by Martin Ash
Issul wondered about Leth's researches and the source of the blue light. Might he be investigating magic? Why so secretively? There were magicians aplenty in and about Enchantment's Reach. Some held advisory positions in court, and any one or more of them could have been summoned to personally instruct the King. Indeed the land itself was magical, imbued with the strange and indiscernible energies that seeped out of Enchantment. Magic remained a mystery, but not a secret; but Leth had professed no special interest before, and Issul's subsequent enquiries in the accredited schools and amongst the greater and lesser mages known to her had failed to identify a teacher.
Issul gazed through her high window at the lands beyond. Far below, the vast forest stretched to the horizon, an ocean, near-still, of ruffled greens and blues, overlaid in places with deep pools and lengthening strands of soft grey mist. In the furthest distance clumps of purplish-hued cloud hung motionless in a yellowing sky, pierced by the visible peaks of Enchantment. This land, she thought, her eyes stung by tears. This world. This existence. We find ourselves here, not knowing how or why. It is all so strange. Her eyes strained to see the far mountains more clearly. What lies there?
There came a soft knock at Issul's door, rousing her from her musings. At Issul's call her secretary, Hullie, entered. "The Lord High Invigilate requests an immediate audience, ma'm."
"Fectur?" Issul frowned to herself. Lord Fectur was Master of Security for all of Enchantment's Reach, and an infrequent visitor. For a bare moment Issul wondered what his business with her could be, then felt the blood draw back from her face. She closed her eyes. There was surely only one reason for the High Invigilate's call!
She rose, moved to the window, composing herself, then said, "Send him in."
A moment later Lord Fectur strode into her office, a stout man of average height, clad in a blue, ermine-trimmed robe and ankle-boots of softest doeskin. He bowed curtly, and said in a voice bereft of warmth, "I am in possession of something of importance to you."
Issul moved back to her desk and sat down, determined not to be intimidated. This man was, after all, her subject. She met his eyes - they were grey and lustreless, somewhat protruding, the pupils minute, emotionless as a carp's. He was in his forties, broad in the chest, short in the leg and just a touch paunchy. His silver grey hair was swept severely back from a high, wide brow and tucked behind his ears. The face, with a thin, compressed mouth and small fleshy nose, was quite flat and firm-set.
At first glance he was an unimposing figure, but one had only to spend a short time in Lord Fectur's company to discover a chill and ruthless personality, an unsettling intelligence at work behind the veiled eyes. His charm, when he chose to employ it, was seductive, but anyone who knew him, or knew of him, was aware that it was simply a tool.
Fectur was immensely powerful, a man not given to self-questioning. He controlled a great network of agents spread throughout the kingdom. Fectur the Spectre was his sobriquet - though not spoken within range of his hearing, though it was likely the title brought him a grim pleasure - for it could seem that he lurked invisibly, ever listening, ever watching, and knowing more than he should. To underestimate him was to invite severe regret.
Issul held his cold gaze for a moment. She was almost certain of what was to come. "My lord, do you intend telling me what it is, or are we playing guessing games?"
The Lord High Invigilate leaned towards her and extended one arm, the fingers bunched. He rotated the hand and slowly unfurled the fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. Issul stared at the object he held, her worst fears confirmed.
"Where did you get this?"
"I recall that you requested that I deliver it to you, should it ever come into my possession. A cool morning on the third Monday of Nont, a little over three years ago. You summoned me to you, here in this very office, and showed me a duplicate of the object I hold. 'My lord Fectur,' you said, 'should the twin of this piece ever come, by any means, into your possession you are to detain its bearer and bring it without an instant's pause to me.' Am I not correct, my lady?"
Queen Issul took the object from him. It had originally been an ear-pendant, though the clasp had been removed. What Fectur held was a small carving in black onyx representing the figure of a robed woman, kneeling. Once it had been Issul's. "Who has brought it?"
"A woman, a peasant who calls herself Ohirbe. She says she is from the village of Lastmeadow."
Issul sat stiffly, striving to conceal the tumult in her breast. Now there was no possible doubt. Was there no end to this? What was it Mawnie had said, just hours ago? The past never leaves us. It will not let us go.
