Imperial Spy

by Mark Robson

  ‘I hardly merit “devastatingly attractive” at the moment, or if I do, then I’m a bit worried about you! Didn’t it feel strange, kissing me when I look like this?’ Femke asked, pulling back slightly from him and grinning as she indicated her boyish looks.

  ‘Well, if I’m honest, then yes – a little,’ Danar admitted with a lopsided smile. ‘But it didn’t make any difference, because I know what’s hiding under that disguise. I have a reputation for dallying with attractive women, Femke, but looking at you now, I see the beauty that is you. You can be as attractive as any woman if you choose to, but you’re far more than just a pretty girl, Femke – you are special, unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.’

  ‘I can’t help but wonder how many other pretty girls have heard similar sincere-sounding speeches,’ she noted sceptically. ‘Your reputation is coloured, Lord Danar. Don’t forget I’m no Lady of Court. I’m a commoner. And I’m not some air-headed fool who sees you as my chance of marrying into a title. I’m not proud of my heritage, but I am realistic about my future. Please, try to be realistic about yours. This is not a good idea.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not. I didn’t travel the length and breadth of Shandar and then all the way here to Mantor on a whim. I felt that if I didn’t do it, I would have missed out on getting to know you. Getting to know you has been at the forefront of my mind since I first met you. Surprisingly, it’s been the single most consuming drive I’ve ever known. Common sense never came into it.’

  Femke gently pulled herself from Danar’s arms and stepped back, not sure whether to be flattered, or frightened by his intensity. She knew that moving this relationship forward now was a bad idea. It would distract her from her goal, which could prove disastrous.

  For the briefest moment, Femke wished she could forget her responsibilities and run away with him back to Shandar. Common sense told her that any relationship she had with Danar was doomed to fail. Lord Tremarle would never stand for his only son to marry a commoner. He would see it as dilution of the bloodline. The best Femke could hope for would be a romantic interlude. That was not practicable now, whilst she was a fugitive. This situation had to be resolved before she could return to her life as a spy. And then what? Giving up her profession was not an option. She enjoyed the life too much to relinquish it in exchange for a dead-end romance. The whole situation was very confusing.

  ‘All right, Danar, let’s imagine for a moment I accepted your sincerity and I was interested in exploring the possibility of a relationship with you. I still couldn’t do it right now,’ Femke stated, trying desperately to keep the angst from her voice.

  ‘Why not?’ Danar asked, his eyes giving that sad, puppy-dog look which silently accuses its owner of being cruel and heartless for not returning its selflessly offered devotion.

  ‘Shalidar is now working on a way to kill you. Regardless of feelings, I must keep you alive. You’re distracting enough without making things more complicated. No. You’ve waited this long, you’ll have to wait a little longer. Please, Danar, don’t touch me again until this is over – I beg you.’

  Danar looked at her with his sad eyes and nodded. Feelings of guilt and frustration swamped Femke until she almost gave in to them. The temptation to throw aside common sense was overwhelming, but she steeled her heart. Having regained some fragile self-control, Femke turned away and set about rigging the door. Being busy would help, if only for a short while. Much of the next few days would be time spent waiting, and Femke sensed the temptation would worsen. It would taunt her at every opportunity, playing with her mind until it distracted her as much as if she had gone ahead and flung herself at the handsome young Lord.

  ‘Oh, Shand!’ she groaned quietly. ‘Why me?’

  As soon as the guard changeover was complete Ennas knew he was in trouble. It was the young guard again and he sounded determined Femke should not ignore him this time. Ennas remained silent while the young guard rattled the door and called in through the window at him.

  ‘You’re ill, aren’t you, Ambassador? That must be it,’ he said eventually. ‘Speak to me, Ambassador. If you’re ill, the medics should see you. I’m sure the King doesn’t want you to die in there. And even if he does, I’m not going to let that happen.’

  Don’t come in. Please, don’t come in! Ennas prayed silently, fervently hoping the young guard would just leave him alone.

