Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "I will bring you proof. Until then, stay away from Edouard, and, whatever you think of me, keep silent about this, please." He had reached the door before it came to her. "Roslaire, wait.

  He stopped, reluctantly, without turning back. She moved to stand beside him. "The monk you have been searching for," she said softly. "The tale he brought to the King. It was true, all of it. If I have earned any measure of trust, help me find him. Hear what he says, meet the Compact and then judge me."

  Chapter 45

  The White Hart Inn was packed to the rafters. Edouard winced at the roar of noise and took another mouthful of the thin brownish liquid that passed for wine. He winced again at the taste. As usual, Gaspard de Nortial had chosen the cheapest and foulest wine. The giant knight was standing close by, his shirt, unlaced, gaped wide to show a muscled chest thick with hair. He was preparing to toss the dice. As Edouard watched, he emptied his beaker and roared for more wine. Cradling the dice, he turned to his companions and then his gaze fixed on Edouard.

  "Drink, you pussy. Your sour face is turning my luck." With another roar, he sent his beaker spinning through the air towards Edouard's head.

  Too drunk to duck, Edouard watched it sail past his ear and heard a shout as it hit someone. He sighed and waited to see what would happen next. A moment later, a man brushed past him. "Out of the way you bastards." The man was waving de Nortial's beaker. "Who threw it?" he asked.

  The crowds parted before him.

  "I did," said de Nortial, opening his arms with a suggestive leer.

  The man hesitated. He gave a shaky smile. "No doubt you will be needing it again, Sieur Gaspard." He set the cup on the table and backed away. De Nortial's laughter followed him.

  The White Hart was one of de Nortial's favorite haunts. Always busy, the huge common room was informally divided by the various sports its patrons favored. There were groups at dice, cards and backgammon; in the back corner a noisy crowd surrounded the pit where a cockfight was reaching its climax; in another corner two men were arm wrestling. High above on the balconies, the girls strutted and preened, and in the rooms behind other games were being played.

  Edouard leaned against one of the wooden pillars supporting the balcony. His head was spinning from the heat and noise. He realized he was very drunk. He needed to piss and, if he was to continue drinking with de Nortial, spew. Aiming his beaker for a nearby table, and missing, he set off towards the door. He struggled through the tight press, using his elbows and ignoring the curses. Outside the night air hit him like a pail of water, half sobering him instantly. He wanted to return to the palace and fall into bed, but he guessed Angelo would be waiting for him. He knew there were several reasons for avoiding Angelo, but at the moment he could not call them to mind. Definitely best to stay out of the way until he was sober enough to at least remember why he was in trouble.

  Following the wall round the corner, Edouard came to an alley. It was dark, and he stumbled over something heaped against the wall. Disturbed, it gave off a foul smell, which was too much for his stomach. He bent double to puke, dimly aware of raised voices at the far end of the alley.

  "Me first." A man's voice followed by a curse. "Damn. The whore bit me."

  "That'll teach you to try and take what is not offered." A woman's voice, breathless and angry.

  "Come here, bitch. I'll soon teach you manners."

  Edouard pushed himself upright and turned towards the voices. He stood with one arm braced against the wall, thinking it was a whore's dispute, no business of his. Then he heard the crack of flesh against flesh and someone fell to the ground. A woman's cry was quickly smothered. He heard the sound of tearing fabric and an urgent voice said, "Hold the bitch."

  Even drunk, Edouard knew this was not something he could ignore. He drew his sword and started down the alley. As he drew close, a light flared in an upstairs window, illuminating the scene. There were three men, one more than he had expected. The girl was on the floor, one of the men held her arms, and another was fumbling to raise her skirts. She was struggling and kicking like a wild cat, but they were too strong. As Edouard approached, the man kneeling between her legs raised his fist. "This'll keep you quiet, bitch."

  "Let her go," said Edouard.

  The man with the raised fist turned and spoke with quiet menace, "Get lost, friend, this is not your business."

