Karrick said, ‘So, I imagine this means that grave crisis you always spoke about has arrived?’
Jim smiled. ‘You mean beyond the war with Kesh and the attempt to incapacitate the Duke of Rillanon, and Sir William Alcorn’s apparent attempt to seize control of the Kingdom?’
Karrick smiled, and again to Jim it was like looking in a mirror. ‘Well, there is that.’
Jim nodded. ‘It’s time for you to take over the Council.’
Karrick said nothing for a while. Then he said, ‘That will be difficult.’
‘If it was easy, I wouldn’t need you.’
Karrick’s eyebrow lifted slightly, and he smiled again. ‘Need me?’ He leaned forward, ‘All these years . . . since we met, I’ve wondered at what point you would finally decide that I was ready to serve.’
‘You’ve been ready to serve for at least six years, Karrick.’ Jim fell silent as the ale appeared and the server walked away. ‘I just didn’t need your particular gifts until now. More to the point, the Kingdom didn’t need them.’
Karrick nodded, and there was a strange hint of sadness in his expression. ‘Have you ever lived a lie so long that it became true?’
Jim looked around the room, not liking where this conversation might lead. Seeing no one but the barman and one other customer, a elderly drunk, he felt his anxiety lessen.
Karrick chuckled. ‘No, Jim, I’m not betraying you to Bill.’ He looked at the disguised noble. ‘You’re the closest thing to a father I ever had, even though I barely saw you for more than a week for the first five years after we met. As I said, that first year, that was a good year.’
Jim said nothing.
Karrick said, ‘Have you ever wondered . . .’
Jim knew exactly what was being asked. ‘Yes, I have. Now, speaking of sons, I’ve arranged for Bill to think his boy James is taking over the Mockers in exchange for helping me with a few things during the war.’
Karrick could barely contain himself. ‘He believes you?’
‘He believes because he wants to believe, and frankly, I was convincing.’ Jim looked around the inn and said, ‘I’m honestly going to be done with all this when this war is over. I am not exactly sure where I’ll end up, assuming it’s not at the end of a rope, but when this is all over, I am letting go.’
‘The Mockers?’
‘Everything.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve already dispatched messages to Krondor. Bill’s boy is to apprentice with the Nightmaster. He is supposed to assume control of the Mockers, become the next Upright Man, when I step down.’
‘I know James well,’ said Karrick. ‘He’s as cunning as a sewer rat and ambitious: which is why his father wants him on the other side of the Kingdom. But he lacks the skill to manage things. And he has a temper.’
‘That’s useful.’
‘It should keep him from forming quick alliances in the Mockers,’ said Karrick.
‘It’s immaterial,’ said Jim. ‘He’ll be dead sooner or later. Bill will get a message of condolence saying his boy died during a job gone terribly wrong, slain by the Crushers. That’s assuming, of course, that Bill’s still alive.’
Karrick said, ‘I gather that means I’m supposed to decide when it’s time to remove Bill?’
‘How many know that Bill is the Council?’
‘His three sons, myself, two others. After that it’s much the same as the Mockers. A message comes through the local gang chief from the Council, delivered by a street boy.’
‘And you control the street boys, still?’
Karrick nodded.
‘One son to Krondor. Arrange with an army sergeant you trust to have one other son arrested and sympathize with Bill when he dies trying to escape. The last son, leave until after Bill’s death and keep close to him, make yourself indispensable until it’s time for you to take his place. The two others you decide if they will serve you or need replacing.’
‘They’ll serve,’ said Karrick. ‘And I know which son to arrest and which to commiserate with . . . for a while.’
‘When Bill’s son James is on his way to Krondor and after I’m gone begin these tasks. Ensure that Anne always knows how to reach you.’
Jim was ready to leave and said, ‘Our relationship cuts both ways, Karrick. Not in issues of blood, no matter what they may or may not be, but of this: as close as I may be to being a father to you, so you are to being a son to me. It is not ideal; I have no such illusions, but you’ve been loyal and reliable, as much as any father would wish to a son to be. When all is said and done, if it is within my means, I shall deliver you to higher standing than a king among thieves.’
Karrick laughed. ‘You see me standing in the palace with starched shirt and brocade coat? Dancing with the ladies?’
Jim shared the laugh. ‘What’s the matter? You can’t dance?’
Karrick kept chuckling and said, ‘All will be done as you’ve instructed. I will wait to hear from you.’
Jim thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘If you don’t hear from me within the month, send word after this thing is done to the Black Ram in Ran. I believe that is Bill’s usual place to exchange messages. We might as well continue to use his couriers.’
‘Bill alive or dead, that’s the easiest way,’ agreed Karrick. ‘So that means you’re bound to Ran?’
‘Sooner or later,’ said Jim as he rose.
‘I’ll finish my drink,’ said the young thief.
‘Fare well,’
‘Fare well all of us,’ replied Karrick.
Then Jim was out of the door.
Jim made his way to the docks where a ship was ready to depart for Ran. He had already had his name added to the roster of sailors. Now he purchased a small bottle of evil-smelling distilled spirits and poured it over his head before reaching the royal docks.
