Agent of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The front page story was about the Crown Princess’s divorce. Telaine’s breath caught. Poor Julia. She read the story and gradually went from sad to furious. The journalist who’d written the story was clearly sympathetic to Julia, but that hadn’t stopped the woman from humiliating her by including an interview with the “other woman” who’d told everyone she was carrying Lucas’s child.

  At least the family wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmare of an entailed adoption, paying Lucas’s mistress’s upkeep and that of her bastard child. Knowing Lucas, it wasn’t impossible he’d try to force the Norths to adopt the baby into the royal house. Thank heaven Julia was out of it. The divorce would be finalized at the end of the week.

  Telaine folded the paper, unable to read any more. She should have been there for her cousin. Going through the dissolution of her marriage bond, enduring the gossip, all while heavily pregnant…Julia had needed Telaine’s support, and she hadn’t been there to give it.

  Maybe it was time to think about giving up espionage. It certainly made her life harder. It had kept her from being at her cousin’s side when she needed her. If she hadn’t been an agent of the Crown, she could have told Ben her true identity two days ago. But now, telling anyone she was Telaine North Hunter would mean coming up with a reason why Telaine North Hunter was slumming it in Longbourne. That would mean lying to Ben again, because of rule number one: never, under any circumstances, no matter how much you love or trust the person, tell anyone you are an agent. You had more lives than your own in your hands, as an agent.

  But…being an agent gave her a rush like she’d never known. Giving it up—what would she be willing to give it up for? Her family, certainly. Ben? Maybe. Who knew where their relationship might go? Until Longbourne, she’d never considered life as something other than a spy. Now she found such consideration surprisingly easy.

  She imagined being the Deviser she was passing herself off as, pictured having a workshop somewhere and…her imagination failed her. What else did she want that she didn’t already have? She didn’t know the answer, but felt in her bones that whatever the answer was, it would surprise her.

  She walked slowly back to the telecoder office and received two encoded reply sheets. She was so familiar with the code now she could read it almost as easily as if it were plain text. One told her the fort received new shipments of arms once a year, the old, outdated weapons were returned to the central depot, and the most recent shipment had been made three months ago and the outdated weapons received two weeks later. The second told her, again, to find out what contraband Harroden was shipping to Steepridge and report. She rolled her eyes. As if she needed to be reminded.

  Telaine did some calculating in her head. The fort would now have three weapons shipments: one from the government, a damaged one from Harroden, and a replacement one from Harroden. She was willing to bet Captain Clarke had no idea how often weapons were supposed to come in. No wonder the Baron was so loath to send back the damaged weapons; they couldn’t go back to a depot they’d never come from, and the more often shipments went back and forth from Harroden, the more likely someone would notice.

  But she’d seen far more crates and boxes than could be accounted for by the weapons shipments. It was those boxes whose contents she’d have to discover. She put the papers in her pocket to destroy later.

  She hadn’t been able to figure out a way to ask Uncle about Aunt Weaver, even in code. She’d have to confront the woman personally. If she was wrong, no harm done. If she was right…she’d have so many other questions.

  She rode back with Abel in what was now customary silence. Tomorrow she’d work on the weapons. Tonight she’d speak to Aunt Weaver; she didn’t want to wait any longer to learn the truth. With luck, this evening she’d spend time with Ben. Just thinking about him made her heart feel light. How had she gotten to be twenty-three without ever feeling this way? How did you expect a secret agent to have any kind of personal relationship when you couldn’t tell anyone the truth? Having Ben in your life is a miracle.

  They got back to Longbourne late; the telecoder office had been slower than usual, and Stakely had almost had to sit on Abel to make sure he waited for her. The forge fire had been extinguished for the night, and lights burned in the windows of Ben’s house. She thought about knocking on his door, but she was tired and hungry and now that she was here, she found she couldn’t wait to confront Aunt Weaver.

