Voyager of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “Well, he’d better hurry back,” Belinda said, but she sounded uncertain.

  They waited. Insects buzzed around Zara’s head, undeterred by her shooing them away. Belinda sat on the ground with her back against the gate and her eyes closed. Theo had his hand on his belt again, though this time he was fingering the lumps inside, counting. Arjan paced while Cantara watched him.

  Zara put her hand into her pocket and rubbed the surface of the Device. She had no idea how to find Calliope Blackwood and, at the moment, no interest in finding her. This Device had brought them nothing but trouble, and maybe that meant she ought to find Blackwood first, get rid of the thing, but Ransom—she had to stop thinking about him, what he might be enduring right then. He would be all right. They would get him out.

  The crunch of boots on gravel heralded the return of the attaché. “You can come in,” he said, pointing at Zara and Belinda and Theo. “The Eskandelics stay.”

  Arjan said, furiously, “We—”

  “We’ve traveled a long way and we’re all tired,” Belinda said. “Please let them come in with us and rest for a while.”

  “They’re Eskandelics. They can go to their own embassy.”

  The man’s stubborn, smug face, his stance that said he enjoyed exercising power over people, filled Zara with white-hot rage. “What’s your name?” she said, walking up so she was within inches of him.

  “Reginald Dyer,” the man said, as if his was the proudest name in Tremontane.

  “Mister Dyer,” Zara said, “we are here on behalf of a Tremontanan citizen whose family is extremely powerful. You will open this gate. You will let all of us in. You will precede us to the Embassy and you will take us to someone who has the power to free this man. And you will do all of this, Mister Dyer, because if you do not, someone else will, and when that happens I will make it my mission in life to break you so far down your family will need a special dispensation from the King himself to find you again. Do we have an understanding?”

  The attaché took an involuntary step back. “I,” he began, and Zara fixed him with the blue-eyed North glare that had reduced Counts and Barons to stammering fools. “Ma’am,” he said, and unlocked the gate. Zara swept past him the instant it was open, forcing him to scramble to get ahead of her, and strode up the path, still burning with righteous fury.

  “Sweet holy heaven,” Belinda said. “You’re terrifying.”

  “Yes,” said Zara, “I am.”

  ***

  The door to the Tremontanan Embassy was made of some tropical hardwood Zara didn’t recognize. Mister Dyer had it open well before they got there, but before they could enter, someone cursed, then shouted, “Shut the damn door, man! D’ye want all the insects in this heavenforsaken place to eat me alive?”

  Zara crossed the threshold and was struck by a blast of cold air that was such a contrast to the muggy heat outside she was immediately drenched in sweat. Belinda gasped in relief. The others crowded in past the attaché, who shut the door, and Zara turned her attention to the woman crossing the foyer toward them.

  The foyer was at least fifteen feet tall and windowless, big enough to make Zara feel small, but the woman approaching her now was large enough to match her surroundings. She was taller than Zara, probably in her late forties, and hugely fat, and her hair was cropped close to her head in a style Zara envied, with her own hair falling down in back and her itchy scalp. The woman’s white shirt and trousers looked so comfortable Zara was again aware of her grubby condition, of the place where the knee of her trousers was torn, and the desire for a bath became nearly overwhelming. “Who are you?” the woman demanded.

  “We’re looking for a negotiator,” Zara said, skipping the niceties. “Our friend is imprisoned in Manachen and we need someone who can get him out.”

  “Don’t be a fool. No foreigner leaves a Karitian prison,” the woman said. “I hope you said your farewells.”

  “He told us enough money and a good negotiator would be enough. We have the money. We just need someone who speaks the language and understands their customs. Or laws. Or whatever it is they use to decide what passes for justice.”

  “Come with me.” The woman turned on her heel and walked away, not waiting for them. Zara and the others hurried after her. “It’s impossible,” the woman said as they walked. “The Karitian government hates foreigners and only allows its citizens to do business with us because they levy a high tariff on foreign goods. They don’t think we deserve justice the way their citizens do.”

