by Mark Robson
At the base of the stairwell was a hall with four doors leading from it. The guards pushed her towards the door directly in front of them. One of the men drew a large bunch of keys from his waist belt, opened the lock and swung the door inwards to reveal a small, dark chamber. Femke was shoved forwards again and forced into the cell, where another guard unlocked her manacles.
Femke rubbed at her wrists as she took a quick look around the room. There was a small cot bed with a single blanket neatly folded on top, a hole in the floor in the corner of the room, which Femke assumed served as a toilet, and a small vent in the ceiling with a heavy metal grille over it. The guards said nothing as they left, closing the door firmly behind them and plunging the room into pitch darkness. The sounds of the bolts being driven home and the key turning the heavy metal lock caused a deep depression to settle in Femke’s heart.
‘Twice in two days!’ she muttered, angrily. ‘Caught and locked up twice in two days! This isn’t funny any more.’
It took a few seconds for Femke to realise that the darkness in this cell was not as complete as it had been in Count Dreban’s cellar. There was still noise outside at the base of the stairwell and a slight glow of torchlight lit the crack at the bottom of her door. Listening hard, Femke quickly realised the guards were arranging a constant watch on her cell. At least the hallway outside would be lit on a permanent basis, which would filter a little light into her cell, she reasoned, trying to make something positive out of this development. With a little light, her prison would not feel so claustrophobic.
The dull sound of talking outside faded to silence, but the light under the door remained. Femke sighed in resignation. There would be no easy way out of here, but there was a strong spark of determination within her that was not ready to be extinguished. Femke knew King Malo might decide to try her without independent representation, but, if she had read his body language correctly, the spy felt confident that the King would grant her request. Allowing such representation was unlikely to affect the outcome of any trial, but it would show willingness to Emperor Surabar to see that ‘justice’ was done.
Femke’s primary interest in the request was to buy her some time – time that would allow her a greater chance of escaping and subsequently proving her innocence. At the moment her mind was still awash with irritation at having been outwitted again by Shalidar, so she decided to sleep on the problem.
The blanket on the cot bed smelled musty, but Femke was pleased to have something to wrap herself in. In comparison with her situation in the cellar of Count Dreban’s house, she was actually quite comfortable. She eased down onto the narrow bed. Her cuts and bruises were not as painful as they had been the previous day. With a bed to sleep on, both clothing and a blanket to keep her warm, a small amount of light and the probability that the guards would bring her food on a regular basis, things could be a lot worse.
Strangely, despite all of the bad things that had dogged her over the last few days, Femke’s last thoughts before she went to sleep were of Lord Danar. His roguish features and mischievous smile popped into her head from nowhere, as they had done several times during her journey to Mantor. Femke did not know why she kept thinking of the young Lord, but she did wonder vaguely how he had reacted to Lady Alyssa disappearing before he had managed to woo her with his legendary charm.
If any of the guards had chanced to look in on their prisoner at that moment, they would doubtless have been surprised to see that as sleep overcame her, a look of peaceful happiness formed on her face and stayed there for some considerable time.
‘Ah, Lord Danar, come in. I’ve been expecting you.’
‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ Danar responded, pausing to bow low before moving fully into the Emperor’s study. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’
Surabar smiled, his face displaying the warmest expression Danar had yet seen from the recently crowned Emperor. For a moment it was hard to reconcile the expression with Danar’s last encounter with him. The young Lord’s first impression had been of a hardened leader of soldiers whose body and mind were taut with discipline. He had thought Surabar to be uncompromising, autocratic, cold and heartless; yet the silver-haired man smiling up at Danar from the desk now looked to be none of those things.
‘Thank you for your swift response to my messenger, Lord Danar. I am most pleased with both your prompt arrival and the reports I’ve been getting of your recent efforts at home.’
‘How do you . . . ?’ Danar began to ask without thinking things through properly.
