joined Alyssa and the other dancers in appreciating the efforts of the musicians. There was to be no continuation, for now, and the people around him were beginning to leave the dance floor. Winterburne thought that this must be a natural break, and saw it as his opportunity to flee, even if it was for only a few moments.
'Thank you for dancing with me, My Lord,' Alyssa said, and she curtseyed deeply. Winterburne bowed in return. She offered him her hand and he took it hand giving it a gentle kiss.
'Shall we rest for a while?'
Alyssa nodded. 'I am a little thirsty.'
Away to his left, Winterburne saw the pageboy still circulating with his drinks, so he headed in his direction and reached out to stop him. 'What hour is it?' he asked.
'My Lord?' The boy was surprised and a little startled by Winterburne’s abruptness.
'Now. What hour is it, now?'
'I think it is around twenty minutes to the hour of nine, Sir.'
Winterburne relaxed and thanked the boy. He could hardly believe that he become so engrossed with his time dancing with Alyssa that he had almost allowed himself to forget the whole reason why he was here. Thankfully, though, there was still plenty of time before his meeting with Frederick and he looked over at the dais to where he had last seen the Emperor. Kateryn sat in her chair talking with one of her maids-in-waiting and they laughed as they talked. Standing to one side of his throne was Frederick, himself deep in conversation with the Lord Chamberlain.
Alyssa followed his gaze to the groups of men standing at the back of the platform. 'Are they the Governors?' she asked.
'Yes,' Winterburne replied, 'there they stand, in all their glory.' They were all wearing near identical robes and from where they were standing it was difficult for him to tell one from the other. He looked down at Alyssa who seemed to be counting their heads.
Alyssa frowned. 'I thought there were supposed to be nine Governors?'
'There are,' Winterburne replied, 'one for each province.'
'But I can only count eight.'
Winterburne's head snapped around to look across at the men, counting them himself. Alyssa was right, there were only eight.
'I wonder which one is missing?' she said.
Winterburne continued to look over at them. 'I don't know all of their faces well enough to say for sure.'
The pageboy carrying the tray of drinks passed in front of him again and he grabbed his shoulder, causing him to turn around. The boy's eyes were wide with fear.
'Up there,' Winterburne said, pointing towards the men. 'Who is missing?'
The boy eventually realised what had been asked of him, and relaxed a little. He turned to look at the Governors before turning back to Winterburne and Alyssa. 'My Lord Allington, Sir...I think.'
'Do you know where he is?'
'I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't.'
'Was he here at all?' Winterburne felt uneasy and he found himself growing impatient. 'Well, boy,' he said, 'answer me!'
'Yes, Sir,' the boy replied. 'I believe he was here earlier, but I didn't see him leave.'
Winterburne released the boy and turned his head to look over at the dais. Frederick and Kateryn were both still there, talking with each other, and with the Lord Chamberlain. There was also plenty of time before he was due to meet Frederick in his office.
'Why do you want to know where the Governor is?' Alyssa asked.
'It may be nothing,' Winterburne said, 'but equally, it may be important.'
'Why?'
'Because, I don't like loose ends,' Winterburne said, 'and this is a very long one that is begging me to pick at it.'
27
Cromwell turned the page of the Register of Members and sighed. They had barely reached a half of the way through the book and it was hard going. Chapman had suggested beginning at the back of the Register and working forwards, but each page held scores of names and he already had a headache from working in the half-light provided by the candles. He rubbed his temples to try to ease the throbbing but the lists of names went on forever.
'There can't be this many assassins in Highport,' he said, flicking forward a few further pages, and glancing at the names as they went on and on.
'There aren't,' Chapman replied. 'This book is five hundred years old, give or take a few decades. They're all in here, young, old, alive and dead. The greats all mixed in with the anonymous. Each Province keeps its own book, and this is just the summary of all of them. We receive updates from the other Guilds once or twice a year.'
Cromwell wasn't convinced that they were approaching the task the right way. 'Isn't there a faster way to do this?'
'I don't think there is,' Chapman said. 'It's not that simple. The names aren't entered in any particular order, just when the update arrives so they jump all over the place. By law we also have to keep a record of all the acolytes who start their training, so they are in here too. As you can see, there have been a lot of them.'
'Still, that's one hell of a lot of assassins running around the Empire.'
Chapman laughed and shook his head. 'The skills we learn make us valuable in other walks of life, too. It's not just about...dispatching people, although your Captain seems to think that it is.'
Cromwell frowned. 'If not...you know what, then what else?'
'The Guard, for a start. Then there's what we call Special Duties. Your Captain would probably call that spying.'
Cromwell laughed.
Chapman continued, 'But we also learn other languages, business skills, history, art. It's all useful in one respect or another. I am told that once upon a time, not so very long ago in fact, it was a requirement that even those in the diplomatic services took the training.'
'Really?' Cromwell said, reaching over the book to the blank parchment sheets that were piled up away to his left. He took a sheet from the top. 'As interesting as all this is, we should really get on.'