  The third man had been standing a little way off watching. His red hair glinted as he moved to block Edouard's way. "Go back to your puking. You heard my friend, this is none of your business…" He came to a halt at the sight of Edouard's blade. Stepping back a pace, he laughed. "That's not very friendly. Nor is it wise. There are three of us." Drawing his blade, he called over his shoulder. "Leave the bitch, for now, Carl. We have trouble."

  The other two joined him quickly, leaving the girl sprawled on the cobbles. The one named Carl sneered. "He's no more than a boy, and puking drunk. We'll see him off, then I've unfinished business."

  The red haired man was peering at Edouard. "He puts me in mind of someone…" He raised his blade. "Never mind, it'll come to me. You have him then, Carl, Seb," he said and stood back to let the others go first. Carl came on with confidence. He was thickset and graceless, most of his face hidden beneath a dark beard.

  Edouard no longer felt drunk, but he was in the mood for a fight. He parried the first attack with vicious economy and jabbed an elbow to Carl's ribs, leaving him gasping. Spinning to face the one named Seb, he deflected a vicious thrust and, driving his opponent's blade down, used a foot to trip him. Seb crashed to the cobbles. This flurry of action was quickly over and brought Edouard to where the girl lay. Standing between her and the men, he turned towards the red haired man.

  He was staring at Edouard, open-mouthed. "Holy shit. I know who you are." He backed away, looking towards the riverbank and escape. "Mercy, my lord. I've done nothing." He raised his empty hands. "Let me go, and I'll not trouble you or the lady again. I swear."

  Edouard watched as he bolted, hoping the other two would have the good sense to follow him. They were both upright again. The girl had also picked herself up. With a survivor's good sense, she stayed behind him. "Don't let these two go," she urged. "Teach them a lesson for me."

  "We're not going anywhere, bitch," Carl snarled. "When we've done with the boy, we'll finish with you."

  Edouard had thought that nothing could be more unpleasant than a night spent indulging de Nortial's taste in amusement. These two made the idea seem almost pleasant. As they moved closer, he flexed his fingers around the sword hilt and wondered how much he would have to hurt them.

  In the first engagement, he disarmed Seb, skewering him through the lower arm. Then he advanced on Carl. The man realized he was overmatched, and suddenly his bravado was gone. He glanced towards the riverbank and escape. Edouard was not done with him.

  "Run and I'll cut you up from behind." He promised. After that, it was too easy. With Seb moaning in the background, Carl lost his nerve, and any skill he had possessed went with it. Edouard nicked him on the chin, and then cut him on the thigh. At this point, Seb bolted. Edouard watched as Carl struggled to his feet.

  The girl came forward. "Give me your blade. I'll cut his balls off."

  Edouard held her back. As Carl hobbled away, she called after him, "If you're seen around here again, I'll do it. I swear I will."

  She shook Edouard's restraining hand off. "You should've let me do it. That sort don't understand anything less."

  He released her and stepped back to give her space. Beneath the bruises, she looked little older than he was. Her dress was torn to the waist. "I'm sorry." He wiped the blade quickly and sheathed his sword. Then he slipped his jacket off. "Where do you live?"

  "Here. But you knew that." She still sounded angry, but she accepted the jacket, pulling it around her shoulders. "And who are you?"

  "Nobody."

  "You have a sharp way with a blade, Sieur Nobody."

  He flinched, the mocking title cut
ting way too close to the truth. "Don't call me that."

  "You named yourself." She came a step closer. "I've seen you with Gaspard de Nortial." She said the name with contempt. His jacket hung open, but she made no effort to cover herself. "I'd like to know how to fight like that." She reached out to caress the hilt of his sword. "Do you want to claim your reward now?" Her eyes were cold.

  "Shall I escort you inside?" Edouard said. Suddenly he was beyond tired. It was an effort to speak. This is what it had come to. Worse, it seemed the girl judged him one of a kind with de Nortial. Now even his good deeds were tainted. Ferdinand had stripped him of the title, but in truth, he was earning the name of fallen knight. He thought of the girl in the woods, her body hacked to pieces. A daughter of the mysteries. Just one of the innocents he had failed to protect.