‘That’s a question you don’t want to know the answer to,’ Surabar said, with a slight chuckle. ‘Though I’m sure you will work it out quickly enough. My sources tell me you were both eloquent and forceful in your representations to your father. Time alone will tell whether this will be enough to turn him fully from the path down which he embarked, but I can assure you that you’ve won my respect for what you did after our last meeting. Because of your loyalty, both to me and your family, I’ve decided to tell you where Lady Alyssa has gone.’
‘You have?’ Danar exclaimed, his voice suddenly full of hope and joy.
‘I have,’ the Emperor repeated. ‘However, my reason for this revelation is not to aid your love life. There are some things I’m going to tell you about Lady Alyssa that must never be spoken of outside this room. You will have noted already that I’m well informed about what is going on beyond the Palace walls. You may assume that I’ll know if you break this part of the agreement. Do I make myself clear, Lord Danar?’
‘Crystal clear, your Majesty,’ the young Lord replied, a little taken aback by the tone change from convivial to threatening in a couple of sentences. This ex-military General was a many-faceted character who would take some fathoming out, but Danar was willing to forgive Surabar any quirks if he released the information on Alyssa he had promised.
‘Good, because what Alyssa is doing is most sensitive in nature and is highly confidential. If the slightest hint is dropped to the wrong person of her activities, then it could prove embarrassing to the Empire, and fatal to her,’ Surabar said gravely. ‘I’m sure you don’t want anything bad to happen to the young lady, so I feel confident the knowledge that her life depends on your discretion will help keep you from making any foolish slips of the tongue.’
Lord Danar nodded mutely, his eyes registering shock at the strength of the Emperor’s words. If he had thought Alyssa was an interesting character before, his opinion had now strengthened a hundredfold.
‘Lady Alyssa is a member of the Imperial spy network. Indeed, Alyssa is not merely a member; she is a top agent who often operates undercover, playing any number of different roles. I should tell you before we go any further that Alyssa is not her real name, or at least I don’t think it is.’
The Emperor paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.
‘There again, it could be her real name, but I’m fairly certain Alyssa was not born into a Noble family, so her title at least is fictional.’
‘That would tie in with what little I found out about her when I tried to track Lady Alyssa down,’ Danar offered, trying to encourage the Emperor with his train of thought.
‘Well, it should be enough to know that at present, Alyssa is going by the name of Femke. I was under the impression this was her real name, but now I think of it, I have nothing to substantiate that as a fact. Femke has gone as my Ambassador to Thrandor to extend a hand of reconciliation and peace to our southern neighbours – as well as to do some reconnaissance and general information gathering, of course. Unfortunately, it appears things have not gone as we planned.’
‘In what way, your Majesty? Do the Thrandorians not want peace?’ Danar asked. ‘I would have thought that after their recent troubles, they would have leaped at the chance of a peaceful resolution.’
Surabar saw the expression and he knew he was doing the right thing. This young Lord was ripe for induction into Imperial service. Danar was committed to a goal, which at present tied in with Sura
bar’s plans. If he twisted it with some family blackmail, then everyone should come out of this scenario happy.
‘Oh, the Thrandorians want peace well enough, but something has gone wrong in Mantor. Someone has murdered two senior Thrandorian Noblemen whilst Femke has been a guest of the King. A messenger from King Malo arrived not more than an hour ago outlining the basic facts. They make for a depressing report. All the evidence suggests Femke was the killer. Items of hers were found at the scene of the murder and, to make matters worse, when the King’s men went to Femke’s quarters to find her and take her to the King so she could give her version of events, Femke ran away from them. There is such a huge weight of evidence against her that, if I were in King Malo’s position, I’d find it difficult not to believe that she’s the killer.’
‘But why would Alys . . . Femke want to kill Thrandorian Noblemen? It makes no sense,’ Danar protested vehemently.
‘You can see that, and I can see that, but it appears someone will have to convince the King of Thrandor of Femke’s innocence. I believe you’ll stand as good a chance as anyone else of persuading the King, which is why I’m sending you there right away,’ Surabar said firmly, his face managing somehow to look serious whilst smiling at the same time.