  “But this is an embassy. Don’t you treat with them?”

  “Hah. This is an embassy in name only. We’ve got no power here, nothing but a veneer of respectability. And we throw excellent parties.” The woman flung open a door that led to a room even chillier than the foyer. Zara had never seen anything so opulent outside the palace. The walls were draped with red silk a debutante wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in; the sofa and three armchairs were upholstered in gold-shot silk brocade; the desk and cabinetry smelled of varnish and money. The woman threw herself into the chair behind the desk and gestured at the room in general. “Have a seat.”

  The others sat. Zara remained standing. “Ma’am,” she said, “this is urgent. There must be something you can do.”

  “Sit down,” the woman said, and there was steel in her words. Zara sat. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. We can send a negotiator, and we can send money. But even if they do release your friend, it could take weeks. And surviving inside a Karitian prison for weeks…what you get back might not resemble your friend anymore.”

  Zara clenched her fists in frustration and realized she was still holding Ransom’s pouch in her left hand. She’d completely forgotten about it. “Wait,” she said, and opened it, rummaged through the scant contents. A couple of letters, a signet ring—“His name is De Witt,” she said. “Ransom De Witt. Does that matter to you?”

  The woman’s jaw went slack with astonishment. “Daniel De Witt?” she said. “The boy’s been lost for five years, and—you can’t possibly mean the same man. Or did you think to use a dead man’s name to rescue your friend? Because I don’t like being played.”

  “He didn’t give his first name,” Zara said, wondering in passing what was so wrong with the name Daniel. “But he gave me this before we parted.” She held out the signet ring. It was incised on both sides with a tiny sign and shield bearing what looked like a fox and a wreath of laurel leaves, and the insignia on its face was an intertwined D and W.

  The woman took it gingerly, as if she was afraid it might burn her. “By heaven, it’s the De Witt sign and shield all right. You—”

  “Don’t say we stole it,” Zara said. The fury began to fill her again, and she took it in both hands to bridle it. Intimidating that stupid sergeant was one thing; if she said the wrong words to this woman, Ransom might stay in that prison forever. “It’s his ring. He’s got letters from his family, though I think he’d prefer we not read them. I swear it’s him. We have to get him out.”

  The woman set the ring on the desk and stared at it. Then she said, “Damn.”

  “Find us a negotiator,” Zara said.

  “It doesn’t change anything,” the woman said, “except now we have to try, or the De Witts will never stop battering at us for losing their only son.” She pushed back heavily from the desk and pulled a bell rope dangling near it. “I almost wish he’d stayed lost.”

  “I’m sure he’s very sorry for inconveniencing you,” Zara shot back.

  The woman raised an eyebrow at her. “Sharp words,” she said as the door opened and a slender young man with a pencil-thin mustache entered. “Get on the telecoder,” she said. “Send a message home that…dear heaven, I don’t even know what to say…tell them we’ll need another diplomatic letter to the Karitians.”

  “But—” the young man said.

  “I know, James, but there’s no other way. Tell them Blackwood is waiting for a reply.”

  “Wait,” Zara said as the y
oung man closed the door behind himself. “Are you Blackwood? Calliope Blackwood?”

  The woman nodded. “Ambassador to Dineh-Karit, for my sins.”

  “Then I have something that belongs to you,” Zara said, and pulled the Device out of her pocket and laid it on the desk.

  Blackwood shot out of her seat, knocking the chair over. “Sweet heaven,” she whispered. Then she grabbed the rope and pulled on it hard, several times. “Cancel that,” she told James when he reappeared, looking startled. “Don’t send any more telecodes until I give the word.” She snatched up the Device and clicked through the settings a few times. “What happened to Alfred?”

  “He died. We were attacked by pirates. He asked me to bring this to you.”

