Angels

by Philip E. Batt

the Emperor, its eagle imprinted into the wax, ensured that the envelopes were closed tightly around the papers. He opened the worn, brown leather dispatch bag that had been slung across his shoulder and pushed them to the bottom. 'Is that all of today’s batch?'

  'Yes, My Lord.' de Malyns nodded. 'It also includes the last minute requests from the Emperor.'

  'Oh? Last minute?'

  'His Highness was most insistent that these should go out today, at the very latest,' the scribe said. 'There is also one for Captain Winterburne, and another for the Principal of the Infirmary.'

  Courtenay frowned. 'Very well,' he said, 'the Emperor did not mention any additional invitations to me, but I suppose two more will not add much more time to the delivery.'

  'No, my Lord,' de Malyns replied. 'I do apologise, but I only received the instructions a day or so ago. I prepared them as soon as I could. There are always so many and I was too late to get them in any of the earlier batches.'

  'I am sure that delivery today will be quite acceptable.' Courtenay was eager to get moving. The trip around the city would already take some time and he did not want to waste any more of it than he needed 'They are, after all, only invitations, and not exactly a matter of life or death.'

  'No, My Lord.'

  Courtenay made his way to the top of steps, looking down on his mount. The stable hands had chosen well, giving him the white stallion to run his errand. It had been fitted with a brown leather saddle over a caparison in the colours of the Emperor’s ambassador - white with black trim. This particular beast could be temperamental and stubborn, and a lesser rider would be in trouble, but he was an accomplished rider and the animal did not usually cause him too many problems.

  The three guards assigned to him for the day took up their positions at the rear of his mount. They were dressed in full armour and sat proudly on their horses, motionless. The man in the centre carried a white banner which bore the black eagle of the Emperor and it fluttered in the breeze as the guards waited for him.

  The warmth provided by the mid-morning sun as it fell upon the steps was in stark contrast to the cool of the shadows that occupied the rest of Imperial Square, and Courtenay was grateful for that coolness as he walked down the steps and took the reins of his horse from the page. He placed his foot into the stirrup, pulling himself up into the saddle, and as soon as he was ready, he dug his heels into the side of his mount. With a quick skip of his mount's front hooves, Courtenay led the procession off.

  There were few people around, with the exception of the guards that patrolled the higher level, tracing their routes for hour after hour. Even the Cathedral was quiet. Early morning prayers had long since finished, the devout having slipped back to their homes. The riders walked along the approach road to the intersection with West Street. People stopped and stared at the sound of the hooves, watching Courtenay at the head of the group as it approached.

  The distribution of the invitations to the Emperor’s Feast Ball had become a notable annual event in the city and the citizens always liked to guess who would receive them. It was a great honour to receive a visit from the Lord Chamberlain, even though invites were only given to people that had served the Empire and the City in some way. Despite that, most people secretly lived in the hope of one day receiving one.

  As the group reached the end of the road, it turned right into West Street and made its way down the gentle slope towards the Watch Headquarters. Courtenay reached down to his dispatch bag and opened the flap pulling out the letters that he had placed within.

  oOo

  Winterburne picked up a sheet of paper from the pile strewn across his desk and read the request to himself. 'What's this one for?' he asked, frowning, as he handed it over to the Lieutenant.

  Cromwell stood at attention next to the Captain’s desk. He took the paper and read it, recalling in his mind the details behind the request. 'That was for a replacement shoe for one of the men.'

  'Only one shoe? But that's ridiculous!' It never ceased to amaze Winterburne how the relatively simple administrative process of running a Watch Headquarters could be complicated by merely adding human beings. Worse than that, when those human beings were also Highport born and bred it seemed to cause havoc.

  'Well, it was like this, Sir,' Cromwell began to explain, 'when—'

  'Never mind,' Winterburne interrupted, and snatched back the paper. He dipped his pen into the inkwell and withdrew it, dropping ink in a long splatter across the sheet. 'Good grief!' he said, and threw down the pen. The remaining ink held in the steel nib splashed across his desk, adding to the mess. 'I’ve had it with this, Milo.' He rose, collecting the papers together into a loose pile. 'Hold out your arms,' he said.

  'Sir?'

  'Hold out your arms.' Winterburne picked up the stack of papers and plopped them onto the shelf formed as Cromwell did as he was told. 'I’m delegating this responsibility to you. As long as the request sounds reasonable, then sign it off. If it doesn’t, talk to me. Any questions?'

  'Um, no, Sir.'

  'Good,' Winterburne said. 'And give me a total of how much you spend each week. I need to account the amount to the bursar on a monthly basis and it's easier to keep track if I tally it as I go along.'

  Cromwell looked down at the papers, and then back at Winterburne.

  'Well,' Winterburne said, 'what are you waiting for? Off you go.'

  He shooed the Lieutenant across the office and the man shuffled out into the corridor with a forlorn look on his face. As he reached the door, Winterburne stopped and pushed the door closed with his foot, slamming out the world. It would be a good test of initiative for him, thought Winterburne, and in any case, my desk hasn't looked as clean for years, and that could only be a good thing. He walked back over to his chair and sat down with a bump.