‘Me? Convince the King? But how?’ Danar asked, suddenly not so sure of himself.
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Surabar replied confidently. ‘If you don’t, I’ll be hanging your father inside a month for his involvement in organising the fracas outside the Palace at my coronation. Besides, I’ll be sending a member of the Imperial spy network along to help you. He’ll be under orders to aid you in any way he can in order to settle this affair with the minimum amount of fuss and to limit the chances of the situation deteriorating into another war. The Empire needs some peace and stability if it’s to prosper. Recent events have damaged our international relationships and the confidence of our own populace in Imperial rule. If we’re to remain strong, we must have time to allow our wounds to heal.’
Danar’s mind raced as he thought the situation through. He had never liked politics, but he was left with little choice. He would not stand by and allow the Emperor to hang his father if there were a chance of a pardon. Finally he had a chance to do something to win his father’s respect. It would also endear him to the Emperor, whilst allowing him to follow Alyssa, or Femke, or whatever her real name was. Everyone would win. Better than that, the trained spy assigned to go with him was likely to do most of the work, but he would get all the credit. The situation could not have worked out better if he had planned it.
‘Very well, your Majesty, I’ll leave at once. Where will I find my travelling companion?’ the young Lord asked impulsively.
‘You’ll find him waiting for you at the Palace stableyard, Danar, but don’t be too hasty. Have you any idea how you will find Femke when you get to Mantor? Femke may look nothing like the Lady Alyssa, so you’ll need to have some sort of plan of action for when you arrive. What do you think the best approach to this situation will be?’
Danar thought for a moment, his right hand automatically going to his chin and his fingers stroking it slowly as if he were straightening hairs in a beard. His eyes flickered as he flashed ideas and plans through his consciousness in an attempt to identify something that had merit.
‘Would it not be better if I went openly?’ he suggested, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm. ‘I could arrive, much as Femke did, carrying a response message from you to his Majesty, the King. The King will then know his message has been received, and that you are concerned enough to respond by sending a Nobleman to reply to the charges levelled against your Ambassador. At the same time, with me riding into the city openly, Femke is bound to hear word of more Shandese visitors and should endeavour to make contact with us. Once we have her side of the story, your spy and I, together with Femke, of course, will have a chance to decide on how to proceed.’
Emperor Surabar considered his answer and then nodded thoughtfully.
‘It sounds like a good starting point. Talk it over with your companion. I believe he wishes to be known as Ennas for this trip. Listen to him, Danar. He is experienced at espionage and will provide you with a lot of information and expert advice if you give him a chance. Safe journey and good luck.’
‘Thank you, your Majesty. I won’t let you down,’ Danar promised fervently. He bowed and turned to leave, adding under his breath, ‘And I won’t let you down either, Alyssa. I’m coming.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘Where have you been, Phagen? You’ve been gone ages.’
Phagen was surprised to find Kalheen in their room. He had not seen much of his roommate recently.
‘I was trying to arrange a visit to see the Ambassador,’ Phagen replied, his voice not much louder than a whisper.
‘Really? Did you get to see her? I feel terribly bad about handing her over to the guards the way I did. Maybe I should have given her a chance to bluff her way out. It was a tricky situation. I didn’t want to get locked up as well.’
Phagen did not answer. He pursed his lips and shook his head.
‘No joy? I tried myself a few days ago, but the Royal Guards are a stubborn lot,’ Kalheen continued, not noticing the undertones of Phagen’s gesture. ‘They’re determined not to let anyone near her until the trial. I spoke to Sidis and Reynik earlier as well. They’ve not found out anything helpful about the murders. All the evidence still points at the Ambassador. Do you think she did do it?’
‘I don’t,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve not found anything either. Time is running out. If we don’t find the true killer soon, it’ll be too late.’
‘Don’t be long. Let’s not invite trouble.’
‘I won’t. Thanks, Faslen,’ Reynik replied in a grateful whisper.
