The Artful Apprentice

by Christopher Nuttall

  “A good argument,” Emily said. “And you fear the duke will not respect them?”

  “The duke has two strapping sons of his own, both of whom are in the line of succession,” the queen said. “I am certain he will find a way to... remove... Willis and Robert so his elder son can take the throne. He may even seek to marry me to ensure I cannot resist him. And... I think he killed my husband.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any proof?”

  Lord Eddisford coughed. “Who else benefits?”

  “My husband was a good man, but a strong king,” the queen said. “He never let anyone, even his brother, push him around. They fought... they sometimes even exchanged blows that left them both bloody. I used to fear that, one day, the duke would draw his cursed sword and kill his brother. Their last argument, a week before my husband’s death, was savage.”

  “I see,” Emily said. “And what were they fighting about?”

  “The duke wanted more power,” the queen said. “There was something about northerner status and suchlike... something I didn’t fully understand. I was normally banished from the room when the conversation got heated. The duke has never liked me.”

  “Never,” Lord Eddisford agreed.

  “Why?” Emily looked from one to the other. “There must be some reason.”

  Lord Eddisford spoke first. “Queen Beatrice, the Lady of Harmony, was born in Alluvia. She was the niece of King Jorlem. As such, she gave her husband considerable international clout. I believe he was already discussing future marriage alliances for his firstborn daughter when his wife died in childbirth. The duke... believed His Majesty should marry another foreigner. He was not best pleased when the king married my daughter instead.”

  Queen Aquiline’s cheeks reddened. “He said I was one jump above a commoner.”

  Emily tried to look sympathetic. “Why?”

  “My family is old, but we have been poor for most of our history,” Lord Eddisford said, curtly. “My father chose to remain poor rather than soil his hands with trade. I felt otherwise and built a vast fortune, despite the scorn. The remainder of the aristocracy mocked, even as I became richer than most of them put together. The king felt differently. He married my daughter.”

  The queen made a face. “And we’re Southerners,” she added. “That doesn’t help.”

  “That’s true,” Lord Eddisford agreed. “The Northerners look down on us.”

  “And yet the king married you,” Emily said. “Why?”

  “He courted me,” the queen said, bluntly. “And I told him that I wouldn’t sleep with him unless he married me. And he did.”

  Emily blushed. “And it worked?”

  “There were other reasons,” Lord Eddisford said, hastily. “The king had persistent money troubles. I helped smooth them out for him. My daughter was trained to run a business as well as a household. She was able to take some of the burden off his shoulders and assist him in ruling the kingdom. And she was a fertile young girl, from a family with a proven history of fertility. There were good reasons to believe she could give the king additional heirs.”

  Emily felt a twinge of dislike. She understood the logic. She’d heard enough of it to understand it was vital for maintaining the monarchy. But it was creepy to hear a father talking about his daughter as if she were a prize sow...

  “I did well for him,” the queen said. “And now, everything we built together will be destroyed.”

  “Perhaps,” Emily pointed out.

  “Lady Emily,” Lord Eddisford said. “If I may...”

  He took a breath, then leaned forward. “My daughter and I will keep the kingdom on an even keel. The New Learning will continue to be introduced, slowly. There will be room for talented newcomers, even commoners, to enter the elite. Parliament will steadily expand, allowing for greater and greater representation. It will, eventually, make things better for everyone.

  “The duke has proved himself fanatically hostile to any thought of change. If he takes power, he will crush us and then parliament. He will seek to rule as an absolute master, without any checks and balances on his power. Parliament will be crushed if it tries to stand in his way, if it refuses to grant him the monies he’ll demand. And... even if it does agree to grant him the taxes, it may be unable to collect them. Higher taxes mean lower production.”

  Emily kept her face carefully expressionless. It was a good argument, better than she’d expected. And... she looked at the queen, wondering if she’d told her father about what Emily had told Willis. Lord Eddisford was smart, smart enough to research Emily before approaching her. He might well have pitched his argument to appeal to her specifically.

  “Parliament, on the other hand, will be unable to slow the pace of change,” Lord Eddisford continued. “They will not have the position or power to steer the course of history. They will either spur a reactionary counterrevolution, Lady Emily, or raise hopes and promises they will be supremely unable to meet. There will be unrest, then uprisings, as they start to lose control. And the country will come apart.”

  “I see,” Emily said. “And you don’t feel you can come to an agreement with the duke? Or Parliament?”

  “The duke would not keep his agreements,” the queen said, flatly. “I’ve seen him at work. Give him a concession and he’ll use it to wring out another concession. The only person who could keep him in line was his brother. I think that was why he wanted his brother dead.”

  “But you don’t have proof,” Emily said.

  “Forget proof,” Lord Eddisford said. “What matters is what is best for the kingdom. And my daughter is the best candidate for regency.”

  “I can certainly advise Arbiter Rogan of your point of view,” Emily said, neutrally. “But I can make no promises.”

  Lord Eddisford looked as if he wanted to bribe her. “My Lady...”

  “I can make no promises,” Emily repeated. There was no point in trying to bribe her. Lord Eddisford simply didn’t have anything to offer. “But I will ensure the arbiter knows your point of view.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “If you believe the duke killed the king,” she said, “how did he do it?”