She looked up again to meet Fectur's gaze. "I will see her. Where is she now?"
"In my official chambers." He straightened. "I will bring her immediately."
"No! Take me to her."
"Take you?" One of Fectur's thin eyebrows arched slightly in surprise. "My lady, I--“
"Lord Fectur, this woman does not know who I am. She believes me to be a woman of respectable station, but nothing more. It is vital that it remains this way. I will go to her, not vice versa. Do not say or do anything in her presence that might give me away. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my lady."
"Good. Now, give me a moment. Wait outside."
Lord Fectur withdrew, his curiosity almost tangible. Issul departed via a door in the west wall and went hastily to her apartments. There she changed from the robe she wore into a simpler dress of heavy grey cotton. She rouged her cheeks, applied makeup about her eyes and freed her hair so that it tumbled about her shoulders. Lastly she donned a long damask hooded cloak, then returned to the lobby outside her office where Fectur waited.
She noted his look as she approached. The eyes settled on her now with single-minded intention. The look held a certainty and a promise; it could make a man's blood run cold. Or a woman’s. 'I know you have something to tell me', it said, and its promise was of the pain to come if that information was not given freely.
How dare he! Issul fought back her indignation. As if I am some common criminal or suspected subversive; as if he cannot wait to have me before him in his dungeon!
She fought down her fear, too. Fectur was not a man to be on the wrong side of. She recalled how she had first instructed the woman, Ohirbe, that it was to Lord Fectur that the onyx pendant be brought. The poor woman had blanched and quaked, the tears had started to her eyes and she had become almost hysterical with terror. And Issul had reassured her: Fectur was not the monster he was reputed to be. It was only to lawbreakers and those disloyal to the Crown that he directed his attentions. He did not harm the innocent. As long as Ohirbe followed her instructions precisely she would be safe. Indeed, the Lord High Invigilate would look favourably upon her actions.
Issul had felt no pride then. She had known that the very mention of Fectur's name, the fear that he too was involved in this queer affair, would doubly ensure Ohirbe's compliance and, equally importantly, her silence.
It had been necessary, that was all. Ohirbe could have delivered the pendant to Issul by other channels, still not knowing that it was the Queen with whom she dealt. But Issul had been considering her own safety, too. She had hoped never to see the pendant again, for fear of what it could mean. But if it was ever returned, then it was advisable that the Lord High Invigilate be made aware.
Fectur did not have to know everything - at least, not yet. But he had to be satisfied that, whatever Issul's business was, it was not being undertaken without his knowledge. That way he might be less inclined to initiate covert investigations of his own. And any case he might attempt to construct against Issul would be undermined by the fact that she had openly sought his involvement.
"I am ready," said Issul. "Take me to her now. And remember, show no undue deference."
Fectur's gaze had become almost placid as he rose from his seat, but Issul felt herself bristling. No undue deference - what irony! She had only to look at his complacent blandness to be left
in no doubt as to whom he believed to be superior. She felt naked, vulnerable and angry. To Fectur's way of thinking no one, no one, was totally beyond his grasp. Not even the Queen. Not even the King.
The terrible thing was, he was right.
"My lady, is there something I should know?" asked Fectur silkily.
Queen Issul briskly gathered her cloak about her. "Perhaps. In due course."
She strode off down the corridor, leaving Fectur to bring himself abreast of her.
*
The woman, Ohirbe, Queen Issul was gratified to note, had been left in a windowed waiting room rather than a cell. She had been given water, fruit and honeycakes, none of which she had touched, and the door to the adjoining chamber, where a clerk worked at his desk, had been left ajar. Fectur knew his business.
As Lord Fectur ushered Issul in, Ohirbe threw herself from the bench upon which she sat, onto hands and knees at her feet.
"Oh, mistress, I 'aven't done nuthin'. I just done what you said. I came straight to--" she lacked the courage even to speak Fectur's name - "--straight 'ere, just like you said I must. I only done what you said."
"I know, Ohirbe. I know. Thank you. You have done the right thing and I am pleased. Plainly I made the right choice in you, and I never doubted that." She bent and took Ohirbe's arm. "Please, get up now. I want you to sit with me and tell me what has happened."
