Arcanum

by Simon Morden

  “Can you run? Both of you?”

  They nodded.

  “I need one of you to run to the East Gate and the other to the West Gate. Tell the guards this: ‘Master Ullmann says close the gates in the prince’s name.’ Master Ullmann, got that?”

  They both nodded again.

  “It’s important you do this right. Your prince is depending on you.” He started to pour the rest of his coins back into his purse. “Go! Run!”

  The boy started towards the East Gate. The girl caught him and whirled him around. “No. West Gate’s closer. Meet you back here.” She hitched up her skirts and started down towards the quay. The boy hesitated for a moment, then hared off in the opposite direction.

  With a bit of luck, thought Ullmann, the Bavarians were now trapped. All he had to do was find them before the already disgruntled and idle townsfolk decided they didn’t want to be trapped along with them. He needed more help, and quickly.

  There weren’t so many militia that he could take them from their posts. And his spies would be still up at the fortress, getting ready.

  The library ushers. He ran again, through the narrow streets, making himself thin as he hurtled through gaps that were only briefly present, and all the time looking out for a man with a broad-brimmed hat who looked like he’d been on the road for a while.

  Library Square, in comparison with the rest of town, was stupidly busy, crammed with craftsmen and piles of sand and stone and wood. There were the ushers, though, under the portico: a group of six of them, and more importantly, he knew them, and they knew him.

  “Lads,” he called when he was close enough. “To me.”

  “Well, look here,” one of them replied, “if it isn’t Master Ullmann. Want your old job back, Max?”

  He skidded to a halt on the gritty stone steps. “Leave it, Manfred. Less banter, more doing. There are two Bavarian spies in town, and they mustn’t get away.”

  “Bavarian what? You’re pulling our legs, right?” The usher nudged one of his colleagues with his elbow.

  “I think he’s serious,” said his friend with wonder. “Where do we start?”

  “Gods, I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.” Ullmann thought furiously. “Start up by the castle and work our way down to the bridge. They can’t leave, I’ve made certain of that.”

  “Are they armed?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them except that one of them is a bit taller than me, has short blond hair, is older, and is wearing a big hat.” He puffed out his breath. “Goes by the name of Wiel. It’s not much to go on, but we have to try.”

  The ushers shrugged and muttered until Manfred rolled his eyes. “Come on, then. It’s not like we’re even busy here. You owe us all a jar – two jars – of beer. Each.”

  “Done,” said Ullmann. “If we find them, I’ll buy you enough drink to drown in.”

  They descended the library steps and headed up Wien Alley. “Did they come on horses?” asked Manfred.

  “Possibly.”

  “Horst? Check Stable Street, will you?”

  The seven of them filled the alley: they looked like they were out mob-handed, and their robes resembled a uniform of sorts. Ullmann couldn’t tell whether that counted in his favour or against it. They turned left into Gothis’ Alley, while Horst took the wide right-turn and started to peer in each livery yard and shout questions at the stable boys.

  No one, but no one, was wearing a hat like the Bavarian. The main square was thinly populated, with just a few hungry people sitting around waiting for something to happen that might have some coin in it for them. Ullmann scanned each face in turn, while the ushers spread out.

  He heard a faint shout behind him, then a sudden clatter of hooves. Without turning around, he threw himself to one side, pressing his face to the wall of a tall town house.

  A horse burst into the square, a mountain of brown flanks and flashing white feathers. The rider on its back looked around wildly, his head twisting and turning as he sought an escape route.

  His gaze took in Ullmann. They knew each other’s purpose in that instant; a professional understanding, no more, no less. It wasn’t the man with the hat, but most likely his companion. Why else would he be running?

  “Stop that man,” bellowed Ullmann, and he reached down for his sword. The ushers, frozen for an instant, came alive and converged on the Bavarian.

  The rider didn’t seem to have a weapon, but he had a horse, which was more than sufficient. It was going to take a brave man to stand in the way.