  “There have always been strange stories of magics in the north,” the queen said. “My husband claimed he was descended from an actual dragon. There’s certainly been a strong streak of magic running through the royal bloodline. The duke... is a blademaster. His sons are reputed to be strong. My children have strong magic too. The duke could easily have uncovered an ancient secret and used it to kill his brother.”

  “It might be true,” Emily said. She wasn’t so sure. In her experience, ancient magics were often outmatched by newer spells. The ancients might have been powerful magicians, but they lacked the advantage of hindsight. “And yet, he would have taken a huge risk.”

  “He has an army outside the city,” the queen pointed out. “And he has never been defeated in battle.”

  “They say he cannot be defeated in battle,” Lord Eddisford agreed.

  “If you believe that to be true,” Emily said, “why are you opposing him?”

  “Because we must,” Lord Eddisford said. “Because if we don’t, the country will fall into tyranny.”

  “And we might beat him on a different field,” the queen said.

  “You might want to think about finding a way to share power,” Emily said, although she knew it wasn’t likely. “What will you do if you lose?”

  The queen and her father exchanged glances. “Whatever we need to do,” Lord Eddisford said, finally. “Beyond that, we cannot say.”

  You mean you have contingency plans, Emily guessed. And those plans don’t include accepting defeat gracefully.

  She stood. “Thank you for your time,” she said. “But I have to continue my investigation.”

  “We quite understand,” the queen said. “Please. Find proof before it’s too late.”

  Emily nodded and left the room. The wards slid back into place as soon as she closed
the door. The queen was paranoid, but was she paranoid enough? Emily frowned as she walked down the corridor. If the duke was the murderer — and he was prepared to try to kill her — why not kill the queen and watch her faction collapse? Or...

  “Lady Emily!” Princess Elena stepped out of the shadows. “What did the whore have to say for herself?”

  “Nothing I can share with you,” Emily said. She resisted the urge to point out that the queen wasn’t a whore. “Why are you here?”

  “I have to keep an eye on her,” Elena said. “No one else is going to do it. She and her father and everyone scurrying towards her like rats climbing onto a sinking ship...”

  Emily smiled. “Rats normally leave sinking ships.”

  “These rats are dumb,” Elena said. “And you know it.”

  A messenger appeared at the end of the corridor. He stopped dead in surprise as he saw Elena, then hastily went down on one knee. “Your Highness!”

  “You may rise,” Elena said. She reached for the scroll in his hand. “Is this for me?”

  “No, Your Highness,” the messenger said. “It is for Lady Emily. From Sir Mowbray.”

  Emily took the scroll and unwrapped it. The message was short and simple. Sir Mowbray wanted to meet her, somewhere outside the castle.

  “Can I come?” Elena grinned at her. “It would be an adventure!”

  “I... think it would be a bad idea,” Emily said. “Sorry.”

  “Take Simon, then,” Elena said. She looked as if she wanted to sulk. “He’ll show you the way.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “THANK YOU FOR INVITING ME,” SIMON said, as they walked out of the castle and down the street. “I was getting bored in my study.”

  Emily nodded, barely listening as she turned and looked up at the castle. It was the first time she’d seen it from the outside and... it managed to break most of the rules she knew about building a defensible castle. The building was a squat brooding mass, as if someone had been trying to design a castle that could pass for a mansion and failed completely. There were no walls, no towers, no battlements save for a line at the top of the building. Emily doubted it could stand up to a real siege. A determined attacker, with or without magic, could punch a hole in the walls and stream into the building within an hour or so.

  She glanced at Simon. “Is there another castle, somewhere nearby?”

  Simon gave her an odd look. “Yes, why?”

  Emily smiled to herself. The second castle would be the real castle, unless she was much mistaken. If they lost control of the city, the king and his family would retire to their stronghold where they could hold out until a relieving army arrived or simply wait for their enemies to give up and go away. She turned, glancing towards the distant mountains before studying the city itself. Dragonsmile struck her as odd. The buildings were simply too close to the castle for any competent defender’s peace of mind.

  “This way,” Simon said. “Parliament is waiting.”

  “We’d better not let them down,” Emily said. “You can give me the tour afterwards.”

  She kept her eyes open and her mouth shut as they walked down the street. The town was surprisingly prosperous — and magical. She spotted a dozen apothecaries and other magic stores on the street, surrounded by shops and stalls that sold everything from food and drink to books and tools. The city looked as if it was well set up to take advantage of the New Learning, but there was a tension in the air she didn’t like. The streets were nearly empty, save for nervous shoppers, guardsmen and youths loitering on street corners. Emily spotted a handful carrying crude flintlock pistols, either home-grown or imported from Zangaria. The balance of power was already shifting. She wondered if the aristocracy, in their castles, understood it. A local Guy Fawkes could blow the king’s castle into rubble with a little effort and luck.

  “Parliament,” Simon said. He pointed to a building at the end of the road. “It claims to be the oldest parliament in the Allied Lands.”

  Emily glanced at him. “And is it?”

