Agent of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

Morgan bowed her toward the keep, where another unkempt soldier stood; he opened the door for them as if it were an imposition on his busy staring-into-the-air schedule. The door opened on a short hallway with a low, curved ceiling of stone that looked and smelled like a tunnel deep inside a mountain, wet and loamy. The passage led to a square room, two stories tall, that looked as if it had simply been hollowed out of the granite blocks the keep was made of; it was perfectly cubical, with a flight of stairs with no handrail rising along one of the walls to an open balcony on the second story.

  The floor was covered with a mildew-stained Veriboldan carpet with a yellow and red pattern, and the whiffs of sourness that sprang up wherever Telaine stepped warred with the stink of old smoke from the sconces high on the wall. They burned steadily, but were inadequate to light a room this size; an iron chandelier full of ancient candles hung from the ceiling, unlit, as if the keep’s deficiencies would be worse if they were clearly visible. Soldiers in untidy green and brown uniforms stood at inattention here and there throughout the room.

  A table like a discus, with its edges rounded off with wear, and several chairs with threadbare padding occupied the center of the room. The Baron stood at this table, talking to a man who wore a captain’s insignia. He was one of the few who looked like he wasn’t playing soldier; his uniform was clean, and his boots were polished and his blond hair cut military-short the way her cousin Jeffy’s had been the last time she saw him. Neither man paid any attention to Morgan and Telaine as they approached.

  “I still say it’s unnecessary, milord,” said the captain. He was in his late forties and had a scar that extended beneath his hair, along his hairline, and terminated above his left ear. “We’ve plenty of them already. We should send these back and have them repaired professionally.”

  The Baron said, “I prefer to think of it as having a precautionary surplus. And I already have a professional.” He looked up at Telaine and gestured in her direction. “Miss Bricker, Captain Edmund Clarke. I’ve been explaining to him that you’re the solution to our problem.”

  Captain Clarke bowed. “No offense to your capabilities, Miss Bricker, but the military does things a certain way, and bringing in a civilian, ah, technician isn’t one of them.”

  “Good morning, milord, captain,” Telaine said. “Could you explain what it is you’re disagreeing about?”

  “Miss Bricker, how much do you know about the situation along the border here?” the Baron asked.

  “Very little, I’m afraid,” she lied. “I know this fort holds Thorsten Pass against a Ruskalder attack. That’s about it.”

  “Very good, Miss Bricker. If such an attack were to come, Thorsten Keep would be the only line of defense. As such, it must remained stocked as if for a siege at all times. We receive shipments of food, clothing, arms, et cetera, all year round. The problem now is that we’ve received a shipment of weapons that were damaged in transit. Devices.

  “We’ve already received a replacement, but Captain Clarke and I disagree on what to do with the damaged shipment. Captain Clarke—” he nodded politely to the other man—“thinks we should return it to the central armory. I believe you—” he nodded politely to her—“might be able to repair them. This would allow us to maintain a surplus and save the military on the time and effort needed to process the weapons.”

  Telaine wanted to laugh at how her made-up rumor had turned out to be true. But…shipments coming from the government and from Harroden? Telaine made a mental note to inquire about how this fort was supplied, and how often. She blushed and cast her eyes down. “I’m so honored, milord, that you think I’m capable,” she said. “But the captain might be right. I’d have to see the weapons before I could promise anything.”

  “Milord, I insist we not allow this young woman to see classified government ordnance!” said Captain Clarke.

  “Miss Bricker has already demonstrated remarkable good sense and discretion,” the Baron said. Telaine wondered if he knew she knew about the little secret under his bed. “And the design of these weapons is not so different from the civilian model.”

  He drew out a chair and sat down as if enthroning himself. “Suppose we make a compromise? Bring one of the weapons here for Miss Bricker to examine. If she agrees she can repair it, we allow her access accompanied by a soldier at all times. If she can’t, then she hasn’t seen inside your defenses and we send the shipment back.”

