A voice came from the doorway to the office. “Very clear, Blayk. Very very clear.”
To his horror, Blayk looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway.
Behind her was his secretary, looking stricken. “I’m—I’m sorry, my lord, but she came with the three guards and she insisted on standing and listening by the doorway and I didn’t know what—what to do, she is the lady of the demesne.”
Blayk recovered. “And I am the lord of the demesne by right of bi—”
“No, actually,” Mother said as she entered the room, hands on hips. “You’re lord of the demesne by right of death, specifically Albin’s. As you have admitted to being the cause of that death, it makes your birthright suspect.”
“Nonsense.” Blayk drew himself up straight. He was not about to let Mother ruin everything. “The law of the demesne states that the eldest son shall take over as lord upon the lord’s death. There is no proviso for the cause of the lord’s death.”
“A technicality,” Tresyllione said angrily.
“But a correct one,” his mother said, and Blayk smiled triumphantly. “It is true that his place as lord is not changed by the method through which he arrived at it.”
Tresyllione was insistent. “Conspiracy to commit murder is still a crime.”
“Not if I say it is not,” Blayk said defiantly.
“Perhaps,” ban Wyvald said, “but there are other jurisdictions to consider here.” He raised his voice. “Oh, General, would you join us please?”
A tall man with a thick mustache entered the room, then. Blayk closed his eyes and sighed at the sight of his gray armor and green cloak. His secretary had mentioned that there were three guards outside, but he hadn’t paid attention. Just like he hadn’t paid attention to what using a Keefda stone would do. Or how noticeable Teffeth’s lisp might be to someone who hadn’t been hearing it all day every day for fifteen years.
The general in the Royal Guard stepped forward. Blayk recognized him as the leader of the contingent who had escorted Marcus and Marta to his father’s funeral. “Lord Blayk, in the name of King Marcus and Queen Marta, you are hereby bound into the custody of the Royal Guard for the crime of attempted regicide. You will be brought to Velessa to stand trial after which time you and your conspirators will be boiled in oil.”
Blayk just stared at the general for several seconds. He shook his head. “This—this cannot be right. No, I forbid this.”
“My lord, please do not make this difficult,” the general said tightly. “In deference to your station we will not have you imprisoned or shackled, but—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, General,” Mother said. “The moment you placed him under arrest he lost all claim to his title. His brother Doval is now lord of the demesne, and he’s nothing more than a common criminal. Please feel free to bind him and place him in the dungeon until transportation can be arranged back to Velessa.”
Blayk frowned and stared at the general. “Wait—how did you get here from Velessa so quickly?”
With a smile, ban Wyvald said, “Boneen was kind enough to use two Teleport Spells, one to go to Velessa, and one to return with the general. Sadly, asking him to send you, the general, and both Gobink and Fankell, not to mention any others we might find, is a bit much. So you’ll be travelling by carriage to Velessa to stand trial.”
Shaking his head as the general moved to grab Blayk’s arm, he said, “I knew I was right to send that damned mage away.”
Tresyllione said to the general, “Have one of the guards show you the way to the hole.”
“Of course. This way, my lord.”
His dear mother said to the general, “He isn’t properly referred to as ‘my lord’ anymore! If you must call him something, go back to ‘Sir Blayk,’ as he’s rightfully that by birth regardless. But he is no longer anyone’s lord.”
For his part, Blayk wouldn’t move, even as the general tugged on his biceps. “How could this have happened? I thought of everything.”
Tresyllione favored him with a particularly hideous smile. “Well, not everything, obviously.”
“Your mistake, my lord—” ban Wyvald cast a glance at Lady Meerka. “—excuse me, Sir Blayk, was to underestimate the Castle Guard. The Guard, sir, is bigger than Danthres and me, bigger than Captain Grovis, bigger than Lady Meerka—bigger even than you.”
Witheringly, Blayk said, “How witlessly profound.”
“I’ll tell Osric you said so.”
Now the general tugged on Blayk’s arm. “This way please, Sir Blayk.”
As the general brought him down the hall toward one of the guards assigned to the castle, who would no doubt direct him to the dungeon—and what an awful neologism “the hole” was, he’d been hoping to get that changed—the one small comfort he found himself able to dredge up was that Teffeth calling him “sir” would no longer be a problem.
EPILOGUE
Danthres arrived back in the squadroom in a flash of light alongside Torin, and immediately threw up.
Dru was sitting at his desk and smiling. “Welcome back. Was just thinkin’ the squadroom smelled too good.”
Danthres had a response in mind, but she was too busy retching to make it, though she did manage an obscene gesture.
Aleta walked in from the kitchen with one of Jonas’s wife’s pastries. “Oh, not again. Isn’t there something you can do about that? It’s been a week of this.”
Breathing heavily, Danthres scowled at the elven woman. “I’m sorry your precious senses are offended by my suffering.”
“I’m not offended,” Aleta said tightly. “I was concerned for your well-being.”
Danthres didn’t believe that for a second, but she wasn’t in a position to argue as she heaved again.
