Villain's Assistant

by Carley Hibbert

  Besides gloating over the luxuries that Benjamin missed for two days, Denny stayed clear of him. While he appeared less hostile, Benjamin wondered if his wounded feelings were still on the mend. Denny watched Rebecca closely whenever she and Benjamin talked. Hopefully he was seeing their interactions with more objective eyes.

  Denny was not a bad guy. Benjamin trusted him to act in a predictable manner. He would hate to lose that. But if Denny continued being resentful of him, he could sabotage things, whether purposely or not. If Benjamin couldn’t convince him of their disinterest in one another, he needed to point out Rebecca’s feelings for Denny. Whatever they were. Benjamin had never thought about it before, but Rebecca had to have some. The two had worked together for several years. They had history.

  Denny sat up, pummeled his pillow into a better shape, and lay down again, rolling away from Benjamin.

  “Denny, how long have you worked with the Lieutenant?” And Rebecca?

  “Hmmm?” Denny sounded annoyed.

  “How long have you been with the Lieutenant?”

  “I don’t know, a few years. Three, I think.”

  “Well, how did he suck you in?”

  Denny propped himself up with his elbow, combing his hair back with his fingers. “Why do you care?”

  “I just realized I don’t really know that much about you or your brothers. Everyone seems to know more about me than I do about everyone else.”

  Denny narrowed his eyes, rolled over onto his back, and exhaled loudly.

  “The Lieutenant worked with my father once, years before, when he was Black-Eyed Barnaby. When the Lieutenant returned with Rebecca, Dad agreed to help him. Mother had just died a year earlier, and the Lieutenant brought a spark to our lives. Then Dad got sick, and we were left on our own.

  “The Lieutenant got us established so we could take care of ourselves. He pointed out what we already could do and how to use those skills to support ourselves.”

  “And how you could help him?” Benjamin looked at Denny.

  “Well, yes,” Denny said. He rolled over and looked at Benjamin, his blue eyes burning, “but that’s not why he did it. He occasionally asked us for small things, and that was all. I volunteered to help him because I wanted more. I saw an opportunity. I was the head of the house with mouths to feed. You’ve never met Baldo. He could do anything if he was in the right place. He’s such a runty thing. He needs his brains to earn a living.”

  “So the door to all of that was through the Lieutenant? An opportunity for your brother?”

  “Well, and for me; I’ll admit it,” Denny sighed. “What would happen when the Lieutenant packed up and went back to the king? He’d become like a father to us. After Mom died, Dad provided for us, but he was just a shadow.”

  “There aren’t many people like the Lieutenant on the plain, not that I’ve ever met…or Rebecca.”

  Silence settled around Benjamin as he took in Denny’s words. He pictured the brothers’ need for humanness amid emptiness. It was a scene he could picture easily enough. What was hard for him to imagine was what it would be like to have that void filled. Benjamin’s mother was attentive more to her schemes for him than actually to him. It was like living with a harness whose sole purpose was to drive him down a narrow path. She had very little interest in how he felt about things or what he wanted to do with his life. If he resisted, she would go to war with him, and war in his face every day was exhausting.

  “Benjamin?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know how you feel about the Lieutenant. Maybe you don’t want him as a father, but I think he’s a good person to have in your life. I…I think he would do anything for you.”

  “Why do you say that?” Benjamin stared blankly at the shadows on the ceiling.

  “Because he was looking for you. Because all the stuff he’s done for me and Odie and Baldo and Rebecca, he really wanted to do for you. He always wondered if he had a child, but he didn’t know for sure.” Denny cleared his throat. “It bothered him, not knowing.”

  Benjamin couldn’t say anything; a deep ache stole his breath for a moment. Every scrap of information that he gleaned about the Lieutenant clashed against the image of Black-Eyed Barnaby that his mother described to him every day until she died. It was mental whiplash. The Lieutenant was a good man; Black-Eyed Barnaby was a villain. How could his father, the Duke of Gehnry, be both people? They were so different. Benjamin studied the shadowed corners of his room and waited for sleep.

