The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He felt the spell adjusting, like a lock snicking into place. He looked down at himself. He was dressed identically to the regent. He glanced at Keros. “Well done. Now let’s finish this charade.”

  They returned to the sitting room, taking their former places. Ellyn launched into her story again. Within a few grains the guards woke, none the wiser.

  The next glass was spent dining on roast beef, potatoes with butter, cream and onions, tender greens, crusty bread, and a berry tart. The innkeeper’s daughter was brought in to taste each dish before Nicholas would deign to touch anything. Ellyn complained nonstop, never allowing anyone else a word. It was well done. She did not give Nicholas a single chance to betray himself to the regent’s guards.

  When it was over, he stood and excused himself. “Perhaps you might wish to come with me now. You may send for your things later. We can collect your horses and bring them with us. They will have good care in my home.”

  “I have no doubt of it. You are more generous than I can say. Certainly we shall accompany you.”

  “But my dear,” Keros said with a worried look at the bedchamber door, “we must make preparations.”

  Nicholas nodded. “But of course. I will wait in the taproom. Will a quarter of a glass be sufficient?”

  “Make the regent wait? Oh, no! It is not done! Avery, we mustn’t. And my darling horses need me. We must go at once, do you hear? At once.”

  Nicholas exchanged a frowning glance with Keros. They could not just leave Geoffrey behind. He would be found all too soon.

  “My dearest heart, are you certain?” Keros asked, his trepidation evident in his voice.

  “Of course. I shall just fetch my coat. If you’ll pardon me for a moment,” she said to Nicholas. “I won’t be long at all.”

  She retreated into the bedchamber, shutting the door firmly behind her. Minutes passed and she did not return. Keros shifted uneasily in his seat, tapping his fingers together. At last he stood.

  “I should go check on her. Please excuse me. I will not be long.”

  He disappeared inside the bedchamber as well. What were they doing? There was a small window leading to the outside, but they could not dispose of the regent that way, not without being seen. Perhaps they were using majick. But for what? To kill him? Nicholas hoped not. He wanted to do those honors himself, after he asked a lot of questions, beginning with where he’d sent Margaret.

  He tapped his fingers impatiently, letting his expression turn forbidding as Geoffrey’s was wont to do when he was forced to wait. The four Blackwatch eyed him uneasily. More minutes trickled away. At last the bedchamber door opened and Keros entered.

  “My apologies, regent. Sophia will join us in just a moment. I humbly beg just a few more moments of your patience.”

  Nicholas smiled stiffly and gave a slight bow. “Of course, Mister Dedlok. Your wife has been through a great trauma and I wish only to make her time in Molford easier.”

  “You are too kind. She is certainly far more delicate than she appears. Indeed, I wonder, sir—perhaps we might retrieve the horses and tie them to your carriage before exposing Sophia to the weather?”

  It had begun to storm again during the night and continued to bluster and rain.

  “Certainly.” Nicholas glanced about himself. “Where are your servants?”

  Keros frowned. “The girl is in with Sophia. My man will be along shortly.”

  “Then she will not be alone. Very well. Shall I send for your horses?”

  “I’m afraid it is unwise. They must be handled by those with some experience. They are far too valuable to take chances with. I should be there.”

  “As you wish. Let us go, then.”

  The Blackwatch preceded them out into the passage and into the taproom, where one of the Blackwatch went to fetch the regent’s carriage. Though the room was half full, the diners were subdued and quiet. Many were soldiers in the regent’s army. When Nicholas entered, they stiffened and came to quiet attention. Nicholas scanned them with a cool eye, and then gave a slight smile and nodded his approval. No one was drunk, no one was boisterous and unruly. There was a visible wave of relief at his nod. Geoffrey kept his men on a tight leash. It was an impressive feat, and spoke to their discipline and readiness to fight. But against whom?

  “May I offer refreshment, lord regent, sir?”

  It was the innkeeper. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on Nicholas’s chest as he knotted his hands together. He’d put on a clean apron and shirt and his bald head gleamed.