  The horse darted forward, and the ushers scattered out of the way, Manfred making a darting lunge for the bridle. His fingers caught the leather strap, and his feet left the ground.

  The horse’s head came down, and it stumbled. Manfred was bowled over and lost his grip, ending up on the cobbles right in front of the sparking hooves.

  Ullmann leapt, sword forgotten. He managed to connect with the rider’s boot, and pulled hard. It was enough to slow the rider for a moment, and Manfred rolled out of the way just in time.

  The horse started to pick up speed again, and Ullmann’s feet were dragged out from underneath him. The Bavarian leant down to beat him away, but started to slide from the saddle himself. He desisted and crouched low, assuming that he’d shake the Carinthian free shortly.

  Ullmann was caught in a dilemma. If he let go, he’d crack his skull on the ground. If he didn’t, his legs would sooner or later tangle with the horse’s, and he’d be trampled.

  He had to do something different, something unexpected. They were halfway around the rapidly emptying square. The ushers were chasing, but didn’t look likely to catch up.

  It was up to him, then. He started to reach for his knife, but the jolting was too great. Pulling himself close, he sank his teeth through the man’s breeks into the flesh below.

  There was satisfying shriek of pain and a less welcome clubbing blow to the side of his face. The rider was losing control, and the horse was slowing. Ullmann bit harder, shaking his head like a fighting dog. He was hit again, and again, but then he managed to find his feet and jump clear.

  He staggered back, the taste of the man’s blood on his tongue. He reached for his sword, determined to draw it, just as the rider, now furious, wheeled the foaming horse around directly at Ullmann.

  A broom-handle struck the Bavarian, square in the kidneys. He arched his back, and the horse reared. Ullmann caught sight of a woman through the milling hooves, brush end in hand, stepping clear and readying herself for another strike. His sword cleared his scabbard, and the ushers were right behind him, yelling and roaring.

  The terrified horse rose higher on its hind legs, and the rider pitched off backwards with a wail.

  “Get the horse,” said Ullmann, and he darted around it to the stunned man lying spread-eagled on the square. The woman was red-faced with exertion as she set about the Bavarian with her broom, hitting him over and over.

  “Enough, Mistress, enough.” He pointed his sword at the man’s chest. “Do you surrender to a prince’s man?”

  He was in no position to answer one way or another, which was for the best, because neither of them were in any shape for a fight. Ullmann held his sword point-down and crouched over, blowing like bellows. He felt a hand on his back.

  “Max?” said Horst. “You mad bastard.”

  “I thought I could see the Valkyries for a moment there.” Ullmann blinked away the pain and the sweat, and looked up. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  When she gave him a crooked smile, his spine straightened just a little. “You’re a bit young to be a prince’s man.”

  “Older than the prince,” he said. “Manfred, get some cord and tie this fucker up before he comes around.”

  Ullmann tried to stand up. Everything felt uncertain and insubstantial. When he came down he’d be in so much pain.

  “Horst? What did you say to him?”

  Horst held onto the horse’s reins and attempted to sett
le it down. “I didn’t get chance to say anything. He damn near ran me down from the off.”

  “We need to find the other one, and quickly.” Ullmann got to his feet, and saw the state of his boots. The soles had separated from the uppers, and were flapping every time he moved. “But not wearing these, it seems.”

  He turned again to the woman with the broom-handle.

  “Mistress, that was timely. Saved my neck and no mistake.”

  She leant on her broom the same way he leant on his sword. “So what is he? And who are you?”

  “He’s a Bavarian spy, suspected anyway, and I’m Master Max Ullmann, at your service.”

  “So, not a horse thief: either of you.” She twirled the broom around in her hands. “That’s good. Since when did Bavaria see the need to spy on us?”

  Shortly before we decided to spy on Bavaria, he thought, but didn’t say. “I’d be neglecting my duties if I told you more, Mistress.”

  She came back with that ready smile. “A shame, Master Ullmann, because I’d like to be told more.”