  In the alley, another girl was waiting. An angry girl who was, for some reason, not best pleased with him. He understood something of her anger, though he could not imagine what it meant to be used like that. She was thin with dark hair and large eyes, not the type of girl the Hart's customers usually chose. She had the hardness around her eyes of the girls who followed the trade. Her gaze was sharp, and if she judged him in anger, perhaps she was right.

  "I need no reward," he said and started to turn away.

  "And I will be in no man's debt," she said with a contrary determination. She blocked his way. "Or is it that you think I have nothing to interest you, Sieur?"

  "Don't…" he stopped. The title was not used casually. He understood then. "You know who I am?" He saw it was true. "What is it you want from me?"

  Her gaze dropped to his sword hilt, and the Chamfort crest picked out in silver. "No, Lord Edouard, the question is how may I reward your chivalry." The mockery was sharp, and she raised a hand to silence his protest. "I will repay the service you have performed for me." Again, there was a steely determination in her voice. "Before you answer, I know you do not want my body. But do not be disappointed, I have other talents."

  "Please," he said rubbing his aching head. His patience was nearly done. If the girl was angry, let her spit at someone else. "There is no debt between us. Let me see you inside safely."

  She stared at him. "You mean it."

  He nodded.

  Some of the anger left her eyes. "Well, I mean it too. No debts. Debts are dangerous, but I would guess you know that, Lord Edouard." Her smile was cruel, and he wondered what the gossips said of him. "My name is Camille. I work among the girls of the White Hart. I can offer you their services if that is your wish."

  He could not work out why she was so angry with him. "No." He shook his head and winced.

  She watched him with a calculating gaze. "The girls hear things too. I deal in information, and I have other sources too."

  "Other sources?"

  "The highest and the lowest. None better," she said with confidence. "If there is anything you would like to know? Some enemy whose secrets you would like to own?" She studied him. "I can find things too. A love potion, a rare manuscript, whatever you desire."

  "You are offering to steal for me?"

  "Not personally." She stared at him at him for a few moments, her gaze measuring. "But secrets are powerful. If someone has power over you..."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "It is a guess, nothing more," she said still smiling. "You drink with Gaspard de Nortial, but I see now you are not like him." She shrugged beneath his jacket and frowned. He could see her mind working. But she was not done, "I wonder what ties you to a man like that. Your fall is common knowledge, Lord Edouard. And recently there has been talk, those that thought the King harsh with you are wondering if they misjudged." She seemed to take a spiteful pleasure in stating each humiliating truth. By the saints, she was angry. He supposed she had good reason, but what ill turn of luck had made him her target?

  He turned away, certain he would never do anyone a favor again. He had almost reached the riverbank when she caught up with him.

  "I did not say they were right," she said, her tone a little softer.

  "It's none of your business."

  "But perhaps there is some way I can help." The idea seemed to please her. Though her determination to help him had an undeniable perverseness. "All men have secrets, Gaspard de Nortial more than most. If others threaten you, there may be a way to counter them."

  He stopped. Beneath the tiredness an idea formed. He thought about it as the girl stood waiting. He started to speak, half amazed at what he was doing. "There is a man I would like to speak to, but I have not been able to find him."

  "Is he in the city?"

  "Yes, hidden, somewhere in the Jallo perhaps?" He hesitated. "No one must know that I am looking for him."

  "Not even your friend Gaspard de Nortial?"

  Edouard wondered if he was making another mistake, but what had he to lose? "He must not know anything of my business."

  "I am glad of that, I want no part of him and his like. Give me the details and it is done." She took him by the arm turning away from the riverbank. "Come, my room is upstairs. We will go the back way."

  He came to a stop, thinking of the balconies crowded with girls and their customers. Camille gave a humorless laugh, drawing him on. "If we are to meet, then it is best done among the girls. Let your friends think it is nothing more than sex, they will believe that easily enough. It will protect our true business."

