence, although Thomas thought he saw him cringe.

  “I trust you can accommodate me with something more practical, Captain?” Thomas asked.

  “You will find pistols in those compartments, Your Highness,” he said. “Freyan-made, the pistols are the same used by the Freyan army. I have found them to be the best in terms of range and accuracy.”

  He pointed to one of several storage pouches incorporated into the military saddle, designed to hold pistols, shot and powder, water, and a couple of days’ worth of rations.

  “How do you come by Freyan military pistols, Captain?” Thomas asked. Opening the pouch, he examined the pistol with an expert eye.

  “I have my sources, Your Highness,” said Smythe. “Would you like for me to stow your mother’s gift in my saddlebags? It will be quite safe there, I assure you.”

  Thomas handed over the rosewood box.

  “You won’t let me forget them, will you, Captain?” he said.

  “Of course not, Your Highness.”

  Smythe put on his helm, lowered the visor, and waited for Thomas to do the same. Thomas checked again to make certain he was securely strapped in, then indicated with a hand signal that he was ready.

  Smythe spoke to the griffins, not issuing orders, but speaking to them as one officer to another. “We are prepared to fly whenever it suits your convenience, gentlemen.”

  The griffins padded out into the open yard. Spreading their wings, they jumped into the air.

  Thomas had flown on griffins before and he knew to be prepared for the stomach-dropping jolt as the griffins made a rapid climb to avoid crashing into the trees. He hung on to the saddle with both hands, his jaw clenched, legs braced. Once the griffins were safely above treetop level, they began to fly eastward toward the coastline.

  Thomas settled down to enjoy the flight and put his mother and her scheming out of his mind. The night sky was clear, filled with stars and what was called a “smuggler’s moon,” which meant no moon at all. This duke might be barmy, but he had timed his voyage well. Thomas looked down on the city of Arcos, blazing with lights, and then the city was gone and they flew over inky blackness.

  In his eagerness to leave, he had forgotten to ask Captain Smythe about their mysterious destination, where and how they were supposed to meet His Grace the Duke of Upper and Lower Milton. Somewhere along the coast, presumably. He wondered what he was going to do with this duke who had been so unexpectedly foisted on him. Thomas foresaw all manner of complications. He would have to find lodgings for the man, introduce him to his friends, and devise some sort of explanation for his sudden arrival in their midst. His mother would, of course, never think of such things.

  Thomas mulled over the problems until he grew weary. Knowing he could leave the flying to the griffins, who were extremely reliable—unlike wyverns, who would bash you into a mountain out of sheer cussedness—Thomas fell into a light doze. Wakened some time later by the sound of the two griffins talking with each other, he yawned and shifted in the saddle to ease his aching muscles.

  The lights of Verisol, the capital city of Estara, shone off to his right. Verisol was quite beautiful by
day; by night, the city was spectacular. Like many large cities, Verisol was crisscrossed with canals to accommodate boat, barge, and ship traffic. What made Verisol unique was that her canals were filled with water, not the mists of the Breath. The canals were lined with streetlamps and, by night, the sight of the myriad lights reflected in the water was breathtaking.

  The griffins veered away from Verisol, however. Thomas had been looking forward to seeing Verisol from the air, but he shrugged off his disappointment.

  The griffins reached the Estaran coastline and headed north. There was no wind this night. The mists of the Breath drifted, white and ghostly, in the still air. A speck of light shining in the Breath was probably one of the many buoys in place along the coastline, warning ships they were nearing land.

  The griffins flew for several miles more, then began to descend, flying low over the coast. Rock-bound and thickly forested, this part of Estara was not habitable. The fact that it was unpopulated and contained numerous inlets and coves made it an ideal location for smugglers.

  He raised his visor to shout to Smythe. “How do we know where to meet this duke, Captain? Is there some sort of landmark?”

  “A lighthouse, Your Highness,” Smythe yelled back. “The meeting site is about two miles north of the lighthouse.”

  Thomas leaned over the griffin’s neck to observe the coastline. The griffins were also searching for the lighthouse and their eyes were far keener than Thomas’s. His griffin gave a caw and swooped downward. Thomas saw a beam of light stabbing out into the mists.

  The griffins continued to fly past the tower, finally reaching their destination—a cove that appeared to have been specially designed for smugglers, for it featured a wide strip of barren shoreline large enough for a smallish ship to dock.

  The griffins circled, awaiting instruction. Thomas looked out into the Breath and saw no sign of a ship. Smythe raised his visor and scanned the area with a spyglass. He consulted his pocket watch and then indicated to the griffins that they could safely land.