Book 9: Chapter 9
AFTER LEAVING the Brossard mansion, I climbed up onto the roof of the neighboring house and settled down to wait. The former lieutenant of Westerly Fort, as well as his footman Buquet, knew a lot less than their commander had, so I hadn’t spent too much time on either of them. Nor, for that matter, had I bothered much with the convoymen who had brought the prisoner, although I’ll confess that I was pretty surprised when I heard that prisoner’s name.
Gaston Laforte (for that’s exactly who had been delivered to the Rohan mansion in that prison cart) had been arrested in Conterne, whither he had been lured with the connivance of the General of the Legion of Last Chances. Laforte had trusted his immediate superior, and paid for it with his freedom.
After interrogating the head of the convoy, I learned that Gaston Laforte had been accused of insubordination in regards to his orders to march to Eastern Bergonia. The Captain of the “Last Chances” had made things worse by resisting arrest. Twenty of the “Last Chances” died in an uneven fight against Conterne’s garrison, and Gaston Laforte himself was quickly clapped into shackles. And now he was being delivered to the capital for a meeting with Maître Sarsonne.
Gaston Laforte might have walked into a trap, but I knew that the real reason for his arrest was his loyalty to me. As it turned out, all the former members of my Council of War were slowly being removed from Bergonia.
From what I knew, Count Guilleme de Leval and his son Pierre were both somewhere in Western Vestonia. They were pacifying some of the local nobles, a project on which they were working side-by-side with the disgraced Duke de Clairmont. André de Châtillon had also been sent there with his riders, as had Captain Samuel Kroner and his cohort. As for the Captain of the “Last Chances,” they had decided to play things a little differently.
I had to remain incognito while liberating Gaston Laforte. Not only that, I also secretly took some measures to ensure his safe departure from the city. That was why I was settling in to stake out the Brossard mansion again.
Gaston got oriented pretty quickly. I soon heard the sound of footsteps, followed by the quiet jingling of metal buckles. I saw a familiar figure flit by in the dim light of a torch. Laforte took off through the back door at the far end of the courtyard, holding two horses by their bridles. Both animals had fat saddlebags on either side. Laforte was no longer dressed in rags; he was wearing a neat Captain’s uniform, which he had obviously borrowed from Brossard.
The former lieutenant of Westerly Fort had gained quite a bit of weight since our last meeting, so his uniform hung pretty loosely on Gaston’s gaunt, weathered frame.
Laforte looked collected and focused: he was wearing a wide belt with a sword buckled to one side, and had taken the time to put his military insignia in order. His sharp gaze was flitting up and down the alley in front of him, searching for any sign of a threat. With every passing minute, I became more convinced that he was still in full control of himself, despite his imprisonment and the tortures he had endured. I watched him bend down toward the horses, checking their buckles with trembling hands as he let out a quiet stream of curses. Apparently, the pain in his wrists was still pretty severe.
The Captain jumped up into the saddle and took off down the narrow alleyway that led to the northern gates. I knew Laforte probably wasn’t headed to Herouxville. I figured that he would turn down the next country road, ride around the city, and then head for Bergonia. Or at least that’s what I would have done in his position.
Bresmont’s streets were deserted, so the Captain had no trouble making it to the northern gates well before sunrise. This, I knew, would be the key moment. How would Gaston deal with the guards who were stationed at the gates — which, after all, were still closed for the night? I was already waiting for Gaston at a nearby house when he arrived at the gates, keeping careful track of his movements from the shadows. I was ready to intervene on his behalf at a moment’s notice.
But Gaston didn’t end up needing any help. The guards didn’t even have a chance to speak before the Captain’s commanding voice made them freeze; within a few seconds, they were standing at attention in front of him. Without even getting down from his horse, he began to scold them about how to properly perform their guards service. Their sleepy-eyed sergeant came in for a vicious tongue-lashing, given that he had jumped up out of a cot in the guardhouse after being awoken by the Captain’s shouting. In the end, they let the fearsome Captain pass without incident through a small, grated door that was located next to the main gate, then let out a collective sigh of relief. And that was it. Gaston would be on his own from then on. It was time for me to get back to the inn.
* * *
It was almost lunchtime by the time we heard what had happened in the city. Apparently, Louis de Rohan’s servants had awakened just before eleven in the morning and, upon finding the corpses of their master and his guards, sounded the alarm.
Bresmont turned into an anthill of activity in the blink of an eye. Guards were racing through the street at a furious pace, trying to sniff out a “unit of evildoers” who had supposedly broken into the city in secret in order to release their ringleader from captivity. This man had been brought first to the Baron de Rohan’s mansion, then to the home of Captain Brossard. That, at least, was the official version. Nobody even came close to suspecting that both of these armed attacks had been the work of a single person.
