The Bell Tolls for Me

Isabella sat alongside Bernadetta in a secluded tavern that had a good view of the city streets. Bernadetta had quite a focused gaze, but Isabella felt her mind wandering. Valerio watched the two of them from a distance.

“How can you be so certain that Alistair will appear here?” Isabella asked.

Bernadetta didn’t answer immediately. She kept watching the streets like she was trying to solve some puzzle. She didn’t look away from the streets as she said, “Do you know how I managed to do so well in the capital?”

“Ruthlessness.”

“When necessary,” Bernadetta confirmed. “But I attribute the majority of my success to two simple things. Guesswork, and my acting.”

Isabella laughed then repeated, “Guesswork?”

“If you have a robust understanding of the parties involved in an incident, you can guess how things might play out. Rather than acting based off of where they are, you can react based off of where they’ll be.” Bernadetta barely blinked. “Why else do you think I came here?”

“But guesswork is just that,” Isabella reminded her. “It led you to make a major mistake.”

Bernadetta glanced over. “A mistake for which I wasn’t punished.”

“Yet,” Valerio added in the background.

Bernadetta looked back out to the street. “But a mistake for which Edgar will be.”

“Indulge me. Why do you think it is that Alistair will appear here of all places?” Isabella asked.

“I saw Alistair in person during his trial. I heard the way that he talks, the manner in which he conducts himself. I’m just as good as spotting emotions in others as I am imitating them. It’s a talent of mine,” Bernadetta said. “From my assessment, he’s a stubborn man who’s good at heart, has strong religious convictions, and who doesn’t necessarily want to be a leader. Nevertheless, he’s becoming something of a figurehead.”

“And that alone has made you think he’ll show up here?” Isabella asked with a raised brow.

Bernadetta shook her head. “Look at his actions up until now. Proliferating his translations of the Eternal Word. Preaching in public where it’s allowed. Seeking out noble benefactors. Promoting non-violence wherever possible. Each of those are indicators about what type of leader he is. And they tell me that he’ll be here. Given his personality, his intelligence, and his closest advisors, he’ll arrive here as tensions rise.

“Archduke Felix has a history of taking in refugees without asking too many questions,” she continued. “On top of that, they’ve only recently converted to the Eternal Church in this part of the kingdom. The church power structures and common zeal are much less entrenched in the north. If persecutions were to start, this is the natural route which they’d flee. It makes sense geographically and otherwise. Alistair would come here to make sure that it’s viable should the worst come to pass.”

Isabella thought that it was assuming a great deal, but Bernadetta had cause to act confidently given her prior success.

“And what about information? How did you gather that so efficiently?” Isabella pressed.

“I rode on the backs of others as they soared. The sages. I borrowed their wings to help me fly,” Bernadetta said, then met Isabella’s eyes again. “And now you’re filling that role. In a place like Dovhain, where schemers are more common than sand on the beach, you don’t need to build something from the ground up. You merely need to discover someone who’s doing your job for you. There are people that make it their business to know things. Archduke Felix, for instance. I simply located and took advantage of his information network. If you find a way, make them your agents. If not, follow them. You can learn just as much that way.” She smiled as if remembering some triumph. “Before him, there were others.”

Bernadetta talked about it like it was incredibly simple, but Isabella knew from experience that it wasn’t. Her cousin was incredibly talented at the role of the spymaster. Isabella had observed for herself those traits in Alistair and had access to knowledge about his activities. Nevertheless, she didn’t have the conviction to make the leap that he would be appearing here today.

“There,” Bernadetta said, pointing someone out.

Isabella followed her finger to notice someone that looked like most of the others walking the city streets. Like most of the northerners, he wore heavy fur and was quite formidable and bulky. Above all…

“Alistair had dark skin,” Isabella said, looking at her oddly.

“He’s not a fool,” Bernadetta said, watching the man subtly. “That man is screening for his arrival, checking to make sure it’s safe. Well… Alistair, or someone else.”

Isabella watched him once more but couldn’t see how he had deduced that.

“How?” Bernadetta said, a moment before Isabella could voice the question. “The places that he’s looking. The docks, the guardhouse, any place that enemies might be hiding. The way in which he carries himself, trying not to be noticed. But if you’re wondering how I chose him out of the crowd… I wish I could tell you. It’s mere instinct.”

Now that Isabella had her eyes on the man, she started to see some signs as well. It was like he was surveying the place militarily rather than having any concrete objective.

“But Alistair’s operation isn’t especially serious. He can’t be far. I suspect that he’ll be coming by right away.” Bernadetta rose. “We should go confirm his arrival.”

Isabella thought it was a little too soon, but decided to follow along. Valerio paid the tavern keeper a coin, and then they left. Bernadetta wasn’t moving quickly, but she had a direction in mind. They walked down the city street in discreet outfits, drawing no eyes. Eventually they came to the outskirts of the city, where there were a great many carriages around. Bernadetta took them off to the side.

“There he is,” Bernadetta gestured.

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Isabella watched with substantial surprise as a man in a hood alighted from a carriage. She briefly caught a glimpse of black skin. From his body shape, she could tell that the man was probably Alistair.

Isabella looked at Bernadetta. “It still feels like you’re keeping a great deal from me.”

“It would take longer to explain every single detail than it took to gather them,” Bernadetta said dismissively.

Valerio had been skeptical before, but he was focused now. His silver eyes lingered in Alistair’s direction. “Should we have a discussion with him?”

Bernadetta shook her head. “Stop looking at him so obviously. Keep him in your peripheries. Keep your eyes on me, both of you.”

