Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  He fit in well at the academy, but then Phillip had the gift of being able to fit in well wherever he went. He had once fit in well with a coven of blood-draining warlocks, spying on them for the Rose Hawks. His comrades in the academy had been a bit standoffish at first, not certain they trusted a Freyan, but Phillip’s genial personality, his easygoing manner, and the rumor that he was immensely wealthy soon won over all doubters.

  He and Thomas were spending this weekend with the marchioness in Arcos. He met Thomas’s mother, Constanza, for the first time. Phillip had heard much about her, not only from Thomas, but also from Sir Henry Wallace, who considered Constanza if not the Evil One himself, than one of that dread gentleman’s close relations.

  Phillip carefully studied her and made these observations in a letter to Sir Henry.

  The marchioness is clever, energetic, and intelligent, though lacking in wisdom and common sense. She believes without question her son to be the true and rightful heir to the throne and she will devote her last drop of blood and her final breath to making this come to pass. She will stop at nothing.

  Phillip had hoped to perhaps discover the name of Thomas’s Freyan supporter while he was with the marchioness, but thus far he had not been successful. She was careful with her correspondence. A glance through her letters when she had gone out for the evening provided nothing more interesting than Estaran court gossip. Of course, the letters could be written in code, but, if so, Phillip saw that it would require someone with a giant brain, like Simon, to crack it.

  Constanza’s distrust of her own servants meant that he could glean little information from them. Tonight was the last night of the visit, and he was starting to think he would have to report failure when the marchioness summoned both Thomas and Phillip to the music room.

  Phillip thought they were to be treated to an evening’s musical entertainment, perhaps listening to a pianoforte duet or string quartet. Thomas quickly disabused him of the notion as they walked up the stairs.

  “Prepare yourself,” he said in a low voice. “For now you will see intrigue at work.”

  “What do you mean?” Phillip asked, mystified.

  “I hope you like the pianoforte,” said Thomas with a rueful smile and a sigh of resignation.

  The music room was silent, however. Constanza had been impatiently waiting for them and she rose to greet them, kissing her son on the cheek and permitting Phillip to kiss her hand.

  “What? No pianoforte music?” Thomas asked, as he was taking a seat on the couch. “Are we to resort to using sign language to keep our secrets safe?”

  “He is so droll, Your Grace,” said Constanza, speaking to Phillip. “Do you not find him so?”

  “I do indeed, Your Ladyship,” said Phillip.

  “What has put you in such a good mood, Mother?” Thomas asked.

  “I have news that will put you in a good mood, as well, my son,” said Constanza.

  “Perhaps I should withdraw…” said Phillip, rising.

  “Please remain with us, Your Grace,” said Constanza. “This news concerns you as well. What do you think has happened?”

  She looked from one to the other, her eyes glittering with excitement.

  “I am sure I cannot guess, Mother,” said Thomas impatiently. “I hope this has nothing to do with finding me a wife, because I would prefer to find my own.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, my son. The negotiations for the hand of the princess are going well, but that is not why I sent for you.” Constanza dismissed the notion with a wave of her fan. “I have received word from Freya. The prophecy is fulfilled!”

  Sitting back, she waited expectantly for her son’s reaction. “Well, Thomas, what do you say to that?”

  Phillip was glad he had not been called upon to say anything, for he had no idea how to respond, at least not until he knew more. He turned to Thomas, who apparently was as much in the dark as his friend.

  “Uh, yes, the prophecy…” Thomas said with a look of utter confusion.

  Constanza glared at him. “‘Uh, yes, the prophecy’!” she repeated in scorn. “Is that how you dismiss the prophecy that proclaims you will be king?”

  “Mother, please, not that—” Thomas began, embarrassed.

  Phillip saw Constanza’s eyes flash in anger and he quickly intervened.

  “Forgive your son, Your Ladyship,” he said in soothing tones. “You know how modest he is. He doesn’t like to speak of it.”

