Imperial Spy

by Mark Robson

  ‘Ready?’ asked Danar.

  Everyone nodded, so Danar thumped on the cell door with the side of his hand. ‘Open up, please,’ he called to the guard. There was a slight pause, followed by the sounds of the key being turned in the lock and the bolts being drawn back. The door opened and the captain and the guard were both waiting outside with interested expressions.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ the captain asked suspiciously. ‘You weren’t in there for long.’

  ‘It appears the Ambassador does not believe in our “pagan worship” of Ishell. The lady told us she would only accept blessings from priests of Shand, so there is little cause for us to remain any longer. We have offered our prayers, but there’s no more we can do without her cooperation,’ Danar replied sadly.

  The captain looked past the priests. In the semi-darkness of the cell he saw the figure of the Ambassador settling down under the blanket on the small cot. Her back was towards the door in what looked like a deliberate snub. ‘Each to their own,’ he said with a shrug, the suspicion dropping from his tone. ‘Follow me then. I’ll show you back out to the gate.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain. Your help in facilitating this visit is much appreciated. I’ll be sure to offer prayers for you and your family when I get down to the temple.’

  Femke smiled quietly under the shadow of her hood. If Danar lays the oil on any thicker, we’ll struggle to follow the captain up the stairs without slipping, she thought with a mental giggle. Then the cold fingers of doubt slid around her heart as Femke considered Danar’s inexperience at this sort of deception. Don’t go over the top, she willed silently, hoping with all her heart that the young Lord did not do anything silly. He had done so well until now. It would be a terrible waste for it to fall apart at the last moment.

  Femke need not have worried. The walk through the Palace went without incident. Before long they were outside the Palace and walking down through the city towards the temple of Ishell. Once they had moved down out of the immediate vicinity of the Palace, Danar turned to talk to Femke. She rebuked him quietly.

  ‘Stay in character until we are out of the robes,’ she told him sternly. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for talk later. Are we really going to the temple?’

  ‘Yes,’ Danar replied. ‘There’s a dressing room at the back where we can leave the robes. There are some suitable clothes for you stored in one of the lockers there along with ours.’

  ‘Good,’ Femke replied shortly and then resumed her head-down shuffling walk.

  Nobody took the slightest notice of three priests walking slowly through the streets. It was almost as if they were invisible, Femke thought wryly. People paid more attention to priests in Shandar, as the senior priests of Shand tended to dabble in politics. Here, the priesthood almost exclusively served the poor and the afflicted. The rich, together with those who felt they were upwardly mobile in society, did not associate themselves with the churches at all. When one wanted to avoid the gaze of the Nobility, what better disguise than as a person they would ignore on principle? It was a nugget of information that Femke stored jealously in her mind, wishing it had been her idea.

  When they reached the temple, Femke was also surprised to find that it was not the grand affair she had been expecting. It was large but practical, with none of the trimmings of the great temple of Shand. The three of them shuffled, heads down, around to the rear of the building and entered into the changing room Danar had mentioned. A row of wooden lockers lined one wall and a long coat rail with regularly spaced hooks sported a smattering of robes along the middle of the room. The place was conveniently empty of people, so Danar retrieved keys from inside his robe and opened some lockers.

  ‘Here’s your clothing,’ he said to Femke, with a tenderness in his voice that rang warning bells in her head.

  All the way down from the Palace Femke had been playing over in her mind the question of what had brought Lord Danar the many leagues to Mantor and into her cell. The obvious answer was one that the young spy did not want to face. The moment when he had removed his hood in her cell had nearly caused her to scream in fright. She had dreamed about him a few times during her imprisonment, fondly thinking of how she might have fostered a relationship with him had her life been different. It was as if one of her dreams had come to life in front of her eyes. For an instant, Femke had wondered if she was hallucinating, but as soon as Danar had spoken, she had known he was real.