  FORTY TWO

  Benjamin woke early and dressed quietly. He stepped out onto a small balcony and looked up at the mountain they had been on just a few days earlier. I climbed that mountain! From here, he could see how large a task that had been. He examined the castle and saw a few guards standing on parapets, watching the morning sun. Tightness built in his chest; he needed to close the deal. They had left the Lieutenant dangling. Mouthrot would realize Rebecca wasn’t on the plain soon. It was possible that Mouthrot would know everything that was going on in the castle.

  Benjamin ran to the door, leaving Denny sleeping under twisted blankets. Two guards played cards outside the door. Glad to know I’m not a prisoner anymore. Oh, the irony! The guards dropped cards and coins to stand at attention.

  “Branwen? This way, yes?”

  He pointed down the hall and marched off, not waiting for permission. There was a moment of uncertainty before a single set of steps caught up with him. The guard nodded to Benjamin and silently led him to Branwen. There must be some edict that forbids the guards from talking. Wonderful, if it’s true! He could work with that.

  Branwen perched on a tall stool, curled over a slanted desk, not unlike the clerks who were reading over yellowed sheets of parchment and scrolls. Each held a quill in his hand. Nothing denoted his rank other than his age and the quality of his dark robes that brushed against the stool as he wrote furiously. One of the bleary-eyed clerks tilted his head up and stared blankly at Benjamin for a full twelve seconds before any acknowledgment sparked behind his eyes. He looked at his master, who noticed nothing outside of his world of paper. The clerk slid from his stool and sidled next to Benjamin. He queried Benjamin in a whisper. “Yes?”

  “I’d like to speak to Branwen,” Benjamin said in a low tone that was still loud enough to upset the room.

  The clerks all turned to Branwen with a look of panic, but Branwen merely waved them off.

  “He needs to finish his thought,” the clerk pleaded with bloodshot eyes. “Wait here. Please.”

  Branwen was a master to be feared then. The clerk rubbed his stiff, ink-stained hands and climbed back on his stool. He blinked a few times and bent back to his work.

  Benjamin let his eyes roam over stacks of papers and overlarge rolls that must have been maps. His fingers hungered to unroll a few to discover what lay inside, but he tucked them behind his back and waited.

  Branwen looked up and shook his head slightly. “And what do you want, exactly?” He harrumphed as he leaned back, relieving his curvature by half. His arms braced against the desk for support.

  What do I want? Benjamin could only respond with silence as Branwen stared at him.

  Branwen glimpsed at his scribbling clerks. “You all look terrible. Go to bed.” A few clerks cracked smiles, but out of relief or humor? It was hard to tell. “This way, young man.”

  Branwen dismounted and tottered with a more exaggerated limp than usual. He led Benjamin into a dim room lit only by the early-morning light that poured through two very small windows. A small pallet for sleeping was tucked in a corner. Branwen lit a lantern, illuminating a wall of pigeonholes filled with scrolls, each securely locked behind metal meshing. Several boxes with locks on them were stacked neatly in a dim corner.

  “Guard, tell Sir Wendell that I’m finished with these boxes. They may be returned to the vaults. They will need to be escorted, and they are heavy.”

  The guard nodded at the dismissal and left without comment. Branwen sat be
hind a solemn desk with a high-backed chair. He jabbed at a lumpy pillow that was meant to support his twisted frame.

  “You must have Aldo’s complete trust,” Benjamin said.

  “As much as he trusts anyone.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked directly at him. “I gather information that has helped him keep his crown. Every ounce of trust I have, I’ve earned through sleepless nights and other men’s lives.”

  “Is that the path to the king’s ear? The lives of other men?”

  “No, not exactly. You see, first, you must give up your life. His interests are now mine. The princess will need that too. I don’t have another life to give.”

  “Rebecca?” Benjamin scoffed. “She could kill a full-grown mountain bear with a single glare. Besides, she doesn’t want to be queen.”