  Captain Clarke looked as if he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. “That’s…acceptable, milord,” he said. He snapped his fingers at a soldier, who sauntered over. “Bring me one of the weapons from the damaged shipment. And move quickly!”

  The soldier stepped up his pace until he reached the passage, at which point he reverted to sauntering. Telaine felt sympathy for Captain Clarke. What kind of captain was forced to make compromises with a civilian ally, even one technically his superior?

  They waited in silence for the man to return. Telaine let herself openly gawk at the room, though in truth she found it boring; the stair was the only route to the upper story, there were no extra rooms on the bottom floor, and only one way out. It might as well have been the inside of that hypothetical child’s block castle.

  The Baron idly picked at his nails with his belt knife. Captain Clarke stood at parade rest, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Morgan watched her like a lion stalking a water hole, seeing what prey came calling. She ignored him and reminded herself she had him under control. For the moment, she thought, and refused to allow herself to fear.

  The soldier returned, holding a long-barreled gun Device which he handed to the Baron. Not to Captain Clarke. And the captain doesn’t protest. Interesting. The Baron handed the gun, butt end first, to her.

  She turned it over in her hands, awkwardly due to its length. The casing was mostly polished wood; that was an innovation, making it lighter than current civilian issue weapons but still heavy. How familiar should she seem with gun Devices? Her cousin Mark was mad for guns, and she’d heard him talk about them so often that she could name most of the parts of this gun and guess at how it went together despite never having seen it before. Best to err on the side of ignorance; it was working for her so far.

  “Captain Clarke, can you explain how this works?” she asked. “I understand you pull the trigger—”

  “Squeeze the trigger,” the captain said. He sounded smug, as if he’d been proven right about something.

  “Squeeze the trigger, thank you captain, and the motive force propels the bullet from the barrel and rotates the next bullet into place. But I’m unfamiliar with this piece, and I’m sorry if I’m being stupid, but I don’t see the bullets or the motive force. And I’d rather not see if the barrel is rifled until I’m sure I won’t be pointing a loaded gun at my head.” There was no chamber that she could see, just a wide slot at the top in front of the hammer. That smug tone had stung her into showing off.

  The captain looked more surprised and less smug. “It’s rifled, yes,” he said, “but the firing assembly is different. It’s a compromise between the old black powder rifles and the new six-guns. The old models had the motive force embedded in the gun, imbued enough to fire six bullets. Then you’d have to reload the gun and wait for someone to re-imbue it. With the new model, the bullets come in a cartridge wheel with the motive force installed in the wheel. Snap the—”

  He looked fully at the gun for the first time. “Stentson, why are there no bullets in this weapon? Bring me a box at once!” Stentson ambled off again. Telaine wondered why Clarke put up with such flagrant disrespect. She knew little of the military, but surely that man ought to be disciplined.

  “At any rate,” Clarke continued, “the wheel goes in at the top, you lock it in place with a push of your finger, and cock the hammer. When you squeeze the trigger, the hammer brings the firing assembly into contact with the motive force. You take your six shots, cocking the hammer each time—that unfortunately slows the rate of fire, but I’m told there’s no helping that—and e
ject the wheel with this button, here. Then you slap another cartridge in and you’re set to fire again.”

  Clarke had apparently forgotten Telaine was a civilian in his enthusiasm for the new weapon. Telaine was impressed herself, and she’d never owned or fired a gun in her life. She looked it over, examining it for obvious defects and for any evidence of how to open it up.

  “How do you know the gun is failing and not the bullets?” she asked.

  “The bullets work fine in the guns from the other shipments.”

  “I’d probably need to see it shoot before I could draw any conclusions.” She had to remind herself she was here for espionage, not Devisery, but this was too much of a challenge not to be exciting.

  Stentson returned and offered a box to the Baron, but Clarke intercepted it. The Baron didn’t seem offended. Clarke opened the box and removed what looked like a six-pointed snowflake of silver holding brass and copper bullets at each tip. Clarke pushed it into the gun with a click, then looked around for a target. On the far wall was a wooden shield, a decoration left over from some long-ago commander of Thorsten Keep; Clarke pointed the gun at it and fired.