  “No. We are on our way, Bleeg. We shall return shortly to retrieve Mistress Dedlok.”

  “Perhaps a dram of mulled wine to warm you?” Bleeg didn’t wait for an answer, but trotted off, returning in a moment with two pewter chalices of hot spiced wine. “Compliments of the house, sir.”

  Nicholas stared disdainfully at the proffered wine, then at Bleeg. The fat innkeeper flushed. “I think not,” he said at last, waving the man away. It was exactly what Geoffrey would have done.

  “Sir, the carriage.”

  Nicholas nodded to the Blackwatch who stood waiting at the door. “Let us go, Mister Dedlok.”

  He didn’t wait for Keros, but walked out. A footman was waiting outside with an umbrella. The carriage was pulled by a pair of bay horses, both covered with blankets. Soon both Keros and Nicholas were inside, on their way to the nearby stable. It was used primarily for mules—horses being so much more rare and expensive.

  “What about Geoffrey?” Nicholas murmured as the carriage pulled away. “What are you and Ellyn up to?”

  “We thought it better if we brought him with us. Ellyn is arranging it.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll see.”

  After that they said nothing until they arrived at the stable. Nicholas waited while Keros fetched the horses and tied them to the rear of the carriage. The animals were skittish, prancing and rearing. Suddenly they settled as if spelled, which Nicholas had no doubt they were. Whatever had happened to Keros to turn his eyes white and make him see lights, it had also stabilized his majick. He no longer struggled against its effects.

  He returned to the carriage, his clothes and hair dripping. He took a lap blanket and wiped away the worst of the damp. The carriage began rolling again and soon they returned to the inn. Keros disappeared inside, returning just a few minutes later. He had his arm around Ellyn, who was bundled against the weather. Behind trailed two servants—a man and a woman. Keros pushed Ellyn inside and motioned for the other two to ride up on top with the driver. He clambered back inside and shut the door and they set off again.

  “Who are those two?” Nicholas asked, jabbing his fingers in the air, pointing at the roof.

  “Ellyn and Cora,” Keros said. “And this worm here is your friend the regent.” He pulled away the regent’s hood. He was wearing the same illusion Ellyn had been. His eyes glittered with fury, but he was preternaturally still. Bound by majick.

  “Not my friend,” Nicholas said. “He never was. A tool only, and that was a mistake.”

  Keros’s brows rose. “A mistake? More like a catastrophe.”

  Nicholas thought of Carston. “I cannot disagree.”

  “The question is, can you fix it? Put Crosspointe back together?”

  There was no good answer for that, so Nicholas switched subjects. “And Cora?”

  “Four of us arrived, four of us have to leave. Cora was not unwilling to lose her collar.”

  “Those spells aren’t easily broken.”

  Keros sobered. “It was easier than it should have been, like tearing apart a rotten rope.” He hesitated as if considering saying more. Then he glanced at the regent and his lips clamped shut as he sat back against the seat, his jaw hardening.

  What had he intended to say? Nicholas felt his stomach tighten and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with foreboding. He’d imagined he knew all that was happening in Crosspointe, but now he knew better. What worried him was just how much he didn’t kno
w and how much it would cost him. He caught himself. No, he wasn’t just worried about himself. He was worried about his family and all of Crosspointe.

  He thought of Margaret and twisted his head away from his companions to hide his expression. What was being done to her? He frowned. Something did not sit right. If Geoffrey had caught her, he wouldn’t have sent her away. He would have spent time questioning her and gloating. But if Geoffrey didn’t have her—who did?

  His hand slowly clenched as fear curled tightly inside his gut. Geoffrey would leave her alive, wanting to watch her suffer as he took control of Crosspointe. Nicholas had counted on it; he’d counted on Margaret being safe until he was able to rescue her. But now—

  Somebody else had her. There was no telling who or what they wanted.

  He looked back at Keros. “That parcel that went northeast—he didn’t send it.” Nicholas gestured at the regent.

