Shortly thereafter, he confronted Corporal Dagget, whom he immediately recognized as the sturdy youth who had appeared so cool-headed during his arrest. The corporal was not nearly so collected now. Seeing how uneasy he was, as he clicked his heels and stood at stiff attention, Wilrowan might have shown some pity—but on a day so full of disturbing revelations, Will was ready to take his revenge where and how he could.
Without any preamble, he began to fire questions. “Perhaps you will explain to me why your friends left Hawkesbridge so very suddenly?”
“Sir,” said the youth, swallowing hard. “Captain Blackheart, there was nothing wonderful about that. They were all of them reluctant recruits, already singled out as potential trouble-makers, not any of them looking forward to long careers in the City Guard. And finding themselves in possession of ready money—”
“Ready money? So you were bribed?”
The corporal nodded miserably. “Sir, I was about to say. A—a gentleman asked us to watch the duel and interfere at need, and afterwards I learned that a considerable sum of money had changed hands. That made me wonder if his request was really so innocent as it seemed at first, but of course, by then, it was already too late.”
Will was quick to pick up on his slight hesitation. “You paused before you said the word gentleman. Why was that?”
“He had the air of a gentleman, sir, and his appearance was respectable. But I began to think afterwards there was something queer about him, some—some subtle deformity, and that far from being a gentleman, he wasn’t a Man at all. But there was a lady with him, a little, plump woman with very white hands and a soft voice, and she was entirely genteel.”
Will paced a circle around the room, absorbing this information. The woman, whoever she was, did not interest him much, but the possible involvement of a Goblin did. He remembered the Wryneck that Blaise had seen at the duel. Of course, the whole idea of using such a creature in a scheme like this one was utterly fantastic—he had never met a Goblin yet who was not bound and determined to stay on the right side of the law. But supposing that you caught one in some slight misdemeanor, threatened him with prosecution which they all seemed to fear—say that you even waved a flame under his nose to frighten him further? It was likely under those circumstances the Goblin would do anything you asked. And even if he lost his nerve and tried to betray you later, who would take the word of a Goblin over that of a Man?
“And did this—person—or the lady with him, indicate why they were arranging matters in that particular curious fashion?”
Corporal Dagget hesitated. “Yes, sir,” he answered at last. “The—the person said it was a duel between Sir Rufus Macquay and a man he had privately determined was a danger to the Crown, a man Sir Rufus and the king were unwilling to bring openly to account.”
“And I was that man?” Will ground his teeth at such boundless effrontery. “And when you and your friends arrived at the duel, did I strike you as such a desperate character?”
“Captain Blackheart, you did. If you will pardon my saying so, when I first caught sight of you, you had the look of a man who was capable of anything. Neither I nor my friends had any idea we were doing something wrong.” He gave Will a pleading look. “Though the circumstances were slightly irregular, we sincerely believed we were serving the Crown.”
But that was too much for Wilrowan. “And do you imagine the Crown of Mountfalcon is in the habit of conducting its business in that disgraceful fashion? Duels tainted with magic. Goblins bribing guardsmen. A citizen of Hawkesbridge being hauled off to Whitcomb Gaol on trumped-up charges. What the custom may be in other places I can’t say, but I assure you that neither King Rodaric nor any of his agents would ever stoop so low. And if you truly believe anything of the sort, I’d think you would be ashamed to wear that uniform!”
The young guardsman cringed visibly. All this time, he had been standing at rigid attention, not altering his stance by so much as a finger; now some of that tension relaxed—not as though he were relieved, but as if the courage had all drained out of him. “No doubt you are right: I don’t deserve to wear these colors. Which more than likely I won’t, as soon as you tell Lord Marzden everything I’ve told you.”
Will would have liked nothing more than to tell Marzden. Were he in the Lord Lieutenant’s place, not content with stripping the youth of his rank and scarlet uniform, it was altogether likely he would have sent the boy on his way with some stripes on his back as well. But then a dim memory surfaced, a fleeting glimpse of himself when he was much the same age as young Dagget and in serious trouble of his own. It did nothing to appease Will’s wrath, but it suddenly made him feel weary, jaded, and old.
