Book 9: Chapter 10
“THIS ISN’T HOW I IMAGINED your return,” the nisse chuckled as she made herself comfortable on a small chair and prepared to listen to my news. The lunari was sleeping, curled up on a folding cot in the corner of the room.
I looked around. The secret basement was immaculately clean. Everything on the shelves was perfectly organized and neatly stacked, and it had all been lovingly dusted.
“I see you haven’t been wasting any time here,” I noted with a nod at the bookcases and walls.
“Is it really so serious that you had to slink back incognito?” Itta asked, ignoring what I had said.
“That’s what I came back to find out,” I replied with a heavy sigh before leaning back on my chair.
The nisse took a quick look at my outfit and snickered:
“You left a wealthy nobleman, and came back a pauper.”
I chuckled in reply:
“Maybe. But nobody noticed me at all.” “I don’t recall that ever bothering you before.”
“I don’t want to upset the King before I actually have to,” I explained. “He ordered me to stay in my Margraviate and not leave it. If he finds out I disobeyed his order, there’ll be unpleasant consequences, which will hit you at the Fox Den first and hardest.”
The nisse shook her ginger head.
“We’ve been hearing all about how well you’ve carried out the King’s commands. Instead of a little Margraviate, you decided to conquer all of Bergonia? You amassed some strength — that’s why the King’s irritated. After all, he doesn’t like sharing glory any more than any other leader ever has.”
“Things got out of control,” I said. “The Hrimthurs made sure of that.”
Itta’s face changed immediately.
“So, it was the dark ones who’ve been hunting you...”
“Yes,” I nodded, before adding: “By the way, you don’t need to worry about that soulcatcher anymore.”
I spent the following hour recounting my adventures to the Nisse in detail. At her request, I demonstrated my fox paw spell, which threw her into a flight of excitement. Her expression changed several times during my story, and when I finally finished, she just sat there for a little while, looking down pensively at the golden bruts, the mysterious figurines, and the writings I had taken from the temple’s library.
“Hm...” She said thoughtfully as she turned to look up at me. “This is turning out to be quite a party... So let’s take stock: what exactly is going on here? Hoar the Wicked and his dead army are about to break out of their prison, and there’s nobody but you who can do anything against them? The ancient aurings had plenty of power of their own, and a whole army of true gifted and first-born at their backs, and even then they barely managed to win the fight. Heh heh... We’re in trouble...”
The nisse shook her head and glanced sadly at the lunari.
“We still haven’t recovered from THAT war,” she said quietly. “Our greatest and best laid down their lives in those battles. Old knowledge was lost. Our former power has gone. The young ones these days can’t even begin to imagine how powerful their ancestors were. I fear we won’t win this new war.”
I nodded at the sleeping lunari, then replied with a smile:
“When you see her in action, you’ll realize that not all is lost.” And then I added: “What do you think? Will her clan be willing to meet with me?”
“A lot of them are still angry with us,” sighed the nisse. “Especially the fayrets. Lunaris and efirels tend to avoid confrontation anyway. But these fire spirits... Well, they’re a fiery bunch. You’ve seen it yourself. We’ll have to talk to the elders first. See what they say.”
“Arrange a meeting, then,” I nodded. “I have a few other places to visit as well.”
I rubbed my hands excitedly, then said:
“Now that we’ve got that sorted out, tell me how things have been while I’ve been gone.”
* * *
After activating invisibility, I moved silently down Potters’ Alley. There were still several hours before sunrise, but all the shops I passed were hives of activity nonetheless. They kept those kilns running day and night. There were apprentices keeping watch over them around the clock.
The smell of smoke trickled down into the street from their chimneys, where it mingled with the much more subtle scent of fresh-baked clay. All the shops had their doors open a crack, and a dim light was filtering out into the street from inside them: apparently, the masters were all working on filling some urgent orders. Next to one of the walls, sheltered beneath a canopy, was a row of freshly-fired pots, whose rims were still hot to the touch.
I froze in the shadows for just a moment. A group of guards walked past, holding torches in their hands and spears slung up over their shoulders. Their steps and voices echoed dully off the stone walls.
Without a sound, I slipped behind a row of wooden chests, trying as I did so not to brush against any of the bundles of smoke-drenched herbs hanging from the ceiling.
A door creaked open on the other side of the alley, and a figure stepped out into the night, arms loaded to the brim with firewood. I could just barely hear the oven fires crackling inside the houses while the door was open. Once everything fell silent, I moved on, feeling the bulging, worn cobblestones beneath my feet as I walked.
As I walked, I thought about what Itta had told me. There was a good reason that Jacques had doubled the guard at the Fox Den. The first red flag had been a dramatic change in the official version of what had happened in Bergonia.