The guards checked our inn as part of the process, of course, but they didn’t conduct any sort of thorough interrogation. It just so happened that the patrol was commanded by Lieutenant Brique, who could only shake his head when he saw the perplexed and frightened looks on our faces. Maître Brisot’s troupe could hardly have borne less resemblance to a pack of armed cutthroats.
“Aa-aah, the circus,” he drawled ruefully, before spitting onto the ground. “Looks like your show’s been cancelled.”
“Such a shame,” said Maître Brisot, his hand pressed tightly to his heart. “What’s this world coming to?”
The lieutenant glanced at Bridget, who had very real tears of disappointment coursing down her cheeks. Interpreting this in his own way, the lieutenant turned to address her in a comforting tone:
“Go ahead and cry, my lovely. Perhaps the Most Luminous Mother will take notice of your tears and provide care for the souls of the slain.”
Inside my mind, I had to chuckle at this. I could only hope that the assholes would find themselves reincarnated as cockroaches or slugs. And of course, Bridget’s tears weren’t flowing for Louis de Rohan at all: she was crying because of the lost opportunity. But there was no reason for the lieutenant to know that.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Lieutenant Brique in a sort of conspiratorial tone, just before leaving the inn. “There’s not going to be much work for you in Bresmont for at least a month. So I wouldn’t hang around here for too long if I were you. Especially since the King’s inquisitors will be here before long... The murderers who killed the Baron and his people are already long gone, of course, but those capital-city bloodhounds don’t care. They’re definitely going to look for the culprits in Bresmont itself. And believe me: they’re definitely going to find someone.”
“We understand, Mr. Lieutenant, Sir,” I said before Maître Brisot could reply. “We’ll be heading out tomorrow.”
“Good move, Acrobat,” said the lieutenant with a friendly smile. Just as he was crossing the threshold, he turned and added: “I’ll be stationed at the northern gates tomorrow.”
I replied with a silent nod, and he knew I had caught the hint. If we wanted to get out of the city without any issues the following day, we’d have to give the lieutenant and his people a portion of the generous advance we had received, for the show that had always been fated never to take place.
* * *
I stopped for a moment on the top of a small hill. A spellbinding panorama of Herouxville had unfolded before me beneath the evening sky. The setting sun was still smoldering on the horizon, bathing the capital in an orange-pink glow.
Below us lay the dark roofs of the Old Capital, whose crooked streets wound their way around the various enormous stone structures like a big, disorganized web of dark threads. The towers and spires of temples jutted up from the scene like a forest of sharpened stakes.
A little farther away, on the other side of the Legha, stretched the expanse of the New Capital. The river itself was aglow with light, reflected from the fires flickering in the windows of palaces and castles on the other side. Even here, atop the hill, I could hear the muffled hum of evening life in the city.
I could feel a breeze ruffling my hair. The familiar, suffocating smell of the river flared up into my nostrils. Below us, amid the sunset-drenched forest of towers and high walls, beat the living heart of all Vestonia. And I found myself once again having to dive headfirst into this ancient and dangerous city.
I didn’t run into any real problems upon entering the city. Except, of course, for the draconian tolls we had to pay. These had risen sharply in recent times, but such were the rules of the game. Especially with the upcoming holidays in celebration of the King’s recovery, which had already incurred gargantuan expenses for the Royal Treasury. His Majesty’s treasurer had to make up the difference somehow or other.
After entering through the gates, I noticed two of Susanna Marino’s colleagues. They were pretending to examine every cart and wagon thoroughly, but in reality, the only thing they were actually interested in were the names of everyone who was pouring in through the gates. I already knew that each of them had a special list of names that were of particular interest to their bosses.
After first getting approval from Clare (who, thanks to the lunari’s efforts, had recovered somewhat during the course of our trip), I entered the capital using her late husband’s name and papers. Her children were born actors, of course, and they did an excellent job of pretending to be MY children as well. As such, Gaston Rembourt of Maître Brisot’s traveling troupe of actors didn’t pique the interest of the “assessors” from the “Department of Carts and Wagons” at all.
We had beaten the vast majority of the competition to the scene of the upcoming holidays, so we didn’t really have too much trouble finding an acceptable place to stay in the Old Capital. Especially since Maître Brisot had enough money to rent some pretty decent accommodations for us. First and foremost, this was because I had shared my loot from the hamlet with my new friends; second, nobody had ever asked us to give back the generous advance we had received from Baron de Rohan. Not counting Lieutenant Brique and his percentage, of course.
