Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “Of course. I treated Kaymar before you ever laid eyes on him,” the doctor responded, his voice growing heated. “I know just what went into making Kaymar what he is. Menders, you can’t be thinking of letting him go. You saw how he blossomed when everyone warmed to him after he dove into the river after Katrin. I believe that he will continue to stabilize and heal with time. This is home to him, Menders. He’s devoted to protecting Katrin.”

  “There were over one hundred young boys designated as the Fireboats,” Menders continued, as if Franz had not spoken. “There are three of them still alive.”

  Franz flinched.

  “Kaymar is the sanest of the three,” Menders continued softly. “The other two are hopelessly mad. They have been moved to my villa in Surelia, where they will be cared for as all Mordania’s veteran servicemen should be.”

  “You can’t be thinking of sending Kaymar there!” Franz burst out. “He – I know he covers up with all that sarcasm and hostility, but that boy worships you, Menders! If you sent him away, I couldn’t begin to describe what would happen to him. This is a fragile soul we’re talking about here. Damn it, man, don’t just stand there with your back to me!” Doctor Franz was in full flight.

  “I know that,” Menders answered. “Kaymar will stay here. He is my cousin, my own flesh and blood. I would never send him away. He has more than proven himself and we will deal with his illness, of body and mind, as need be.”

  He turned and smiled at Franz.

  “Mordania’s last Fireboat has found safe harbor,” he said.

  (23)

  “I’ll Cut Some Wood And Feed The Dogs”

  As farm work slowed in the autumn, Menders wanted to assure some revelry took place before the bad weather set in. He scheduled the first winter dance earlier than usual. He hoped musically inclined assassins would be interested in joining the farmer’s dance band, thereby improving the quality of the music.

  Franz watched with amusement and surprise as several of the assassins took a turn playing with the group.

  “Musical killers?” he asked.

  “Naturally. If you’re on a mission disguised as a Court musician, you’d have to be able to play more than Chase My Cat,” Menders answered, striking a pose in his new suit. “We all learned to play. I play three instruments myself and was trained to sing as well.”

  “Aren’t we full of ourselves tonight?” Franz said sarcastically, looking around the Great Hall. “These women must have scoured the district to find so many new dresses.”

  Menders surveyed the room. The estate farmer’s daughters were decked out as never before. Requests for bolts of fabric had been coming into his office since midsummer. There were also women present he’d not seen at previous dances, some from the village, some from as far away as Erdstrom.

  “It’s quite a hen party,” Menders remarked. “They must have heard about my new suit.”

  “Since you’re not shopping for a wife, they’ve probably heard about your pack of single males, you idiot,” Franz grinned. “Do you have any idea how many unmarried women there are in Mordania? Bring in a bunch of accomplished young men built like gods and what do you expect? The ladies are lined up and primped and ready to try to catch one of your pretty young knife artists.”

  Menders laughed. He’d not thought of it, but then he’d blocked out that part of his life completely since sending Ermina away.

  “I’d better warn the fellows,” he said.

  “Leave them alone, they’re big boys. Everyone in the world doesn’t want to be celibate either, that’s your particular aberration. Most of those men would be glad to be caught, mark my words.”

  “Well, they’re free to marry and romance all they want, so long as they’re not leaving strings of broken hearts… or other little reminders around,” Menders shrugged.

  “A great many of these ladies are having a very good look at you too, my boy,” Franz said, rocking contentedly on his heels, his hands in his pockets.

  “Well they can look all they like. After all, I am stunning,” Menders grinned. “And I’m also the best dancer in the place.”

  “You’ll have plenty of partners,” Franz answered, knowing it was pointless to go on. Since Ermina had left, Menders had remained staunchly celibate, despite opportunity. He was, as always, polite and deferential to women and he enjoyed their company, but romance was not on his mind. Franz didn’t care for the situation. It was simply not normal for young man not twenty-five years of age.