  Glancing around the room, Phillip lowered his voice. “And then, one can’t be too careful.…”

  “That is true, Your Grace,” said Constanza, favoring Phillip with a pleased glance and casting Thomas an annoyed one. “Take note, my son. His Grace understands these things. Come sit close to me, both of you, and I will tell you what has occurred.”

  Phillip and Thomas joined Constanza on the couch, one on either side. Clasping hands with both of them, she spoke in soft and breathless tones. “The second half of the prophecy has some to pass. The ancient evil has returned to Freya!”

  “What evil is that, Mother?” Thomas asked.

  “Dragons,” said Constanza.

  She squeezed their hands, then released them to pick up her fan and sit back, to once more observe their reactions. This time, she was pleased. She had managed to astound both of them.

  “Dragons!” Thomas repeated, amazed. “In Freya?”

  “Are you certain this information is accurate, Your Ladyship?” Phillip asked, skeptical. “Dragons have not lived in Freya for centuries.”

  “‘The ancient evil’ returns,” said Constanza. “I have this news on the best authority. A member of the Faithful—you will understand that I do not name him—has access to privileged information and he reports that Her Majesty has signed an agreement to lease lands belonging to the Crown to a group of fifteen dragons from Travia in exchange for a vast sum of gold.”

  “What do dragons have to do with an ancient evil?” Thomas asked.

  “To many people in Freya, dragons are the ancient evil, Your Highness,” Phillip explained, troubled. “Dragons have been reviled in Freya since the days when they nearly wiped out the Imhruns.”

  “The Imhruns! But that is ancient history,” Thomas protested. “Dragons in these days fought the Bottom Dwellers. Undoubtedly their heroics saved thousands of Freyan lives.”

  “I fear most Freyans will not take such a sensible view of the matter, Your Highness,” said Phillip, smiling.

  His smile was for show. Inwardly, he was deeply concerned. Constanza’s information did indeed sound reliable. Since Sir Henry had said nothing to him about this plan, Phillip reasoned that such potentially explosive knowledge was supposed to be a closely held secret. He needed to find out the identity of this informant, who claimed to have access to “privileged information.”

  “I do not know that I believe this, Mother,” said Thomas. “For one, why would dragons want to live in Freya?”

  “I am afraid I agree with Thomas, Your Ladyship,” Phillip added. “Even if this is true, I cannot imagine such a proposal will succeed given that a foreign government is involved. The treaty must pass the House of Nobles and they will be in opposition.”

  “I beg your pardon for differing with you, Your Grace,” said Constanza. “There will be a great deal of opposition in the House at first, but several members of the Faithful have considerable influence among the members and they will see to it that the treaty will be approved.”

  “But if these nobles do not want the dragons living in Freya, why would they approve the treaty?” Thomas asked.

  Constanza was impatient. “Must I explain the simplest things to you, Thomas? He is so naive,” she complained to Phillip. “By agreeing to invite the dragons to move to Freya, the Faithful are making certain the prophecy about the ancient evil comes to pass.”

  “Not much of a prophecy, then is it, Mother,” said Thomas caustically. “Not if you have to scheme to make it come to pass!”

  “Scheme! What have I
done for you all my life but scheme!” Constanza flared. “I scheme while you flirt with pretty women and play at being a soldier! Sometimes I think you do not want to be king!”

  Phillip remembered what Thomas had said at their first meeting, and wondered if he would tell his mother that she was right. He did not want to be king. Thomas held his anger in check.

  “I am sorry you have such a poor opinion of me, Mother,” he said, flushing.

  Phillip found his situation a delicate one. As a gentleman, he should not be present during a family quarrel, no matter how much he needed to find out more information.

  “I am certain you both will excuse me,” he said, rising.

  “You do not need to go, Your Grace,” said Constanza. “Just because my son is an ungrateful wretch!”

  Thomas was angry. Phillip could see his eyes flash, a flush of color on his cheeks.

  “The truth is that my wound still pains me at times, Your Ladyship,” said Phillip. “I feel a little faint. I believe I will go lie down.”

  Thomas cast him a grateful look and Phillip bowed himself out.