The cozy, relatively-clean apartment building, where we rented room for the entire duration of the holidays, was located just a block from Moneychangers’ Square. While Pierre and Maître Brisot took care of the horses, I worked with Jean (who had long since recovered from his wound) to quickly unload the wagons. After that, we all sat down to a nice dinner, where we toasted the end of our journey and our lovely new accommodations, then headed off to our respective rooms.
In the middle of the night, when Selina finally showed up in my room and told me that everybody else was asleep, I got up and headed for the Fox Den.
The first thing I noticed when I arrived was the double contingent of soldiers guarding my house and its grounds. It gave me the impression that the mansion had gone into siege mode.
The old trees that had once graced the street side of the road were gone, replaced by little three-foot-tall saplings. I chuckled to myself. Good work, I thought. They had already done everything I had told them to before I left. Nobody would be able to hide in the shadows of the trees to keep an eye on my house. If it hadn’t been for my invisibility, I would never have been able to get so close to my house without being noticed.
As planned, the nisse had roped in several of the first-born to help her. They had combined their efforts to make the old trees wither and die, so that they had to be replaced. And then, so as to avoid any problems with the city authorities, my staff had replaced the trees with saplings.
I watched my retainers hurrying about their duties with my sigil on their armor and nodded approvingly. This was security on a whole different level. Nothing like those amateurs at Louis de Rohan’s mansion.
Suddenly, I sensed someone else’s presence, and it brought a smile to my face.
“So? You planning on coming inside at any point?” Itta asked mockingly from behind my back. “Or are you just going to shuffle around outside like some drifter?”
I turned around, stepped into the shadows, and deactivated invisibility. Selina materialized next to me, where she let out a squeal of happiness and threw herself into the nisse’s arms. A happy smile appeared on Itta’s face as well. She squeezed the lunari tightly and stroked her affectionately on the head.
My gaze met that of the nisse. I could see joy and excitement in her eyes. She could obviously sense just how much I had changed.
“I’ll come in,” I nodded. “But only through the back door. Nobody knows I’m here. And it needs to stay that way.”
* * *
Herouxville
Palace of the Duchess du Bellay
“My dear brother!” Jeanne du Bellay exclaimed loudly as she saw Heinrich de Gramont step into her fireplace hall. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised. You’ve finally decided to meet with me. I was quite disappointed when you rejected all my previous invitations. I’d like to remind you that we’re family, and as such we should stick together. No matter what might happen!”
While Jeanne spoke, Heinrich walked over to her armchair. Wearing the same imperturbable expression as always, he reached down and kissed her right hand. She brushed her left hand lightly through his hair.
“I’m serious, Henri.” Jeanne’s voice already sounded softer. “That’s no way to treat your own flesh and blood.”
Without a word, Heinrich sat down on the neighboring armchair, and resumed his old habit of constantly adjusting his cuffs.
“My dear sister,” he said, in a calm, even tone of voice. “As you know, I’ve had very important reasons for declining invitations. And not just your invitations, either.”
“I understand,” Jeanne nodded. “And I want to remind you that I loved Gabriel like my own son. I love them all as if they were my own children.”
Heinrich’s eyes narrowed.
“By “them all,” you’re presumably including that accursed bastard?”
“He’s our brother’s son,” replied the Duchess coldly. “The blood of our ancestors flows through his veins.”
“That horrid little bastard is a disgrace to our line.” The Count’s soft, delicate hands clenched themselves into fists.
“On the contrary,” Jeanne objected, staring straight into her brother’s eyes. “Maximillian’s victories have covered our family line in glory. If it weren’t for him, the Golden Lion and his legions would already be running things here in Herouxville.”
“It was only thanks to the Duke de Bauffremont, and the valor of soldiers like my Gabriel, that the Golden Lion took off running back to Atalia!” There was a challenge in Heinrich’s voice. “And my son would still be alive if that bastard hadn’t deliberately delayed his advance!”
“I have ears, Henri,” the Duchess snickered. “And I hear exactly who they’re praising at court these days. But we’re alone here. We can call things by their true names. Answer me one thing, but please be honest: do you really believe that the Golden Lion was frightened of his prisoner, the Duke de Bauffremont, or the Duke de Gondy, who fled the field of battle? Or that it was the gallant flight of a trembling Prince Philippe that saved the day? A Prince who, by the way, couldn’t even run away successfully? Need I remind you who brought back the heir to the throne? As far as I recall, it was our mutual nephew. It certainly had very little to do with that puffed-up dolt the Marquis de Gondy, who’s afraid to so much as take a step without getting daddy’s approval first.”