  ‘Right, I’m coming in,’ the guard announced. ‘Don’t try anything foolish. I don’t want to have to hurt you.’

  Oh you poor young fool! Ennas thought sadly. Please, no. Do your job. Guard the door. Don’t try to be a hero.

  The metallic ring of a sword being drawn from its scabbard was followed by the rattling sound of a key turning in the lock. Ennas tensed. He knew what he had to do. He had to escape. Surprise would be crucial, but the guard was alert as he entered the cell, which would make it difficult to achieve.

  Unfortunately for the guard, the occupant of the bed he was approaching was neither ill, nor a female ambassador. The prisoner was an experienced spy in prime physical condition and not afraid to kill.

  ‘Ambassador?’ the guard said hesitantly as he approached the bed. He held his sword ready, but not aggressively forward.

  Ennas let the guard get as close as he dared. He reasoned that the guard’s eyes would not be adjusted to the dark and would not realise his mistake until it was too late. Ennas was correct. The guard moved within range and Ennas’s hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake, grabbing the wrist of the guard’s sword arm.

  ‘You’re not—’

  The guard did not get to finish his exclamation, for the straightened fingers of Ennas’s other hand struck him hard in the throat. With an almost casual shift of position, Ennas flipped the guard head over heels to land half on the bunk. Without pause he cut the young man’s throat with his own sword before the guard had a chance to realise what was happening. Ennas instantly wished he could have just knocked the man unconscious, but he knew how difficult that was to do with any certainty. Some men snuffed out like a light with a decent knock to the head, whilst others just refused to go under no matter how many times you hit them. It was a terrible waste of life, but he could not afford to risk a fight.

  Ennas looked sadly down into the young man’s panic-filled eyes and a deep feeling of guilt overtook him. He watched as the terror gradually gave way to resignation and then finally to peace.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly, as life left the guard’s eyes. ‘So, so sorry.’ Had it really been necessary to kill him? Should he have at least tried to knock the young guard out and leave him locked in the cell? With hindsight, Ennas could not help feeling that killing the young guard would stain his soul for ever.

  Aside from the moral issues, cutting the guard’s throat had made an awful mess and left Ennas with a tough choice. The guard was slim. He could get into the guard’s uniform, he decided, but it would be a tight squeeze. Also, it was covered in blood, which reduced its effectiveness as a disguise. If he used the uniform, then he could not walk out of the Palace without inventing a good cover story. A visible wound of his own would explain the blood, but that would make leaving the Palace more difficult to explain. The other guards would want to direct him to the Palace infirmary. He knew he had to solve the dilemma quickly. Ennas had not planned to escape. His intention had been to stay in the cell undetected for as long as possible. By escaping he would set the Royal Guards looking for Femke again. Worse, she would now be accused of a third murder.

  Murder. The word reverberated in his mind. I am a murderer. It was not a thought Ennas had ever dreamed would enter his thinking. It was distracting and he could not afford to lose focus. He had to put it aside and concentrate. There would be time for remorse later.

  What are my alternatives? he thought, bringing his attention back to the immediate problem. There should be time to think things through. The guards had changed over a few minutes before, so it was likely to be hours before t
he next person came down to the dungeon. There was always a small chance of a visit from one of the guard captains. There had been a few such visits before and Ennas did not want to take chances. If he were caught before he left the dungeon area, the Thrandorians would show him no mercy. The Royal Guards were no fools. If he were caught here, they would not take long to work out what had happened. On the other hand, if he could get out of the dungeon and into the Palace before being caught, the picture would be more confused.

  I could make a run for it dressed like this – not a good option. I could try to steal more clothes from somewhere within the Palace and then get out – possible. I could try to hide somewhere in the Palace for a while and wait for more alternatives to become viable – dangerous. The sooner I get out on the streets, the sooner I can disappear into obscurity.