  It was less than spectacular. Something snapped, and the bullet flew a few feet out of the gun and bounced off the mildewed carpet. Clarke lowered the gun and turned to look at Telaine. “Well?” he said.

  “May I try?” she asked. When he furrowed his brow at her, she added, “I won’t have any better luck than you, captain, but sometimes if I feel a Device malfunction, it gives me an idea of what’s wrong.” She already knew what was wrong. She just wanted to feel what it was like to shoot it.

  Clarke held it out to her, and she took it in both hands, braced herself, and pointed it at the shield. She heard Morgan, whose attention she could still feel on her, suck in a breath. So you find this arousing, do you? Wonderful. And I thought I’d done well at cooling your ardor today. She pulled—squeezed—the trigger, felt the motive force miss its striking surface, and heard the bullet scrape down the barrel and fall to the floor.

  She lowered the weapon. “I think I know what’s wrong, but I’d like to take this one apart to make sure,” she said. “May I use the table, milord?”

  The Baron waved to indicate she should take a seat. “I’m going to watch,” he announced. “Morgan, go find something else to do. I believe my Deviser finds your presence unsettling.” Telaine kept her attention on the gun, but she felt Morgan smoldering with anger before he turned and left the keep. Someday Morgan might decide he no longer cared about whatever hold the Baron had over him, and then… it didn’t bear thinking about.

  She focused her attention on laying out a handkerchief and her tools. The handkerchief had a black smudge on one corner that eased her heart. Ben was waiting for her to come back. Morgan’s attentions meant nothing beside that.

  The hardest part was cracking the case. That was common. People wanted to see the outside of a Device, not its whirling, clicking innards, and they certainly didn’t want their Devices coming apart unexpectedly.

  “Oh. I could use one of the rifles that works, please,” she said absently, not noticing she had addressed the Baron until he’d risen from his chair and spoken to a soldier. The gun appeared like magic on the table beside her. She took that one apart, too.

  “Care to take a look at this, milord?” she said, and the Baron edged his chair closer to hers. Strange how she didn’t feel the menace from him that she did from Morgan, despite her conviction that he was the more dangerous man.

  She used a slim rod to point to the affected pieces. “The broken one has a misaligned firing assembly. The motive force propels the bullet and then moves the next one to the firing chamber, here, you see? In the working gun, this piece, and this, line up properly. But I think you can see how in the broken gun, this piece is in the wrong place. I loosen the screw, rotate the piece just so, tighten the screw, and the gun works fine. It’s a simple repair.”

  She looked at the Baron. He looked ecstatic, as if experiencing physical bliss. “Miss Bricker, you are a marvel,” he said. He was so close she was afraid he might kiss her in the throes of whatever passion he was feeling, but he sat back and stared at the disassembled weapons.

  “Prove that it works,” he instructed her, his voice icy. That rapid shift in his mood—that’s why he’s more dangerous than Morgan. Don’t forget it, Telaine. She quickly reassembled the guns and handed him the previously broken one.

  He snapped the cartridge wheel into the Device, pointed it at the shield, and fired without taking careful aim. The bullet pinged off the stone wall and flew off into the shadows. Telaine sat frozen, aware there was no reason that bullet shouldn’t have come back to hit her. The glamour of the weapons vanished.

  Captain Clarke picked up the one weapon and held out his hand for the other. He examined both. “Excellent work,” he said absently. He thumbed the eject button and caught the wheel in his hand. “Milord, if you will allow one of my men to accompany the young lady, I will allow her to repair the defective shipment.”

  Telaine bowed to the Baron. First step complete. She’d still have to find out what Harroden’s shipments were, but she’d made it through the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Morgan was gone when they emerged from the dank keep. The Baron didn’t seem perturbed by his absence, mounting as if he didn’t expect to wait for him.

  “Captain, see that your men know Miss Bricker will be coming daily,” he said, not bothering to ask Telaine if she was willing to work on this every day or, for that matter, if she would officially take the job. Did this mean she was working for the government? Could the fort afford to pay her? Fortunately, she didn’t need their money, but it ruffled her professional pride.