  It struck him that as he sat there that he really needed that permission to search the Guild, and he lifted his hand to rub his chin. He didn't expect the Emperor to hurry. It was common for the Palace to take its time over requests like this and he might not get anything until the last minute. Even so, Winterburne had hoped that they could get the search done in plenty of time before the Emperor’s Feast Ball. It didn't look like that was going to happen now; the ball was, after all, the next day, and he didn't expect it to be a quick job either. He had seen with his own eyes how thick the Register of Members was and every name logged within it would need to be translated and transcribed.

  Winterburne heard a knock on the door and as it opened, an excited face looked in. 'Sir,' Sergeant Moore said, 'you’ve been called out.'

  'What?' The remark made no sense to Winterburne.

  'The Chamberlain, Sir.' Moore was animated as he tried to explain. 'He’s calling you out.'

  Winterburne stood up and followed the Sergeant out into the corridor and down towards the main doors. Through the glass, he could see a crowd of people outside the Watch House and, as he pushed the door open, their murmurings grew louder. In the street, seated on his mount, waited the Chamberlain, supported by his Honour Guard.

  As Winterburne stepped onto the porch, the Chamberlain unfolded the parchment, and as it reached its full extent he began to read from it.

  'Captain Thomas Winterburne,' Courtenay said, 'it gives me great pleasure to pass on His Imperial Highness’s personal invitation to attend the Emperor’s Feast Ball.'

  A large crowd had formed and they had stopped their daily tasks. Many were pointing at the group and small children were being picked up, lifted onto their parent's shoulders, to take a look at the soldiers. Winterburne guessed that quite a large proportion of the crowd would be following the group on its journey around the city. Most of them would just be nosey to learn who had been invited, giving them gossip to trade later, while others just revelled in the pomp.

  Winterburne approached the group and the Chamberlain reached into his bag withdrawing an envelope, and leaning down, handing it to him.

  'I would be most honoured to accept his Highness’s invitation,'
he replied. The crowd heard his words and they clapped and cheered as he took the envelope.

  Courtenay took off his hat and flourished it in Winterburne’s direction, adding to the theatrical nature of the whole proceedings. He replaced the hat on his head and pulled on the reins of his horse, guiding it forward and leading the group off down West Street to their next destination. Most of the crowd followed the Chamberlain and his guards as they walked on, while the rest dispersed, smiles and laughter accompanying them.

  Winterburne looked at the sealed envelope in his hands, hoping that the contents would be what he had been waiting for. The men of the Watch House had congregated behind him and they clapped as he walked back to the porch. 'That’s enough of that,' he said. 'I'm sure you have duties, so get on with them.'

  The men filed back through the doors, laughing and joking as they led the way down the corridor. Winterburne followed them and as he reached his office he ducked inside, closing the door behind him and walking over to his desk, taking a seat. He bent the letter, and with a flick of his thumb the wax seal popped off the back. It was another one to add to the others he had collected over the years.

  The flap of the thick parchment envelope was stiff and the paper made a satisfying crunch as it moved, revealing the sheets within. He removed the two letters. Both had been written in the perfect hand of Frederick's scribe.

  ''His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Frederick I, has the pleasure of requesting the presence of Captain Thomas Winterburne at the Emperor's Feast Ball, to be held on the evening of 15 Midspring, Imperial Year 2332. Dress Formal. Guest Optional.''

  Winterburne placed the letter to one side and unfolded the second parchment.

  ''10 Midspring IY 2332,

  I, Emperor Frederick I, doth hereby decree that Captain Thomas Richard Winterburne be granted access to inspect all properties and possessions, including reserved establishments, seen fit by him to aid him in the execution of his duties and investigations. And that said investigations are at the request of myself on behalf of the Empire.

  This decree remains valid until such time as it is revoked by my personal command.

  Signed: Emperor Frederick I''

  Winterburne slid the letter back into the envelop, and rose to his feet. This was it, he thought. With this, he could go anywhere he wanted. He walked over to the office door and opened it, poking his head into the corridor.

  'Milo!' he shouted, at the top of his voice.

  oOo

  The wind gusted off the sea, blowing their hair around their heads as Winterburne and Cromwell walked along West Street in the direction of the Street of Guilds. The flags on the poles on either side of the street flapped together, reminding Winterburne of how his thoughts were being buffeted around inside his mind.

  'Did you bring the list of people that were at the Palace on the night of Agatha's death?' Winterburne asked.

  'I did, Sir, just as you ordered.' Cromwell scratched his head. 'But exactly what is it that I'm looking for?'

  'I want you to find out if any of those names are in that book, for starters.'

  Cromwell filled his cheeks with air and puffed out a blast of air that flicked his fringe.

  Winterburne glanced across at Cromwell and held up his hand. 'Before you say anything, I know it's a big job, but it just might be worth a try.'

  'What makes you think there's even anything worth seeing in that book anyway?'

  'Honestly,' Winterburne said, 'I’m not entirely sure. Everything we’ve found makes me think there is a link between the Palace and the Assassin’s Guild. Maybe there's someone's name in that book that helps to establish that link.'

  'But that's a guess though, right, Sir? I mean, we don't really have a definite