  Ennas did not like it, but he stripped the guard of his uniform and squeezed into it. The hose didn’t fit too badly, but the tunic was far too small across the shoulders. It felt tight and stretched. Fortunately the belts had plenty of adjustment in them, which allowed him to make them look reasonable. The boots were much too tight, but Ennas gritted his teeth and forced his feet into them. Running would be difficult, but with luck he should not have to do more than walk out of the Palace.

  As soon as he was fully dressed in the uniform, with the sword safely sheathed in the scabbard at his side, Ennas moved the young guard onto the narrow bed and covered him with the blanket so that he appeared to be sleeping. Then he exited the cell and locked the door behind him. As an afterthought, he posted the keys through the little window into the cell. With any luck, whoever came down here next would think it was the guard who was missing rather than the prisoner. Time would then be wasted looking for the wrong person. If he did suspect something was wrong, not having the keys to check inside the cell would build in a further short delay.

  It occurred to Ennas that he had no idea what time of day or night it was. It made no difference. He had to escape now, while he had the chance.

  Creeping up to the door at the top of the stairs, Ennas peeped out into the corridor. All was silent. Judging by the lack of movement and the number of torches alight, it was late night, he thought, pleased with his luck so far. Not all the torches were lit, making the corridor a dim, flickering place of constantly moving shadows. Exactly the sort of place for a spy to feel at home, he thought wryly. Stealthy as a stalking cat, he padded out into the corridor and began to look for a way out of the Palace.

  Ennas realised that wandering aimlessly was incredibly risky, but when he had been led to the Royal Dungeon disguised as a priest of Ishell, he had entered the Palace through the main gates and had been brought via a tortuous route. He could not remember the way, nor would he try to backtrack it, as he had no intention of trying to leave the Palace through the main gate. There had to be a less obvious way out: a servants’ entrance, or a suitable point to scale the outer wall. The first trick was to get out of the main building.

  At the end of the corridor Ennas turned right, as there were fewer torches lit that way. All was deserted and Ennas had no problems moving stealthily along the passageway, despite the boots crushing every portion of his feet. There were no obvious exits. When he reached the far end of the passageway, the T-junction offered him the choice of well-lit passages in both directions.

  ‘Damn!’ he muttered. ‘Oh well, I suppose it was asking a bit much to be able to walk unseen to the nearest exit and disappear. Here goes nothing.’

  Ennas turned left this time in an effort to try to work away from the area of the Palace around the Royal Dungeon. The further he got from it, the less likely it was that people would associate him with it if he were to be rumbled as an intruder. He knew the guards would be wary of anything strange in the aftermath of the Treasury raid. He just hoped he was not inadvertently walking towards the Treasury.

  This corridor quickly proved to be one of the major arteries of movement within the Palace. Before Ennas had taken twenty paces he could see several passageways ahead on either side. Adrenalin pumped around his body as he saw two people in Royal house staff livery cross the corridor some distance ahead of him. His relief when they failed to look in his direction was overwhelming, but short-lived.

  ‘Hey, you! What are you doing here at this time of night?’

  Ennas jumped involuntarily and his heart started pounding loudly in his chest. He stopped walking the moment the challenge rang out from behind him and silently cursed that automatic reaction. By stopping, Ennas had left no room for ignoring the call and continuing casually on his way. The choice was now to run, or turn and face the questioner. Neither choice offered an easy way out.

  He elected to turn and face his questioner. There were two guards moving down the corridor towards him and both of them were armed. Ennas cursed silently. He would have considered disabling one, but he did not want to fight two. The uniform he was wearing was too restrictive. He would have to bluff, he decided.

  ‘I’m on my way to the infirmary to get fixed up,’ Ennas said, deliberately mumbling his words as if he were having problems forming sounds properly.

  ‘The infirmary? That’s nowhere near here and you’re heading in the wrong direction. I don’t recognise you. Who are you?’

  ‘Jared. Private Jared of the Royal Guard. Who’re you?’ Ennas replied, deliberately focusing and unfocusing his eyes on the approaching soldiers, whilst swaying slightly on his feet.