  Her aunt was in the sitting room, knitting. “Supper’s in the cold room,” she called when the door squeaked open. Telaine found a few pieces of chicken, which she devoured along with a glass of cold milk. She washed her face and hands and went to sit on the uncomfortable horse-hair cushion across from Aunt Weaver. “How was your day?” she asked politely.

  “Can’t complain.” Click, click.

  “How about your evening? Going well?”

  “Well enough. Your young man came by. Told him you weren’t back yet. He said to say he’d see you tomorrow.”

  So we won’t be interrupted. “My cousin Julia is getting divorced.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Not for her. He’s sort of a bastard. In the pejorative sense.”

  “What did I tell you about using fancy uppity words?”

  “I wouldn’t with anyone but you. Do you want to know why?”

  “I got nothing better to do.” Click, click.

  Telaine leaned back, thought better of it, sat upright. “It’s an interesting story. Well, it might not interest you, but I like it. I didn’t grow up in the palace. I mean, I did, but not from infancy. I didn’t live there until I was eight. I was so young, I’d lost my father, and I had trouble adjusting to life there. Did a lot of running around, hiding from tutors and governesses. I got to know the place the way most people don’t. You know what my favorite place was, all that first year?”

  “Couldn’t begin to guess.”

  “It was this long, long hall filled with portraits of the Kings and Queens of Tremontane.” The clicking stopped for a moment, then continued as if there had been no interruption. “I didn’t know that’s what it was. There were name plates, of course, but I couldn’t read back then. I just knew there were all these faces, staring down at me, and I had this idea they were related to me, but mostly I liked to make up stories about them. I got to know those faces well.”

  She paused. Aunt Weaver said nothing, but Telaine could tell she was listening intently.

  “A few years later I went back. I’d almost forgotten how much I’d loved the place as a child. Now I could read the name plates and put faces to the names I learned about from my history tutor. King Edmund Valant. King Domitius. Queen Willow North—I felt sorry for her, that seemed like such a frivolous name. And then my own relatives. King Anthony North, my grandpapa. Queen Zara North, my great-aunt, the one who was killed.”

  Silence.

  “She was always my favorite. The painter really captured her likeness, or at least that’s what my grandmama said. She had this way of looking at you that said, ‘You had better not be wasting my time.’ And blue eyes just like Julia’s. Cornflower blue, soft as a kitten, but make her angry and it’s like being cut by glass. I’ve never forgotten Queen Zara’s face.”

  Silence.

  Telaine took a deep breath. “So what I want to know, Aunt Weaver, is what that face is doing in Longbourne, looking only a few years older than it does in that portrait, when everyone knows Zara North is dead and would be well over seventy if she were still alive?”

  Aunt Weaver laid her knitting in her lap. “You asking questions, or making accusations?” she said.

  “Questions. I want to know what happened to you. I want to know why you look younger than my Aunt Imogen when you’re actually older than my grandmama. I want to know what brought you to Longbourne.”

  “Suppose I tell you that’s none of your business?”

  “Then I guess I’d have to go on wondering. But you know what I think, Aunt Zara? I think you wan
t to tell someone. I know I’m chafing at not being able to tell anyone the truth and I’ve only been doing this for two months. It’s been almost fifty years for you.” Telaine leaned forward. “I only know a little of what it’s like to live with a secret like this, and I wish…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish that sentence.

  Zara North sighed deeply. “You comfortable in that chair?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. This isn’t a comfortable story, and despite what you might think, I’m only telling you because you figured it out. You could have gone on ignorant forever as far as I’m concerned. But your uncle gave me his secret in return for mine, so you might as well make four who know why Zara North had to get herself killed.”

  Telaine became aware that she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. The intensity of Zara’s expression made her afraid that she’d stumbled into a story she’d rather not know.

  “It’s not so bad now,” Zara said, “but back then having inherent magic could mean death. Would definitely mean being ostracized or attacked. Even today people are still afraid of magic they can’t see right in front of ’em. Devices are all very well because they can be controlled by anyone, turned off. You can’t turn off a person who can see through walls…well, you can, but it’s permanent.

