Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “Sooner or later, he must decide that someone is either lying, or misinformed,” Kaymar finally concluded. “Either you, or whoever supplies his information about the Shadows.”

  “Wasn’t there a woman, some time back?” Ifor recollected. “Ermia?”

  “Ermina Trottenheim,” Eiren said. “She left under a cloud long ago. I don’t think she would…”

  “Talk about the old days to someone she didn’t know well? Or with someone overhearing?” Ifor said.

  “I suppose it’s possible. She didn’t have much sense, though she tried to be manipulative – and she was most vindictive.”

  Kaymar made a note of the name. “I think we’ll see what we can find out about her.” He wrote several lines.

  “Is this Lord Stettan someone Therbalt would be frightened of?” Eiren asked pointedly. She was answered by both men going silent.

  “Yes, Therbalt would be very reluctant to approach Lord Stettan,” Kaymar finally said.

  “Would being told that Menders is Lord Stettan dissuade him from his plot?” Eiren pressed. “Or would it endanger Menders?”

  The men exchanged a look and she knew then that Menders was Lord Stettan.

  “It would definitely put Therbalt off,” Kaymar responded. “Only a madman would knowingly go up against Stettan.”

  Eiren looked at him for a long time, but he only returned her gaze, his blue eyes radiating innocence.

  “Then Menders is now Lord Stettan,” she declared. “I’m very tired, gentlemen, so I am going to bed.” She smiled, bid them good-night and went to her bedroom. She slipped off her shoes and silently backtracked to the hallway outside the kitchen, where they were still seated at the table.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t know,” Ifor said in a very soft undertone.

  “Menders plays his cards close to his waistcoat,” Kaymar replied, his voice even softer. “He hasn’t wanted her touched by all of that. She knew, of course, that he was an assassin, but I’m sure he’s never told her that he’s Stettan.”

  “Was Stettan,” Ifor said. “He’s not Stettan now. He’s – well he’s become Menders. And after all this time the name Stettan has lost significance outside of certain circles. The name wouldn’t have meant anything to her, had she known before now – it would just be a name.”

  “Well she knows now and I’m not happy about that. It’s something I wouldn’t want anyone I loved to know. Damn that Therbalt bastard! Why can’t we get him where we can eliminate him? He always approaches her when there are people around!” Kaymar smacked a hand down on the tabletop in temper.

  “Like all slugs, he’s slippery,” Ifor answered. “Are you off to bed?”

  “Not for a while. I’ll give Eiren some time alone before I turn in. She needs some privacy. The strain is telling on her. If we can’t resolve this thing soon, I’m going to tell Menders that he has to insist that she give up on school this year and go home.”

  Eiren crept to her room, undressed swiftly and got into bed. She lay there, looking at the shadows on the ceiling.

  Yes, she had always known that Menders had been an assassin before coming to The Shadows. It was common knowledge in the neighborhood. She had never judged him by that, only by how he behaved. Her father had counseled her that a man was known by his deeds, not by his title or his occupation. A dung carter might be a good, decent fellow, her father said, while some great Lords were despicable and cruel.

  Menders had made no secret of having been an assassin. He’d trained her to use a knife and gun as well as most of Menders’ Men, hadn’t he? But he’d been so young, barely twenty, when he’d left the profession – Lord Stettan with more than two hundred kills? How young had he been when he began?

  It didn’t change her feelings for him, but now, after this disturbing day, she wanted to curl up with him on their sofa before a warm fire and let him explain things in that deep gentle tone he used only to her.

  Soon Kaymar came in, already dressed for bed, and went through his ritual of checking the window, then tucking his various knives and guns into the trundle bed. Kaymar slept with a private arsenal. He looked like a little boy in his nightshirt, clambering into the low bed beside her in the dim light - yet she knew that he was a most deadly human being. For all his kindness and sense of the ridiculous, he could be utterly ruthless if he chose.

  “Kaymar, tell me about Menders being Stettan,” she said quietly.