They had long since given up on listing every single name as the acolyte translated it. ''Only the names that are interesting'', the Captain had said. He hoped that he would recognise a name of interest when he saw one, but he was still not sure. Cromwell dipped his pen in the inkwell and waited for Chapman to return to his seat.
'Are you sure you won’t have a drink, Lieutenant? My throat is starting to get croaky.' Chapman stood at the trolley that had been delivered to them. As well as drinks, the cook had provided crusty bread, cured ham, and hard cheese, as well as apples, pears and grapes.
'No, thank you,' he replied. 'I really want to get this done for the Captain. If we can just push on a bit more, we may still yet have time.'
Chapman returned to his chair and sat down in front of the book. The first name on the page had been crossed out. 'This one's membership has expired as well,' the acolyte said. He smiled at Cromwell.
'You’re all so obscure about what you do,' Cromwell said. 'Why don’t you just say he was killed in the line of business, or something more, you know...honest?'
Chapman laughed. 'We are taught to display a certain,' he paused as he chose the right word, 'style, Lieutenant. We tend to use words which hide our true meaning. It is a good habit to learn in this profession. We should always hold something back and never show our full hand in any of our dealings.'
Cromwell nodded. He was beginning understand. 'So what you’re saying is that you can’t really be trusted, and you lie a lot.' He had learned much from the acolyte in just the short time they had spent together and wondered if there might come a time when he would ever have to use any of it.
'Sort of,' Chapman said, chuckling, 'although we aren't supposed to lie directly. We have to be true to the code as well, and that tells us that we need to display honour. There are rules to follow, but I agree that it is a fine line to walk along.'
Cromwell would never fully understand this profession. 'Are you ready for the next page?' he asked, checking his nib and getting ready to write.
'Very well,' Chapman said, making himself comfortable and pulling the book closer to the
candle. He read on: 'Miles Horler (expired),' he said, 'Richard Carrington…Robert Courtenay..Alexander Allbright (expired)...Andrew Wallingford…'
The words bounced around in Cromwell’s mind for a moment and then they finally sunk into his consciousness. 'Wait!' he said. 'Go back down that list again.'
'Starting from where?'
'The top.'
Chapman traced his finger down the column, and re-read the words aloud.
'My god!' Cromwell looked up at the ceiling and slapped his hand on his forehead. 'It's so obvious.'
Chapman's face looked puzzled as he stood and ran to the door, pulling it open before charging down the stairs to the front door of the Guild House, unbolting it and throwing that open too. He raced out into the street, and then on towards the Palace. He ran faster than he could remember running for a very long time.
oOo
Winterburne could see the musicians returning to their places after the interlude as he looked around him, searching for a place to hide. Perhaps, he thought, there might be somewhere that he could find asylum from Alyssa for a while. Behind him he noticed an alcove, dark and inviting, tucked away in the corner of the room. Dancers congregated in front of it, ready to take their place on the dance floor whenever the music struck up again. He ducked inside, taking advantage of the shelter that it offered him. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being with Alyssa, he thought, but his feet were hurting like hell and in truth he felt all danced out.
The heat in the chamber had increased to a point where he really felt uncomfortable. He lifted his arms, looking down at his shirt. The wetness from his sweaty armpits had spread down his sides, and he was still leaking. He couldn't remember the last time that he had danced as much, in fact, he recalled, he never had danced as much. He flapped his unbuttoned waistcoat to allow some air to circulate.
A tray of drinks passed before him and he grabbed a glass, taking all the drink into his mouth at once. It was the same liquid he had hated earlier in the evening but it was better than nothing. He downed it without pausing. Alyssa had been right, it was the best way to take it.
The music began again and people rejoined the dance. Winterburne cast his eyes around the room. Alyssa appeared near the pillar where they had both been standing earlier in the evening and it was clear that she was looking for him. Her head bobbed up and down as she peered left and right. He bent his legs a little so that his head was below the level of the people in front of him. It was sly of him, he knew, but he smiled. It would only be for a little while longer, and then he'd go back to her, he told himself.
A pair of legs walked towards Winterburne and stopped as they reached him. His eyes worked their way up to the owner's face.
'Captain,' Draper said. 'Lieutenant Cromwell is in the Reception Hall, Sir. He says he needs to speak with you. Apparently, it is extremely urgent.'
Winterburne stood up straight, putting his glass down on the marble ledge that lined the alcove. Draper frowned as he saw where the glass had been left and he did not look pleased, but there was no time right now to worry about annoying the man. He walked as quickly as he could to the main doors where Cromwell waited for him. The man was fidgeting and his face had a worried look.
'What on earth is wrong with you?' Winterburne said.
'Sir,' Cromwell said, 'it’s Lord Courtenay!'
'What's Lord Courtenay?' Winterburne's mind was elsewhere, mainly thinking about not dancing.
'In the book, Sir!' Cromwell replied. 'His name is in the book!'
Winterburne turned and ran back through the doors. For some reason the crowd seemed heavier here and he found himself having to force his way past the revellers, their faces turning to thunder as he barged past them. Over the heads of the people he could see the dancers on the dancefloor making their patterns in time to the music, but he could not see the Emperor’s party from where he was.
As he reached
Angels Page 42
