A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals) (7 page)

Chapter
8: Prisoner Number Four

The Warden was not a particularly good man. He did his job, sure, and he almost never went out of his way to hurt anyone. But he would never, under any circumstances, help anybody, whether it was out of his way or not. Still, he didn’t like the message he had received from the Magistrate.

After decades of managing the secret prison, the Tower at Goldmere, Landos was asking him to shutter the place for good. In all those years, the Warden had kept the place running like clockwork. Guards had come and gone, but none knew the full meaning of the place. Travelers had passed by the Tower for years, and none ever suspected there was anything sinister there.

Sure, some of the prisoners had died under his watch. Three suicides, which was probably to be expected from such conditions. Two more of old age. Another two from sickness. And one had recently been released. The Warden never asked questions, but he couldn’t help but notice that the released man was Turin. They’d never had a Turin prisoner before. Not in his forty years on the job. But, then again, they’d never released a prisoner before.

And now the letter from Landos was telling the Warden that his services were no longer required. He was to release the remaining guards and servants. He was to empty the stockpiles and store rooms. Sell the horses. And, of course, before he left, he had to “take care of” the last prisoner.

The Warden didn’t like to stick his nose in things, but he did remember that Prisoner Number Four had been brought to him on the night the Unity Treaty was signed. He also couldn’t help but notice that he was the only prisoner ever to have a visitor. The Queen had showed up, some six years ago now, to visit this prisoner. She was pregnant at the time...

The Warden would have liked some answers, but that wasn’t his job. That wasn’t what Landos had paid him for. The instructions were actually very explicit. Under no circumstances was the Warden to allow Prisoner Number Four to speak to him. He had to “take care of the problem” without exchanging words. Whatever this guy had done, the Warden figured it must have been bad.

So, the Warden descended into the dungeon, keys in hand. The protocol had always been to stuff wax in your ears when feeding the prisoners. Whether it was the Warden or one of his guards, they were supposed to block up their ears so the prisoners couldn’t spread lies and rumors. Or worse, the truth.

But the Warden hated putting wax in his ears. And he figured, if he moved quickly enough, this wouldn’t take long. Feeding a prisoner, or collecting his bowl afterwards, always took longer than you wanted it to. But stabbing someone shouldn’t take long at all.

He arrived at the door outside cell number four. He scanned inside the prison, using the faint torchlight from down the corridor. There, in the dark and dingy corner, a man lay slumbering. His beard was full and wild. His nails grimy and jagged. His face was darkened by a muddy concoction of sweat and dirt. This man’s spirit had broken long ago.

The Warden slipped the key in the lock, turning it gently. But the gears hadn’t been engaged in years. He had to force the tumblers to get any traction. At the jiggling of the key ring, the prisoner stirred awake and rubbed his eyes. He clearly wasn’t anticipating any danger, rising at a casual pace.

“Is it feeding time already?” he said to himself, groggily standing up.

The Warden jammed at the lock, fighting with the rusted mechanism, and finally opened the gate. The prisoner then noticed that the Warden was hurrying, and had drawn a knife.

“Wait!” the prisoner said. “No! Wait, you have to listen to me!”

But the Warden was fast and strong. He grabbed the prisoner by the jaw to silence him, and in the same motion, forced his head up to expose his neck. He stabbed his knife into the prisoner’s jugular. The prisoner started to gargle, trying still to explain something, but the Warden stabbed again.

Now the prisoner’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, though he continued to have convulsions. The Warden had hea
rd about people making amazing recoveries from incredible wounds, and with the emergence of magical healing in the Kingdom, he wanted to be sure. He stabbed the prisoner’s scant torso another eight times, until he was sure the job was done.

He covered the body with a blanket. The guards would drag the body upstairs, and they’d burn his remains, blanket and all, under cover of night.

Chapter
9:
Summer Vacation

Twenty years ago…

Michael stepped out of the carriage and stretched his legs. It had been a long journey. He was finishing his sixth year at the Towers of Seneca, and as he had every year since enrolling, he was coming home for the summer. The Castle Hartstone, the capital of the County of Deliem. His Father’s domain.