  Menders had given up explaining to Franz. Domestic squabbles hit him directly in the gut. He had a long fuse – all assassins did, it was a requirement for the profession – but every fuse has its limit and Ermina had pushed him dangerously close to lashing out a number of times. He was more than content to dance and flirt mildly with the ladies present tonight, and no more.

  A valtz was struck up by the makeshift band and Lady Reisa Spartz came to him, curtseying, an invitation to dance. Elegantly, Menders bowed low, lifted her from the curtsey and swept her out onto the floor.

  “You’ll have Franz looking out patterns for my wedding gown,” he smiled at her, making her laugh.

  Reisa was a dear friend of Lady Keel, the widow Franz had been involved with since coming to The Shadows. At one time Franz and Lady Keel were determined that Menders and Reisa, who was recently widowed and the mother of an infant girl, would make a wonderful match. Franz tormented and teased until Menders, to get some peace, agreed to go along with him to a gathering at Lady Keel’s home.

  He and Reisa enjoyed each other’s company, laughed at each other’s jokes, played duets on the spinet together, had the same opinions about many things. It was a match made in heaven – except that it would never be anything more than a friendship

  “How can you possibly not be attracted to her?” Franz had thundered, absolutely ready to tear his hair out. “She’s magnificent!”

  “Yes, she is,” Menders admitted. And she was, a white blonde with the figure of a goddess and eyes the color of the sea on a sunny day. “But it’s not going to happen. She’s not ready after her husband’s death. Her scars are still fresh. I am not going to commit to anything. Not now, maybe not ever.”

  “Menders, sometimes I think you’re simply not human,” Franz had growled, refusing to speak any more on the way home.

  Suddenly Menders realized there was a small folded paper in Reisa’s hand, and he raised his eyebrows. Passing a note during a dance was a technique used by the more risqué ladies at Court when requesting an assignation with a man – hardly Reisa’s style at all.

  “It’s not that,” she said quietly. “It’s a message someone has risked much to send you. A lady you know. I’m sorry that I could not get it to you discreetly before now.”

  Menders reversed step, thinking. Reisa had returned from Erdahn just today, leaving a Court appointment after only a few weeks. He didn’t know many ladies she might have run across unless…

  “A lady I knew when I was in school?” he asked.

  “Indeed.”

  Cahrin then. He thought a bit. She must have insisted Reisa give Menders the note in secret, even though the Shadows was secure. As an assassin’s wife, Cahrin knew never to take chances when information was vital.

  “Is she still enjoying the Court?” Menders asked, forcing himself to smile sociably.

  “No. She has gone to her husband’s family home in the country. It is not pleasant at Court. It’s why I came home.”

  “I gather you’d rather not talk about it?”

  “If you would be so kind.” Reisa smiled, but the smile was brittle. Her reticence tied in with the grim rumors he’d heard of the decline in morals and living conditions at Court. They danced on in silence, the folded square of paper burning a hole in his palm.

  As soon as propriety allowed, Menders left Reisa, ducked into his office, lit the lamp and opened the note.

  Menders,

  In great haste – word from G. Dalmanthea to Bartan. Duke Manus
is the leader of the faction, and intends to move to assassinate Katrin during the winter months. Olner listening for more information, Bartan also. This is a very serious threat, watch carefully. Enclosing G.D.’s note

  Cahrin

  Beneath Cahrin’s writing was pasted another paper.

  My dear Bartan,

  I have heard that Sir Slippery Eel, one Menders, is trying, from his country banishment, to find just who is after the Royal Family, particularly the little Princess. Without a doubt it is Manus, who has been in collusion with various parties in Artreya regarding removal of the present Royal Family. He intends to put the Duchess of Ernst on the Throne. Though the present Queen of Mordania is hopeless, Ernst would be worse, as she is a blazing nationalist and bent upon war with Artreya. This would play into the hands of Atreyan munitions barons, thus their interest and support of Manus’ plot.