  ‘Hey, Pakka, that’s blood on his tunic. Tarmin’s teeth, there’s loads of it and he doesn’t look stable. Do you think he’s hurt badly?’

  The guards stopped a good distance from Ennas and looked at him with open suspicion.

  ‘That’s not our problem. I don’t recognise him,’ Pakka replied, his voice flat and uncaring. ‘He’s walking where he shouldn’t be on his own. The Captain’s orders are clear. We’re to restrain anyone who’s acting strangely. Let’s take him to the Captain and let him decide if the medics are needed.’

  ‘Why don’t we swing past delta post? It’s on the way. We can send one of them to fetch a medic while we take Jared to the Captain. It looks like he’s lost a lot of blood already. It wouldn’t look good if he died without us having made an effort to help him.’

  ‘That makes sense. If we must then.’

  Ennas’s tactic had failed. The guards stepped towards him. He needed to act fast if he was to avoid going back in a cell. Ennas did not want to hurt anyone else, but he could not see another way. The element of surprise would give him a momentary advantage. It was a small edge, but it would have to be enough. Despite his restrictive clothing, he decided his best remaining chance was to tackle the two guards head on. Stumbling along the corridor towards them, Ennas continued his injured soldier act. The tight boots made it easy to simulate.

  The guards were wary as Ennas approached them, but not wary enough. They allowed him to get far too close before ordering him to stop. When Pakka finally did tell Ennas to stop, it was within a couple of paces of striking distance.

  Ennas stumbled the last few steps forward with his expression blank and his eyes completely out of focus, as if he were about to collapse at any second. Then, at the last instant, he sprang into action. In one slick movement, Ennas drove a fearsome punch into one man’s solar plexus, and spun a high kick that caught the other man across the face. Both men went down. The first was wheezing and unable to speak as he crumpled, and the second went spinning to the floor in spectacular fashion. The spy could have followed either strike up with a killing blow, but he did not relish adding more lives to his conscience this evening. Instead, he turned and ran.

  Now the race was on. The men behind him would raise pursuit within a couple of minutes. Ennas had to get out of the Palace quickly. He ran around a corner that took him out of the direct line of sight of the two soldiers, and then started trying every door along the corridor to find an open one. Several were locked, but eventually Ennas found one that opened and he slipped inside, closing the d
oor softly behind him.

  The room he entered was dark and for a moment Ennas could see nothing. As his eyes gradually began to adjust to the light, he picked out the lines of curtains on the far wall. There was not enough light to see what sort of room he was in, but he could see the line of the curtains and for the moment that was enough. Behind the curtains would be windows, and a window was as good as a door.

  Outside the door Ennas could hear multiple pairs of booted feet running down the corridor. They were approaching fast, spurring Ennas into setting out across the inky darkness of the room without allowing his eyes to adjust properly. The pale light from the cracks in the imperfectly drawn curtains was not enough for Ennas to see a clear path to the window. He had hardly moved before he barked his shins on something hard. The collision did not make much noise and he bit his tongue against crying out from the pain of the impact.

  Ennas heard the booted feet reach the door. He held his breath, preparing to leap towards the window. He resolved that the instant they burst into the room, he would throw his body through the curtains. With luck he would smash through the glass cleanly. He did not want to think about hitting the frame. However, the stomping feet did not pause. They passed by and the sound of them faded as quickly as it had built.

  When he felt around, Ennas realised the object he had walked into was a low-level table. He had entered a drawing room. He needed to be careful not to bump into chairs or smaller tables supporting ornamental pots. Palace drawing rooms were always filled with such things. The immediate danger of pursuit had passed, but Ennas was determined not to draw attention to his presence by inadvertently knocking something over. Silence was his friend. If maintaining that friendship cost time, it was a small price to pay.

  Feeling his way, he moved painstakingly over to the curtains. There were no further collisions. On drawing the curtains, he sighted his goal. The outer Palace wall was about fifty yards away.