Some porters came out and began unloading the carriage. Michael looked around to see if there would be any sort of welcoming party. He finally spotted Gabriel coming down the main steps.

“Good afternoon, Master Michael,” Gabriel said.

“A pleasure to see you, Master Gabriel. Are my parents on their way down?”

“Your father asked me to see you to your room. He and your mother are having a… discussion about an upcoming journey.”

They began walking up the steps, following the porters into the Castle.

“A ‘discussion,’ is it?” Michael asked, with a wry tone.

“I suppose you’ve known for some time,” Gabriel said, “But prudence still counts for something around here. When I speak to anyone outside the court, they are never fighting or arguing. They are always just discussing.”

They walked in silence until they came to Michael’s room in the East Tower. As it always was when he returned from the Towers, the room was made up nicely, and the bed looked very inviting after the long carriage ride.

“Well, here you are,” Gabriel said. “I’ll have someone come and fetch you for dinner.”

“Thank you, Master Gabriel,” Michael said.

“As a matter of decorum,” Gabriel said, “You do not need to call me ‘Master.’ You
will soon be a Master yourself, and in any case, you are the heir to the County. Someday, I’ll have to start calling you ‘Count’ anyway.”

“Well, you’ve known me since I was born,” Michael said, “It seems that even decorum should make way for respect.”

Gabriel grumbled something, but Michael had known Gabriel for just long enough to know that it was a pleased grumble. Or, at least, it was as pleased a grumble as you could get out of him.

“By the way,” Michael said, “What journey are my parents…discussing?”

“King Vincent has asked that your father act as the Ambassador to Delinampora, in Khiransi. They would leave in about a week and spend the summer there.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s a question of staffing,” Gabriel said.

“I’m sorry?” Michael said.

“Perhaps you are too young for the full explanation.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to find out on my own. Do you doubt that I can?”

“Very well,” Gabriel said, though he made a point of mumbling a little, to emphasize his displeasure, “Your father has made the argument that Lady Vivian should accompany them on this journey, to help with…morale.”

“I see,” Michael said, rubbing his bare chin. “My mother did not take this idea well.”

“Not even a little.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met Lady Vivian. She is…?”

“Third daughter of Lord Blaggathon.”

“From Arwall?”

“The same.”

“What’s she doing all the way over here?”

“I’m not allowed to speculate out loud. Suffice it to say, she has a guest room permanently dedicated to her on the third floor of the North Wing.”

“That’s about as far as you can get from my parents’ bedchambers, isn’t it?”

“They taught you a lot at that little Academy, didn’t they?”

“When you read as much history as I have for the last few years, you quickly become accustomed to the idea of a mistress.”

“Hush!” Gabriel exclaimed, then took a few paces closer to Michael. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that word. Or your father for that matter. Better not to use it at all.”

“Sorry, Master Gabriel.”

“It’s alright. Just be careful. The situation has become extremely sensitive.”

“Yes, Master Gabriel.”

“Get some rest. I’ll have you sent for when it’s time to dine.”

Gabriel turned to leave.

“Gabriel,” Michael said. The old man turned again in the doorway. “If she’s the third daughter of Lord Blaggathon, she can’t be older than, what, about twenty-three?”

“
Nineteen, actually.”

“My father is forty-six.”

“Welcome to the adult world.”

Gabriel nodded, and then finally made his exit.

Michael sighed as he collapsed onto the bed. He thought he would be tired enough to fall right asleep, but the thought of his parents arguing was bothering him. He sat quietly for a few moments until he came to a conclusion: He would never have a mistress. He understood the abstract concept of a mistress, but Michael decided he wouldn’t get married until he found someone that he loved truly. Someone who would fulfill his life so completely, that he wouldn’t need to seek anything outside the marriage.

That’s how it always was in the bards’ tales. A part of his mind told him that he was being idealistic. Truly, from his studies, it seemed that mistresses and affairs were a regular part of all nobility. But Michael decided he would hold himself to a higher standard.

Finding himself now fidgety from the news, he decided he would spend the hours before dinner doing something practical. He was going to meet Lady Vivian.

Michael changed his clothes, washed his face, and then left his chambers. Gabriel had described where her chambers were, but at this time in the afternoon, it was unlikely she would be there. Michael realized that while he had a geographical understanding of the Castle, he would need insight from someone who had been living there more consistently.

