CHAPTER 26
An Unwitting Accomplice
Dooley Kramer traveled to Morrenwood with his deliveries eight days after the village meeting. He left on a cold, sunny morning, dressed in his best vest and trousers, his boots scrubbed clean and his heavy brown coat mended and washed. After accepting a polite suggestion from his employer, he meticulously combed back his dirty blond hair and tied it with a piece of dark woolen yarn happily donated by Ned’s wife.
Dooley led the way to the capital sitting atop a horse-drawn cart filled with food provisions and some tools and supplies for repairing any of the wagons should such an event arise. Following him was a line of twelve other carts, each pulled by a pair of horses and piled high with sacks of wheat and corn flour ground from the surplus grain harvest that had blessed the lands around Kanesbury. Each cart was covered with canvas and tied securely with rope. These would be the last deliveries of the year purchased for the King’s storehouses in Morrenwood, though other shipments had been transported during the growing season to the capital city and other royal storehouses throughout Arrondale. Dooley had correctly estimated that it would be a four-day journey if the weather cooperated, smiling broadly when he finally spotted the Blue Citadel in the distance against the dark green backdrop of the Trent Hills. He inhaled a whiff of fresh pine carried upon a light breeze as the caravan steadily progressed along the last miles of King’s Road.
Less than an hour later, he was passing through the streets of Morrenwood, the largest city he had ever visited. And though some sections of town didn’t look much different from Kanesbury, many offered a comfortable cluster of stone houses and shops, with streets bustling under the tranquil guard of the rolling Trent Hills. He especially delighted with the clip clop of the horses’ hooves upon encountering an occasional cobblestone road, an experience that became routine the closer he approached King Justin’s residence proudly situated upon the banks of the nearby Edelin River.
After guiding his dozen charges through the iron gates in the stone wall surrounding the Citadel, Dooley felt as if he had entered a new world. The plans he and Farnsworth had hatched in Kanesbury now seemed petty and unambitious. And though he realized this new perspective was probably temporary, a part of him wished he didn’t have to return to his hovel of a home. But for now he savored the illusion that life had gotten better through hard work and effort instead of the false path that had really brought him to this place.
As Dooley gazed up at the Blue Citadel while traversing the vast courtyard, he wondered if he truly could have arrived at this position on his own merits rather than having to rely on a stolen key and unscrupulous schemes. He truly wondered it, but only for a brief moment as a swirl of clouds passed across the sun. Deep in his heart, he knew that he couldn’t fool himself about the tortuous path in life he had chosen, so there was no point in trying.
The Blue Citadel served as the visual and political focal point of Morrenwood, its speckled granite blocks seeming as natural a part of the landscape as the legions of towering pine trees and the rushing river descending from the Trent Hills. The royal structure rose five stories high, its bluish-gray speckled stonework taking on various hues depending upon the slant of sunlight caressing its walls when either freshly washed by a fragrant spring rain, blown bitterly dry by autumn’s crisp breath or freshly dusted with a downy winter snow. A grand archway was built into the main front wall, the rich blue sky reflecting off the long windows soaring up to the slate rooftop. Banners of blue, silver and white flapped proudly in the lively winds.
Several smaller wings with fewer stories connected to the main building, some rounded in construction while others were more square or tower-like. A parapet ran along sections of the Blue Citadel off the main roof, and several turrets of varying sizes punctuated the grand structure, many sometimes draped with cloth banners or natural garlands depending on a particular season or celebration. Thriving trees, fruit orchards and grazing fields hugged the Blue Citadel on either side and behind it along the Edelin River, while the front boasted of colorful gardens, grass spaces and walkways, all of which were carefully tended and always admired by the nearby population and visitors alike.
Dooley was dumbstruck as he approached the vast structure toward its left side, heading down a slightly sloping paved road that led to the Citadel’s storage cellars and stables. The grounds were dappled with ever changing spots of sunlight as strands of gray-tinged clouds passed overhead, blown about by a mercurial breeze. Nearby pines gently swayed in the currents, the fingerlike tips of their branches gently touching the air as sporadic waves of dried maple and elm leaves swirled across the ground.