They both complied, staring Bernadetta down.

“If we talk with him directly, that invites too much risk. I don’t know enough about his inner circle to be sure that they would stay true to him if tempted by the king.” Bernadetta leaned against a pillar of a stable. A horse walked up near her, and she petted it with one hand. “It’s enough that we know he’s here. He’s the beating heart of the Veymontists. Any rumor that reaches his ears that he likes will proliferate throughout the whole nation.”

Alistair quickly walked out of Isabella’s vehicle. She didn’t bother tracking him with her eyes.

“Then it’s all about spreading the right rumor,” Isabella said.

“Just so,” Bernadetta confirmed. “And in the right way. Messages tend to warp as they proliferate. What someone says in the slums of the capital can take on an entirely different meaning once they reach the royal palace.”

Isabella nodded. “I’m aware of that. People feel the need to exaggerate so that they feel as though they’re sharing something worthwhile, and not mere gossip.”

“Exactly. Therefore, predicting how the message will change is just as important as choosing the right message.” Bernadetta grabbed a loose chain nearby. “We’re not tying a thread to Edgar. We’re making a chain—a bunch of individual pieces, wrought together to form a whole. The first chain needs to be as strong as all before it.”

***

A group of men sat at a table in the tavern, swapping stories. One of them looked particularly perturbed.

“Boys… I think that I saw Her Highness Isabella.”

A few at the table jeered. “We’ve just sat down and you’re already talking drunk, Jared.”

“No, no, I’m serious!” Jared defended. “All of you know that I’m not from here. The fact is, I was from one of the towns down south. I was present when Her Highness Isabella made the royal tour around the nation. I’m telling you, it was her. White hair, maroon eyes, everything.”

“…strangely, it’s not the first I’ve heard of it,” another at the table began quietly. “One of my mates works at the docks. They said they saw her getting aboard some ship. Apparently, she was incredibly ill. She had to be supported just to walk.”

“When I saw her, she was perfectly healthy,” Jared refuted, shaking her head.

The chatter went on and on, spilling over to neighboring tables.

***

“Princess Isabella?” Alistair repeated. “Are you sure about that?”

“That's some of the talk around the city,” another confirmed. “Some people are saying she was sick, some people are saying she was healthy. I’ve heard some rumors she was in a coma. Apparently, she’s acting in open defiance of her father.”

Alistair cradled his hands. “She appeared in my church, once. Well… not mine. The one in the capital slums.”

“You’re serious?” His man asked, brow raised high.

Alistair nodded. “I acted like I didn’t recognize her, but I saw her at my trial enough not to forget her face. Part of me believes that she’s the one that sequestered me, giving me the time to translate the Eternal Word.”

His ally leaned in. “Do you think that she could be an open ally to us?”

Alistair clicked his tongue. “Possibly. I think at the end of the day, the best thing that we can do is spread the word. For the more secular rulers, their priority is avoiding upsetting the commons, not religious righteousness. If we have a mandate among the people themselves, there’s no better argument for elite support.”

The other man tapped the table. “Even still, it’s definitely worth devoting some resources toward. If she’s here…”

***

“Some of my guards are saying that they spotted Her Highness Isabella,” the mayor of Randen said.

“What?” a man in a cloak said with a raised brow. “That must be nonsense.”

The mayor snorted. “Apparently not. I checked the dock’s logs. There was a rather large, custom-made vessel at harbor not too long ago. A vessel matching the one that Isabella was seen entering. Apparently she was carried in a litter of some kind. She didn’t seem to emerge from it the entire way. Is that valuable enough information for your benefactors?”

The man in the cloak stroked his chin ponderously for a few moments. Then, he produced a bag of coin. “Update me if you learn anything more.”

***

“There’s a lot of chatter in Randen,” the cloaked man said to a well-dressed man. “Apparently Her Highness Isabella used the docks there. I took a look at their logs, and cross-referenced them with some colleagues of mine. Apparently, there was a ship just like it recently custom-made in the Republic of Ambrose.” He shook his head. “I could talk for hours, but I’ve taken the liberty to collect all of them in my report.”

The well-dressed man took the papers, reading through them eagerly.

***

The Archwizard entered King Edgar’s room. He was standing over a map. Off to the side, there was a white-haired girl lying there on his bed. She looked in poor condition.

“Your Majesty,” the Archwizard said, barely able to contain his excitement. “I’ve received some credible reports that you might want to see.”

The king took the papers, reading it quickly. “In… Randen,” he repeated, looking at the Archwizard.

“There are various reports of her being either ill, or healthy. These aren’t old rumors. They’re somewhat recent. They might seem like discrepancies on paper, but—”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive if she was unwell, but got better,” Edgar reasoned quickly, diving back into the report.

“Do you think that her cure of the wasting illness might require continued treatment?” the Archwizard suggested eagerly.

Edgar looked at him annoyedly. “You were meant to be the expert. What do you think?”

“It does make sense,” the Archwizard admitted. “The wasting illness is not a mere disease. It’s a punishment by heaven itself, ostensibly. The idea that it would need to be continually warded makes more sense than a permanent cure, considering its constant progression.”

Edgar leaned against the table, reading it once more. “Send some scouting missions to the seas near Randen. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Considering they have your apprentice on their side, you might want to attend to this matter personally.”

The Archwizard nodded. “Of course.”

“And… prepare a decent fleet. Buy it from Ambrose, if need be,” the king said. “Meanwhile, I need to confirm this. She’s been quite cautious thus far. It may be bait of some kind. She knows that our hold over Randen is stronger than in other cities.”