Just then, a boy turned the corner. He was probably about ten or eleven, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was carrying a parchment case.

“Excuse me, boy,” Michael said.

The boy immediately stopped and bowed.

“Master Michael,” he acknowledged.

“Haven’t graduated yet, but how did you know it was me?”

“I’ve seen you around before. You’re probably just back from Seneca.”

“Just this hour, in fact.”

“Name’s Landos, Sir. At your service.”

“Don’t you have to deliver that missive?”

“Already done. On my way back now, Sir.”

“I was wondering if you could help me with something. I need to find Lady Vivian.”

“I see,” Landos said, “Do you want to meet her or just see her?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Master Michael, I’ve been running messages around the Castle for a couple of years now. Hardest part about delivering a message: What people ask isn’t always what they want to know. So, you say you want to ‘find’ Lady Vivian. But I say, ‘Do you want to meet her,’ which you couldda meant. Or do you want to ‘see’ her, which you also couldda meant.”

“Why would I want to see her but not meet her?”

Landos’ eyes shifted from side to side, making sure they were alone. He then stepped closer to Michael and whispered, “I thought maybe you’d heard about her bosom.”

Landos stepped back and gave a quick wink to Michael.

“Her bosom?”

Landos demonstrated with his hands, cupping two imaginary and, it should be noted, large breasts protruding from his body.

“She’s got ‘em out to here, she does. And you been around the Castle s’much as I have, you know how to be in a room, and how to just see a room.”

“What are you—”

“About this time, Lady Vivian is usually in the stables, feeding her favorite horse. I’m usually with the stableboys, ‘bout this time, if I can possibly help it.”

“I see.”

“But it’s one thing to be in the stable with her, and it’s another thing to know about the candle room.”

“Which is?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Michael was surprised to find himself following this wise young boy through the halls. They descended to the bowels of the Castle, where the servants and cooks were busy preparing for the evening meal. Michael made perfunctory nods to some of the staff that he recognized by face, but had to move quickly to keep pace with young Landos.

Finally, they arrived at the candle room, which was a simple name given to the room in which the castle stored its candles. The room smelled with an abundance of wax, but it was actually somewhat pleasant.

“Over here,” Landos said, coming to one of the walls. There was a particularly vertical pile of crates resting along the stone, which Landos pushed aside with great ease. Despite their labels, they were empty.

Michael saw that once the crates had been pushed aside, there was a crack in the wall. Some of the stone had crumbled away, leaving a sliver of the wall open enough to look through. Landos leaned against the wall and did just this. He receded with a grin.

“Take a gander.”

Michael felt somewhat awkward, leaning his face into the crack in the wall, but he did it anyway, and indeed, he was looking into the stables. And right before him was a woman, petting one of the horses on this end of the stables. Michael immediately recognized the woman by Landos’ description.

“See what I’m saying?” Landos said. “She changes the tide when she goes to the shore.”

“Yes, very nice,” Michael said, dismissively, as he removed himself from the wall.

“So now you’ve seen,” Landos said, as he took one last peek and replaced the crates. “You want to meet her?”

“I’m sure I will, eventually,” Michael said.

“Don’t be so sure, beggin’ your pardon, Sir.”

“How’s that?”

“Count Alexander, your father, of course, Sir, doesn’t let her spend a lot of time in company. She knows the porters better than the Lords and Ladies.”

“My father has learned his lesson well.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Landos said, indicating that he knew exactly what Michael meant.

“But you say you can arrange an introduction?”

“Well, if you happen to be walking the garden on the north side of the Castle at certain hours…”

Michael produced another ducat and placed it in Landos’ palm.

“Tell you what: Next time you happen to notice her there, send word.”

“Will do, Master Michael,” Landos said, smiling and pocketing the coin. “But you’d best be getting to the Dining Hall. It’s nearly dark.”

“So it is,” Michael said. “You keep a lot of things floating around in your head.”

“Better to know the answers than have to ask the questions.”

Michael was almost out the door when he turned back to Landos.

“That’s a useful skill to have,” Michael said, and then left.