It turned out that the real war hero wasn’t the Margrave de Valier at all, but His Highness Prince Philippe and the Marquis de Gondy. While the nobles reacted immediately and started praising the officially-declared heroes, the common people kept right on singing songs about me. Thanks to the intervention of the Secret Chancery and the city guards, however, the songs of the bastard’s exploits eventually fell out of favor.
That was when my companions who had remained behind in the capital started getting worried.
Their fears were soon confirmed by Susanna Marino, who said that talk of the Margrave de Valier’s arbitrary use of power had begun to spread. According to the rumors at the time, he was slowly but surely bringing all of Northern Bergonia under his power. The last straw — the one that finally convinced Jacques to double the guard — was the news that a rash of robberies had broken out on the Margrave’s roads. My reputation was slowly and surely being ground into the mud.
As it turned out, though, that wasn’t even the full extent of my problems. My dear aunt and sister had gotten it into their heads that there was something romantic going on between Verena and me. So they had decided to put all their efforts into finding a husband for Verena. Ideally, they hoped to get her married off before I could return.
The Duchess du Bellay had taken to this task with particular zeal. Against my advice, Verena had become a regular visitor to almost all of my aunt’s balls and receptions, and she seemed to have caught the interest of several noble families already.
But that wasn’t the main problem. The nisse also told me that there had been several receptions at the Fox Den itself, and that at one of these, some old Count had been speaking privately with Verena — and addressing her as “Princess.”
Basically, my worst fear had come to pass. The situation with Verena was officially out of control. She would need to be moved out of Herouxville before it was too late. For what must have been the thousandth time, I regretted not having talked to the girl in more detail before bringing her to the capital. Although at the same time, I knew perfectly well that I would never have been able to simply abandon Verena to her fate...
I turned a corner and found myself back on good-old Potters’ Alley. Here, unlike the previous alleys, it was dark and quiet. I approached the massive gates, then stopped and took a careful look at each of the wooden doors that comprised them. I sniffed the air and smiled. One of my old acquaintances had clearly been in the area very recently. One who knew the area quite well. The gates opened on their own; I didn’t have to break in.
Suddenly, I sensed someone behind my back.
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not welcome here,” said a familiar voice (although it was full of menace on this particular occasion).
I turned around and looked closely into the darkness. The local matagot’s energy structure was clearly visible atop the roof of the neighboring house, right next to its chimney pipe.
He couldn’t have seen me, or identified my true nature, but he had sensed the presence of a foreigner nonetheless. Which wasn’t surprising: we were on his territory.
Okay, I thought. Let’s play. It’ll give me a chance to see how sensitive you really are.
I slowly walked over to the fence and leapt easily over it into the inner courtyard. Then I skipped silently up a ladder and onto the roof. Judging by the rapid pulsing of his energy system, the matagot (who had taken the form of a large, gray cat) was pretty nervous, although he hadn’t sensed my rapid movements in the slightest. His attention was still focused down at the ground.
A few moments later, I was standing dead-still about three steps behind him.
“Greetings, Gervin,” I said quietly as I removed my mask.
The gray cat shot up into the air with a loud “meow!” It turned around in midair and landed on all four of its paws. Its back was arched; its hair was standing on end; its sharp fangs were bared, and its ears were pressed tightly against its head. The matagot was ready to launch himself at the stranger who had dared to cross the boundaries of his territory.
“That’s how you greet your guests, is it?” I chuckled.
The big gray cat stopped hissing. Its head bent slightly to the side. A second later, a spark of recognition popped up in its eyes.
“Max?” I heard the beast ask in a hoarse, anxious voice.
“The very same,” I nodded
“How did you manage to get so close to me without me noticing?”
Gervin changed form. The hair on his head was slightly mussed-up, his apron was all wrinkly, and the look in his eyes seemed to have frozen somewhere between confusion, surprise, and fear.
It hadn’t been all that difficult to sneak up on him, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud. Why offend the master of the house? Especially since this matagot was no enemy of mine. The fact that he had withheld some information during our first meeting? Well, that actually worked in his favor, as far as I was concerned. Gervin knew how to keep secrets — not just his own, but also those of his friends.
“I just got lucky,” I replied diplomatically, before adding: “And sorry for scaring you.”
The matagot just nodded in reply, still boring into me with his anxious gaze.
“What brought you back to see me again?”
“I came to ask you for a favor,” I said as I sat down on the roof. “One for which I’m prepared to pay you handsomely.”
With that, I reached into my pocket and took out a big, scarlet brut the size of a chicken’s egg.
“How about it? Are you in?” I asked, tossing the crystal up and down in my hand.
“What’s the favor?” Gervin asked. His eyes were riveted unblinkingly on the brut.