  He sat up and looked around to see her peering over the edge of the big bed.

  “My dear, I’m not at liberty to do so,” he said. “It’s been his express wish that you not know about that part of his life. I’m terribly sorry that Therbalt brought it up.”

  “I know now. Please enlighten me.”

  Kaymar sighed.

  “Lord Stettan was the greatest assassin who ever lived,” he said after a long pause, during which she knew he was hoping she would rescind her request. “He had the highest marks ever recorded at the Military Academy and Special Services training, and has yet to be surpassed. Only one other assassin has come close to Stettan’s record. He began his professional career at fifteen and had over two hundred kills by the time he was twenty, when he disappeared.”

  “To The Shadows,” Eiren murmured softly.

  “Yes,” Kaymar answered. “To the Shadows, to become the Menders you and I know… but as far as Mordania is concerned, Lord Stettan disappeared into thin air.

  “If Stettan hadn’t taken those lives then, Mordania would no longer exist,” Kaymar continued after a moment. “He was famous for quick, clean actions. In fact, his targets never so much as saw him or knew that they were going to die. There was a political situation during those five years that was very dangerous indeed, and Stettan, by carrying out his missions successfully, had a great deal to do with securing Mordania’s safe future.”

  “I’ve heard some of the Men speaking of ‘The Surelian Solution’. They were referring to Menders, weren’t they?”

  “Yes. That was a famous action and it became his nickname. But it’s not what you think.”

  “Kaymar, I know that assassins aren’t blood lusting lunatics,” Eiren said heatedly.

  “Don’t let this knowledge come between you and Menders,” he replied.

  “Why would it?”

  “You’re a dear woman.” Kaymar smiled, settling back on his pillow and closing his eyes.

  The room had been silent quite a while when Eiren said,

  “The assassin who came closest to Stettan’s number of kills was you, wasn’t it?”

  There was no answer for so long that she almost thought Kaymar was asleep – except she could feel that he was awake, lying there in the dark, considering her question.

  “Yes,” he said finally, near a whisper. “Please don’t ask me about that again, my dear. Good night.”

  Eiren lay awake for a long time. There were shadows on the ceiling, and Eiren imagined her husband, her lover, her friend, Menders moving through the shadows like smoke through the darkness, keeping them all safe.

  (50)

  Change About

  Eiren finished buttoning the back of her amber dress and then asked Kaymar to turn around. He did, the amber skirts swirling around his feet.

  “It’s your color,” she said quietly.

  “Not a bad fit either,” he responded, adjusting the set of the dress on his body. They’d had to resort to considerable padding to give him a bust, but it was working.

  Kaymar had explained that when he was younger, he’d specialized in being a lady’s maid who either collected information or, at the appropriate moment, turned into a deadly assassin.

  “I’m a little long in the tooth for skirt roles now, but I’ll do to target Therbalt at night,” he grinned, brushing his long blond hair back and expertly tucking it under a red wig the same color as Eiren’s plentiful locks.

  Suddenly the absurdity of the situation struck Eiren and she started to laugh. Here she was, helping this lethal man dress up in h
er best clothes, watching as he fussily pressed hairpins into his storebought coiled tresses. She ended up having to sit down and realized that the laughter wasn’t entirely born of humor.

  “And now, would you care to take your dear sister shopping so that we may purchase two identical outfits?” Kaymar asked archly. It was an important part of the final plan that they dress identically at the crucial time.

  Strolling down the Promenade, arms linked in sisterly affection, Eiren was amazed that people saw what they were meant to see – two women, sisters or close friends, out shopping for dresses. No one suspected Kaymar wasn’t a woman. He even walked and moved like a woman.

  They passed the gleaming, marble-columned façade of the Rondheim Bank building. “It’s a shame we have to trudge to all these different places to find two identical outfits,” Eiren said. “You’d think there’d be one big store, where you could get everything.”

  “Perhaps someday there will be,” Kaymar replied with a shrug.