He feigned being intoxicated as he hurried along the long pier jutting out into the harbour. He knew that Sir William would have agents watching every ship leaving the harbour, but assumed he might be less vigilant on the Navy Pier, given that it was already crawling with military, any of whom would be quick to seize a suspicious-looking character like Jim in time of war.
But there was one ship on the pier which was not a warship but a transport vessel, and it had a civilian crew. And when he reached the gangway, two bored-looking Royal Marines were flanking the plank up to the ship.
‘Papers,’ one demanded as he got there.
Then from above, the bosun’s voice cut through the air like a knife. ‘Jax! You drunken whore’s son! I should leave you there and make you swim after the ship! Get your lazy arse up here!’
Jim successfully looked unfocused and unsure. He fumbled in his shirt as if he was trying to find his papers, and the bosun roared, ‘Now, damn your eyes!’
The marine shook his head slightly and said, ‘Go on, then.’
Jim went up the gangway and received an ungentle slap to the back of the head as he passed the bosun, another of the few agents left in the military he could trust. Jim would no doubt get punishment, and the rest of the crew knew better than to question the presence of a newcomer if the bosun knew him: they’d assumed he’d sailed with that man before and was getting a second chance, a story that Jim would relay if asked.
He hurried below, stowed his gear, then headed back on deck. He might reek of spirits, but he was not drunk, so he quickly made his way to the topgallants and made ready to lower sail.
Jim felt an unusual sinking in his stomach and realized that never before in his life had he felt this sense of foreboding. And he felt an unfamiliar pang; he was betraying Bill the Butcher. Usually such treachery would hardly give him a moment’s pause, but for some reason this time he felt bad about condemning the man to death. He realized that despite what he had said to Bill, he really did want to get out of this business and what he had said to Karrick was the truth. He would quit and find a suitable replacement for both Jim Dasher of Krondor and James Jamison, agent of the King.
He wondered how his counterparts, Kaseem and especially Franciezka, were doing and hoped they were experiencing better fortune than he was at the moment.
Lady Franciezka Sorboz crouched low behind a decorative hedge, one hand resting on a lethal dagger. The blade was coated with a venom that would paralyse whoever was cut within seconds, preventing an alarm being raised. For an instant she was struck by the incongruity of sneaking into the very palace in which she often resided, the defences for which she had helped to fashion. She particularly loved this garden, behind the guest quarters now occupied by Lord John Worthington. She remembered lovely summer nights like this with the air spiced by the scent of jasmine and gardenia.
Franciezka wore tight-fitting travel togs and boots designed to permit quick movement, and minimize snagging on branches or the iron spikes embedded into the wall she had just climbed.
She was desperate to break the stalemate within the palace. The King and Queen were locked up in their apartments, sumptuous surroundings for certain, but no less a prison. All communication with the household staff and the government were being conducted through Lord John Worthington’s most trusted lackeys.
Franciezka was reduced to a handful of agents she could trust, but none were placed close enough to the royal family to help. Her entire organization had been designed to look outward, at Kesh and the Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms, not inward. Kesh might have their secret police, but it was not under Kaseem Hazara-Khan’s purview. Jim used his Mockers in Krondor and his contacts with other criminal elements to gather information, but given the politics and history of the Kingdom of the Isles, a revolt by the nobility was more likely than any popular uprising, and the last one they had endured was over three hundred years ago.
Roldem’s population was far more homogenous than either rival nation. The Isles and Kesh were like conquered city-states and regions forged into a single empire or kingdom by centuries of occupation and absorption. But Yabon was different to Rillanon, and the Isalani people were nothing like the Truebloods of the Overn Deep. Roldem had always been one people.
Given Roldem’s history, a coup d’état was unthinkable. And even under Lord John’s offices, it didn’t feel like a coup, at least not yet.
But something was underway that was creating disastrous consequences for the Kingdom of Roldem. Trade was at a standstill and the only goods produced on the island were still in abundance, but they were quickly being consumed or bought up by speculators. She reckoned they were less than three months from a scarcity that would have the population demanding an end to the Keshian blockade. A month after that would come food riots in the streets of the capital.
She moved along the wall, alert to any passing patrols or guards, but found this portion of the palace unguarded. She wasn’t entirely sure why, as the rest of the complex was ringed with guards.
A loyal servant had mentioned that something was planned for Lord John’s private quarters, as instructions had been given that two hours after sunset his quarters were to be sealed off and he was not to be disturbed until he personally opened the doors. No visitors were scheduled but he had requested that food and wine be provided. Even his son and most trusted aides were being ordered out of his quarters.
His determination for privacy played to her advantage, because he had ordered the guards who might patrol outside his quarters out of this garden. They were now patrolling on the street beyond the wall she had clambered over, their usual routine disrupted and their vigilance compromised. Not that they were ever that vigilant, thought Franciezka as she moved through shadows; the palace guards not detailed to protect the royal family were soldiers of little value used mostly for ceremony. She crossed an open expanse of lawn to reach the wall of the palace, ducking into the shadow of an elm tree that would cut the afternoon’s glare through the terrace windows of Lord John Worthington’s quarters.
