“Go!” cried Laylah.
They went. Laylah raced to her chamber. She closed the door and locked it. Barrows knocked, inquiring in a worried tone if perhaps she wanted some tea?
“No, thank you,” she said, trying to make her voice sound calm. “And please, I will take care of myself tonight. Don’t send any of the maids in. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Alone, she flung herself on the bed and sobbed herself to sleep.
It was in the early hours of the morning when she heard a knock on the door. Rex, instantly alert, lifted his head and growled. The queen smoothed her disheveled dress—she had fallen asleep fully clothed—and went to the door.
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s Barrows, ma’am. There’s … someone here who insists on seeing you.”
“Unless it’s the king, send him away.”
“I do wish it were His Majesty, but it’s Mr. Reaver. He says it’s urgent. The fate of the kingdom rests upon it.”
“Tell him the fate of the kingdom can wait another few hours.”
A pause. “Ma’am, he wrote a note for me to give you. I should be remiss in my duty if I didn’t at least deliver it.”
Laylah lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, pressing hard against the vein that throbbed in her temple. “Very well. Slide it under the door.”
There was a slight scraping sound, and sure enough, a crisp piece of parchment marked with a red wax seal appeared. Laylah picked it up, then lit a lamp by the bedside. The seal, of course, was imprinted with a lavish “R.” Taking a deep breath, she broke the wax and began to read the impossibly perfect handwriting.
My most noble Majesty, Queen Laylah,
It is with both a heavy heart and a sense of absolute duty that I disturb your slumber. I implore you to take a few moments to speak with me.
As I’m certain you know, my reach is far in this kingdom. Information has come my way that distresses me greatly, and is so very dire that I must needs come to you with it immediately, or else regret it to the end of my days, which will, of course, be some while.
The kingdom, and you yourself, Your Majesty, are in grave and immediate peril from those you think you can trust.
I do not say this idly. I have proof, which I am prepared to show to you. Please meet with me, or else I cannot be held responsible for the tragedy that is about to unfold.
Yours in deep and respectful service,
—R
Part of her dismissed the letter as a histrionic attempt to gain her attention. The other part of her went icy with fear. Reaver did have a wide reach in the kingdom, and it was quite likely that any bad news would reach his ears before even the queen learned of it. She held the missive tight in one hand while petting Rex, who had jumped up on the bed to lean next to her comfortingly, with the other.
Laylah decided she would at least see what kind of “proof” Reaver had. If it was nonsense, she would let him know in no uncertain terms. But if it wasn’t … she couldn’t afford to take the chance.
She opened the door, suspecting that Barrows was waiting for a reply. He was. “Tell Mr. Reaver I shall meet him in a few moments.”
He was waiting in the receiving room for her, leaning on the mantel and seemingly engrossed in the workings of an antique clock, and turned when Barrows announced her.
Usually, Reaver took an inordinate amount of pride in his appearance. Everything he wore was the cutting edge of fashion, and she had never seen either a wrinkle or a stain marring his clothing. Now, he had circles under his eyes, and his cravat was askew. His boots, too, were spattered with mud. And it was this change in appearance more than anything the letter had said that alarmed her.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” he said.
She nodded mutely and indicated that they sit on the couch. “Let’s get right to the point. You say you have evidence that there is danger afoot.”
He hesitated and looked unhappy. Her unease increased a thousandfold. “Mr. Reaver, please!”
“Very well, I shall speak plainly. You have been betrayed, Your Majesty. All of Albion has been betrayed. By the two people you were led to trust the most.”
Her eyes hardened. She well knew whom he meant. “This is beneath you, Mr. Reaver. Page and Timmins are completely loyal to me! I know the three of you have had disagreements—indeed, even I have had my problems with them from time to time—but betrayal!”
She expected him to defend himself, but instead the sorrow in his face increased. “I don’t have to make the case,” he said. “They have doomed themselves.” He held out two packets of letters, each tied with a ribbon. “There are several people in this kingdom I keep a watch on,” Reaver continued. “You will see that these letters are addressed to a few of them.”