Shortly, the road opened up to a wide area near the cellar entrances on his right. Several immense wooden stables constructed of pine logs dotted the fields down to the left closer to the river. Dooley brought his column of wagons to a halt, signaling for the other drivers to line up at some watering troughs to allow their horses a well-deserved drink. A worker at the storehouses, wearing a blue and white insignia embroidered on his coat, hurriedly approached Dooley and welcomed him to Morrenwood.
“Hope you had a pleasant journey,” the man said, shaking Dooley’s hand after he hopped off the wagon. “My name is Hennings.”
“I made good time, Mr. Hennings,” he said with a smile, handing him his credentials and paperwork for the order that Ned Adams had provided. “What an impressive place this is.”
“I enjoy working here,” the man said, glancing at the thin sheets of parchment scribbled with Ned’s meticulous handwriting. “You’re not the one who usually delivers here from Kanesbury,” he added, looking up and studying Dooley’s face. “What happened to that Nicholas fellow?”
“He, uh, recently changed occupations,” he replied. “And he was such a good worker, too.”
“Well, all the better for you, I suppose.” Hennings walked Dooley around the area, showing him where to direct each wagon for unloading when it was his turn. Several other workers busily unloaded food supplies purchased from various parts of the kingdom for use in Morrenwood as well as for storage in times of emergency. “There are lodgings just beyond the stables where your men can supper and spend the night if you wish. They’re not the finest quarters in the capital, but our distant suppliers usually appreciate a free night or two of room and board, compliments of the King.”
“Thank you,” Dooley said. “After four days on the road, we look forward to a meal at any table and a roof over our heads. It’ll seem like dining with the King himself.”
“If any table is all that it takes, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind dining with a mere village councilman instead!” a voice called out from behind. Dooley and Hennings turned around as Len Harold approached at a brisk pace. The tall, lanky man with an easy smile extended a hand to Dooley, welcoming a fellow citizen of Kanesbury to the Blue Citadel.
“What a pleasant surprise to see you, Mr. Harold,” Dooley replied, presenting himself with charm and confidence just as Ned Adams had instructed him to do while on the job. “I’d forgotten that you and your son had traveled here.”
“Yes, though I didn’t expect my stay to be so long. There’s a special council in two more days and King Justin invited me to attend. But please, Dooley, call me Len. Everybody else in Kanesbury does, so why not you?” he said with a smile.
“Then I’ll do just that–Len,” he awkwardly replied, accepting Len Harold’s invitation to lunch after they had chatted for a bit.
“Maynard Kurtz, or I should now say Mayor Kurtz, asked me to look in on you should our paths cross,” he informed him. “As a favor to your employer who was kind enough to accept a position on the village council. I hear Ned Adams is quite proud of how you’re handling this new job, Dooley. Good for you.”
“Trying my best,” Dooley said with feigned modesty before instructing his men where and when to unload the flour sacks. After showing them where they could eat, rest and stable the horses, Dooley excused himself to join Len for a leisur
ely lunch in one of the dining halls in the Citadel overlooking the fruit orchards.
The stone room contained several rows of pine tables and benches. A series of long narrow windows on one wall allowed a flood of natural light inside. A large fireplace blazed against the opposite wall as the voices of many visiting minor dignitaries floated up to the thick wooden rafters. Dooley and Len each enjoyed a bowl of steaming pumpkin soup to start their meal. Dooley savored each mouthful after his grueling trip, knowing his men were probably not having a similarly elegant lunch, though not feeling terribly guilty about it at the moment.
“My son would have joined us,” Len said, “but Owen is having a swell time roaming about the unrestricted areas of the Citadel and exploring the woods by the river with a few of the other bored boys he’d met.”