“Give this message to whoever is in charge of the house,” I replied, pulling out a sealed envelope and nodding toward the house behind me.
Gervin didn’t have to think for long.
“Deal,” he said as he stretched out his hand.
* * *
It was sunrise by the time I returned to the apartment building where Maître Brisot’s troupe was staying. I actually managed to catch about an hour of sleep before the day started. After waking up, I laid there in bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about my plans for the coming days.
I had given the nisse a thorough explanation of where to find my temporary dwelling, and she promised to check in as soon as she had arranged the meeting with the elders.
I excused Selina from her normal duties and told her to go see her relatives. I could only hope they’d give her a friendly reception.
Itta was fully in support of my decision not to say hi to either Bertrand or Jacques. Hm, I thought... It’s actually weird how much I miss those two. And Kevin, and Alain.
As for Valerie... Well, I had never really gotten all that close with her. I knew she had been through a hell of a lot, and that she saw me as her only protector, but I simply couldn’t afford to let her into my inner circle. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if she ever sensed any weakness (real or perceived), or if a new, more influential patron happened to pop up, Valerie would move on without any real regrets.
As for Verena... The Princess had given me quite a bit of headache. So much so that whenever I thought about her, I didn’t really feel anything other than irritation. That was despite the fact that we had talked to one another quite a bit in the months before my departure for Bergonia. That short time had given me a chance to truly appreciate her flexible mind and her refined tastes.
She was the one who had advised me to think about Württemberg Mistrals — a type of horse that her ancestors had long been experts in breeding. I considered Verena to be a reasonable, quick-thinking young woman, and that was precisely why her recent action had disappointed me so badly. What could have made her reveal her identity to that Count? What could possibly have been the point? I really didn’t understand.
After breakfast with the Brisot family, I told them that I was going off to meet with some of my countrymen that day. Bridget decided to try to come with me, but I made it very clear that that wasn’t going to happen, earning myself a derisive glare for my troubles.
After leaving the apartment building, I walked across Moneychangers’ Square. Half an hour later, I was standing outside the familiar door of an herbalist’s shop.
It didn’t look like the previous owner’s death had affected the business at all. Even from afar, I could see some blue-blooded dandy walking out of the place. Without looking to either side, he set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the riverfront. Yet another rich simpleton, who had somehow decided that the witches could help him with his problems. Yeah, I thought... They’ll certainly help you, if your problem is having too much money in your pockets...
I pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold, where a bouquet of herbal scents and perfumes hit my nostrils immediately. Nothing had changed since my last visit.
“You’re a bold one, fox,” I heard a deep, jovial-sounding voice remark.
I turned around and saw a familiar blond-haired beauty. The coven mother’s favorite daughter was resting her elbows on the counter, showing off her cleavage. Mischievous sparks were dancing in her big emerald eyes. Heh, I thought... That dandy back there probably left here without so much as an obol in his pocket.
“Hello, Yvonne,” I smiled. “Peace to you, and to your house as well.”
* * *
Herouxville. New Capital
Craonne Mansion
“And how fares Our Highness?” Damien Craonne inquired, raising one eyebrow slightly as he turned to look at his son.
The head of one of the most influential and wealthy families in all Mainland was having lunch with his younger brother Armand and his son Gaspard.
The walls of this house had seen the making of key decisions on where to direct the firm’s enormous flows of money, and which influential figures deserved the family’s helping hand. Basically, every single event of any significance on the “civilized” part of the continent had been paid for, in some way or other, with Craonne gold.
Before replying, Gaspard took a small sip from his glass. If his friends — the young aristocrats of the city — had ever learned that the heir of Damien Craonne, the famous capital-city rake and reveler Gaspard Craonne, tended to drink water with his lunch instead of wine, they would have been extremely surprised.
Here, his image as a gluttonous consumer of both the high life and his father’s enormous fortune could be cast aside. Here, in the company of his family, Gaspard could be the man he really was: a stern, calculating, and cold-blooded young man.
“His Highness is under the weather,” replied Gaspard with a slight frown. “The Prince’s healer has concluded that he suffers from melancholy.”
“Curious,” said his uncle, Armand Craonne, raising an eyebrow slightly in the same way his brother just had. “So that’s how young people express their melancholy these days? They organize big drinking binges and revel the night away in brothels?”
“The worst part is that the Prince is weathering his melancholy at our expense,” Gaspard snickered to himself. Then he turned to address the head of the family:
“The more time I spend in Heinrich’s company, father, the more I feel like we’ve bet on the wrong Prince.”
“Is it really that bad?” Damien asked with a wry smile.
“Not yet, perhaps, but Heinrich is no longer the same man I once knew,” replied Gaspard. “Other than wine and whores, he really isn’t interested in anything at all. My influence on him is still great, thanks to the unlimited credit line from our bank, but I can see that he’s changing for the worse.”
