Agent of the Crown (27 page)

“It was this long, long hall filled with
portraits of the Kings and Queens of Tremontane.” The clicking
stopped for a moment, then continued as if there had been no
interruption. “I didn’t know that’s what it was. There were name
plates, of course, but I couldn’t read back then. I just knew there
were all these faces, staring down at me, and I had this idea they
were related to me, but mostly I liked to make up stories about
them. I got to know those faces well.”

She paused. Aunt Weaver said nothing, but
Telaine could tell she was listening intently.

“A few years later I went back. I’d almost
forgotten how much I’d loved the place as a child. Now I could read
the name plates and put faces to the names I learned about from my
history tutor. King Edmund Valant. King Domitius. Queen Willow
North—I felt sorry for her, that seemed like such a frivolous name.
And then my own relatives. King Anthony North, my grandpapa. Queen
Zara North, my great-aunt, the one who was killed.”

Silence.

“She was always my favorite. The painter
really captured her likeness, or at least that’s what my grandmama
said. She had this way of looking at you that said, ‘You had better
not be wasting my time.’ And blue eyes just like Julia’s.
Cornflower blue, soft as a kitten, but make her angry and it’s like
being cut by glass. I’ve never forgotten Queen Zara’s face.”

Silence.

Telaine took a deep breath. “So what I want
to know, Aunt Weaver, is what that face is doing in Longbourne,
looking only a few years older than it does in that portrait, when
everyone knows Zara North is dead and would be well over seventy if
she were still alive?”

Aunt Weaver laid her knitting in her lap.
“You asking questions, or making accusations?” she said.

“Questions. I want to know what happened to
you. I want to know why you look younger than my Aunt Imogen when
you’re actually older than my grandmama. I want to know what
brought you to Longbourne.”

“Suppose I tell you that’s none of your
business?”

“Then I guess I’d have to go on wondering.
But you know what I think, Aunt Zara? I think you want to tell
someone. I know I’m chafing at not being able to tell anyone the
truth and I’ve only been doing this for two months. It’s been
almost fifty
years
for you.” Telaine leaned forward. “I only
know a little of what it’s like to live with a secret like this,
and I wish…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish that
sentence.

Zara North sighed deeply. “You comfortable in
that chair?” she asked.

“No.”

“Good. This isn’t a comfortable story, and
despite what you might think, I’m only telling you because you
figured it out. You could have gone on ignorant forever as far as
I’m concerned. But your uncle gave me his secret in return for
mine, so you might as well make four who know why Zara North had to
get herself killed.”

Telaine became aware that she was holding her
breath and let it out slowly. The intensity of Zara’s expression
made her afraid that she’d stumbled into a story she’d rather not
know.

“It’s not so bad now,” Zara said, “but back
then having inherent magic could mean death. Would definitely mean
being ostracized or attacked. Even today people are still afraid of
magic they can’t see right in front of ’em. Devices are all very
well because they can be controlled by anyone, turned off. You
can’t turn off a person who can see through walls…well, you can,
but it’s permanent.

“Some things, healing and the like, that was
accepted because it was stupid not to let someone save your life
‘cause they did it with magic. But mostly people who had those
kinds of magic kept quiet about it. If they could. And I couldn’t,
because I could heal myself.

“Didn’t know it for years, just figured I was
extra healthy, never got sick. Then I broke a leg, going over a
fence, and two days after it was set I was back on my feet. I gave
out that the palace healer did it, but by then I knew the
truth.”

“I don’t see why that would be a problem. You
said even back then healers were accepted.”

“If you can heal other people, sure. But
you’re not thinking it through. Amazes me how you’ve gotten this
far without thinking things through. My body heals itself all the
way down past the bone and blood into whatever makes up our bodies.
It heals the damage of aging. I was getting older, but not so’s
anyone could tell. If I didn’t live forever, I was certain sure
going to live a very long time.”

“A monarchy that goes on forever,” Telaine
said. “A Queen whose rule lasts over a century.”

“Or more,” Zara agreed. “Even if there hadn’t
been a prejudice against the inherently magical, even if people
didn’t care that it had infected the royal family, which they
would’ve, mine was a power that could bring down a country.
Stability is good, but too much longevity is moribund.”

“What did you tell me about not using fancy
uppity words?”

“Don’t apply to me. I know when to use ’em
right. You want to know the rest or not?”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“So I had to get out. Didn’t relish the idea
of killing myself, not to mention that seemed impossible, so I
staged an assassination. Got killed, went as far away as I could
so’s people wouldn’t know my face, cut my hair off and learned to
say ‘happen’ and ‘certain sure.’ Left Zara North in the dust and
became Agatha Weaver.”

“When did the Mistress come in?”

“Hank Hobson was a good, plain spoken man,
and I loved him dearly. I never did tell him who I was. No point,
because I was never going back to being Zara, so don’t give me that
look like I’m a hypocrite.
You
plan to go back to the palace
when this is all over.” She jabbed Telaine in the breastbone with a
sharp finger.

“But you weren’t going to age and he was.
That wasn’t exactly fair to him.”

“I ain’t saying I chose right every time. But
I wanted him enough to tell myself I’d find a solution. Happen that
sounds familiar to you.”

