He reached the manor and tied his horse on a rail in front of the veranda. He’d hardly put a foot on the first step when the manor door opened and a girl came out. She wasn’t quite a young woman yet, but showed the budding signs of it.
“A pleasant morning to you, Sem Mared,” greeted the friendly semaphore messenger.
“Hello, Esyl, and yes, it’s a fine morning. I saw you coming from my bedroom window. Father is just dressing. Is there an urgent message you need to get to him right away?”
“Now, Sem Mared, you must be aware the semaphore messages are confidential. We at the station know what’s in them, since we receive and send, but besides us, only the recipient can know the contents.”
Mared wasn’t fooled. She and Esyl had had this exchange many times. They played this game regularly.
“But no,” said Havant, “I can say that the message isn’t urgent, so I can wait for the hetman.”
“Oh, Ser Havant, who knows how long Father will take to dress? And I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet this morning,” said Mared, taking on the tone of the innocent fair maiden. “I would be happy to show you the kitchen, where we could find you some fine food. Of course, I’d have to hold the message for Father, so you can eat properly.”
“Sem Mared! I’m shocked that you’d think to bribe me to hand over the message I’m bound to give it only to the hand of the hetman. Shocked!”
Mared giggled, and Havant’s outrage morphed into avuncular fondness. “Now, I might overlook this attempt, if you were to lead me to this kitchen you mention.”
Mared put a hand to her chest. “Now I’m the one shocked by your attempt at blackmail!”
The ritual satisfied, Mared grabbed Havant’s hand and pulled him into the manor. “Father will be down in a few minutes, so let’s get you a couple of the fresh biscuits. I smelled them when I ran to greet you. I want to hear about that young lady you mentioned meeting, the one with the Orosz accent.”
“And you can update me on the new litter of puppies you were so eager to see born,” said Havant.
Ten minutes and two biscuits later, Hetman Keelan entered the kitchen, greeted Havant familiarly, then took and read the message.
“Hmmm . . . if you don’t have other urgent messages to deliver, Esyl, could you wait while I compose a reply? I’ll probably take twenty minutes or so.”
“Of course, Hetman. I’ll wait here with Sem Mared, with your permission. She advises me that it takes at least three biscuits to fully judge if they were made properly.
Culich smiled. “A wise plan. I’ll also begin my own assessment.” He picked two of the still hot biscuits off the oven top and left the room.
Before Mared launched into the puppy report or asked about Havant’s supposed new acquaintance, he had other topics in mind.
“Sem Mared, I noticed last time I was here that Sen Maera is back living here, and I assume the baby is the hetman’s new and first grandchild.”
“Yes,” said Mared. “She and Yozef stayed here while their new house was being built. It’s only a half mile from here, and they just moved in.”
“So they’ve moved from Abersford? I know Ser Kolsko has his shops in Abersford, so I’m surprised they would move here.”
Mared grabbed a biscuit for herself and, with a mouth full, began a detailed explanation of why Yozef Kolsko moved to Caernford, so he could expand weapons production and become more involved in plans against the hated Narthani.
“They don’t know what they’re dealing with, those shit-eating Narthani,” said Mared, then looked around to see if her mother was around to chastise her language choice. When she confirmed the coast was clear, she continued. “Yozef will try to tell you he wasn’t a hero at St. Sidryn’s Abbey when the Buldorians attacked it, but I know better. I’ve talked with men who were there, and they assure me it was Yozef who saved the abbey. And when the Narthani invaded Moreland, wasn’t it Yozef’s artillery and plans that won the day? I mean, really? If he’s not a hero, then who is? That scar on his head and the one on his leg, you know, the one you see only if he’s swimming or something, do people think he got those at the dinner table?”
Havant’s casual interest in Yozef Kolsko changed to alarmed interest, as Mared recounted more details about her brother-in-law. His interest in the manor layout long forgotten, he led the youngest Keelan daughter on for more details before her father arrived, which he did just as Mared was about to recall overhearing Yozef tell Maera about something called a “balloon” and how, if he could get it to work, it would allow clan fighters to see Narthani troop formations while still miles away.
“Ah, Esyl, thanks for waiting. Here’s the return message,” said Culich, as he walked in the kitchen. I’m sure you have other messages to deliver.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Mared said.
“Actually,” Havant said hurriedly, so as not to give the Keelan leader any reason to question his lingering, “I do need to get back to the station in Caernford. I’m sure other messages have come in, and I’m due for my time up on the scaffold changing panels at mid-morning.”
“Mared will see you out then.”
Havant let the girl see him to the front door of the manor and gave her a friendly, playful farewell. Well, he later hoped it had come across that way, because his mind kept racing in other directions.
By Great Narth, was everything the silly girl said true? If it was, how had he missed it? No, that wasn’t fair. He’d read many of the semaphore messages to and from Hetman Keelan and other leaders, though not all. There had been little mention of this Kolsko. Who knew what could have been in other messages? And there’d been no reason for him to question people about Kolsko. Until now, anyway. That had just changed! He’d talked to many of the Keelan men at Moreland City, but from what he heard, most of them had not been involved with the artillery or the direct attack on the Narthani infantry. He had to immediately seek out anyone from Abersford. The Keelan girl said many workers and their families already had or would move from Abersford to Caernford. He had to find them and learn more about this Kolsko.