With a frustrated gesture, Wilrowan took another turn around the room. “You are perhaps aware that I was at one time an officer in the City Guard?”
“Captain Blackheart,” the young man said earnestly, “I think that everyone in Hawkesbridge must be aware of your illustrious career. If my friends and I had believed for one moment that you were who you said you were, we would never—”
“Yes, quite so,” said Will, clearing his throat. “My illustrious career.” It had at least been recklessly heroic, which accounted in part for his later promotion to the Queen’s Guard.
“I did not, however, begin that career in any admirable fashion. I had just been expelled from the university, was reluctant to go home and face my father, when Lord Marzden, who had reason to—to know my name and know something about me, decided to give me a chance at redemption, and offered me a commission. A commission I immediately put in peril, that I ought to have lost ten times over, had Marzden not been patient with me. Eventually, I rewarded his somewhat misplaced faith, if not by entirely mending my ways, at least by those distinguished actions you alluded to just now.”
He frowned sternly at the younger man. “I don’t mean to excuse your behavior, which has been truly reprehensible. And if one of my own men at the palace had done anything half so bad, you may believe he would have suffered for it. But the City Guard is—an organization where young men sometimes learn from their mistakes—where silk purses are not infrequently produced from sows’ ears—and for that reason, I’m not altogether certain I wish to acquaint Lord Marzden with the full extent of your transgressions.”
“You are very good, Captain Blackheart. But I intend to do that myself, just as soon as he is willing to see me.”
“Very well. But I hold my tongue and give you the opportunity to make your confession—which may spare you the worst of Marzden’s displeasure—on one condition only.”
The corporal assumed once more a painfully stiff position. “I am aware, sir, that I owe you a great deal more than my confession. If there is anything I can do to right myself—”
“I am going to give you that opportunity as well, though I doubt you will thank me for it afterward,” said Will, with a militant gleam in his eye. “Because every single hour you are not on duty—every single minute of the day that you can snatch—you are going to be searching this city, street by street, house by house, and if it should prove necessary, inch by inch, for the creature who paid you and your friends that bribe, and the woman who was with him.”
Will left Marzden’s headquarters in no better temper than he had arrived. Nearly two miles lay between him and the Volary, and the activities of the last three days, as he slouched from tavern to tavern gathering information, were beginning to tell on him. He had hardly paused for sleep or for rest during the last thirty-six hours, and during that time had consumed very little food and a great deal more bad liquor than he was accustomed to drink.
Looking up at the sky, he saw that the weather was threatening. There was a yellow glare in the east, and the air felt heavy with the promise of snow. Yet, exhausted as he was, Will knew there was not a coachman or a chair-bearer in the city who would accept a fare from such a dirty and disreputable figure. Accordingly, he set off on foot.
Two blocks later, he turned down a dark, seedy-looki
ng alley which stank like a sewer, but appeared to offer a shortcut home. His mind still very much on the problem of the missing Jewel, he failed to notice how closely he was being followed. When he finally did hear stealthy footsteps almost at his back, he was surprised to realize he had been so careless.
He had barely enough time to draw a pistol out of his pocket, at the same time cocking it, before a rough hand clapped him on the shoulder. As quick as thought, Will half turned, leveled the long silver barrel of the pistol, and pulled the trigger. There was a flash and a loud explosion, and the hard hand on his shoulder suddenly lost its grip. His assailant doubled over, then went down in a kneeling position on the ground, a bloody hole the size of a fist in the middle of his stomach.
Catching sight of a movement at the edge of his vision, Will dodged just in time to avoid the full force of a blow that might otherwise have shattered his skull. The oak truncheon glanced off the side of his head, clipping his shoulder as it passed. The shock was tremendous. Reeling forward, Will saw steaks of light before his eyes. Then he was down in the mud and the slush, wrestling with a man very much larger and heavier than he was.