  So pass this to my stealthy colleague with my compliments and tell him to let that great idiot, Ifor Trantz, know that those damned shoes he sold me, which he promised would stop pinching once they were broken in, still pinch. I shall get even with him one day. I owe him a hundred flagellations for every blister.

  Gladdy D.

  Despite the gravity of the matter, Menders couldn’t help smiling. His onetime nemesis, Gladdas Dalmanthea, was the first female freelance spy and assassin on Eirdon. She was brilliant and ruthless at her work. He would never doubt her word or her accuracy when it came to information. Gladdas was an odd kettle of fish, to say the least, and the terror of more than one assassin, but Menders had always hugely enjoyed her sardonic, sarcastic sense of humour. He also appreciated her skill, her vast fund of knowledge and her massive network of informants.

  Gladdas could be very valuable to him as a source of information. He would write to her, once this matter of Duke Manus was settled.

  He went looking for Ifor and found him avoiding the dance in the Men’s Lounge.

  “Just passed to me,” Menders said, handing Ifor the note. “From Cahrin and Olner, but the information was originally from Gladdas Dalmanthea.”

  “In that case, it’s to be taken seriously,” Ifor nodded, scanning the notes. “It would fit. Manus is a longtime champion of the Duchess of Ernst. He has the money and influence to pull off the assassinations.”

  “Using whom?”

  “Possibly Surelian assassins. If they were using any of our people, I like to think I’d know about it.”

  After a moment Menders said, “Put Kaymar on it with two support agents – yourself and Bertel. I need to know the extent of Manus’ involvement and to what degree the Duchess is involved, if she’s a player or simply a puppet. I want Kaymar well protected. He’ll want to take risks, but you’re to prevent that.”

  “Done,” Ifor said quietly, rising and walking toward his office.

  Later that evening, Menders unlocked the tall, black iron cabinet in his office and studied the shelves of dossiers within.

  Menders had begun to fill in long winter days and nights by compiling all the information he could gather about anyone connected to the Royal Family. He now had over a hundred dossiers on various individuals.

  He drew out a folder labeled ‘MANUS’, sat at his desk, opened the file and began to turn the pages.

  ***

  A few days later Ifor brought a pile of papers to Menders.

  “It’s Manus for sure,” he said, keeping his voice lower than its usual bass rumble. “He’s cocky, been talking big, as we guessed he would. The Duchess of Ernst is insistent that the Princesses must be eliminated along with the Queen so there is no obstacle to her inheriting. Manus agrees to the idea.”

  Menders nodded, showing no emotion.

  “Do we have a timetable?” he asked.

  “Within the next month,” Ifor responded.

  Menders’ mind was ticking. Was Katrin most secure here, under guard, or better moved to another place, like a safe house? No. A move would expose her and it could be just what their adversary wanted, like flushing gamebirds into the open. Who else was involved, and needed to be eliminated lest they begin another plot later? There could be no survivors among those involved in this venture.

  “What other details do we have?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure if the Queen’s Council and security are aware or not,” Ifor replied. “As much as Manus is talking, I can’t believe that isn’t the case. I can find no indication that any action is being taken.”

  “Odd,” Menders commented.

  “Very, unless the Council is tacitly approving the removals. That’s difficult to believe, Council heads would roll if Ernst gets on the Throne. It could be that they have a very covert plan of their own, or it could be they’ve become so lax and incompetent that they’re just going to hope nothing happens. It’s also possible they’re so complacent that they aren’t aware of what is going on.”

  “I bet on the latter, unless they foolishly think Ernst will be someone they can control,” Menders said. “Double the guard, standing and mobile patrols on foot and mounted, armed at all times,” he said. “If people ask, we’ll say they’re hunting parties looking to lay up food for the winter. No one is to go about unarmed. Doctor Franz may have to curtail his visits to the village and beyond for a while.”

  “He won’t like that, you know. Cares too much about his patients.”