  “Oh, Alfred,” Blackwood said quietly. “He was a good friend of mine. I thought his ship had simply been delayed, but…” She set the Device back on the desk. “Out,” she said. “James will show you to a place where you can clean up. You all look exhausted. No, don’t argue with me,” she said when Zara and Belinda both began to protest. “This is going to take some time to sort out, and there’s no sense you all sitting around in those filthy clothes. Go. I’ll summon you when there’s news.”

  Seething over “summon,” Zara did as she was told. They filed out into the hallway.

  “It’s something,” Theo said. “At least she’s going to try.”

  “How did you know they would care about his name?” Cantara said.

  “Excuse me,” James said, emerging from Blackwood’s office behind them. “If you’ll follow me, there is a washroom just up the stairs.”

  “He told me his family back in Aurilien was important,” Zara said as they all trooped after James up a long, curving staircase with a bannister made of the same exotic-smelling hardwood as Blackwood’s office furniture. “I just didn’t know how important. I made a guess.”

  “A good guess,” said Arjan. “I think it will take less time than they imagine.”

  The washroom had two basins, both with hot and cold running water supplied by Devices on the taps. They took turns, once James was gone, washing their faces and hands and splashing water on their necks, drying with the many fluffy towels in the cupboards, and looking out the washroom window over the hills of Goudge’s Folly. The embassy was nearly at the top of the hill, and even though it wasn’t a very tall hill, it looked out across the bay to where Manachen was a dim splotch of rust red. Zara stood there for a long time, trying not to think. There was nothing more she could do. Hurry, she thought in Blackwood’s direction, hurry, and closed her hands on the smooth windowsill, warm despite the cool air. It had to be a Device that kept the embassy so chilly, which Zara had never heard of; Devices to warm a room, surely, but to take the heat out…that was quite an innovation. Yes, she told herself, think about Devices, think about what else is possible, don’t think about—

  Someone came running up the stairs. “You, ma’am,” James said, panting. He pointed at Zara. “Miss Blackwood wants to see you.”

  Fear filled her. She ruthlessly stomped it down and followed James, but by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, she was running. She dashed through Blackwood’s door and found the woman sitting at the desk, staring at Alfred’s Device. The leaf engravings were raised in one of their patterns, but to Zara’s surprise they were also glowing a faint green, as if there were a motive force inside the thing leaking light from the cracks. “She’s here, your Majesty,” Blackwood said to the air.

  “Thank you,” a man’s voice replied. It came from the Device. Zara’s mouth fell open. Sweet heaven. No wonder Alfred had been so insistent no one else get their hands on it. A Device that let you speak to someone at a distance—a far distance, if this was—

  “This is Jeffrey North, ma’am,” the voice said. “Calliope, would you leave us alone for a moment?”

  “Of course, your Majesty,” Blackwood said, giving Zara a skeptical look, but shutting the door quietly behind her.

  “She’s gone?”

  “Yes. Is that…is that really you?” His voice was tinny, as if he were speaking into a metal box, and she hadn’t spoken to him in decades, but if she could believe in a Device that spoke, she could believe this was Jeffrey North.

  “Yes. I realize it’s unexpected.”

  “That’s not the word I would use, but…yes. Jeffrey, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I imagine you’re not going by Agatha Weaver anymore, so I couldn’t call you by name, but I knew you were there. I’ve been following your progress—what under heaven have you been doing?”

  “We don’t have time to chat, Jeffrey. How do we get Ransom De Witt free?”

  “Tell me your name, first. I have to be able to give Calliope instructions.”

  “Rowena Farrell.”

  “All right. The first thing you need to know, Rowena, is that tensions between our government and the Karitians are high. They have Devisery that lets them intercept telecodes and they’ve used it on us. They already knew our embassy was spying on them, just as we know they spy on us, but now they’re in a position to act self-righteous and deny us any requests we might make.”

  “Meaning you can’t send a negotiator. They might kill Ransom if they knew he mattered.”

  “Right. But we also can’t let a Tremontanan citizen rot in a Karitian prison. So I can’t not act.”

  “But what can you do?”