“And the younger Hangest?” Armand Craonne inquired. “We thought that Heinrich was seeking revenge for his failure in Bergonia. The Duke de Hangest has assured us that the Marquis would exert his influence on the Prince in order to spur him in that direction.”
“Louis de Hangest is a nobody, and a coward to boot,” replied Gaspard with a grimace of distaste. “Heinrich despises him. Whatever people might be saying at court, the Prince knows the truth about all the Marquis’ so-called “heroics” at the Sapphire Citadel. In some detail, I might add.”
“How?” Armand asked.
“It turns out that André de Châtillon met with Baron von Herwart shortly before departing for the west...”
“I see,” Armand scoffed. “You need not continue.”
“And yet both of the Hangests remain in Heinrich’s entourage,” replied Gaspard with a dry chuckle. “There was a time when Prince Heinrich wouldn’t have allowed a man like Louis into his presence. I think he’s already come to terms with his lot in life, and he really doesn’t care about anything anymore.”
Gaspard fell silent for a second. Then, leaning forward slightly, he addressed Damien again:
“Father — is there any way we might still be able to reconsider our strategy here? By now, even the most ignorant laundress in the Lower City knows who’s going to be declared the next King. Yes, I remember that we were the main creditors for the late Conrad V, and that Otto II will never forget that, but that doesn’t mean we have to join a coalition with the Duke de Bauffremont to support Prince Philippe either.”
“You want to ally with de Gondy?” Armand snickered. He cocked his head to the side and fixed his gaze firmly on his nephew.
“He’s the lesser of three evils,” replied Gaspard with a shrug.
“Need I remind you who’s responsible for us losing all our copper mines in the south?” Armand asked. “Or those five ships of ours, sunk in the southern straits — allegedly after a pirate attack? I could keep listing reasons until evening. But you know it all perfectly well as it is.”
“I do, uncle,” nodded Gaspard. “And I remember that we gave as good as we got. But I also know that de Gondy needs support right now, especially after de Bauffremont managed to free himself from captivity so quickly.”
“The Astlanders,” Armand Craonne hissed through gritted teeth. “Their banks have started popping up like mushrooms. What a pity that empty-headed worm Alfonso took so long to die. What idiot gave him the bright idea that he could circumvent us using Astlandic bankers?”
“In light of what’s going on, uncle, I can state with certainty that the Astlanders were looking for any excuse to flee Atalia. It was all yet another brilliant play by Wilhelm von Lander.”
Gaspard turned to look at his father again. The older man had been listening to the conversation in silence:
“Father... I would never have believed I would someday say this, but even if Prince Louis’ representatives were to approach us for support, I feel that we’d have to seriously consider the idea.”
“They already have,” replied Damien Craonne with perfect calm. He watched his son and brother’s eyes widen. “It happened yesterday evening. Baron de Levy suggested that we consider the idea of providing support to Prince Louis and his fiancée, Princess Astrid. I didn’t reject the idea out of hand. I promised to think about it. I want to see how events develop.”
“But you intend to turn them down?” Gaspard asked.
“Of course,” nodded Damien Craonne. “And I’m going to do it in such a way that His Highness Prince Heinrich learns about it. Because unlike you, I think he’d make an excellent King, who would owe his ascent to the throne to us more than anyone else. And who, as we planned, would see in you his closest and most faithful friend, who was always ready to shore up his position even during the most difficult times.”
“Kings and Princes tend to have poor memories,” Gaspard shook his head. “Heinrich is proof enough of that.”
“Oh!” Damien asked with a wry smile. “My dear boy... Have you really forgotten that the Craonnes know a thing or two about recovering debts? Remember that a monarch’s ascent to the throne is just the beginning. One then needs to STAY on the throne. And without loyal comrades and friends, that can be almost indescribably difficult. In fact, I’d say it’s downright impossible.”
“So, father — you’re still certain that Heinrich will ascend the throne?” Gaspard asked with a note of skepticism in his voice. “Because at the moment, I can only see one realistic way that’s going to happen: Carl III will name Heinrich his heir if, and only if, he ends up being the only remaining contender...”
Gaspard said this, then hesitated slightly under the steely gazes of his father and uncle. His foreboding words hadn’t changed their expressions at all. An icy chill crept up the younger man’s spine.
“What...?” Gaspard stammered hoarsely, turning his astonished gaze first to his father, then to his uncle. “That’s...”
“Are you really opposed?” Damien asked. His tone was that of a seasoned predator.
“Me?” Gaspard asked without thinking about it. Then he frowned, and thought for a moment.
A few seconds later, he looked up into his father’s eyes. And when he did, there was no longer any hint of fear or doubt in his own eyes at all.