Laylah took the letters in a hand that trembled. She sat them on her lap, not moving to open them, knowing somehow that if she read them, her life would never be the same.
“I could tell you what’s in them,” he said, “But … hard as it will be, Your Grace, you need to see this for yourself. You would never believe me otherwise.”
Laylah sat for a moment longer, then untied the first pack. The letters covered a period of several weeks. She did not know the names of those to whom they were addressed, but she knew the signatures. She knew the handwriting.
Plots. Deals with agents in Aurora—malcontents who wanted their own country back and were willing to help overthrow Albion to get it. A secret buildup of weaponry in nearly every village in the country. All written in a bold but blunt hand, the messages within equally bold and blunt.
“Timmins,” she whispered. She turned her eyes to Reaver. “He’s been plotting to overthrow me!”
“We have witnesses who will testify to the veracity of these exchanges,” he said. “And if Your Majesty wishes to travel to any of these cities, we know where the weapons caches are.”
“This … this can’t be true! He is a cross and irritable man, and quite impatient with me sometimes, but treason …!” Her eyes fell on the second pile of letters, and her stomach clenched hard.
“Don’t make me read these,” she whispered.
“You are the Queen of Albion, dear lady,” Reaver said. “No one can make you do anything. But I do urge you to read them. Do you wish to live in ignorance, or in the light of truth?”
I just want to go back to my wedding day, Laylah thought, anguish ripping her heart. I don’t want to know any of this. I just want to be with my beloved, and be happy.
But not even a queen could turn back time. And she owed it to her kingdom, her husband, and herself to know if there was any threat from a woman Laylah had come to think of as her dearest friend.
Her hands shook so badly she could barely read the first letter. As with the stack of missives from Captain Timmins, she did not recognize the name of the addressee, but she knew the handwriting.
… the situation has become intolerable. I am fond of the girl who now sits on the throne, but she is incapable of true leadership. With the king off in a foreign land, Albion is a certain target for the darkness. Our mutual friend J.T. has been corresponding with you, and we should be prepared to strike sooner rather than later. I insist no harm come to the girl; imprisonment should suffice. L and I often go on walks together, just the two of us, so I should easily be able to lead her directly into—
The letter fell from her nerveless hand. Darkness swam around the edges of her vision and she felt something press against her mouth. She drank, coughing at the strong whiskey, and her vision cleared slightly.
“My apologies for my forwardness, Your Majesty, but I feared you were about to faint. I understand—this must be quite a shock. Are you all right now?” Reaver inquired. He looked genuinely solicitous.
“P-Page,” she murmured. “There has to be some mistake …”
“It’s possible, I suppose. I imagine, for instance, if your walks together were common knowledge, then anyone
could have … Oh dear,” he said at the look on her face. The only one Laylah ever notified was Barrows, so that he would not be alarmed at her absence. No one else but she and Page knew about the walks. Page, and Timmins …
“The letters have details that no one else could have known,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I see,” Reaver said. “Then there is no doubt. They might just as well have scrawled on the castle walls ‘We’re going to topple the kingdom, hoorah!’ and signed their names. And it pains me to say this, but there is but one punishment for treason—especially in such a difficult and delicate time.”
Execution. Laylah knew it. She reached for the glass of whiskey Reaver still held and downed its contents in a gulp. This time, she welcomed the fiery burn down her throat and in her belly. It gave her the strength to do what had to be done. She turned to look at Reaver and, emboldened by the hard drink, said, “Isn’t it strange, that the one man who truly proves trustworthy is the one who has been so dreadful to those I love in the past. And the ones to whom I have given my trust and my love have been wearing false faces.”
“The old saying is at times true,” Reaver replied, his smile rueful. “Politics does make strange bedfellows.”
“Here is what I shall do,” said Laylah.
Chapter Sixteen
“Garth?” echoed the king. “He’s still alive?”