  But what was he doing here? Lord Danar was a playboy – a young man out of control amongst the lovelier Ladies in the Shandese Court. Could he truly be serious about a relationship with her? Particularly now that Danar had to be aware that she was not Lady Alyssa, but a spy for the Emperor? Femke was almost too frightened by the prospect to want to follow that line of thought. The best thing to do, she concluded, was to be cold and uncaring towards him. If Femke could convince him to lose interest quickly, then she would be able to continue her life as if nothing had happened. There was no future in a relationship between a Lord and a spy. Someone would get hurt. And Femke knew that in all likelihood, that someone would be her.

  They all changed quickly, hanging their robes randomly on unused hooks and throwing on the garments in the lockers with all haste. Danar left the keys in the locks of the empty lockers and proceeded to take the lead out of the door through which they had entered. Femke and Reynik said nothing. She wondered for a moment whether Reynik knew why Danar was really here. Did the young soldier know what he was dealing with? Did he even realise yet that Femke was a spy? It might be better not to involve him more than was necessary, she thought.

  Danar had assumed the leadership role as if it were his rightful place. He would not keep the lead for long, Femke vowed silently. There would be an enlightening of the young Lord’s mind in the near future that would place his position in the larger scheme of things clearly in perspective – and it would be Femke who would do the enlightening.

  Once they were back out on the streets, Femke moved alongside Danar and started to try to find out what sort of hand they held for the renewal of the game. Danar smiled warmly at her, but if he expected to get an equally warm response, he was disappointed.

  ‘Where are we staying?’ Femke asked, keeping any intimacy from her voice and not allowing the mixed emotions that surged inside her to show in any way.

  ‘We have rooms booked at the Old Wagoneer,’ Danar replied, his enthusiasm not dampened by her flat question. ‘It’s not exactly salubrious, but Ennas convinced me that we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves by staying somewhere too plush. The problem is that people remember those with money, particularly if they’re willing to spend it.’

  ‘I understand the reasons, Lord Danar. Do you think I know nothing? The Old Wagoneer will be fine to begin with, but we will need to move shortly – preferably today.’

  ‘Why would we want to do that?’ Danar asked curiously. ‘Ennas was all for staying at this inn. Reynik agreed too, didn’t you, Reynik?’

  ‘True – I did,’ Reynik acknowledged, rubbing his hands together nervously. ‘However, Femke is right, we need to move from there quickly. As soon as the Royal Guards realise they’re no longer holding the Ambassador of Shandar but an apparent dimwit who they’ll think was paid to take her place, they will start to follow our tracks. The guards are not stupid. I know several of them. It won’t take them long to work out we were not real priests, which will bring them to the temple. From there to the Old Wagoneer should take a little longer, but I suspect someone will point them in the right direction quickly enough.’

  ‘So should we leave for Shandar straight away then?’ the young Lord asked, sounding less certain. ‘Surely it’s too dangerous for you to remain here now?’

  ‘I’m afraid things have gone too far for me to run away,’ Femke replied grimly. ‘Unless I can prove to the King that Emperor Surabar did not send me here as an assassin, it’s possible another war will start. Neither country wants that. Also, I’m not going back to Shandar u
ntil I know Ennas is out of that dungeon safely and Shalidar has been exposed. It would be a good idea for us to get out of the city for a while though. Too many people have seen me in different guises. I’m going to need a radical new one, for which we will need certain materials. They can be obtained easily enough.’

  Lord Danar did not look happy, but Reynik nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll get what you need,’ he offered. ‘I’ve walked the markets and know where to find most things. Give me a list. I can judge your size well enough. Do you have a plan in mind?’

  Femke grinned. ‘Oh, yes!’ she replied with a wicked little laugh. ‘I have a plan, and it’s a real dancer!’

  ‘You know, Lady Ambassador, when I was given this assignment, I thought it would be boring. If I’d known it would be this much fun, I’d have been a lot more enthusiastic,’ Reynik said, his face beaming.

  Lord Danar looked from one smiling face to the other and he began to feel a strange apprehension. This whole trip to Thrandor had been an adventure. Posing as a priest with the risks involved in penetrating to the heart of the Royal Palace and rescuing Femke had reminded him of his pranks back in Shandrim. He suddenly realised that he had been viewing this whole mission like one of the stories his father had told him as a boy. He had seen himself as the dashing hero setting out to rescue his imprisoned princess and then sweeping her off her feet to live happily ever after.