  ***

  Eiren’s meetings with Therbalt had escalated. He now sought her out two or three times a day, always pressing her to admit that Menders was indeed Lord Stettan. He seemed stressed and nervous. She wondered if the information was vital to what he wanted to carry out.

  She’d beaten around the bush, acting frightened and anxious. After he’d cuddled her and stroked a finger over her lips as if he was completely besotted with her, she stammered that indeed, Lord Stettan was Master of The Shadows.

  She enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing Therbalt’s face turn grey with fear. He covered clumsily, launching into a gushing soliloquy about how he was overjoyed that she had managed to escape the clutches of one as evil and dangerous as Stettan. He blubbered tiresomely that her secret was forever safe with him, that his high regard and tender feelings for her made him even more thankful.

  She’d been able to smell the fear on him.

  “You must not fear repercussions from him, my dear,” Therbalt lectured her. “I wish to place you under my protection. You have done me a great service by giving me this information. You see, I needed to know the actual identity of the man living at The Shadows – desperately needed to know. I am in the service of the Queen, and it has become painfully obvious that there is a plot afoot from Stettan and his people to remove not only the Queen, but the rightful Heiress, Princess Aidelia, as well. Then this simple child, Princess Katrin, would be set up as Queen with Stettan acting as regent. Think of Mordania ruled by such a ruthless man with the blood of so many on his hands, my dear!”

  If I saw such a dreadful job of acting on stage, I’d boo you off of it, Eiren thought, making sure that her expression was one of shock and horror.

  “No, it would be a terrible thing!” she gasped. “It must not happen. I know more about Stettan than anyone. It must not happen!”

  “My dear, am I assured of your loyalty to Her Majesty?” Therbalt asked, leaning very close to Eiren. She closed her nose to his rancid perfume.

  “I am Mordanian and my loyalty to the Queen is unswerving,” she replied with stunning conviction. In the sanctuary of her own mind she added ‘because the alternative, her insane daughter Aidelia, is a horrifying idea.’

  “Bless you my dear!” Therbalt whispered unctuously, spraying saliva in her face. He bent and put his arms around her, crushing her close. Eiren could see over his shoulder, where Kaymar, dressed as a loitering lout, was watching. She rolled her eyes in disgust. He doubled over in a silent laugh, then was upright again, his hands in his jacket pockets. Only a practiced eye could see that he held a gun trained on Therbalt’s back.

  “If only I had some idea how I could get to Lord Stettan,” Therbalt blubbered on, standing back upright. “Have you any way to let me know the floorplan of The Shadows, even if you draw it out yourself? It would be invaluable to me – and to Mordania.”

  Eiren looked up at him, her eyes very wide and trusting.

  “I do have a plan, drawn by Stettan himself. Out of sentiment I took one of his notebooks when he sent me away from The Shadows. There is a plan of all floors of the building in it. There have been a few changes since, but nothing significant.”

  He affected a look of solemn reverence and bent to kiss her hand.

  “My dearest Little Bird,” he whispered. “If you would trust me with this notebook …”

  Eiren nearly reeled in shock and waited until Therbalt stood upright so she could see his eyes.

  No, there was no guile there. He wasn’t good at disguising his thoughts for all he was expert at hiding his movements. Her letters from Menders, where he called her ‘Little Bird’, had all been hand delivered by Kaymar and could not have been intercepted. Years ago Menders had overheard her father calling her by her old childhood nickname, Birdie, and had devised his own loving name from that. He’d never called her that anywhere but in her bedroom and never before anyone else, not even Katrin. It was coincidence, certainly.

  “I… I don’t know. That would be betraying a great trust,” Eiren answered.

  “Ah, how noble of you,” Therbalt soothed, “Even when you have been so terribly wronged.”

  “Yes, I have, but trust is important to me.” She was careful not to appear too eager or compliant.

  “Ah yes, rightly so, my dear.”

  “I must have time to think on it,” Eiren continued, feigning distress at the thought. “I will give you an answer tonight.”

  He seemed annoyed at first, then smiled and produced a card from his pocket.