Torin came to her rescue. “We’ve honestly tried everything. Various tea blends, healing potions, even the simple expedient of Danthres not eating when she knew she’d be teleported any of the half a dozen times we’ve gone back and forth from Velessa the past week. Nothing has worked. A Teleport Spell is cast, she’s somewhere else, she vomits.”
Danthres had recovered enough to stand upright again. “Every. Single. Time.” It had been a week of going back and forth to testify in the trial. After Blayk was arrested, the detectives still had to round up the other two assassins, then the Royal Guard general had to escort all six prisoners back to Velessa. That took two weeks, and then the trial began, supervised by King Marcus and Queen Marta themselves.
Jonas entered from the captain’s office, where he’d been alone, since Grovis was nowhere to be found. He was holding an envelope in his hand. “Ah, Danthres, you received a letter from Saptor Isle.”
Torin stared at her. “Javian?”
Shrugging, Danthres reached out for the proffered envelope. “I suppose. I don’t know anyone else who’s living on Saptor right now that I’m aware of.” She tore open the envelope to find a piece of parchment written in a very distinctive hand. “Yes, it’s Tharri. I’d know that simply awful handwriting anywhere.”
Walking to her, Torin peered over her shoulder to see the letter. “I see what you mean.”
“Lil always used to joke that Tharri had to become head of the council because if they made him secretary, no one would ever know what the council accomplished.”
Torin laughed, and so did Jonas and Dru. Aleta did as well, but that annoyed Danthres.
Before she could pursue the notion, Grovis walked in with the new lord of the demesne. Doval looked a lot like his brother, albeit with thicker hair and no mustache. But he was also tall, long-necked, wiry, and with an even bigger pot-belly than his older brother.
“Ah, Danthres, Torin,” Lord Doval said. He liked to be friendly with the detectives, which Danthres found annoying at first, but given the snide tone Blayk always used when he said, “Lieutenant,” Danthres was fine with the familiarity over the alternative. “How goes my brother’s trial?”
“Over at last,” Torin said. “Sir Blayk, Teffeth, Gob
ink, Fankell, and the other two assassins were all condemned to be boiled in oil. However, in light of the deal Gobink made, and also due to the pleading by Fankell, the king and queen decided to forego extending that sentence to anyone’s family.”
Danthres chuckled. “Well, if they followed the letter of that law, they’d have to kill Lady Meerka, Lord Doval, and the rest of Cliff’s End’s ruling family, which would no doubt start the very war that Blayk was trying to instigate.”
“Splendid!” Doval then frowned. “Well, you know, not splendid, exactly. The man is my brother, after all, though I must confess to never really liking him all that much. In any case, I’m glad to hear that the whole sordid business is behind us and that the pair of you can get back to doing what you do best, which is defend law and order in this city-state. And it’s past time the Castle Guard got back to that. My father’s dream was to make the Guard the finest agency for law-enforcement in all Flingaria, and I intend to continue that dream. None of this silly rubbish about becoming ruler of the human lands, no. Cliff’s End is enough, I think. Better to let the king and queen handle all the big stuff, eh?” Doval then clapped his hands in the exact same manner that his brother had, which made Danthres a bit apprehensive. “In any event, I must be off. Captain Grovis has some news, which he’ll share with you. Cheerio!”
With that, Lord Doval disappeared into the door back to the other wing of the castle.
Manfred and Kellan walked in a moment later. Jerking a thumb behind him, Manfred said, “Lord Doval seemed to be in a hurry.”
Grovis gave a half-smile. “He does always seem to be rushing somewhere. Though I suppose he has a great deal of work to do—not only taking over the demesne, but also undoing everything his brother did.”
“Well, he’s doin’ good on that front,” Kellan said. “All the guards that failed weapons testin’re back onna streets.”
“Yeah, but Molano’s pissed that she lost all those contracts for new swords. She’s been wanting to upgrade our weaponry for years now.” Manfred then patted his scabbard. “I finally got my new sword, though.”
“And,” Torin said happily, “Boneen is completely moved back into his basement lair.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re all here,” Grovis said, “because there are a great many announcements to be made. The first is that today is my last day as a member of the Cliff’s End Castle Guard.”
Danthres’s eyes went wide. The first day Grovis set foot in the squadroom in armor, she thought it was a joke. Of course, the first day Torin did likewise, she’d thought that was a joke, as well, but Torin quickly proved himself worthy. Grovis never really managed that trick. That first day, he seemed like a banker’s son miscast in the role of detective, and he’d spent the years since living down to that image.
Grovis continued: “My father has asked me to take over management of the day-to-day operations of our three branches.” He smiled. “It seems that my going against the direct wishes of the lord of the demesne and providing the evidence that led to the incarceration of a conspiracy to kill the monarchs has satisfied him that the Guard has made a man of me.”
While Danthres would be the first to question that assumption, she wasn’t about to look a gift unicorn in the mouth. She found herself bursting out with the word, “Congratulations!”
Grovis sounded as surprised at the sentiment as Danthres was at the uttering of it. “Thank you, Danthres, that’s very kind. I must say that I view this change in my life with a surprising amount of ambivalence. I’ve come to truly enjoy my time in the Castle Guard, and I’m not entirely sure I wish to leave.” He blew out a breath. “However, I believe we can all agree that I was a terrible captain, and the Guard is far better off without my sterling leadership.”