“You’re saying some very dangerous things, sister!” Heinrich replied, his eyes narrowing with menace. “That’s exactly what our rebellious brother used to think.”
At first, the Duchess’ eyebrows rose in worried confusion, but she quickly regained her composure. She knew that Heinrich didn’t actually care about what she was saying at all. Trying to convince him was just a waste of her valuable time.
“I suspect, dear brother,” the Duchess du Bellay replied, sounding even icier than before. “That you didn’t interrupt your mourning just to come pay me a friendly visit. What is it that you need?”
“You’re correct, sister,” nodded the Count de Gramont. “I’m here to warn you.”
“About what?” By that point, the Duchess’ face had finished its transformation into a mask of false politeness (albeit one made of ice).
“You need to stop supporting that bastard, before it’s too late,” the Count stated bluntly. “Bring Valerie back to my house, and then forget you even know the way to the Fox Den at all.”
“And if I don’t?” The Duchess inquired.
“You’ll incur the wrath of a lot of very powerful people,” replied Heinrich. “Our King, first and foremost.”
“Max is a faithful servant of His Majesty!” The Duchess replied. It was her turn to put a challenge into her voice.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, sister,” said Heinrich, a little more softly this time. “That bastard isn’t who he seems. He’s playing his own secret game. The bastard is actually Carl’s number-one enemy. He seeks revenge on the King for the deaths of his fathers and brothers.”
Jeanne listened to her brother with eyes wide open. A feeling of cold was wrapping itself traitorously around her heart.
“He’s already reduced all of Northern Bergonia,” continued Heinrich. “There, in his Margraviate, he’s gathering strength and outfitting his own personal army. Over the last few days, we’ve received word from Bergonia that his patrols — which mainly consist of shapeshifters and other gifted — are prowling the roads, robbing simple travelers. Several cities in Northern Bergonia have already sworn fealty to him. They’re even raising monuments in his honor. Does that help you understand why you need to steer clear of the Fox Den? By supporting that rebel, you risk bringing ruin onto our entire line. If you aren’t concerned for your own wellbeing, at least think of your nieces and nephews.”
Heinrich paused for a moment; he looked around the room, as though worried that there might be someone listening. Then, standing up slightly from his chair, he leaned in a little closer to his sister.
“And also...” He was speaking very, very quietly. “A storm is going to erupt at court. Very soon. And Ferdinand’s bastard will be right in the center of the scandal. When that happens, you and Valerie need to be as far away from the bastard as you possibly can.”
With that, Heinrich stood up, bid Jeanne a dry farewell, and walked out.
A little while later, the doors to the fireplace hall opened, and a footman appeared on the threshold. He was holding a candlestick.
“Would you like dinner served, Your Grace?” The servant asked.
The Duchess du Bellay jumped slightly, then covered her eyes with her hand. She took a look around, feeling half-blind, and then let out a heavy sigh. She had gotten so lost in thought after her brother’s departure that she had totally lost track of time.
Heinrich had said some truly awful things. And for the first few moments, Jeanne felt like everything he had said about Max was probably true. Then, however, she remembered how well her brother could lie, and her fears subsided.
Jeanne had no trouble believing that Max had conquered all of Northern Bergonia. That, after all, would always have been part of his plan. How could he possibly have kept control of his Margraviate if he had let anyone block the Imperial track?
Fools, she thought! Max could have taken ALL of Bergonia if he had wanted to. And there wouldn’t have been anything to stop him there, either... The fact that he hadn’t done so was ample proof of his loyalty to the King. He had even disbanded part of his army, so as not to worry Carl.
The idea that Max would have sanctioned robberies on the roads, though, was something Jeanne didn’t believe for a second. Trade was essential — how else could his Margraviate develop? An order to rob travelers, and especially merchants, would have been akin to shooting oneself in the foot with a crossbow.
Revenging himself on Carl for the deaths of his father and brothers? Jeanne stroked her chin as she thought about that idea. If that was Max’s goal, then why would he have sent healing potions to the King? Twice, no less? Lord Gray had let her in on that secret at one of her receptions. If this was part of Max’s revenge, then it was a very strange sort of revenge indeed. No. Max had no intention of seeking vengeance.
As for the news of the big scandal, of which her nephew was going to be at the center... Well, that had Jeanne genuinely worried. And it required immediate verification!
“Your Grace?” The footman repeated. This made the Duchess jump again.
“What?” She repeated absent-mindedly; then, a moment later, she said: “Ah, yes, dinner. Yes, have it served. And summon my secretary. Have him hurry. I have several pieces of urgent business for him to attend to.”