  “You may reach me here, at this address,” he said smoothly. “Until tonight - but I wish you to remember, dear sweet bud, that I, and all Mordania, are counting on you.”

  Eiren took the card with a silent nod.

  “Once we have the matter of the notebook out of the way, we might then… discover each other,” he whispered hoarsely. Then he was gone, leaving her quaking with revulsion.

  Kaymar hurried over. She showed him the card.

  “Tonight. He wants me to come to him tonight. With a notebook.”

  Kaymar looked at the card, scowled darkly, then grinned. “All right then, we have him now! Tonight it is. I’ll take you to class as usual, but we’ll need to be home right after. We need to fit the parts together and go over them. As soon as class is over, come right out to me.”

  Eiren nodded solemnly. He walked her to her class and she sat down at her desk, feeling lightheaded. There was no turning back now.

  ***

  Early evening found them sitting around the small parlor table. Ifor poured glasses of brandy and handed them around.

  “Is this what they call ‘liquid courage’?” Eiren joked. She assumed it was for her benefit, to calm her nerves. The day had passed with agonizing slowness, while her insides were coiled tight as a watch spring.

  “A little distilled fortitude never hurt,” Ifor explained. He lifted his glass. “To success.”

  They touched glasses over the table, then drank. Eiren shivered. It was strong, but very good. Despite his outward appearance of roughness, Ifor kept a very fine cellar in town, stocked with exclusive and expensive beverages.

  “The fish is on the hook. All we have to do is land him,” Ifor went on. “Eiren, later tonight you go to the address he gave you. You’ll hand a note to the doorman to bring Therbalt out. Be sure he sees you up close and in detail.”

  “Should I go inside?” Eiren asked.

  “No!” Kaymar exclaimed vehemently, his tenor voice harsh and strident. Eiren started and Kaymar obviously steadied himself. “This address… well, he’s gotten a bit complacent the last few days and I managed to tail him there. It’s a men’s club for people with rather peculiar tastes,” he continued. He flicked the edge of the card, lip curling in revulsion. “Best you don’t go inside. Stay near the light of the door, let him come to you.”

  “Tell him you will bring him the book, but at a secret location. Somewhere private, that it’s too unsafe to hand it over there where you could be seen,” Ifor instruc
ted her.

  “Then you tell him you’ll meet him here, at this address, in half an hour,” Kaymar continued. He unrolled a plan of a city townhouse with a walled garden. “Should he ask, tell him it belongs to a friend who is away.”

  Peering at the plan, Eiren asked, “Whose house is it?”

  “No-one we know or who knows us,” Ifor explained. “No connection to anyone here. Belongs to a gentleman, lives alone, suddenly received a message of some importance that called him away unexpectedly. By the time he finds it’s a ruse and gets back, we’ll be long gone.”

  Eiren looked at them in amazement. “How did you do all this so fast?”

  Kaymar chuckled. “We’ve had this place in mind for ages. We have keys, got the fellow out of there this morning with a beautifully forged note. The location is ideal. It has good access, is in a quiet and fairly well-to-do area, which puts people at ease. They think the rich part of town is safer, for some absurd reason.”

  She was still blinking in surprise, never having imagined that plotting a professional murder was so involved.

  “The man there drinks a bit, so he sleeps heavily,” Ifor added. “One night I went in, borrowed a few letters from his mother to copy the handwriting. He leaves his house key in his waistcoat pocket. I took an impression of it with a ball of hard wax, then filed a key blank to match. Been in several times at night, looking things over, getting familiar, making sure the key works. He has poor taste in art but has some nice Dysonian reproductions. Some good first editions too, but they were all over the place. I sorted them for him.”

  Kaymar laughed out loud. “How typical! How do you tell when Ifor Trantz has broken into your house? Your bookshelf is rearranged and your artwork has been appraised!”

  Ifor smiled. Eiren felt better now, knowing the other two were so thorough and professional. Turning her attention to the plan, she asked;