Everyone chuckled at that, and Danthres had to admit to being impressed. “Well done, Grovis. I wouldn’t have credited you with that level of self-awareness.”
“Neither would I,” Grovis said conspiratorially. “But then, even the meanest intelligence could see what a poor captain I was.”
Again, Danthres surprised herself with her own words. “Grovis, the most important lesson I learned from Osric—because it’s something he had to do for me more times than I can count—is that the most important task leaders have is to safeguard and protect the lives of those that they lead. You could very easily have kept what you knew about Teffeth from us.”
“I appreciate that, Danthres, but someone would have heard him talk eventually.”
“The point is,” and Danthres now walked over and put her hands on Grovis’s shoulders, “you were mostly a dreadful captain, it’s true, but in the end you got it right. And I, at least, appreciate that.”
Grovis closed his eyes and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Danthres.”
With that, Danthres moved back to her desk. “So the important question is, who’s the new captain?”
That got Grovis to smile. “Lord Doval actually consulted me on the subject of my replacement, which I must say was a welcome change. We both agreed that the best person for the job—”
Danthres steeled herself. She knew it wasn’t going to be her—the entire nobility would rebel at the notion, and so honestly would she, as she had no patience for the job—and after her Torin was the seniormost detective. And in truth, she knew he’d make a great captain, and the bump in pay would mean he could finally afford to get a better place to live than the awful apartment he was currently in.
“—is Dru.”
Blinking, Danthres looked over at the detective, who was staring wide-eyed at Grovis. “Say what?”
“I told Lord Doval, and he agreed, that it would be unwise to break up the partner team of Torin and Danthres, as their remaining together was in the best interests of the continued well being of the city-state. Dru, you’re the seniormost detective after them, and I also think that you would do a fine job.” He glanced at Danthres. “You already know what makes a good captain.”
“I—” Dru just stared ahead for a minute. “Shit. I mean, yeah, great! Sure as shit could use the money, an’ I think after what happened to Hawk, Zan’ll be happy for me to get my ass off the streets.”
Aleta said, “If you don’t mind my saying so, the feeling I have gotten the past month is that your heart is not truly in being a detective any longer.”
Dru nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He stood up and offered Grovis his hand. “Anyhow, I’ll take the job. No problem.”
Aleta began to applaud, and the rest of the squadroom followed suit, though Danthres was slow to do so. Not because she was unhappy for Dru—on the contrary, he was an excellent choice—but because Aleta was the one who started it.
At the very least him getting it meant she got to keep her partner. And if you’d told my ten-years-younger self that I’d be grateful to be keeping Torin as a partner. . . She shook her head.
As the applause died down, Grovis said, “However, I don’t wish Torin or Danthres to feel as if they’ve been slighted—or that they aren’t appreciated. I suggested also to Lord Doval that we create the position of senior detective, and award those positions to Lieutenants ban Wyvald and Tresyllione.”
Now it was Danthres’s turn to go wide-eyed.
Torin asked, “What does this new position entail, precisely?”
“A ten percent increase in salary.” Grovis smiled. “And nothing else, really, as your responsibilities and duties will remain the same otherwise. But I think you deserved more than the standard every-five-years raise.”
Danthres shook her head. “Figures. I’m finally starting to like you, Grovis, and you’re leaving.”
“All the more reason for me to leave, then. I doubt I’d be able to maintain good will with you for more than a day in any event.”
“Good point.”
“As for the final detective spot, that will go to Horran from Mermaid Precinct. As to who will partner with whom, I will leave that to my successor.” Grovis nodded to Dru.
“Uh, yeah, okay.” He ble
w out a breath. “Guess I need to figure some shit out.”
Grovis clapped his hands once. Danthres was starting to think that was something they trained upper-class twits to do. “In any case, I must—”
Bonce, one of the guards assigned to the castle, came running in. “’Scuse me, Lieutenants, but we got us three dead bodies in the Dancing Seagull.”
Torin put his head in his hands. “They couldn’t wait until dark like usual?”
Suddenly, the room was silent. With amusement, Danthres realized that they were all waiting for Osric to tell someone what to do. She looked at Dru. Dru was looking at Grovis, who was also looking at Dru.
“Shit,” Dru said, “this is my decision now, ain’t it?”
Grovis shook his head. “Formally, no, as my duties as captain don’t truly end until this shift is completed, but I’m not sure how the partnerships are to be divvied—”
“Oh, lord and lady, Torin and I will take it.” Danthres got to her feet. “After a week of teleporting and testifying at the castle in Velessa, I’m more than ready to sink my teeth into a triple.”
“Agreed,” Torin said.
Danthres reached down to her desk and folded the parchment up and put it away in her desk. Javian’s letter could wait until later, when she’d had an ale or two in her and so would be in the proper frame of mind to decipher his handwriting.
As she folded it, though, she caught one thing he wrote: “It was good to see you doing something you love. You seem happy, Thressa. I wouldn’t have believed you could be happy twenty years ago.”
Looking over at Torin, she smiled. I am happy. Imagine that.
Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct) Page 17