  He did not much like it, but she was right. De Nortial and his cronies would not be suspicious if, in drink, he was found with a girl. He followed her down the narrow alley to the back of the inn. There was a wooden staircase. She led him up to a locked door. Her knock was quickly answered. Camille spoke with the man guarding the entrance, and then drew Edouard inside.

  It was dark, but he saw they were in a corridor. In the distance, he could hear the roar of noise from the ground floor of the inn, closer the sound of soft laughter and the scurry of feet. A girl dashed by giggling, followed by an older man. Edouard recognized him. As he stared, Camille caught his arm pulling him towards another flight of stairs.

  She brought him to an attic room. There was a bed in one corner, and a small window looked out over the rooftops. He studied the view as Camille pinned her ruined dress together and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. Finished, she handed him his jacket. "Now, tell me about the man you want found."

  It seemed madness, but it was too late to change his mind, and he was desperate. He did not see what harm could come of it. "It is an old man, a monk from the south. He is one of the brotherhood of Tarsien. A week ago, he came to court spinning a strange tale to the King. He was not well received, and since then no one has been able to find him." He paused. "I mean him no harm, but I would like to speak with him. I fear there are others who seek him, and they do mean him harm. That is why he is in hiding. If you do this, it must be done quietly. Find where he is staying and I will go to him. That way I can ensure we do not bring trouble down on him."

  "So there may be a risk for the searchers too?"

  "Yes." He admitted. "I can only guess who else is looking, but you would do well to avoid their notice. If you want to change your mind, I'll understand."

  She shook her head. "I will find your monk by tomorrow night. Be here and ready to find me."

  He did not think it likely she could find the old man, let alone so quickly, but he nodded and then stood, awkwardly, waiting.

  She smiled. "You should go now. I will make sure this story gets told, and next time no one will be surprised if you seek me out."

  Chapter 46

  The next night, Mariette ate supper alone in her room. Afterwards, she removed her jewelry and gathered her hair beneath a simple cap. She put on one of Sophie's dresses, hiding a dagger among the folds of her skirt, and chose a plain cloak. Ready, she prowled the room.

  Two days had passed since her desperate challenge to Roslaire. She had gambled that, until the other members of the Compact arrived, finding the monk and hearing his stor
y might be enough to convince Roslaire to stay away from Edouard. A day had passed without word, and she had almost given up hope. His note had arrived late in the afternoon. It said very little, only that he would come for her this evening. She should be dressed to go into the city and have her men ready. She had done as he requested; her men were waiting at the west tower. But it was past the time arranged, and still he did not come.

  Sophie was settled by the fire, sewing a green silk dress. She looked up. "He will come. Why else would he send the note?"

  Mariette did not answer. She was unwilling to admit that Roslaire might be playing some game of his own, punishing her. She had known he was not a man to cross. He was close to Ferdinand too, and the risk she had taken in using him seemed like insanity now.

  She went to stand by the window, looking out into the night. Lights glimmered from the palace windows and torches cast grim shadows along the ramparts. High above, the hidden moon cast a silver glow around the edges of the clouds. Beyond the palace walls, Fourges lay waiting. She turned to pace, certain that time was running out. If they did not find the monk soon, he would not be found.

  The knock at the door made her jump. Sophie rose quickly and went to open it. Roslaire was waiting outside. He was wearing black leather and wool; a plain scabbard held his sword, and she could see two daggers strapped at his waist. His golden curls were tied back. The severe style accentuated the dramatic lines of his face and the cold gray eyes.

  "My lady." He bowed with court formality. "I have found your monk."

  His manner unnerved her. "Where?" she asked coolly, trying to match him.

  "In the Jallo. There are two of them. One is older. He is rarely seen, and only goes out at night to visit a nearby chapel. His companion is a young monk who goes out daily to fetch food and firewood. No one speaks of the old man. That is why they were hard to find."