  “Then what does she want to be? Alive?” Branwen picked up a stack of papers and locked them in a drawer. “To the king, she is an insurance policy. To many others, she is a roadblock.”

  “Don’t say that in front of Rebecca, or you’ll make her blush.” Benjamin sat down in a hard wooden chair meant to keep conversations short. “I know she needs help. She’s made for the demands of royalty, though, more than she knows. I could help her, but—”

  “What’s in it for you?” The secretary lifted his eyebrows, causing his gray skin to crackle.

  Benjamin shrugged, ignoring how the chair pinched the back of his thighs. “I was thinking more that Rebecca’s biggest weakness lies in her ignorance at court and who the players are. I cannot provide her with that information.” The edge of the chair dug into the back of Benjamin’s legs. “What I can do is go back to the Lieutenant and take down the king’s rivals.”

  “A few of his rivals. What do you think the princess has been doing while you were ‘making a point’ in the dungeons? She has been frantic about her friends. She is all but ready to lead an army to Shreb’s fortress.”

  “That will never happen.”

  “Agreed. The king believes she will be safer here.”

  “Will she?”

  “With some education and protective measures, yes.”

  “So the real trick is making sure she’ll want to stay here. She tried to bolt once before. She’s been told what to do all her life, and she’s getting pretty tired of it.”

  “A willful royal? How novel.” Branwen squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been around for a while now.”

  “Send me! I’m pretty unemployable on the plain by now. If I can’t work for those villains, I might as well take them down.”

  “To make room for yourself?”

  Benjamin stood up, his legs tingling. He walked around the chair to gain his feeling back. A thought pierced him like an icicle. “You’re not thinking of putting me in as archvillain, are you? That’s the last thing anyone—including me—wants!”

  “No, but that’s good to know. We can’t very well disregard your entire upbringing in our plans, can we? Do you think that your mother wanted you to stop at villain’s assistant? Really?”

  Benjamin rubbed his hands on his legs. Conversations never went the way they were supposed to when he talked to Branwen.

  “I don’t know what my mother wanted. It doesn’t matter now. She’s dead!”

  There was a knock at the door. Branwen raised a finger and allowed a retinue of guards in to remove the boxes. Benjamin watched in frozen frustration. The secretary ordered Benjamin’s guard to take him back to his room.“I believe the princess is expecting you for breakfast.”

  Back in his rooms, Benjamin was surprised to find Denny up and fully groomed in fresh clothes. Denny raised his eyebrows and declared he didn’t want to know. He pointed out Benjamin’s pile of clean clothes and a basin of fresh water.

  Benjamin washed in their dressing room. It allowed him a private moment to fume at the sudden realization of how much freedom he had lost since joining this roadshow. Benjamin knew what needed to be done, and all these people, walls, and rules were getting in his way. If it wasn’t for the example of the neighboring country of Snood, he would lean toward no government at all, but he wasn’t really interested in goatherding and growing rocks.

  Benjamin stepped out into the room, freshly combed and scrubbed. Denny was hunched over a map. “How would you sneak an army into the Thieves’ Plain?” Denny asked no one. “I don’t think it can be done.”

  “One soldier at a time, I guess.” Benjamin shrugged.

  Denny laughed as he opened their door. “If we wanted to attack in ten years.”

  “At least ten years,” Benjamin said, stumbling out the door after Denny.

  FORTY THREE

  Benjamin took a comfortable seat next to Dally and finished his eggs and sausage quietly. He nodded and agreed with everyone’s comments. It was lovely to fill his belly and to know that the food would not run out. Dally had ordered extra sausages and eggs for the two boys, and they both showed their appreciation by eating them quickly. As Dally cleared the dishes, Benjamin noticed that Rebecca had covered her unfinished breakfast with her napkin.

  “If only we could stroll around the grounds. I’m sure that would take the edge off,” Dally said, glancing out the window. “It’s a beautiful day, and the gardens are lovely.”

  “Why do I have to be hiding again?” Rebecca crossed the room and pressed her forehead to the leaded glass window.