  The hall outside the music room was empty. Not surprising, since Constanza once again had banished the servants. Phillip loudly closed the door to the music room, then softly opened it a crack. He could see and hear both Thomas and his mother quite clearly. Focused on their anger, they were certain not to notice him.

  Thus positioned to eavesdrop on his hostess and the man he was coming to value as a friend, Phillip paused, irresolute. He had been given an invaluable opportunity to discover their secrets, and Henry would expect him to take advantage of it.

  Still Phillip hesitated. The thought of putting his ear to that door made him almost physically sick to his stomach. He was beginning to loathe this duty, as well as himself, and he started to quietly shut the door when he heard his name mentioned.

  “I trust you are pleased, Mother!” Thomas said. He had risen to his feet and was pacing about the room. “You have embarrassed me in front of Phillip!”

  “I am certain His Grace will forgive a mother for being passionate about her son. I love you so much, Thomas,” Constanza said, embracing him. “I live for you, and it hurts me when you do not take your cause seriously. So many people, including His Grace, have sacrificed so much for you!”

  Thomas gave her a remorseful kiss, then gently drew away from her.

  “I have listened to you and Captain Smythe and my father discuss landing troops in Haever, marching to the palace, arresting the queen … I always supposed the army was, in truth, part of Father’s ambitious plan to become ruler of Bheldem. The talk of Freya was, I thought, a smoke screen. I never took it seriously.”

  Phillip certainly took talk about arresting the queen seriously. His scruples forgotten, he put his ear to the door. He could not hear Constanza’s reply, for she had lowered her voice. He heard Thomas, however.

  “You will be pleased to hear that I have come to feel differently, Mother. That terrible night when you sent me to fetch Phillip, he was shot and nearly killed. I knelt beside him as he lay on the ground, covered in blood. He looked up at me and said, ‘Your Highness.’ I realized then that good men like Phillip were prepared to sacrifice their lives to put me on the throne and I was humbled. Phillip believes in me. Perhaps it is my duty to believe in myself.”

  Good God, what have I done? Phillip asked himself, appalled. Henry sent me to ensure that Thomas did not become king and instead it appears that I have ensured the exact opposite. Thomas never had any notion of being king until he met me! And now he gives the matter serious consideration!

  Thomas wasn’t happy about it, however. “Know this, Mother. I will not take part in an armed insurrection. If and when Her Majesty, the Queen of Freya, dies—and I pray that she will live and reign in health and happiness for many years—then I will consider coming forward to advance my claim. Not until then.”

  Constanza pressed her lips together and slapped her fan into her palm. She wasn’t pleased, but Thomas had just conceded the victory to her and she wouldn’t spoil it by opposing him.

  Phillip saw the resignation on Thomas’s face, heard the resignation, as well as resolution, in his voice. Phillip felt himself to be in the wrong, eavesdropping on a moment that was intensely personal, revealing Thomas’s private, inner feelings. Once more, Phillip started to shut the door and once more, he remained.

  Thomas asked, “Do you think I would be a good king, Mother?”

  “What a silly question,” said Constanza with an affected laugh. “I raised you to be a good king. But what I think does not matter. It is only God that matters and He thinks you will be a good king. And now, I must go to the library to write letters to give the good news to our friends. Dinner will be at eight of the clock.”

  Hearing silk rustle, and seeing Constanza approach the door, Phillip bolted down the hall and secreted himself in an empty room. Opening that door a crack, he watched Constanza go rustling down the stairs. She was livid with anger. Phillip wondered how she had managed to control herself, for she was known for her emotional outbursts. He saw then that she had been holding her fan so tightly she had crushed the blades. She flung the useless fan to the floor and trod on it, then stamped down the stairs.

  Not wanting to bump into Thomas, Phillip waited for him to leave the music room before daring to venture out.

  Minutes passed and Thomas did not come. Phillip wondered what he was doing. He crept back to the door of the music room to look inside.

  Thomas was sitting at the pianoforte, his hands idly roving over the keys. His expression was grave, his thoughts turned inward. The musical notes he produced were tuneless, discordant.