A pair of strong hands closed around his throat with bruising force; two large thumbs began to press on his windpipe. “You’ll be dead in a minute, you don’t lie still,” said a harsh voice in his ear.
Will did not lie still; he continued to struggle. The world had dwindled to a wavering circle of light around the big man’s heavy face when, inexplicably, the ruffian cried out, went limp, and relaxed his grip.
Lying there dazed and ill, it took Will several moments to recognize that what was pinning him down to that cold patch of ground was no living man but the crushing weight of a very large corpse. When this fact finally penetrated, he rolled the body off, and somehow managed to push himself up on both elbows.
As the mists cleared, Will realized that he was still not alone. A tall figure, standing about ten feet away, came slowly into focus. It was an exceedingly slim and straight figure in the maroon velvet and gold facings of the King’s Guard, and it was engaged in the process of fastidiously cleaning the blood off a silver-hilted rapier with what appeared to be a fine lawn handkerchief.
“Nick Brakeburn,” Will said hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”
“I beg your pardon,” Lili’s cousin replied, with a flash of even white teeth. “I would hate to think I had intruded on a private quarrel.” He put away his sword, wadded up the bloody handkerchief in his fist, and extended the other hand to Wilrowan.
Will summoned up a weak, shaky grin of his own. Accepting the offered hand, he wobbled to his feet. “You don’t intrude at all. By what trick of luck or the gods did you manage to happen along at just the right moment?”
Young Brakeburn lifted a broad shoulder under the wine-colored coat. “I saw you turn down this alley and I saw the two men follow you. As I didn’t care for the look of the place or of them, I decided to watch what happened.
“Although, if you will pardon my saying so,” he added, as he bent at the waist, picked up the fallen pistol, unfolded his long lean body, and handed the firearm back to Will, “you don’t look like someone who has anything worth stealing—or was this a personal matter, after all?”
“I have no idea.” Pocketing the pistol, Will prodded one of the bodies on the ground with the toe of his boot. “Since neither of these fellows appears to be capable of answering any questions, I suppose their motives must remain a mystery.”
With an effort, he stooped and rescued his hat, which had fallen off during the struggle and was lying in a muddy puddle along with some fish heads, a rotting cabbage leaf, some potato peelings, and one or two other things better not identified. He put a hand to his aching head. Was it possible he had picked up some piece of information today that was far more valuable—and therefore far more dangerous—than he knew?
He turned over the smaller of the two bodies and bent to examine the face. The process made him wince with pain. “I’m not acquainted with either of these men. Are you?”
“No, I am not,” said Nick, with evident distaste. “Leave them be, Wilrowan! You’ve gone most damnably pale, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a concussion. Let me hail a chair and send you home—where, if you have any sense at all, you’ll send for a doctor.”
“Very well.” Painfully assuming an upright posture, Will followed Nick out of the alley. He had to agree that there was nothing to be learned by lingering over the bodies, for what could those men have intended except to rob him? He had his ring, his pistol, and his pocket-watch, all worth stealing; these attacks were far from uncommon.
So why did he continue to harbor an uneasy feeling there was something out of the ordinary about this one?
18
Nick hailed a chair and watched, with a solicitude very much in contrast to his usual brisk manner, as Will climbed inside. With a combination of bribes and threats, he convinced the chair-men to carry Wilrowan as far as the palace. A silver coin changed hands, and subsequently found its way into a dirty pocket.
“And for the love of Heaven, go straight to bed,” Nick admonished. “I daresay you have a lump the size of an egg under that ginger thatch of yours.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Will said dryly. “I’ll attend to the matter at my earliest convenience.”
Nick grinned and sketched a salute. Then he stepped back as the chair was lifted and the bearers set off at a brisk pace. Will leaned his head against the padded silk interior and closed his eyes for the entire journey.