  “Then he will have to go armed and escorted.”

  “He won’t like that either. Says he’d rather carry a live snake than a pistol.”

  “He also won’t like my boot up his karzi but it has to be this way. If he complains, tell him to see me.”

  Ifor nodded and went to his office to set things in motion.

  Menders seethed with rage. In a coup it was not uncommon for younger heirs to a throne to be spared. They might be sent into exile or kept very close at hand and in sight. Katrin had only just turned five years old, but her cousin wanted her murdered. Unnecessary and cruel – but then, cruelty was embraced and considered evidence of strength by many members of the Royal Family.

  Kaymar, posing as a very young servant fresh from the country, had infiltrated Duke Manus’ household, where he had been able to uncover very sensitive information. Duke Manus was an infamous pederast. Menders had ordered Kaymar to play the Duke along, but to avoid his attempts at seduction – not only to preserve his cover, but his fragile sanity as well. Kaymar had the support of Bertel and Ifor Trantz as his contacts in Erdahn. The three of them were proving to be a formidable team.

  Unfortunately, the amount of time Menders had to wait for the information they gleaned was frustrating. The train ran once a week, unless a special was arranged. Sending out frequent specials would draw attention. It was possible to send messages from Erdahn to The Shadows more quickly by boat. Ifor was an expert boat pilot and was acting as courier, but at best messages took hours to reach Menders. A situation might alter completely by the time his orders were sent back, and action could not be taken until another agonizingly slow exchange of information took place.

  Staring gloomily out at the snow, Menders tried to clear his head. So far he had been unable to come up with a plan to eliminate Manus and the Duchess of Ernst that would not arouse suspicion.

  “Menders?” Katrin’s voice cut into his thoughts. He smiled and turned to see her peeping over the edge of his desk.

  “Yes, Little Princess?” he answered.

  “Why are you angry?”

  I will never be able to hide a thing from this child, he thought. We’ve been together so much that she picks up every nuance. He lifted her onto his lap before turning back to the window.

  “I’m angry because there are some people who want to change the way things are, including us living at The Shadows,” he said, knowing this was something she could understand. “You don’t need to worry about it, because I’m seeing to it that nothing bad happens.”

  “Then it’s all right,” she said definitely.

  “Very much all right.”

&n
bsp; “Is that why I’ve been sleeping in your bed?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is, but you always came and got in my bed anyway, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “But now you put me to bed in your bed,” she observed.

  “Just for now. Soon this will all be over and you’ll be able to sleep in your own bed again,” he said.

  “I can still come and get in bed with you then, if the frogmouth comes?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Just like you always have.” He had to smile, knowing that most of Katrin’s visitations from her particular nightmare monster, a blue-faced frogmouthed creature, were bogus by this time.

  “Will you draw a picture for me?” she asked a little plaintively. He had spent so much time on the current threatening situation that he hadn’t been able to devote much time to her.

  “Absolutely,” he responded, turning them toward the desk. “What shall I draw?”

  “Wolves.”

  Menders smiled. Northern Mordanian wolves were the interest of the moment. Early snowfall meant the wolves were hungry and coming close to the house, sending out lone scouts to sniff around while the pack hung back in the trees, watching with glowing yellow eyes. Menders had no fear of them, as plenty of preventive measures had been taken to bar them from the house. The wolves’ nightly serenades of howling caught Katrin’s imagination and she listened with delight.

  “Wolves it is,” Menders declared. Deft strokes of his pencil brought out intense eyes, long sloped down ears, three-toed paws with reptilian claws, mouthfuls of ragged teeth. They were in the classic stance of shoulderpoint high, muzzles held low, hind legs crouched as if ready to pounce. Some rapid cross hatching and texturing brought out fur and long shadows across snow. He handed the page to Katrin to color with the crayons he’d brought her from the village. She sat opposite him at his desk, happily making the wolves even more frightening by coloring their eyes with red centers.