Havant waited until his horse had trotted out of sight of the Keelan manor before spurring it to a gallop. Not that he saved much time in getting back to Caernford, but the unconscious act matched his urgent need to get more information.
Caernford, Central Plaza
The morning prayer service at St. Tomo’s Cathedral had ended a few minutes earlier, when Havant crossed the Caernford central plaza. The attendees usually numbered around two hundred, and now they mingled with the citizens of Caernford out to shop, workers going to and fro, and a group of men replacing broken paving bricks. His mind still obsessed over the visit to Keelan Manor and the alarming new information about Yozef Kolsko, when he passed the Great Hall of the Keelans and turned down a street, then left to a lane of shops. He took the same route any time he traveled in the vicinity of the plaza, even if in the opposite direction of his destination, which in this case was the semaphore station on the other side of the city.
His mind remained so unusually distracted that he almost missed the single two-inch-long chalk mark on one specific brick sitting among thousands that made up the outer wall of a two-story building. The mark, six feet off the ground, appeared there only when Gethin Drifwich was in the city and waiting for him at their prearranged rendezvous site. Havant had passed within two hundred yards of it on his way back from the manor.
Havant froze when he saw the mark, then recovered, looked around for anyone watching, and erased the mark. Drifwich was not due for his twice-monthly trips to Caernford for more than a sixday, so Havant had not expected the signal.
What’s the miserable little Nyvaksian doing here now? Havant wondered. He detested Drifwich, though he tried to keep the opinion from being obvious whenever they met. It was unprofessional and stupid to do otherwise, because Havant’s assignment depended on the other agent serving as a go-between to the sloops and Hizer back in Preddi City.
Havant circled
a block, instead of turning around, to avoid anyone noticing his change of direction. It was a small thing, but accomplishing his assignment and even his very life depended on a myriad of small things to keep suspicion from falling on him.
It him took twenty minutes to retrace his path to the outskirts of Caernford and then take a smaller road that passed a patch of whoresthistle bushes. The plants dropped leaves that crackled when dead, even after a rain. It was impossible to move through such patches without announcing your movements to anyone within a hundred yards. Havant had picked this spot so that he and Drifwich could both check for anyone in a small clearing and hear another person else approaching.
He passed a wagon with its two horses tied to a tree, their feet hobbled. Down a narrow path to the clearing he found the Nyvaksian pacing nervously back and forth. Havant put on an expression of camaraderie.
“Drifwich. You’re not due. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you what’s up! I almost shit myself two nights ago when I was sending the latest report. Out of nowhere, there’s three men dressed all in black and me with a knife big enough to gut a steer at my throat. They were from the sloop, I assume. I mean, where else would they be from? One of them spoke Caedelli with a Preddi accent, but he spoke Narthani to the other two. All they said was to see you get this.” Drifwich held out a small square package, still tightly wrapped.
Havant snatched the package from Drifwich and used the three-inch-blade knife he kept in his boot to slit the wrapping. Inside was another layer of wrapping, the second layer made of resin-impregnated gingo cloth. When the stocks of the gingo plant were soaked in lye, the released fibers could be used to weave cloth with such a tight thread count as to be almost waterproof. Further treatment with a tree resin finished the waterproofing, and the resin made the cloth self-sticking to complete the sealing of the contents.
A third layer consisted of ordinary paper that stuck to the gingo cloth on one side, next to a message. Havant unfolded two sheets of paper and glanced over the contents. He read them again, slowly, as he decoded. He had the cipher memorized and could read the underlying message without resorting to quill and paper. Drifwich stood rocking on his feet, waiting to hear what was so important to break security protocol and bring Narthani onshore to deliver whatever had been written on the well-wrapped sheets.
During the third reading, Havant spoke aloud softly, more to himself than to Drifwich, “Well, well, well. Things are about to get interesting.”
Drifwich didn’t like the sound of that. Boring was more to his liking.
Finally, Havant looked up at his nervous colleague. Drifwich didn’t need all of the details. In fact, it was best if he knew as little as possible.
“Gethin, there are two things you need to do. First is to return to Salford and signal that I received the package as instructed. Do you have anything to write on? No? When we leave, we’ll go first to your wagon, and I’ll carve five numbers on the side of the wagon bed. When you send the message, include those five numbers at the beginning and end of the message. That will authenticate that I’ve received the package and understand the contents.
“The second thing you need to do is have two wagons ready exactly nine days from now. They have to be large enough to hide ten men each under some form of concealment. Perhaps straw would work, since air can get inside. I’ll meet you at your employer’s stable at sundown of that day. The two us will drive the wagons to Caernford, so you should arrange to be gone four to five days without arousing suspicions.”
“Twenty men? What men and what will they be doing in Caernford?” asked Drifwich.
“You’ll get more information when it’s necessary. For now, focus on your two tasks, getting back to Salford to send the acknowledgement message and getting the wagons ready nine days from now, exactly.”