She was determined to discover what it was Lord John was up to. Inching her way to the balcony outside Lord John’s private quarters, she listened.
She could hear men’s voices inside, though the words were indistinct. She peered up over the edge of the balcony, between stone risers and then ducked back down. Lord John’s quarters had large glass doors opening on to a broad low balcony, and in the heat of summer he had left them open. But getting up over the railing would prove difficult without being seen.
Glancing up again, she saw that the two men in the room with Lord John had their backs to her, so she moved to the closest point to the wall where the balcony began, just out of Lord John’s line of vision, and nimbly leapt up to the rail, then down, landing silently. Her knees hurt slightly and she realized she was starting to feel her age.
She crouched down, back against the wall, knowing that on either side of the doors were matching framed floor-to-ceiling windows with sashed curtains. Pulling a small folded hood out of her belt, she quickly donned it. Black knit with two eye holes, it would not reflect the light coming through the glass. She inched her way along the wall until she was just next to the edge of the glass surrounding the doors and peered in. Her eyes widened and only the most rigorous training over the years kept her from exclaiming.
There were three John Worthingtons in the room!
They looked identical: could they be triplets? One was clearly Lord John, unmistakable in the forest-green jacket he preferred to wear most days. The other Lord John was dressed like a Keshian noble of the Trueblood, bare-chested and shaven headed, with a circlet of gold ending with Keshian royal falcons upon his brow, arm bands of gold, and cross-gartered sandals. He wore a heavy linen skirt, girdled with a wide crocodile hide belt fastened with a gold clasp.
The third Lord John was dressed like a noble of the Kingdom of the Isles, and it was he who was speaking.
‘This is unwise. We should not be gathered together in one place.’
‘Brothers,’ answered the Lord John she knew. ‘There is no risk. Roldem is at peace, albeit a fragile one, so this is the safest place to meet. Kesh is crawling with guards, legionaries, nobles armed to the teeth ready to kill one another, and that palace has few places to be unobserved. The Kingdom is still infected with those damned agents of Lord James’s grandson.’
The Isles version of Lord John said, ‘I’ve had most of them out, those that I couldn’t turn. His skill in picking agents with strong minds . . . our magic was not as effective as we thought it might be. Good resources were wasted when we had to start cutting throats.’
The one Franciezka thought of as the ‘real’ Lord John said, ‘I had the same experience here, but the Lady Franciezka’s agents were not as numerous. Roldem has grown complacent over the centuries.’
Franciezka bristled, but kept listening.
‘Still, the two elder princes are out to sea somewhere, Grandprey is in the mountains with a large part of the army still loyal to the Crown, and the Princess is missing, almost certainly off the island by now. So, our plans for Roldem must be placed in abeyance for the time being. How fare things in Kesh?’
The Keshian answered. ‘Their intelligence is crushed and Hazara-Khan hides in the northern desert among his kin. The desert people have always been loyal but they are far from the capital. There is nothing to keep us from moving forward with our plans in the City of Kesh.’
‘Good,’ said the real Lord John. ‘Let us inaugurate the second stage of our plan when you return. What of the Isles?’
‘It is most well suited for our next phase. There is no announced heir, but many potential claimants. We have displaced their armies, so the King’s Armies of the West cannot respond to any calls for aid from our valley.’
Franciezka frowned. Our valley? she wondered.
‘Good, then see King Gregory on his way a
s soon as you return.’
Franciezka’s heart pounded. These three men, brothers, whatever they were, planned on murdering the King of the Isles!
The Keshian asked, ‘What of the elves? I can order our forces outside of Ylith to E’bar if needs be.’
‘Those damned elves are impossible,’ said the ‘real’ Lord John.
The Isles John said, ‘Every agent we’ve dispatched, from either Isles or Kesh has failed to report back. We assume them dead at the hands of those Star Elves.’
The real John said, ‘All we can do is what we’ve done before; throw what’s left of the demon legion at them and keep them busy until it’s too late for them to take a hand.’
‘We’d best depart,’ said the Keshian. ‘I hold no belief we shall be able to dispatch the Emperor: too many attempts over the years makes it problematic; but we can certainly keep Kesh so occupied with this war that they will be ineffective in challenging us.’
‘Then to you, brother,’ said the real John, ‘comes the task of beginning our great work.’
‘I lack certain advantages,’ said the Isles John. ‘If I had killed Duke James, there would be too much scrutiny. I’ve isolated his grandson and rendered him impotent, but he’s still out there somewhere and not to be underestimated. I lack the convenience of a son to marry to a princess so my motives are somewhat questioned. Still, they are Kingdom simpletons and think merely of personal gain; they see me positioning myself as the next Duke of Rillanon, and that answers all their questions as to my actions.’
‘Raw ambition is so easy for these humans to understand,’ said the real John. ‘The boy I charmed into thinking I was his father fits the role admirably. And those I control will rally to support his marriage to the Princess, if we can find her. I almost regret the need to kill him when the time comes.’
‘Regret?’ asked the Keshian.
‘I said almost,’ replied Lord John. ‘Now, let us be about our tasks. Our master grows impatient and his wrath is not to be courted. Let us serve and serve quickly.’
A Crown Imperiled Page 21