  The majicar’s mouth twitched and he nodded. “I think you’re right. We’d better hurry.” He paused. “Your disguise should hold up well enough, but you should be warned. If you remove any of your clothing, it will lose its covering illusion and give you away.”

  Nicholas looked down at himself. He would be expected to change out of his wet things and into evening attire. Both Alanna and Geoffrey were sticklers for the niceties and always kept a formal table, which meant dressing for dinner.

  “How long will it take you to find Carston?” How much time did he have to keep Alanna in the dark? If only he had something to drug her with. He didn’t doubt that Geoffrey had just what he needed, but locating it would be like finding a needle in a strawstack.

  “I’ll take Mistress Dedlok to our quarters,” Keros said, nodding toward the disguised regent. “Cora will watch over him while Ellyn and I find Carston. With luck, it should not take long—perhaps two or three glasses.”

  It was a long time. Nicholas nodded. He’d find a way to keep Alanna distracted, whatever it took. He might even be able to delicately pump her for information about what she and Geoffrey were up to. If it came down to it, he’d kill her and enjoy doing it.

  “When we have succeeded in finding your son, we will start a fire in the manor. Hopefully as everyone evacuates and fights the fire, it will allow us to retrieve Cora and the regent and get to the stables unnoticed.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I’ll meet you there.” He held out a hand. “Good luck. And thank you.”

  Keros looked at his hand, then gripped it firmly. “Be careful.”

  Nicholas’s mouth quirked in a grim smile. “Did you ever imagine in your wildest dreams that you’d be cautioning me to be careful?”

  The majicar’s smile was equally grim. “Don’t get used to it. I still might have to kill you.”

  Chapter 15

  They entered the gates of the manor and pulled up beneath the portico at the front. Fluted columns held up the broad roof and a flowering vine grew up over it in a pink mass. The rain pelted in fat, stinging drops and the wind gusted.

  A footman opened the carriage door and Nicholas regally stepped down. Keros followed, half carrying the regent.

  “Sophia, my dear, you must hold on! Do not leave me, my sweetest love! We’ll have you by the fire in a moment,” Keros said in a panicking voice.

  They hurried inside.

  “Be sure the animals are well cared for,” Nicholas said to the stable hand who’d come out to seize the bridles of the horses, then followed Keros inside. The butler was waiting. Porskip was a tall, spare woman with broad shoulders, a blade nose and weak chin. She was dressed in dark green with orange piping, her skirts severely cut, her lace collar high around her neck.

  “These are the Dedloks of Shevring,” Nicholas told her. “Take them immediately to our finest guest quarters. Send tea and brandy and anything else they require.”

  Porskip responded quickly and soon Keros and his “wife” were on their way to their quarters, leaving Nicholas alone in the foyer. He stood a moment, then wandered away toward what he supposed would be the sitting room. He’d not gone more than five steps when Alanna Truehelm’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Geoffrey, you’re home. Come upstairs and change out of those wet clothes. You can tell me about the Dedloks.”

  She swept out of a salon on his right. She was dressed in a burgundy dosken dress layered over with Tirsol lace. It sparkled with glittering sylveth beads. It was worth fifteen dralions if it was worth a single copper crescent. She wore several rings on every finger and her neck and wrists were heavy with jewelry. She was a fine figure of woman—tall and slender with hair the color of tarnished sunshine, which was piled high in an elaborate coif. He schooled his expression into one of fond welcome. Whatever could be said about Geoffrey and Alanna, they were a love match and well paired. If Geoffrey was a cold-blooded snake, Alanna was a rabid dog who’d eat her own children to get what she wanted. Which might not be too off the mark. Her youngest son was dead. He’d been murdered by Edgar Thorpe in his plot against the king. Nicholas had never been certain that Geoffrey and Alanna had not been part of that plot.

  Their eldest son had disappeared years before. It wasn’t generally known what had happened to him. Nicholas knew. The nine-seasons-old boy had run away and spent time on the docks before finding a post aboard ship as a bosun. Then by some crook of fate, he’d become a Pilot. He’d disappeared half a season ago, presumably lost at sea. Nicholas had been unable to discover for certain. Why the boy had run away from his family was the question he’d never been able to answer, though he would have paid dearly to know.