Percy rolled his eyes. “No, he’s dead, and I’m taking you to his grave so you can weep bitter, bitter tears. Of course he’s alive, though quite old by now. Your Majesty, I understand you’re a bit taken aback by all this, but please cease talking like a vacuous idiot!”
“Idiot?” repeated the king. The dragon looked as if he were about to explode—and then he caught the smile on the king’s face. “Ah, ah, you almost had me there, young sir,” he said. “Bravo. I commend you. As I was saying before your jape interrupted me, yes, Garth is alive and well.”
“Did you help him and my father? When they were traveling together?”
“No, but I can tell when a Hero still walks the earth, as I am bound to them after a fashion. I can even take you to him. I have no idea if he’d be interested in aiding us, but as he is with the warrior monks in the eastern mountains, it’s an excellent place to start.”
“We might find a whole slew of allies instead of just one even if the one happens to be a Hero,” said Ben.
“I am sure the monks would joyfully offer their aid,” said Shan.
“Providing the Empress hasn’t wiped them all out,” said Shalia.
“Oooh, such a cheerful lot you are,” said Percy.
“We’ve seen enough recently to make us rather grumpy, I’m afraid,” said the king. “But I am more than willing to go. How long will it take for the army to arrive?”
“The army?” said Percy. “Another few days, at least. You and I, however, should be able to travel there much more swiftly.” He eyed the king and flexed his wings. “You didn’t think these things were merely aesthetic, did you? Although now that I look at them, they are quite attractive,” he amended.
The king couldn’t believe this sudden turn in their fortune. They were still a long way from toppling a Empress and fighting back the darkness, of course, but a few moments ago he hadn’t even conceived of stumbling across so valuable an ally. “Thank you,” he said, “from the bottom of my heart.”
Percy looked a trifle embarrassed. “Yes, yes, let’s all sit around a campfire and sing life-affirming songs. But first, let’s get you to the temple and Garth.”
“That’s the lot,” said Captain Jack Timmins. He planted the shovel upright in the dirt and dusted his hands off with a handkerchief.
“That’s a great deal,” said Ed Wilkerson, who had been appointed Acting Mayor of Blackholm in Russell’s absence. He, Timmins, and the man who owned the Black Horse Tavern had spent the better part of an hour secretly digging in the alehouse’s cellar. The only witnesses to the activity were the casks of beer and rows of wine, and they would say nothing. “Guns, ammunition, nonperishable supplies—we should be able to give a good account of ourselves.”
“Remember, say nothing of this cache,” Timmins reminded them. “It could mean trouble if anyone else knows about it. It must remain a carefully guarded secret until such time as it’s needed.”
“And when might that be?”
The voice came from a man standing at the top of the stairs of the cellar. He was backlit so only his silhouette could be seen. A top hat, a cane, and an arrogant stance betrayed his identity as much as his distinctive voice.
“Reaver,” snapped Timmins. “What are you doing here?”
Reaver stepped down the stairs, the dim light now revealing a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Behind him were three of Timmins’s own guards, each of them leveling a pistol at their captain, Wilkerson, and the barkeep.
“Why, arresting the three of you for treason, of course,” said Reaver. “You have most kindly enabled us to catch you in the very act.”
Timmins stared at him. “What kind of farce is this?” he demanded. “Richards, Thompson, Jamison—you look ridiculous. Put those damned things away.”
None of the guards moved.
“This is no farce,” said Reaver, “although I confess, I do find it humorous.” He waved his walking stick at the newly dug soil. “How clichéd, to bury your cache of weapons in a bar cellar.”
“Look here,” said Wilkerson, stepping forward. “Captain Timmins was giving us extra supplies in case we got unexpectedly attacked by the darkness. He asked us to keep it on the down-low so that some trigger-happy drunk didn’t decide to steal the weapons and go shooting up the countryside.”