  She followed him out the gate, but he made no move to take her up on his horse. Apparently she was walking home.

  “I beg your pardon, milord,” she said, not having to try hard to act nervous, “but tomorrow is my day to go to Ellismere and send word to my family. Is it—will you mind terribly—can I be allowed to start the day after?”

  The Baron gave her a hard-eyed stare and her nervousness became more real. “Do as you like,” he said curtly. He kicked his horse in the sides harder than was necessary and the animal broke into a ground-eating stride.

  “Miss Bricker,” said the captain, nodding to her politely. “When you arrive, please come immediately to the keep and I will assign one of my men to assist you.” Had she heard the slightest emphasis on “my”? She wondered at Stentson’s deference to the Baron over his commanding officer. She would bet those professional-looking soldiers were the men who actually obeyed when Clarke gave an order. It disturbed her that the slovenly ones outnumbered the professionals by so much.

  Telaine walked back to the town, expecting Morgan to swoop down on her at any moment. He didn’t appear. It was dinnertime, so she went into the tavern and shared a table with Josephine Adderly, who was glowing with the success of Blythe Bradford’s wedding dress.

  “Everyone wants one like it!” she exclaimed. “Lainie, I can’t thank you enough for providing me with the pattern.”

  “It was hardly a pattern, just a set of drawings,” Telaine protested. “I still can’t believe you were able to recreate the dress from a picture.”

  “Well, I can’t believe you built those lights, they were so beautiful,” Josephine said. “So romantic.” Her eyes went merry, and she added, “Very romantic for some, I hear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t be silly. Everyone knows you’re walking out with Ben Garrett,” Josephine said in a low voice, as if despite her words it was a great secret. “Oh, Lainie, I’m so happy for you! I know more than a handful of girls who are so jealous of you. That voice…” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Is it true he carried you home from the shivaree, draped in those lights?”

  “No!” Telaine exclaimed, laughing. “Really, Josephine, it’s only been a day, and we haven’t even gone out in public. How do t
hese rumors get started?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know Mister Garrett was mooning about all day yesterday with the silliest smile on his face. Nobody makes that sort of face ’less they’re courting. And tale is he sang to you right in front of everyone and nobody noticed.”

  “If nobody noticed, how does anyone know?”

  “Well, somebody noticed. And I saw you were awfully close during the dance, and you danced twice with him in a row, and I know what that means. I read the social news from the city.”

  Telaine covered her burning face with her hands. “Do I have no secrets left?” Let’s hope I do.

  “Maybe,” said Josephine, with a satisfied smile. “Is he a good kisser?”

  “Josephine!” Telaine exclaimed. Josephine laughed like she’d made the funniest joke of all time.

  She finished her meal and strolled off down the street toward home, feeling cheerful. She’d always enjoyed passing by the forge; now she knew why. Ben had his back to her, working some yellow-hot metal, when she approached, but before she could reach the forge rail Eleanor came out of nowhere, grabbed her arm and dragged her into the laundry.

  “You and Ben,” she said, and wrapped her arms around Telaine. “I’m so happy for you both!”

  “We’re just walking out, Eleanor,” Telaine said, feeling her cheeks heat again.

  “You obviously don’t understand what that means,” said Eleanor, releasing her. “Oh, my dear, he’s like a different man.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s been my neighbor for four years, always quiet, mostly keeps to himself,” Eleanor said. “Took a while for folks to get to know him, but then there was Wintersmeet that first year, and he sang for us… well, you know how he can sing, of course you do, and it made him well-liked, gave him a way to fit in, but he still didn’t talk much. Friendly, but shut off. Everyone knows what he’s like, they don’t mind his ways.

  “But all yesterday, he was saying hey to anyone who passed by, smiling and talking like he usually only does when he’s been singing. He went to the tavern for supper. Don’t think he’s been in there since last Wintersmeet, and that was for the chorals. You’ve changed him, dear. And in just one day. It’s amazing, it truly is.”