  The realities of the situation were beginning to sink in. Femke, although as attractive as any woman in the Shandese Court, was no swooning young Lady to be swept off her feet. Instead she was a tough spy with an indomitable will and a determination to see her mission through to the end.

  Lord Danar still found himself attracted to Femke, but now that the rose-tinted glasses had come off, he began to wonder what he had got himself into.

  King Malo sat in his study and drummed his fingers on the large oval table. The funerals for Baron Anton and Count Dreban had been very different affairs, but a common atrocity linked them such that the ageing monarch could not get the occasions out of his mind. Murder: simply thinking about the word brought a chill of cold anger and outrage to his heart. Both men were killed by knife wound – one struck in the heart and one in the throat. The medics’ report suggested a knife of exactly the same dimensions as the one found protruding from Anton’s chest had killed the Count. The same knife had been identified by one of the Ambassador’s servants as belonging to her.

  All the evidence clearly indicated that Ambassador Femke had committed the two crimes. No ambassador that Malo had ever met had possessed the skills required to escape from the Palace in the spectacular fashion Femke had demonstrated. The merchant, Shalidar, had corroborated this evidence by confirming that the woman was an assassin. So why was something niggling in the King’s mind that refuted all the evidence?

  Something about his short interview with Femke bothered him. There was an air of innocence about the Ambassador that haunted him. He knew he would have to interview her again, but he had been putting it off for days. The messengers he had sent to the Shandese Emperor should both have long since arrived in Shandar. Another Shandese delegation would doubtless arrive shortly. The question in the King’s mind was when to interview the Ambassador again. Should he wait for the Shandese representative to be present, or should he question her now? It was a difficult decision.

  The King had interviewed each of the other members of the Ambassador’s party with varying degrees of success. The two soldiers had said little. They had kept to the military code of ‘the less said, the less trouble it will cause’. It did not help the King.

  What little the two men had said was illuminating. They had both told how the Ambassador had asked them to gather information on recent events, but that they had not had a chance to report their findings. Why would an assassin be interested in such information? That was more general information gathering, which was in line with an Ambassador’s role or at least an espionage operation – not that of an assassin. The King did get a strong feeling that if the Ambassador was the murderer, the two soldiers had no prior knowledge of any assassination plot.

  The two servants had been more difficult to read. One had been so unforthcoming that the interview had proved a waste of time. Whether this was through shyness, secretiveness, or whether it was reluctance to say anything that would incriminate the Ambassador, was hard to determine. The other servant, however, could not have been more different. Trying to halt the flow of words that poured from him was akin to attempting to stop the tide from coming in with your bare hands. Unfortunately, the information he did provide was completely useless, for he was fiercely loyal to the Ambassador and would not say the slightest word against her.

  Malo was glad he had conceded to Femke’s request for representation from Shandar. It had given him time to think through the whole bizarre series of events several times and there were a lot of minor things that did not make sense. It had also given him time to calm down enough to be more objective about the charges Femke faced. This would be good when the trial came to court. He now felt sure he could give the Ambassador a fair hearing, which he would not have been able to do had he held the trial immediately.

  There was also something strange about the merchant’s information. Shalidar had appeared to take pleasure in condemning the Shandese Ambassador, and his story of having thwarted a previous plot of hers did not ring true. If his story about her wanting revenge were true, then it did offer a valid motive. But the King was sure there was more to all this than met the eye.

  ‘Oh, Anton!’ he sighed out loud. ‘Why did it have to be you? It’s times like these that I need your calm head and clear judgement. What should I do, old friend?’

  Silence fell again in the room as the King’s voice died away. Malo knew there would be no answers from the stillness unless they came from his own heart. He would wait. The Ambassador was not going anywhere. He could afford to await the Emperor’s response to Malo’s messengers before he brought the matter to the Court, he decided. Surely Surabar would not delay in responding to such urgent messages.