  He is thinking, perhaps for the first time, what it means to be king, Phillip thought. His life will never be his own. He will belong to his ministers, the nobles, his generals, his people. No one will tell him the truth. Everyone will tell him only what they want him to hear. He will be alone, the loneliest man in the world. Poor devil … He could use a friend now.

  Phillip started to enter. Then he stopped. Here he was, spying on Thomas through a crack in the door. He was filled with disgust. Softly closing the door, he walked off.

  “I am not his friend,” he said to himself. “I am his enemy.”

  * * *

  Phillip wrote to Sir Henry that night, telling him about the dragons and the House of Nobles and how the Faithful planned to ensure the prophecy was fulfilled.

  He once again slipped into Constanza’s study, this time long after everyone was in bed, in the hope of finding the letters she had written or perhaps a torn-up draft or impression of her writing left behind on the blotting paper. He found nothing except ashes in the grate and a couple of drops of spilled sealing wax.

  Early the next morning Phillip set out to deliver his letter. Telling the servants he was taking a gallop before breakfast, he rode into Arcos to give the letter to one of Henry’s agents, who promised to immediately dispatch it by griffin courier.

  Phillip took his time riding back. He was not eager to return to the task at hand. He could tell himself that he was hoping to save his country from a bloody civil war, but that was small comfort. He was acting ignobly, spying on a man who considered him a trusted friend, and he bitterly regretted accepting this assignment. He regretted still more that he had undertaken it with a light heart, thinking it just another adventure.

  Phillip had more or less stumbled into spying while serving with the privateers, the Rose Hawks. Captain Northrop had required information on Rosian ships and their cargoes and the bumbling, dissolute “Pip” had proven extraordinarily adept at persuading people to talk.

  During the war with the Bottom Dwellers, Phillip’s job had become more dangerous. The dissolute Pip vanished, replaced by an escaped convict, fleeing a death sentence in Freya for murder. He managed by means of this diguise to infiltrate a band of pirates who had joined with the Bottom Dwellers in the Aligoes to raid shipping and capture prisoners for use as blood
sacrifices. Alan and the Rose Hawks had posed as a helpless merchant vessel and Phillip had been able to lure the Bottom Dwellers into a deadly ambush.

  After the war ended, Phillip had stayed in the Aligoes at the request of Sir Henry to spy upon the viscount, a man who was a boil upon humanity’s backside, a wretch who wrote charming letters to the queen while he embezzled her money, traded goods on the black market, and indulged in all manner of vices at the expense of others.

  Phillip had enjoyed bringing about the Right Honorable’s downfall and he had assumed he would enjoy taking down Thomas. Phillip had believed Sir Henry’s view of the matter: Thomas was a pretender to the throne, someone who was plotting to overthrow the rightful queen.

  The truth was that Thomas was not a pretender. He was a direct descendant of King Frederick with a better claim to the throne than either King Godfrey’s bastard sons or Queen Mary’s Rosian sister. Further, Thomas had denounced the use of force to seize the Crown. From the determined expression on Constanza’s face when she had left the music room, Phillip guessed that she was not likely to give up her cherished dreams of seeing her son crowned king. Never mind what he denounced.

  “I must face the fact that I have come to like and admire Thomas,” Phillip reflected, thinking aloud. “The question is: What do I do now? I could stay here, complete my heinous mission, then go back to Upper and Lower Milton, where I would attend balls, play cards, drink to excess, and eventually blow out my brains.”

  He rode on for another mile and stopped when the manor house came into view, annoying the horse, who wanted to return to its stable and impatiently shook the reins. He could see Thomas out on the lawn, walking by himself, his head bowed, as though he already felt the burden of the crown.

  “Or,” Phillip added softly, “I could be his friend.…”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sir Henry Wallace was meeting with Simon Yates on a matter of extreme urgency. Despite the fact that Welkinstead was floating about a half mile over the city of Haever, Henry fancied he could still hear the shouts and cries of the rioters that were clogging the street in front of the palace. The people of Freya were protesting the arrival of the Travian dragons.