“But . . . well . . . all right.” The Nyvaksian wanted more information, but he didn’t expect to get it from Havant. “Twenty men,” stated Drifwich. “How quickly do we need to get to Caernford? Making the trip in one hard day would require changing horses at least once. I assume you want to remain as unobtrusive as possible.”
“Two days,” said Havant. “The first night we’ll travel until near dawn, then move off the road to a secluded spot and camp for the day. We’ll make it the rest of the way the next night. I’ll find a place near Caernford for the men while they wait. You will stay at the inn you usually use.
“Put in the wagons enough food and water for the twenty-two of us for four days. Come to think of it, I’ll come to Salford a day early to see that everything is ready with the wagons.”
Drifwich licked his lips, and he felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Whatever the Narthani had planned, he knew he wouldn’t like it. For the last six months, he’d had a set of gear packed and ready for a quick exit from Keelan. He didn’t know if he could make the three-hundred-mile trip back to Nyvaks by sticking to mountainous terrain without being caught, but it was his emergency escape option should the worst happen. When he got back to Salford, he would check the gear and add saddlebags of food and water. He also decided to see about trading existing horses for two younger ones.
Havant watched his colleague disappear, heading south back to Salford. He knew the man wasn’t reliable enough for this situation, but he was all Havant had to work with. He couldn’t be away from Caernford too long himself, so he’d have to trust that Drifwich would do what he was told. Not that Havant thought the Nyvaksian would tell anyone. He was too cowardly for that. More likely, he’d try to get back to Nyvaks, maybe hiding in the mountains and slowly working his way back. Even if that happened, Havant would get the wagons ready himself. At least one of the twenty men would surely be able to drive the second wagon.
Havant would be in Salford a day early, and the stable owner hardly ever visited the property, what with trade almost nonexistent. As for the other few occasional workers, if Havant encountered them, he could either bluff his way through, or they would meet quick ends, not to be noticed until the operation was finished or underway.
Assassinating the Keelan hetman, Havant thought to himself. Hizer is ratcheting up the stakes. I assume he knows what he’s doing and that the chances of succeeding here can’t be better than one in two. Is this the only such action? Is he after other hetmen, too? Not that I need to know, for my part.
Havant understood the logic of targeting Culich Keelan. The clan was far too strong and organized. However, headquarters likely remained unaware of the significance of Yozef Kolsko. Hell, even he himself wasn’t that aware until the Keelan girl clued him in. She said Kolsko and the oldest Keelan daughter lived only a half-mile away from the main manor. He wondered if they could hit them both the same night, thinking it definitely worth a try and that Hizer would approve, if he had the same information Havant now had. He’d talk with the strike team leader and see whether they could agree to add Kolsko as a target. This assumed that a reasonable opportunity would present itself.
And if they succeeded, what would that do to his position? Only Hizer and he knew that one of the code numbers at the end of the message was Hizer’s signal to him that he could decide whether to stay in position or come out with the strike team. He’d have to think about that now, during, and after the assassination attempt.
CHAPTER 29: A DAY IN THE LIFE OF YOZEF KOLSKO
As sixdays passed, and Yozef’s days blurred, with every hour filled by something important, something he needed to do.
6th Hour
Yozef woke at 6:00 am. His mind still translated Keelan hours into the timekeeping of his former life. He knew the time because outside a bedroom window it was lighter than inside the room, and he heard a single distant ring from a St. Tomo’s Abbey bell. Clan Keelan recognized twenty-four hours in a day, and the Keelan abbeys, by custom, rang once every hour. Thus, the first sign of approaching daylight and the single ring meant the beginning of sixth hour—6:00 a.m., to Yozef’s brain.
It had taken an Anyar year, about nine-tenth
s of an Earth year, for Yozef not to reflexively look for a digital clock as his first waking act. He still did it occasionally, though now as an act of remembering what he used to do, instead of unconsciously looking for the clock.
Maera’s absence in the bed was a further sign of the time. She must have left recently, because when he reached to her side of the bed, the sheets still held a hint of warmth. Her rising might have triggered Yozef’s arousal. He had semiconsciously noted her getting out of bed two other times during the night and coming back minutes later. Aeneas was a regular feeder, and Yozef felt both relieved and half-guilty that fathers were not involved in feeding infants. No bottle feeding or breast pumping existed on Anyar. Thus, he was assured of complete sleep most nights, while Maera would take a substantial nap during the day to make up for Aeneas’s multiple feedings and changings during the night. Thankfully, although the little bugger was a healthy eater and squawker, he slept solidly through the night, except for the feedings.
Yozef let himself enjoy the lassitude of the bed for another few minutes before reluctantly throwing off the covers and coming to his feet. It would be a full day.
After pulling on pants and a shirt, he padded barefoot to the kitchen. He could smell what passed for bacon in Keelan, and when he came to the kitchen door, he heard peals of laughter. Maera, Anarynd, and Mirramel. Hearing Maera laugh always lit a small glow in his chest. She had been so serious when he first met her. Anarynd had gradually relaxed after coming to them, though Yozef still caught melancholy expressions on her face when she thought no one was looking.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 38