“Then you’re stuck with my company,” Dooley joked, glancing around at the other diners. “Are all of these people invited to that council you mentioned? It will be a long and dreary affair if each of them is allowed to speak.”
Len shook his head and chuckled. “No, Dooley. Many of the people here either work in the Citadel or are some of the lesser aides to the ones who will actually speak at the council. Those people are dining elsewhere among themselves or perhaps with King Justin. There will be much talk and preparation before the formal discussions and bickering begin. There’s going to be talk of a possible war,” he said, lowering his voice. “King Justin thought it might be wise if I informed the other dignitaries about the recent Enâri activity back home. I guess I timed my trip to Morrenwood just right.”
“I guess so, though I’d be nervous having to speak in front of all those people.”
“I am a little,” Len admitted, “but I’ve already met a few of them and they seem friendly enough. As the sole representative of Kanesbury, I was even provided a room in one of the corridors where some of the visitors are staying.”
Dooley looked up, impressed with the news. “That’s quite an honor, Len.”
“Well, if Otto Nibbs wasn’t second cousin to the King, I don’t know if anyone from our village would have received such regal treatment after showing up uninvited. I would’ve been housed in the lower rooms like most of the others, if that,” he said with a smirk. “I also have a badge so I can move around many of the corridors with ease,” he said, revealing a circular, light brown leather badge embossed with the official seal of the Blue Citadel. “I suppose I ought to attend a few more preliminary meetings for show.”
“That might be a good idea,” Dooley agreed.
“Perhaps if you have time, I could show you around the place, Dooley. The hours do drag on and there are still two days until the council. I have to keep occupied somehow,” he said, a hint of a plea in his voice. “There are wonderful views from the upper towers, a grand library to browse through, and I could even show you where the war council is to be held. You’d do me a favor by keeping me company for a while.”
“If that’s the case, then I look forward to a tour,” he said with an appreciative nod, concealing the bulk of his enthusiasm.
“Excellent!” Len replied.
Though Dooley was expected to act as Caldurian’s spy as Farnsworth had instructed, up until now he had no clue how that would even be possible. Did they just expect him to stroll up to the war council chambers, sit down, put his feet up, listen and take notes? He had no idea where the meeting was even going to be held. But now that Len Harold was eager to play tour guide, Dooley felt for the first time that maybe there was a chance he could do some good and rise a notch or two in the wizard’s respect.
“Since this is the last delivery of the season, we don’t have to rush home,” Dooley said. “Some of the men wanted to spend a day or two wandering about Morrenwood to see how the big city folk live, so I’ll have plenty of free time.”
“Good. There’s a reception for some of the guests a few hours before the council. If your schedule permits, I’d like you to attend,” Len said. “My son will find an excuse to avoid such a stuffy affair, no doubt.”
“Children his age always have better things to do. They don’t want to get mixed up in our messes.”
“Maybe even I should have minded my own business and stayed in Kanesbury. As Maynard said at the meeting, we have to rely on each other. We can face any challenge and take care of ourselves.” Len returned the badge to his pocket before taking a few more spoonfuls of the hot pumpkin soup. “Up to now, most of what’s been discussed at the informal sessions deals with trouble in foreign lands. Those are matters too difficult for this simple butcher to fix which is why I was eager to find you and escape for a few hours. I’m only here to request protection for Kanesbury in case the Enâri return to their wicked ways,” he explained. “Though I suppose the attendees will be interested to hear that Caldurian, or even Vellan himself, may be on the prowl in our corner of the kingdom again.”
“I suppose they would,” Dooley said, “though I hope it isn’t true. We certainly don’t need either of those two troublemakers causing a ruckus in our village.” He engineered a look of revulsion. “Just how horrible would that be, Len? Why, I can’t bear to think about it.”
“Me either,” he replied, lifting a cup of goat’s milk. “Here’s to Kanesbury. May she always be safe, secure and prosperous.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Dooley replied, likewise raising his cup and drinking, eagerly looking forward to Len’s tour of the Blue Citadel. He couldn’t have asked for a more eager guide and unwitting accomplice to assist him in his mission.