With nervous glances Ohirbe began to clamber to her feet. Issul straightened and faced Lord Fectur. "Thank you, my lord. You may leave us now."
She saw his hesitation, just a fraction of an instant, and the flicker of irritation at the corners of his eyes. He radiated resentment, almost knocking her back, but she stood unflinchingly and somehow held his gaze.
Disobey me, I dare you!
With a curt nod Fectur swivelled on his heel and departed.
Issul closed the door, her heart beating fast, afraid, yes, but also suddenly carried high on the sense of victory, tiny though it might have been. She turned back quickly to Ohirbe, who stood before the bench, head bowed, fingers worrying at the hem of her tattered shawl. "Be seated, please. Would you like something to eat or drink? I can have other things brought. Perhaps a little watered wine?"
"Oh no. No, mistress. I'm fine. Don't you be thinkin’ of me. I'm quite all right, thankin' you." She was a plain woman, ruddy-cheeked and raw-boned, aged around thirty, with lank dark brown hair, streaked with grey. She wore a blue-grey linen skirt, a blouse of similar material and leather slippers.
Ohirbe sat, and Issul lowered herself beside her. She kept the hood of her cloak up. This was same cloak she had worn when she had first met Ohirbe three years ago, and then, too, she had endeavoured to keep her features at least partially obscured. The hood was perhaps almost unnecessary, for now, as then, Ohirbe was too timid to lift her eyes to Issul's face.
"Then tell me why you have come," said Issul softly.
"Because you told me to, mistress. That's what you said, if ever there was anythin' at all uncommon, if ever anyone seemed to be showin' an unusual interest, I should come immediate to the Palace and give the little figure to the Lordship."
"That's right." Issul held her patience as her own nervousness rose. "So, has something happened?"
Ohirbe clutched harder at her shawl. "Oh mistress, I've a strange tale to tell. Somethin' is 'appenin' now, I'm sure of it. We've been so 'appy, Arrin and me and the little one. There's been no trouble at all. We named the baby Moscul, which is what I would've called my own baby if he’d’ve lived. Little Moscul's been just like our own, the joy of our lives."
"Nobody ever suspected that Moscul was not yours?" Issul enquired.
"Why should they, Mistress? My baby came early, and was dead, as you know, but I was 'ere at my sister's at the time, in Enchantment's Reach, so no one from the village knew. And then, just days later you came along with the little one. Why should anyone think anythin'? We get a bit of joshin' from time to time, 'cos Moscul's so fair-headed and we're both dark - 'specially Arrin - but we don't take no notice, and it’s just a bit of banter, nothin' more. And we counts ourselves so lucky. Not only 'ave we got the most beautiful child, but the money you sends us from time to time, it makes all the difference. We're so grateful, Mistress."
"And Moscul has kept well?"
"Oh yes. Just like any other child, 'cept. . . ."
"Except what?"
"Well, there's a fierce intelligence there for one so young. Sometimes you think. . . there's an understandin', a knowin'. You see the little one watchin' and listenin' and you think: 'nothin's passin' that one by!' Not like the other children in the village. Much brighter, but quiet too. Moscul doesn't say much, never 'as. But in the mind, oh, there's a rare one there, I reckon. Even Arrin said once - only jokin', mind - 'e said that Moscul might be a child on the outside, but inside there's somethin' else. You cold, Mistress?"
"No, no. Well, yes, a little." Issul stood quickly, agitated. Not cold, no. But Ohirbe's words had sent a shiver down her spine. "Please go on, Ohirbe. Tell me what has happened now."
"It was a couple of weeks ago, Mistress. I was took ill for a spell, and Arrin had been doin' most of the carin' for Moscul. But then 'e twisted 'is ankle and couldn't get about much. So one day we asked Arrin's cousin, old Julion, to mind the little one. 'E's done it before once or twice. 'E took Moscul off to the Old Pond in the woods, where 'e likes to do a bit of fishin'. But it seems that 'e dozed off and didn't do any fishin'. And when 'e woke up there were two people by the pond, right next to little Moscul. An old woman and a strappin' young man, by Julion's account. They were just standin' there talkin'."