  “Send a private negotiator. Someone Tremontanan who isn’t affiliated with the government.” There was a pause. “Someone with experience at getting people to do things her way.”

  She’d known where he was going with that before his final thin and echoing words had faded. “I don’t speak Karitian.”

  “They won’t expect you to. Not all Karitians are selfish bigots, but it seems a majority of the ones in power are. I think their political structure encourages it.”

  “Let’s save the political analysis for later, shall we? We’re going to need a lot of money, Ransom said.”

  “Calliope said you had funds.”

  “We do, but they’re not exactly ours. I was hoping the government could pay for it.”

  “We don’t have much in the way of liquid assets there. It might be faster if we reimbursed you. Who is ‘we’?”

  “I was shipwrecked with some of the passengers on the ship I was traveling on. It’s a long story I’d be happy to tell you later.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Anyone else who’d made the trip you did, I would have worried about.”

  “Thanks. I was perfectly safe.” She didn’t mention the snake. Or the pirates. Though… “We were pursued by people who wanted this Device. People who had a way to track it.”

  Jeffrey cursed. “Are they still in a position to follow you?”

  “Possibly. They were apprehended by the Karitians as well.”

  “Because there’s something else I want you to do on the mainland. Something Alfred Richfield was meant to attempt.”

  “Jeffrey, I’m not an agent. I’m not saying I’m not willing, but I’m not qualified.”

  “This won’t take much. We have agents in Manachen—a couple of naturalized Eskandelics who can pass for Karitian. I need to communicate with them and, as I said, we can’t use the telecoder. All you have to do is take this Device to a place Calliope will direct you to and let me have five minutes’ conversation with them. Then, depending on what they tell me, you’ll either bring the Device back to the embassy or leave it with them.”

  “That’s impossible. I don’t look Karitian.”

  “There are Tremontanans in Manachen. Most of them are servants, people working off fines. Calliope will help you disguise yourself. You meet with the agents, release De Witt from prison, and come back to Goudge’s Folly.”

  Zara shook her head, then remembered Jeffrey couldn’t see her. “I’m not leaving Ransom there one second longer than I have to. I get him first.”

  “This is far more important than one man’s life.”
>
  “To you, maybe. Besides, if Ransom knows the city, he’ll be able to guide me better than some hard-to-follow directions.”

  Jeffrey was silent for so long Zara began to wonder if he’d turned off the Device on his end. “All right,” he finally said. “De Witt first. But don’t linger in Manachen. I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any other way, you understand?”

  “What’s family for, if not to ask outrageous favors?”

  Jeffrey laughed. It sounded like the cough of a dying man. “I’ll be in your debt again.”

  “I’ll have to think of something outrageous to ask of you.”

  “You’re well, though? I wondered why you’d gone so far afield.”

  “I just…wanted something different. I’m perfectly well. And now I should go, if I’m going to perform your outrageously dangerous task.”

  “Thank you. Get Calliope back here, will you? She’ll tell you the rest once I’ve instructed her.”

  Zara went to the door. Blackwood was hovering some distance down the hall. Zara didn’t think she’d been listening in, but she gave the woman a cool stare as she passed and was relieved to see she didn’t flinch the way a guilty person might have. Or she just had the same iron-clad nerves Zara did. Well, they hadn’t said anything incriminating except the comment about family, and Zara would defy Blackwood to make something of it.

  She went back upstairs and found the others in a lush sitting room, with velvet carpet that matched the purple velvet upholstery of the chairs. It looked like an upscale mausoleum. “Well? What was that about?” Belinda said.

  “It’s complicated,” Zara said, “but the fundamentals are they can’t send an official negotiator without causing an international incident. So they’re sending me instead.”

  “You mean us,” Theo said.

  “No. Just me.”

  “You cannot,” Arjan said. “That lunacy is.”

  “All five of us going in there at once will only make things worse,” Zara said. “I’ll go as a private Tremontanan citizen. Theo, I’ll need as many of those gems as you can spare. The government will reimburse your aunt.”