  Dally called for a guard to remove the trays. “Aldo is a little paranoid about your safety.” She turned to face Rebecca with a sigh. “Can you blame him? Rebellious nobles in his ranks and Mouthrot on the plain?”

  “Not to mention Mouthrot probably has spies in the castle,” Benjamin said, pushing his chair back.

  Rebecca glared at Benjamin, pressing a fist into her hip. She tightened her lips into a grim expression of determination. Denny gave Benjamin a look of concern, and he nodded.

  “Perhaps King Aldo would let me go back,” Denny said, keeping his voice light. “You know, just to check in with the Lieutenant. I think we’d all feel much better just knowing.”

  “Aldo has already outfitted a group to do that.” Rebecca dropped her hands to her sides and wandered to the back of the couch to trace the floral pattern. “And none of us are in it.”

  Denny slunk into a chair.

  “So it’s been finalized?” Benjamin asked.

  “For the most part. I know it was foolish, but part of me was really hoping to go.” Rebecca slammed her fist into the couch. “That’s where I belong. If I were a prince, I would lead the attack. It would be part of my training.”

  Denny glowered at Rebecca’s words.

  “My world was already too small.” Rebecca traced the edge of the couch with her finger as she circled around it. “Now it feels as if it’s shrinking to the size of a single room. My life hangs in the balance with the fate of Lam.” She collapsed into cushions.

  To put your life at the mercy of something larger than oneself? Benjamin thought of Branwen painfully scurrying around the shadows of the castle, not for a king, but for the good of the kingdom. It was a distinction he had not considered before, but an important one. Is personal pain sometimes worth the fate of something bigger?

  Dally sat on the other side of Rebecca with a basket of white handkerchiefs. She patted her leg affectionately and began the process of embroidering Rebecca’s initials into an intricate coiling pattern.

  Rebecca tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. Dally took this as a cue to dive into some court gossip that no one was really interested in, but it gave everyone a good excuse not to talk. Benjamin felt the outline of a terrific something, maybe even a plan, standing in the shadows of his mind. He needed time to coax it into something solid.

  Benjamin demanded to go for a walk, telling his guards that he needed to escape female gossip. The guards, normally unresponsive, had to fight off sympathetic smirks. They nodded and escorted him through the castle’s dark, forgotten corners. He toured rooms full of cast-off furniture and smiled as he w
andered freely.

  The guards didn’t say anything, but they seemed to be enjoying the change of scenery. How boring it must be to park outside a lost princess’s door and not even be allowed to complain to anyone.

  He found himself standing in a large room full of heavy banquet tables built to withstand anything. He marveled at their solid construction. Oak maybe? He could imagine ancient jousting tournaments on them, they were so large and solid.

  His fingers just brushed against his notebook when a voice interrupted his reverie. “And what are you up to, I wonder?”

  The guards snapped to attention, growing in height as they saluted the bent figure in the doorway.

  “Trust issues?” Benjamin spoke over his shoulder.

  “Are we talking about me or you?” With that, the secretary dismissed the guards.

  Benjamin watched the soldiers leave and said, “I’ve been thinking about how you would get an army onto the Thieves’ Plain without anyone knowing.”

  “It can’t be done.”

  “Really?” Benjamin turned to face Branwen. “Because I thought there already was one there.”

  Branwen nearly stood up straight at that, his physical reaction limited by the curvature of his spine.

  “A system of spies and soldiers have been in place from the moment the truce was established,” Benjamin said, glancing at Branwen’s smug expression to confirm his guess. “Of course there are, because Aldo and his father were rightly paranoid, as any good king should be. The army of spies might be old and forgotten, but they’re still there. Aldo just needs to give the order.”

  “Timing, remember?” Branwen said, the dark circles under his eyes deepening.

  “I’ll set it in motion myself. Heck, I’ll take Denny along for good measure to keep me on the straight-and-narrow path to the Lieutenant’s door. Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for?”

  The old crow lifted his head and cawed. “Come with me, Master Benjamin.”