The door to the cell opened. Ambassador Femke looked pale and slightly worried, though she brightened the instant she saw who was entering.
‘Reynik! How did you convince them to let you down here? I didn’t expect to see anyone until they called me for trial.’
‘I’ve made a few friends amongst the Palace Guards. They’re a good bunch once you get to know them,’ Reynik replied with a grin. ‘Listen, I only have a minute. I just wanted to know you were all right and to see if there’s anything we can do to help. We – me, Sidis, Kalheen and Phagen that is – don’t believe you committed those murders, but we haven’t been able to find any clues as to who did.’
‘It was a man named Shalidar,’ Femke said quickly. ‘He’s a Shandese assassin. He has a house here in the upper quarter of Mantor. Apparently he’s known here as a wealthy Shandese merchant and probably runs a perfectly legitimate business.’
‘Shalidar. Right. I’ll keep an eye out for him.’
‘Kalheen knows who he is, but listen: Reynik, do the others know you’re here?’ Femke asked urgently.
‘No. I’ve only just managed to persuade Faslen to bring me down.’
‘Don’t tell them you’ve seen me. I may be paranoid, but I think the less people involved, the better. If you can snoop around a bit, I’d appreciate it, but be careful. Shalidar is extremely dangerous. He’d kill you as soon as blink. I know he did it. He told me himself, but I have no proof. I get the feeling that evidence will not be easy to come by.’
‘Don’t worry, Ambassador. I’ll be careful. I’ll do my best and . . .’ Reynik dropped his voice as low as he could, ‘I’ll see if there’s any way I can get you out of here. Be ready when the time comes.’
‘Please don’t do anything silly, Reynik. This trip has been a disaster for international relations as it is. I don’t want to make it worse.’
‘Trust me, my Lady,’ Reynik whispered with a grin that made him look positively boyish. ‘I’d better go now. Chin up.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’
‘Yes, Hanri, what is it?’ Shalidar asked, irritated by the disturbance.
‘One of the watchers has reported a young man hanging around outside. They
say this is the second day he’s been seen watching the house. Would you like the men to bring him in?’
Shalidar thought about it for a moment. ‘No,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Have them “dissuade” him from loitering, would you? Tell them not to kill him. Just get them to rough him up. He’ll soon get the message.’
‘Very well, sir. I’ll see to it right away.’
Femke drummed her fingers on the edge of the wooden cot bed. Has it been fourteen days now, or fifteen? she wondered dully. Five days had passed since Reynik’s visit, but had there been nine, or ten days in prison before that? It was irrelevant really. In all that time she had come no closer to finding a way out.
Femke had long since decided that whoever had designed this cell had done a good job. The door was solid, with a double bolt and a sturdy lock. It had two small, sliding metal plates fitted. One was at head height, square, with a similar width to Femke’s spread hand. The other was a small distance from the floor and was slot-like. This was where the guards would push through plates of food at obscure times of day and night. As far as Femke could tell, there was little rhyme or reason to the timings of her meals, but she knew a little about the psychology behind the treatment of prisoners. It was likely an attempt by the guards to disorientate her by playing with her concept of passing time. She ignored it.
The vent in the roof which, judging from the small amount of natural light that filtered through during the daytime, led up to clear air about thirty feet above the cell. It was too narrow to climb through and was blocked by securely fixed iron bars. The toilet drain hole was also narrow and barred. The vent, toilet hole and door comprised the only entry and exit points from the cell. Femke explored every potential avenue for exploiting them, but found nothing positive.
The small cot bed had been Femke’s first thought for possible escape materials. Listening hard at the door to discern when the guard outside was taking a nap, Femke had waited until she felt safe to make some noise without raising suspicion, then she had tipped the bed on its side and traced every join of the wood. The maker of the bed had been extremely clever and had not used a single metal nail or screw in its construction. The entire bed had been put together using fitted joints with glue, so there were no stray bits of metal of any kind for her to work with.