  “Of course, my dear,” he said. “If you’ll allow, a glass of something to warm me first?” He gestured vaguely in the opposite direction where certainly there was a study or sitting room.

  “Nonsense. You come up right now. Porskip will bring up a bowl of Bully Dawson. That will do nicely. I had Cook prepare it this morning. Come now, before you ruin the floor. You’re a sight.”

  He gave an ironic bow and gestured toward the staircase. “After you.”

  She sniffed and gave him a frowning look down her patrician nose, then mounted the steps regally. Nicholas let go a silent sigh and followed. At least he wouldn’t be roaming the halls blindly looking for his chambers. But Alanna was as suspicious as a rich man in a crowd of pickpockets, and even the countenance of her husband wasn’t going to quell her distrustful nature.

  Their apartments were on the third floor of the west wing. Inside was large and extravagantly decorated. Every surface was crowded with ornaments and there was so much furniture it was impossible to walk without knocking into something. The heavy curtains were flounced and gathered in billowing folds and the floors were swathed in dozens of rugs, each with a different pattern and color. There wasn’t a singled square inch of the walls that wasn’t covered with a painting or tapestry. It resembled nothing more than a high-end pawn-shop. Nicholas chewed the inside of his lip and carefully schooled his expression to keep his repugnance from showing.

  Alanna preceded him, tugging the bellpull as she entered. She maneuvered her skirts through the jumbled maze of teetering bric-a-brac without toppling even one tiny vase, glass figurine, or carved box, and went into his dressing room. He followed more slowly. As with the exterior room, this one was equally garish and ostentatious. Except the rugs swathing this floor were the colorfully dyed white bearskins from Avreyshar. Nicholas paused before entering. Where had they come from? Avreyshar did not trade these. The tribes would go to war to prevent it. These had to have been smuggled out and just one cost as much as ten horses. Where had Geoffrey obtained them? And how?

  “Geoffrey! Your shoes,” Alanna chided sharply.

  He looked down at his muddy footwear. He was wearing boots up to his knee, but his illusion said he wore a heeled shoe. If he removed them, Alanna would instantly know something was wrong. Instead he rubbed his forehead with exaggerated exhaustion. “I apologize, my dear. I do not know where my head is.” He stepped back and returned to the sitti
ng room, flinging himself down and putting his feet up on the broad footstool.

  “Geoffrey!” she admonished.

  He waved a desultory hand. “We’ll purchase new furniture, my dear. Unlike those skins in there, this is utterly replaceable. We can certainly afford it and I am damned tired.”

  She came forward, taking his hand in hers and bending to brush her lips against his. It was all he could do not to recoil. Instead he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

  “Tell me about these Dedloks,” she said, settling primly down on the chair opposite him. “Who are they?”

  “They claim they are from Shevring and that they were on their way to Tixora for the wedding of Mistress Dedlok’s brother.”

  “Going overland?” she said with raised brows.

  Nicholas nodded, then glanced at the door. “Where in the depths are the servants?”

  She rose and went to yank the bell again. “If we are to stay here as planned, then we will have to encourage a higher standard of work,” she said. Only a moment later, someone knocked tentatively on the door. She returned to her seat. “Come in,” she called and a footman entered. He bowed low.

  “How may I help you, madam?”

  “Bring some Bully Dawson at once,” she ordered. “Make sure it’s hot. Get going.” She clapped her hands together sharply and the footman leaped as if stung and he fled.

  Once he was gone, she turned back to Nicholas. “Overland?” she prompted.

  “It seems she wished to demonstrate her wealth by arriving in some state,” he said. “They were caught in a mudslide and ended up here. They have been waiting for assistance from Shevring.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve invited them to stay here at Molford until their people arrive. We can get the answers soon enough.”

  That earned him a considering look. “You were very certain their arrival was too coincidental. What changed?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “They are foolish people. Hardly a threat.”