  Malo decided to give the Emperor three more days. If nobody arrived in Mantor within that time, then the Court would convene regardless and the trial would begin.

  ‘Three more days,’ he vowed. ‘Three more days, then I’ll put this to rest.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Is that everything?’

  ‘Oh, yes, and a pair of scissors – I’m going to need a hair cut,’ Femke replied, finishing the list. ‘Thanks, Reynik. When you get back we’ll work on the details of the plan and think about where Danar and I are going to move to tonight. Try not to be too long. You’d better be back up at the Palace before it gets too late, or questions might be asked.’

  Reynik nodded and raised his hand in a quick gesture of farewell before slipping out of the door. Femke gave him a grateful smile before reluctantly turning her attention to Lord Danar, whom she sensed was looking at her with his puppy-dog eyes. It was a novelty to be pursued romantically, and flattering that it was by a handsome, young Nobleman. However, it was also most inconvenient and inappropriate given the current situation. She could not consider allowing a relationship to develop, no matter how attractive and dashing he was.

  Femke could not deny her attraction to Danar, though she would die rather than let him know how his charm had affected her. She had seen it catch the hearts of many other young Ladies of Court and had scoffed at their foolishness. If anyone had told her Danar would travel to Thrandor in order to pursue a relationship with a Lady before she had left Shandar, Femke would have laughed it off as ridiculous. He had plenty of attractive women at his beck and call right there in Shandrim.

  He’ll have to wait, she thought ruthlessly. He’s come this far, so he’ll not give up easily. I wonder if my new disguise will put him off?

  ‘So, Lord Danar, I haven’t had the chance to ask why you came to Mantor with one of the Emperor’s best spies,’ Femke said aloud, determined to clear the
air between them.

  ‘Please call me Danar. There’s no need for formality.’

  ‘Very well, Danar. So what did bring you here?’

  ‘Well, it was a bit strange,’ Danar answered, his lips twisting into his characteristic mischievous smile. ‘I was looking to finish a conversation with an attractive young woman who I met at the recent coronation ceremony of the new Emperor of Shandar. For some reason the young woman, who is known to the Shandese Court as Lady Alyssa, felt disinclined to meet with me after the ceremony, and proceeded to leave the city before I had a chance to persuade her to change her mind. I made some enquiries after her that eventually led me to have a conversation with Emperor Surabar. He kindly furnished me with a competent travelling companion and sent me here to Mantor.’

  Femke sighed and looked Danar straight in the eyes. ‘Then you have made a wasted journey, Lor . . . Danar. The woman you seek does not exist. Lady Alyssa is a figment of your . . . no, of my imagination, created for a specific purpose. That purpose is not, and never will be, diverted towards a frivolous relationship.’

  ‘I know,’ Danar replied softly, his face still smiling. ‘I realised Alyssa was not real some time ago, but that doesn’t matter. I’m sure the creator of Alyssa will be equally, if not more, interesting. My problem is how to learn who that person is and, when I do discover more about her, how she will view my interest?’

  Femke could not help but smile slightly at his phrasing. This man was a born charmer and she did not possess the immunity she would dearly love at this moment to ignore his charisma.

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not totally sure,’ she said. ‘You should know my background is about as far from yours as it is possible to get. If you’re insistent on chasing the illusion, then let me dispel it now. I was born the third child of six to a poor family in the eastern quarter of Shandrim. My father is a failure in every respect. The last I heard, he’d been sacked from his menial job in the cloth makers for being persistently late for work. My memories of him are not pretty. He was nearly always drunk and he used to beat my mother, who was either too stupid or too stubborn to leave him. He beat us children as well, when he was sober enough to catch us. I became an habitual thief by the age of nine and was notorious by the age of twelve. If you have any romantic notions about me being a bored rich girl who turned to spying for a bit of excitement, then forget them now. My family had no idea where I disappeared to eight years ago, nor did they appear to care. From what I could tell, my disappearance simply meant one less mouth to feed.’