CHAPTER 27
The War Council
Dooley’s heart pounded as he turned the corner on the stone staircase and casually ascended the remaining steps, anxiously facing a long corridor before him. He had said goodbye to Len Harold moments ago at the opening reception in the lower chamber, insisting that he wanted to leave Morrenwood before noon. Len understood and wished him a safe journey back to Kanesbury, watching Dooley wade through a crowd of chattering dignitaries and aides and then slip out the doorway. What Len hadn’t seen immediately afterward was Dooley casually making for the staircase leading up to the council chambers instead of exiting the Citadel as he had claimed. The war council would convene in less than two hours.
As Dooley walked down the corridor, two men approached and quickly passed by in whispered conversation. They hardly noticed him as they descended the stairs, fully engaged in talks about several tiny nations tucked away in the Northern Mountains. Dooley politely nodded as they swept by, relieved they had essentially ignored him. He kept his nerves in check as he continued down the corridor lit with flickering oil lamps affixed to the walls by several windows cut high into the stonework on his right.
Behind the long wall to his left was the chamber where King Justin would hold the war council. Len Harold had brought him here two days ago as part of his tour of the Blue Citadel. He acted considerably impressed as Len walked him through the chamber accessible through either of two large oak doors at each end of the corridor. Though this was an unrestricted section of the Citadel, Dooley was told that members of the King’s Guard would be stationed outside the doors and in the vicinity while the council was in session.
On the wall to his right, directly below the line of high windows, hung four enormous tapestries suspended by silken cords. Each wall hanging combined to create one vast depiction of the Blue Citadel and the surrounding hills and woodland, the frothy ribbon of the Edelin River cutting a graceful swath through it all. What caught Dooley’s attention most was that each tapestry illustrated one season. The brilliant greens and yellows of a fresh spring accented the far end of the hallway, while a languid summer day and vibrant autumn foliage designated the two middle sections. The frosty blue, white and gray hues of a blustery winter stared down upon Dooley to his immediate right, inducing a momentary shiver upon glancing at that chilly quarter of the landscape.
He hurried past the huge display toward the door at the far end of the corridor. He
cautiously looked about, weaving back and forth in slow, stealthy arcs to make sure nobody else was around. Hearing neither voices nor footsteps and seeing no approaching shadows, he opened the door with a trembling hand and stepped inside the chamber, now awash with light from a crackling blaze in a huge fireplace against the long back wall across the room. Several elegantly carved oak support posts were scattered about. He knew there wouldn’t be much time before this chamber and the adjacent corridor were flooded with people, so he either had to act now and act fast or promptly leave and tell Farnsworth that this ridiculous idea never had a chance. Dooley swallowed hard, determined to prove himself a success once and for all.
He scurried to the far end of the chamber past a long table adorned with candles, drinking glasses and bowls of fresh fruit. A secondary fireplace warmly burned at this end, its hearth and stone edges blackened with soot. Dooley looked up at the web of broad wooden rafters above, hidden among thick shadows and partially obscured by a slew of small tapestries and autumn garland suspended from the high ceiling. He had discreetly examined this hiding spot when Len escorted him through the chamber two days ago, knowing it was the only realistic place he could conceal himself from wandering eyes.
After one last glance, Dooley hoisted himself on top of the fireplace, using some protruding stones as footholds. When he stood on top of the mantel, he glanced down at the long table, soon to be occupied by some of the most influential people in the kingdom and throughout Laparia. He suddenly felt lightheaded, though he couldn’t tell whether it was due to the height at which he stood or because of the extraordinary gathering that was about to take place. He cleared his mind and concentrated on a large beam a few feet off one side of the fireplace that extended from the wall to a support post. He inched his way across to the edge of the mantel and made a short leap to reach the wooden beam. He locked his arms around it and hauled himself up to the top, crouching on his knees to keep from hitting his head on another beam slanting down just above him.
Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Page 40