  Manfred returned with some braided cord, and the ushers gathered around the stirring man. They turned him over and, despite his weak attempts at resistance, they bound his hands and tied a loose loop around his neck so that one jerk would have him throttled.

  “What do we do with him? Take him to the fortress?”

  Ullmann frowned. “I don’t even know if it has a prison. It’s a castle, so I suppose it must. Yes, two of you take him. Oswald, you’re a big lad: go with Manfred. The rest of us will dig his friend out from the rock he’s hiding under.”

  He handed Manfred his sword, and nodded at their prisoner. “Check him for knives in all the obvious places, and when you’ve done that, check him again. Come on, lads. We’ve got more to do.”

  “As have I, Master Ullmann.” The woman put her broom over her shoulder. “At the Odenwald house. That one just there on the corner of Gold Alley. You will remember that, won’t you?”

  He made certain she was talking to him. “So when would the mistress like to be remembered?”

  “You’re obviously a busy man with lots of important duties. I can wait.”

  “And who will I call on, when I have time?”

  “Aelinn, Master Ullmann.” She walked back across the square, and he watched her go while he absent-mindedly rubbed the blood from his lips.

  “Max. Max?” Horst’s elbow dug deep into his ribs. “Haven’t we got something else to do? There’ll be time to chase women later.”

  “Horst, a little bit of respect, please.” He wiped his hand on his breeks. “If Wiel heard any of that scrum, he’d have gone to ground. We’ll look in the beer cellars around the Old Market, and then down Sigmund’s. We need to keep him moving, and flush him out.”

  Looking down, Horst said: “You need new boots, Max, before we go anywhere.”

  “You’re not wrong. Manfred? Hold up. Get his boots off. He ruined a perfectly decent pair: let’s see if his fit me.”

  They did, more or less. He’d need a thicker pair of socks, but he could find some later.

  “Right then, lads. Let’s look lively.”

  They ran on towards the Old Market, passing the house on the corner of Gold Alley as they went.

  No sign of Aelinn outside. Ullmann’s gaze wandered from the door to the windows to see if she was looking back at him, but they went by too quickly, and the house receded behind them.

  58

  It was difficult enough to find someone to guard the door, aside from the problem of finding an appropriate room to shut them in. It had been a very long time since the fortress had housed prisoners.

  In his father’s day, justice had been swift, and there’d been little call for prison cells, except the lock-up for drunks.

  “What are my options, Master Ullmann?”

  “Pressing, my lord.”

  Felix glanced around from the solar window. “Only one path is not options.”

  “They’re foreign spies, my lord. They expect it. As do we.”

  “Yes, I know that. But we’re not ready to have a war with Bavaria.” He looked back out at the Alps. “Are they ready to have a war with us?”

  “No one goes to war because their spies have been caught, my lord.” Ullmann sat at the table with the unrolled map. “It’s just expected that when you find them, you kill them.”

  “And everybody knows that.” Felix paced the floor. “I’ve made bad decisions before. Killed prisoners because I was angry. I don’t want to do that again.”

  “You don’t sound angry now.”

  “I’m not. Master Ullmann, I know what a prince is supposed to do. What I want to know is what I should do.”

  “You are a prince, my lord.” Ullmann raised his head.

  “Advise me, Master Ullmann. Tell me not just what’s expected of me, but what’s possible.” Felix took the chair opposite and leant his elbows on the table. It felt good to get his arm out of the sling, which he’d draped around his neck, ready to put on again should Sophia come near.

  Ullmann pursed his lips and started to count out the options on his fingers. “You could have them pressed. You could hold them for as long as you like: they might be valuable to the Bavarians, and useful if any of our spies get caught. You could torture them for what they know.”

  “We know what they know, because Master Wess told them more or less everything.”

  “I meant about Bavaria, but there’d be no way of knowing whether the information they give is accurate or not. They’ll tell us whatever they think we want to hear.” Ullmann held up another finger. “You could try and recruit them.”