  “Some things, healing and the like, that was accepted because it was stupid not to let someone save your life ‘cause they did it with magic. But mostly people who had those kinds of magic kept quiet about it. If they could. And I couldn’t, because I could heal myself.

  “Didn’t know it for years, just figured I was extra healthy, never got sick. Then I broke a leg, going over a fence, and two days after it was set I was back on my feet. I gave out that the palace healer did it, but by then I knew the truth.”

  “I don’t see why that would be a problem. You said even back then healers were accepted.”

  “If you can heal other people, sure. But you’re not thinking it through. Amazes me how you’ve gotten this far without thinking things through. My body heals itself all the way down past the bone and blood into whatever makes up our bodies. It heals the damage of aging. I was getting older, but not so’s anyone could tell. If I didn’t live forever, I was certain sure going to live a very long time.”

  “A monarchy that goes on forever,” Telaine said. “A Queen whose rule lasts over a century.”

  “Or more,” Zara agreed. “Even if there hadn’t been a prejudice against the inherently magical, even if people didn’t care that it had infected the royal family, which they would’ve, mine was a power that could bring down a country. Stability is good, but too much longevity is moribund.”

  “What did you tell me about not using fancy uppity words?”

  “Don’t apply to me. I know when to use ’em right. You want to know the rest or not?”

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “So I had to get out. Didn’t relish the idea of killing myself, not to mention that seemed impossible, so I staged an assassination. Got killed, went as far away as I could so’s people wouldn’t know my face, cut my hair off and learned to say ‘happen’ and ‘certain sure.’ Left Zara North in the dust and became Agatha Weaver.”

  “When did the Mistress come in?”

  “Hank Hobson was a good, plain spoken man, and I loved him dearly. I never did tell him who I was. No point, because I was never going back to being Zara, so don’t give me that look like I’m a hypocrite. You plan to go back to the palace when this is all over.” She jabbed Telaine in the breastbone with a sharp finger.

  “But you weren’t going to age and he was. That wasn’t exactly fair to him.”

  “I ain’t saying I chose right every time. But I wanted him enough to tell myself I’d find a solution. Happen that sounds familiar to you.”

  Telaine nodded. “What happened to him?”

  “Died in a mining accident almost thirty years ago. I didn’t much feel like remarrying. Moved to different towns, moved on after five or ten years in each. Been in Longbourne for seven now.”

  Telaine remembered something. “Wait—you said four people knew your secret. You, me, Uncle, and…who?”

  “Your grandmama.” Zara picked up her knitting again. “She helped me make my escape. Happen she’ll tell you the story someday, about her and me and your grandpapa. Ain’t my story to tell, that one.”

  “But now I really don’t understand why you didn’t help me! We’re both in the same situation. I could have used advice from someone who knows what it’s like to live a double life.”

  “We are not in the same situation,” Zara said grimly. “I told you already you ain’t giving up your real life. I ain’t living a double life because this is the only one I have. And…happen I was put out by your uncle makin’ me take you in and watch you make a place for yourself among my friends when you didn’t care anything for them. Shouldn’t care anything for them. But I suppose I can’t say, anymore, we don’t have anything in common.”

  Telaine leaned back again. This time she didn’t care that the back of the chair was uncomfortable. “I suppose I should go on thinking of you as Aunt Weaver,” she said.

  “Good idea. Nobody’d believe the truth,” Aunt Weaver said.

  “I wonder Uncle didn’t reckon on me figuring out who you are.”

  Aunt Weaver shrugged. “It was a chance we both had to take. Said I was the only choice and he had to take what he could get. Never have understood that young man. He put a lot of effort into tracking me down.”

  Telaine laughed. “It must have been a stunner when his inherent magic finally grew powerful enough to sense a North living all the way out here.” Then she stopped. “I don’t understand how you could still be a North if you changed your name to Weaver and then were sworn to your husband.”