Reaver cocked his head, as if considering. “That’s very creative, and might even be plausible if it weren’t for this stack of letters I have in my hand that proves your guilt beyond a doubt. You have been conspiring with Page and many others to overthrow Queen Laylah.”
His anger growing, Timmins tried to snatch the letters to see for himself what kind of nonsense Reaver had concocted. Before he even realized what had happened, there was sharp sting across his hand. His palm had been laid open and was dripping bright crimson on the cellar soil. Reaver’s walking stick was also a swordstick, and its bloodied, nearly surgically sharp tip was but a few inches from Timmins’s face.
“I also have a decree here from Her Royal Majesty Queen Laylah of Albion for your arrest and subsequent execution,” Reaver continued in the same falsely pleasant tone of voice, though his dark brown eyes were cold and devoid of anything resembling mercy. “I could carry out the latter part of that sentence right now, if you wish. I’d prefer not to—it’s always much more fun to have an audience for that sort of spectacle.”
Timmins knew he would do it, too. “I’ll have a trial, and I’ll be able to prove my innocence,” he said. “The queen and I may have our … disagreements, but she’s no butcher.” Like you, he thought but did not add.
“Your little friends here will, because they have a lesser charge. However, the queen seeks to make an example of you, considering that you were in her inner circle.”
Timmins clenched his jaw. Trial or no, he would somehow prove his innocence.
Somehow.
Page stood in her own little world in the sewers of Bowerstone, more comfortable here than she was anywhere else. Timmins was traveling for a few days, helping shore up the defenses of the smaller hamlets against a darkness that might think this a prime time to infiltrate around the edges of Albion.
She had thought it a brilliant plan and urged him to start implementing it before the next council meeting.
“Because,” she had said ruefully, “we don’t know when Laylah will have the next council meeting.”
“Or what Reaver would do with the information,” Timmins had said darkly. “I’ll never trust that fellow, no matter how much it appears his self-interest aligns with the kingdom’s welfare.”
“Nor will I,” Page had said heartily.
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Now she stood, her dark eyes on the spot on the map that proclaimed “Blackholm,” and calculating how long it would be before Timmins returned.
A boy of about eight summers raced up to her, his small chest heaving with exertion. There was fear in his eyes.
“Miss Page!” he yelped. “You have to go! They’re coming to arrest you!”
“Charlie, breathe,” Page said soothingly. “No one’s coming to arrest me. I’m working with the queen now. It’s all right.”
His hands grasped frantically at her arms. “No, no, they’re coming! The guard, they’re just a block away. I overheard them saying things!”
Charlie was almost too levelheaded for a child of his tender years, and Page suddenly felt a frisson of fear. “What exactly did you hear?”
Charlie gulped for air. “One of them said, ‘it’s about time that uppity sewer rat got what’s coming to her,’ and another one said, ‘never much cared for her, but I never expected treason.’ ”
“Reaver,” she breathed. Somehow he had to be behind all this. She would find a way to reach the queen and refute these mad charges against her, but the time wasn’t now, not with a bunch of biased guards coming with a warrant for her arrest. “Let’s go out one of the back ways,” she said.
The guards were good. They were waiting for her as she and Charlie emerged, and Page froze when she heard the sound of several pistols being cocked.
“Page of Bowerstone,” one of them intoned, reading from a scroll, “you are under arrest on the charges of high treason against Her Majesty. Because of the great love she bears you, despite the overwhelming evidence of your deceit and betrayal, she has decreed that you shall not face execution but rather live out your life in prison.”
This couldn’t be happening. Laylah, condemning her to life in prison? What the hell had Reaver done to convince her? She took a deep breath, doing her best not to give the guards the satisfaction of seeing her distress.
“I will go with you peacefully,” she said, her gaze flickering over to young Charlie—who had risked so much to warn her but had failed to save her. Understanding the meaning of her glance, he began to step back, fading into the crowd. At least Laylah wouldn’t be arresting a child. “I am certain that once I talk to Her Majesty, this will all be straightened out.”
Fable: Edge of the World Page 14