By the time the chair-men let him off near the Volary, he was feeling a little revived, at least sufficiently so to make his way through the front gate and then through a maze of courtyards and rooms to the queen’s apartments. He had, however, a villainous headache. Arriving outside Dionee’s bedchamber, he was directed to the Music Room.
Over the last two weeks, while Will was plumbing the depths of Hawkesbridge society, Dionee had dined, danced, gone riding, attended the opera, the theater, and the ballet with the ambassadors from Kjellmark, Lichtenwald, Winterscar, Tholia, Montcieux, Chêneboix, and Rijxland—in short, with every foreign dignitary in Hawkesbridge that winter, except for Thaddeus Vault, the ambassador from Nordfjall. With a seemingly artless ingenuity that would have left a less experienced charmer breathless with admiration, she had conversed with each of these gentlemen on a variety of subjects, finally bringing the conversation around to her recent terrifying experience at the hands of robbers—all with an idea of gauging the ambassadors’ reactions. She had left Lord Vault for last, when in fact he had been her first object, not wishing to appear to single him out. When Will arrived in the Music Room, he found her playing at cards at a round boulle table with that worthy gentleman.
The Music Room was vast and splendid—yet somehow oppressive. The walls were covered with a rich red brocade, the gold threads that made up the pattern growing a little tarnished; a crystal chandelier, too large for the room, hung down from the coffered gold ceiling. As neither the king nor the queen was musically inclined, this was no longer a room devoted to the performance of music. It had become, instead, a museum for queer old instruments: bombardes, armonicas, and zithers; violins carved with grotesques; virginals painted with landscapes; pandurinas, seven-stringed lira, and hurdy-gurdies; even (the pride of the collection) a glass pianoforte. When Dionee caught sight of Will, standing just inside the double doors with his disreputable hat in his hand, she rose from her seat in a flutter of violet silk, begged the ambassador to excuse her, and tripped lightly across the floor.
“Wilrowan,” she said with mock severity. “You really ought to know better than to come here!” Officially, Will was in disgrace, still in command of Her Majesty’s Guard but banished from the royal presence—supposedly because of his scandalous arrest, and for the bad luck of not being on hand to defend the queen when she was robbed, but actually as an excuse for his extended absence from the palace. Dionee lowered her voice. “What have you learne
d? Oh, please tell me you have discovered something, for I have accomplished nothing here.”
There were lavender shadows under her eyes. Will knew that she had been wearing herself out with worry and guilt; for one moment, he considered telling some comforting half-truth. But then he hardened his heart. She was responsible for what had occurred, and who should suffer if not herself?
“Not a breath, not a whisper,” he said with a shake of his head. “I did think your diamonds might be found, and I could wring information from the scoundrel who had fenced them—but they seem to have disappeared as effectively as the Chaos Machine.” He made an impatient gesture. “Believe me, the sums I have offered and the places I have offered them, I ought to have heard something.” Nor had the ravens been able to report even a snatch of incriminating conversation.
He looked over her shoulder and across the room, watching the ambassador, who had risen when the queen did, but had by now quietly resumed his seat at the table, where he was picking up the thin pieces of painted ivory and fanning them out in his hand. “He looks ill at ease, and that’s not like him. He’s the most polished man I know. He watches us, too, though he pretends only to be counting the pips in his hand.”
Indeed, Lord Vault’s scrutiny appeared to be more than ordinary curiosity; there was a strained intensity to his sidelong glances.
Dionee sighed. “He has been playing very badly all afternoon. And when I spoke of being robbed—” She stopped and stared at Will. “My dear, is that blood?”
“But not my own. Pray, don’t regard it. You were about to say—?”
“I was about to say—” Dionee interrupted herself again. “Will, you have gone all white around the mouth. What have you been doing to yourself?”
“It is all part of an ingenious disguise.” He made another impatient gesture. “You were saying that when you spoke to Lord Vault about being robbed—?”
The Queen's Necklace Page 20