  “Oh?”

  “Turncoats: traitors to their lord.”

  “I know what it means. I just hadn’t thought of it. Carry on.”

  “You could tell the Bavarians we have their spies, and ransom them. Or, of course, you could release them.”

  “Or any number of those things together.” Felix studied the map in front of him and wondered just how accurate it was. The distance to München didn’t look that far at all. “Can I talk to them?”

  “I … suppose so.” Ullmann frowned. “It’s not usual, my lord, for a prince to dirty himself with such things.”

  “We left what was usual a while ago, Master Ullmann. Everything we do is different, so why not this?”

  Ullmann shrugged. “They’re in the Hare Tower.”

  “Tied?”

  “Shackled to the wall, but their hands are free. We’re not animals, my lord.”

  Felix’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want them pressed either, do you? Despite you almost dying trying to catch them.”

  “I never mentioned that, my lord.”

  “No. More accurate reports in future, Master Ullmann.”

  Ullmann smiled ruefully.

  “It’s not that they don’t deserve it, nor that, if any of my lads got caught in their lands, they wouldn’t get the same, but we need to know who sent them and why. What’s Leopold up to, and does he have designs on Carinthia? He could be as scared of us as we are worried about him.”

  “We don’t have to be enemies,” said Felix, “though they might think otherwise. Which is why I want to talk to these spies. They don’t seem to be … I don’t know … very good spies. Perhaps they’re like ours, just people they’ve picked out of a line and told to do their best.”

  Ullmann pushed his chair back. “Shall we try to find out, my lord?”

  They left the solar and went down the stairs to the courtyard.

  “One question, Master Ullmann. Do you know how to use your sword?”

  Ullmann hesitated for a moment. “Enough to point the sharp end at my enemies.”

  “I’ll train you myself. I’ll start a sword school right here, in the main courtyard. What I teach you, you can then teach to others. Every leader should be able to hold his own with a sword.”

  “Like Mistress Morgenstern, you mean?”

  Felix wasn’t quite sure how t
o take that. Sophia’s exploits had become increasingly unlikely the more times the tale was retold, whereas, first-hand, she made it sound as though men had simply thrown themselves onto her blade. That was more probable, he supposed, than her HaShem guiding her arm.

  “If she wants to learn, then I’ll teach her too.”

  The thought of her, bloodied spatha in her upraised fist, calling curses down on her foes and blessings on her friends … He shivered.

  “My lord?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Has there been anything from Master Büber?”

  “No.” It was Ullmann’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Do you think he’s going to come back? I mean, really?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’ll go and see the dwarves, but what happens after that? There’s nothing to stop him just keeping on going until he reaches the ocean.” Felix thought it would be a loss, but was well aware it was up to Peter Büber whether he turned around or not. The mountains and forests might call him home, or he might be so consumed with grief that he’d lose himself in some forgotten valley and never return. “I’m not sure I can order anyone to do anything; only hope that they choose to do what I say.”

  “You have authority as Prince of Carinthia.”

  “Yes, I know that.” Felix gazed up at Ullmann. “But if I don’t find it a good enough reason, I can’t expect others to. I’m only twelve, and I haven’t done anything yet: no one needs to fear me, and no one thinks me wise. The people don’t love me, either. They’re simply used to doing what the arse on the throne says, and we know what happens when they forget that.”

  They were at the tower, and Ullmann put his hand on the door latch. “My lord, you shouldn’t dwell on such things.”

  “What right have I to run not just your life, but those of people I’ve never even met and am never likely to? I could do what my father did: give power to the earls, and have them rule their little bit of Carinthia for me. But where are the earls at the moment? Mostly dead.” Felix kicked at the wall. “Outside of Juvavum, there’s been little trouble. The palatinate seems happy to run itself.”

  “The people crave order, my lord. They know that if there’s no law, there’s no security. They won’t make plans for a harvest if they think someone else is going to steal it from them at spear-point.”