"What did they want?" asked Issul anxiously.
"Well, it seems like they didn't want anythin'. At least, not just then, as they left straight away. I mean, the young man left. Julion took Moscul and went with 'im a short ways. But the old woman stayed behind, and Julion got talkin' a bit to the young man and found that 'e didn't know her. The young man, that is. ‘E didn’t know the woman. 'E'd just come by and saw 'er there with Moscul."
Issul froze. "With Moscul?"
"Oh Mistress," Ohirbe frantically twisted the ends of her shawl. "'’Ave I done wrong?"
"No, no. Not at all. But this happened two weeks ago, you say? Why have you only come to me now, Ohirbe?"
"I didn't know nothin' about it till a few nights ago, Mistress. See, I 'appened to mention at supper one night that I'd seen an old woman. Once when I was pickin' apples, and another time early in the mornin' when I went out to milk the cow. The first time I 'ad Moscul with me. She came to the orchard, and she was watchin' Moscul from the edge, I'm sure of it. I tried to speak to 'er, but she walked away. The second time gave me a bit of a turn. She was outside the cottage, standin' in the mist aside the path, just watchin'. It'd 'ardly even got light. Moment she saw me she left. So I brought this up at supper and Julion - 'e'd 'appened to call round - told me 'bout what 'appened at the pond. 'E isn't the cleverest of men, Julion, but I've no doubt from what 'e said that it was the same woman."
Issul pressed her hand to her forehead, thinking furiously. "You've never seen this woman before?"
"No, Mistress."
"What about the young man? Julion walked with him, you say? Did he find out anything about him?"
"I didn't think to ask, Mistress."
"Where's Moscul now?"
"'ome, Mistress. With Arrin and Julion. Julion stayed over." Ohirbe sniffed, her face crumpling, and a thin quaver came into her voice. "Mistress, nothin' bad's goin' to 'appen to Moscul, is it? We do love that little one so."
Issul released a pent-up breath. She sat beside Ohirbe again and took her hand. "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure nothing bad happens, Ohirbe. But we may have to make some changes. For now, I want you to go home. I will arrange an escort for you. These men will stay with you for the time being, to watch over you and your family. Is that all right?"
Ohirbe nodded.
"Good. Good-bye for now, and thank yo
u for coming to me. I will be in touch with you quite soon, I think."
*
Outside Issul spoke quietly to Lord Fectur. "Have three armed men escort Ohirbe back to Lastmeadow. They should wear no uniform or distinctive garb, and will remain with her and her child until further notice."
"Very good, my lady. There are one or two questions I would like to ask her first. I assume you have no objections?"
"Ohirbe is not to be touched!" hissed Issul with sudden anger. "Nor interrogated. She can tell you nothing, for she knows nothing. Do you understand"
Fectur nodded slowly to himself. "In that case, I think perhaps now there is something I should be told, is there not?"
Issul hesitated. Sooner or later his personal involvement would be unavoidable, but for now, until she had discovered more, she preferred to keep him at bay. "This is a personal matter, Lord Fectur."
He took the snub in silence, but she knew he had absorbed it, added it to other petty resentments he was storing for a possible reckoning later. His memory was near-perfect, it was said. He saw almost all and forgot nothing. Issul suspected that he had a greater knowledge of her than she would wish. It was common knowledge, though unproveable, that his spy network extended into the royal household.
"I will escort you back," said Fectur.
She shook her head. "I am not going back. Not yet. I am going into the town, to Overlip."
Fectur hooked his thumbs into the ermine lapel of his robe. "Where in Overlip?"
"The Tavern of the Veiled Light."
She sensed his tension. "I will assign soldiers."
"No. I go as I am, anonymously, as you see me now, not as the Queen."
"It is dangerous. I cannot permit you to go there alone."
"One man may walk at my side to discourage pests. But inside the tavern he will leave me. Others may be assigned at your discretion, but I do not want to be aware of their presence - unless their intervention is demanded. Is that understood?"
"Quite, my lady."