  “Changing the name don’t eliminate the family bond. I’m still a North where it counts. Happen I couldn’t bring myself to give that up, those few seconds of connection with my family at the solstices. If I’d known young Jeffrey and his freak gift was going to come along, happen I’d have done something about it.”

  “I remember now. I could feel someone extra, every solstice. But Uncle said it was a distant relative. I can’t believe I believed that.”

  “Easier than the truth.” Aunt Weaver bundled up her knitting. “I’m for bed,” she said, “’less you have any more impertinences for me.”

  “Just one,” Telaine said. “What are you knitting?”

  Aunt Weaver laughed. “Baby blanket,” she said. “Don’t yet know whose. Those young Bradfords, like enough. Couple of weasels wouldn’t go at it any less than they do.”

  She stood and fixed her grandniece with those sharp blue eyes. “Think careful about what you’re doing,” she said. “I ain’t going to tell you again, I told you enough already. Way you’re going, someone might get hurt, and if you’re honorable, you’ll let it be you.”

  Telaine watched her leave in stunned silence. What was she doing? She liked the people of Longbourne, liked Ben a lot, loved how he made her feel, but she’d be able to leave it behind, yes? I’m not going to worry about that now, she thought. Plenty of time to worry about it when it’s time to leave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, she presented herself at the fort’s gate and was waved through with no more interest than if she’d been one of the carts. Despite Captain Clarke’s instructions and the heavy black clouds threatening rain, she took a wandering path through the fort, trying to get a better sense of its layout.

  The short, square buildings with slightly inclined slate roofs lined the inner wall of the fort, three on each side of the keep, under the jutting wall-walk where the soldiers sauntered. On either side of these buildings were smaller versions of the main gate, closed and barred. That struck her as a potential security hazard; they looked like exactly the kind of weak spot a Ruskalder attack might focus on. It seemed Thorsten Keep hadn’t been designed entirely for defense, after all.

&n
bsp; The taller, round buildings with the conical roofs stood against the outer wall. Unlike the square buildings, the round ones had large double doors, wide enough, she judged, for an oxcart to back into for unloading. So, the square buildings were probably barracks, and the round buildings were for storage. There were a lot of the round buildings. If what she was looking for was in one of them, it might take her a long time to ferret it out. She tried not to let the idea make her despondent.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. A cold drop landed on her forehead and she made a dash for the keep. As with their counterparts at the gate, the soldiers posted at the door ignored her. She entered the central chamber and went directly to Captain Clarke, seated at the table going over paperwork that clearly had him worried. “Miss Bricker,” he said when he looked up. “If you’ll wait, I’ll bring you a…guide.” She guessed he’d been about to say keeper instead.

  She wandered around the room, pretending to be interested in the wall decorations left behind by generations of soldiers with no taste, until Clarke returned with a clean-shaven, neatly dressed young man who couldn’t have been older than seventeen. “Lieutenant Hardy,” Clarke said, “please assist Miss Bricker in her work.”

  Lieutenant Hardy made a motion as if to salute her, but controlled it. Telaine saw Clarke’s mouth twitch. So the man had a soft side after all. “Thanks for sparing him, captain,” she said. In her wanderings, only three of the approximately fifteen soldiers she’d seen were the clean-dressed ones she’d identified as actually Clarke’s men. If she was right, Clarke couldn’t spare even this one.

  Lieutenant Hardy escorted Telaine through the sprinkling rain to one of the storage towers and unlocked it with a giant, ancient key that had some rust on the shaft. Inside, filling the space, were several dozen long crates. “Are those all full of defective guns?” Telaine asked in a faint voice.

  Lieutenant Hardy nodded. “Happen you’ve got your work cut out for you,” he said without rancor. He lifted the lid from one of the boxes, which had had its nails pulled for easy removal. Telaine looked inside. The guns were packed in straw, and as she reached down to the bottom of the crate, she guessed there were about ten guns in it. She counted crates. Four hundred guns. “This is a lot of weapons for one fort, isn’t it?” she asked.