  “It says it is,” Simon said. “And who’s going to disagree with them?”

  Emily shrugged. With high walls surrounded by powerful wards, Parliament looked more like a fortress than the king’s castle. The guards weren’t best pleased when Emily showed them the scroll, allowing them to enter without being stopped and searched. Inside, there was a small army of musketmen drilling. There were only a few dozen within eyeshot, Emily guessed, but it didn’t take long to train a musketeer. It was quite possible there was already a modern army under the parliament’s control.

  A guide met them at the inner door, bowed politely and led them down a short corridor and into a meeting room. Emily looked around with interest. The room was surprisingly bare, even though she’d discovered that the majority of MPs were either landed aristocrats or wealthy merchants. A wooden table, a pair of wooden chairs, a single glowing lantern hanging from an iron chain... The only real luxury was a roaring fire in the grate. It burned merrily, drawing her eyes like a moth to the flame. The fireplace itself was so large, she was sure someone could use the chimney pipes to get around the building when the fires were out.

  “Lady Emily,” an elderly voice said. She turned to see a tottering older man leaning on a cane. He looked older than the former Grandmaster. His voice was whispery, but firm. “I’m sorry I was unable to meet you.”

  “I quite understand,” Emily said. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  The man — Sir Mowbray, she guessed — shot her a sharp look. Emily realized, dimly, that she’d made a mistake. She sighed inwardly, cursing the aristocrats under her breath. They didn’t have to devise rigid systems of etiquette, even if it was how they sorted the real aristocrats from the pretenders. And an elderly man didn’t have to feel he needed to meet them... she took the proffered seat, resting her arms on the table. Simon leaned against the wall, behind her. Emily wondered if she should ask him to wait outside.

  She silently probed Sir Mowbray as he sat facing her. No magic, as far as she could tell. He moved as if the only thing holding him upright was sheer willpower. He hadn’t brought an assistant or a wheelchair with him, even though no one would have reasonably blamed him for using either. But then, aristocrats were rarely reasonable. A wheelchair would have been seen as a sign of weakness. And then the knives would come out...

  “Lady Emily,” Sir Mowbray said. “I understand time is not on your side. Shall we dispense with the politeness dance?”

  “Please,” Emily said.

  Sir Mowbray met her eyes. “Have you caught the murderer?”

  “No,” Emily said, equally flatly.

  “Parliament is most displeased,” Sir Mowbray said. “The king’s death makes it hard to get on with the business of governing.”

  “I understand,” Emily said. “There is, of course, no question over the succession.”

  Sir Mowbray gave her a look that suggested he thought she was an idiot. “The real question is who wields the power until the Crown Prince comes of age.”

  Emily nodded.

  “Parliament has good reason to resist both the queen and the duke,” Sir Mowbray said, bluntly. “I have been nominated to serve in their place.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “It is important that I do,” Sir Mowbray informed her. His face was tightly controlled. “Parliament feels, strongly, that either of the other two claiming the protectorship will lead to civil war. I do not wish to serve as protector, and you can believe that or not as you please, but there is no other option. The Crown Prince is a callow youth. He cannot rule now, nor can he keep either of the other two from abusing his power.”

  “And so you’ve invited me here to make your case,” Emily said. “You do realize that Arbiter Rogan will make the final decision?”

  “But you can sway him,” Sir Mowbray said. “Your word carries weight.”

  The queen said the same, Emily thought. Does this mean I can expect to hear the sam
e from the duke?

  Sir Mowbray leaned forward. “I am old,” he said, as if it needed to be pointed out. “My daughters married long ago. I have no sons. I have no male heirs who might make a claim to my estate, such as it is. At my age” — he smiled, humorlessly — “it is certain I will have no more children. It is quite possible I won’t live long enough to see the Crown Prince reach his majority.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said.

  “The point is, I have lived long enough to see kingdoms plunged into chaos time and time again by selfish and greedy aristocrats,” Sir Mowbray said. “I do not want to watch it happen again. Parliament has nominated me for the regency because I stand to gain nothing from the arrangement. I will serve as a neutral regent until the king is old enough to take the reins himself.”

  “I see,” Emily said. It was a good argument, but neither the queen nor the duke would accept it. “And how do you intend to cope with the powerful aristocrats?”

  “I will freeze everything,” Sir Mowbray said. “The disputes over land will be frozen, at least until the king is old enough to pass judgment. The disputes over inheritances will be harder, but most of them can be put on ice until the king is ready to handle them. Anything that threatens the balance of power will be held back until the time is right. I will not allow any major shift in the balance of power.”

  Emily cocked an eyebrow. “And does that include Parliament?”

  “Parliament will not seek to add to its liberties, nor will Dragonsmile,” Sir Mowbray said. “I have been told you always seek to do the right thing, Lady Emily. I think you will recognize that this is the right thing. The alternative is civil war.”

  “So you say,” Emily said. She suspected Sir Mowbray was right. “But tell me... what will you do when the duke or the queen or someone else refuses to recognize your authority?”

  “I will raise troops to impose my authority, if challenged,” Sir Mowbray said. “The king had already authorized the creation of a modern army. That army will crush anyone who disturbs the peace.”