Telaine nodded. “What happened to him?”

“Died in a mining accident almost thirty
years ago. I didn’t much feel like remarrying. Moved to different
towns, moved on after five or ten years in each. Been in Longbourne
for seven now.”

Telaine remembered something. “Wait—you said
four
people knew your secret. You, me, Uncle, and…who?”

“Your grandmama.” Zara picked up her knitting
again. “She helped me make my escape. Happen she’ll tell you the
story someday, about her and me and your grandpapa. Ain’t my story
to tell, that one.”

“But now I
really
don’t understand why
you didn’t help me! We’re both in the same situation. I could have
used advice from someone who knows what it’s like to live a double
life.”

“We are
not
in the same situation,”
Zara said grimly. “I told you already you ain’t giving up your real
life. I ain’t living a double life because this is the only one I
have. And…happen I was put out by your uncle makin’ me take you in
and watch you make a place for yourself among my friends when you
didn’t care anything for them.
Shouldn’t
care anything for
them. But I suppose I can’t say, anymore, we don’t have anything in
common.”

Telaine leaned back again. This time she
didn’t care that the back of the chair was uncomfortable. “I
suppose I should go on thinking of you as Aunt Weaver,” she
said.

“Good idea. Nobody’d believe the truth,” Aunt
Weaver said.

“I wonder Uncle didn’t reckon on me figuring
out who you are.”

Aunt Weaver shrugged. “It was a chance we
both had to take. Said I was the only choice and he had to take
what he could get. Never have understood that young man. He put a
lot of effort into tracking me down.”

Telaine laughed. “It must have been a stunner
when his inherent magic finally grew powerful enough to sense a
North living all the way out here.” Then she stopped. “I don’t
understand how you could still be a North if you changed your name
to Weaver and then were sworn to your husband.”

“Changing the name don’t eliminate the family
bond. I’m still a North where it counts. Happen I couldn’t bring
myself to give that up, those few seconds of connection with my
family at the solstices. If I’d known young Jeffrey and his freak
gift was going to come along, happen I’d have done something about
it.”

“I remember now. I could feel someone extra,
every solstice. But Uncle said it was a distant relative. I can’t
believe I believed that.”

“Easier than the truth.” Aunt Weaver bundled
up her knitting. “I’m for bed,” she said, “’less you have any more
impertinences for me.”

“Just one,” Telaine said. “What are you
knitting?”

Aunt Weaver laughed. “Baby blanket,” she
said. “Don’t yet know whose. Those young Bradfords, like enough.
Couple of weasels wouldn’t go at it any less than they do.”

She stood and fixed her grandniece with those
sharp blue eyes. “Think careful about what you’re doing,” she said.
“I ain’t going to tell you again, I told you enough already. Way
you’re going, someone might get hurt, and if you’re honorable,
you’ll let it be you.”

Telaine watched her leave in stunned silence.
What
was
she doing? She liked the people of Longbourne,
liked Ben a lot, loved how he made her feel, but she’d be able to
leave it behind, yes?
I’m not going to worry about that now,
she thought.
Plenty of time to worry about it when it’s time to
leave
.

The next
morning, she presented herself at the fort’s gate and was waved
through with no more interest than if she’d been one of the carts.
Despite Captain Clarke’s instructions and the heavy black clouds
threatening rain, she took a wandering path through the fort,
trying to get a better sense of its layout.

The short, square buildings with slightly
inclined slate roofs lined the inner wall of the fort, three on
each side of the keep, under the jutting wall-walk where the
soldiers sauntered. On either side of these buildings were smaller
versions of the main gate, closed and barred. That struck her as a
potential security hazard; they looked like exactly the kind of
weak spot a Ruskalder attack might focus on. It seemed Thorsten
Keep hadn’t been designed entirely for defense, after all.

The taller, round buildings with the conical
roofs stood against the outer wall. Unlike the square buildings,
the round ones had large double doors, wide enough, she judged, for
an oxcart to back into for unloading. So, the square buildings were
probably barracks, and the round buildings were for storage. There
were a lot of the round buildings. If what she was looking for was
in one of them, it might take her a long time to ferret it out. She
tried not to let the idea make her despondent.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A cold drop
landed on her forehead and she made a dash for the keep. As with
their counterparts at the gate, the soldiers posted at the door
ignored her. She entered the central chamber and went directly to
Captain Clarke, seated at the table going over paperwork that
clearly had him worried. “Miss Bricker,” he said when he looked up.
“If you’ll wait, I’ll bring you a…guide.” She guessed he’d been
about to say
keeper
instead.

She wandered around the room, pretending to
be interested in the wall decorations left behind by generations of
soldiers with no taste, until Clarke returned with a clean-shaven,
neatly dressed young man who couldn’t have been older than
seventeen. “Lieutenant Hardy,” Clarke said, “please assist Miss
Bricker in her work.”

Lieutenant Hardy made a motion as if to
salute her, but controlled it. Telaine saw Clarke’s mouth twitch.
So the man had a soft side after all. “Thanks for sparing him,
captain,” she said. In her wanderings, only three of the
approximately fifteen soldiers she’d seen were the clean-dressed
ones she’d identified as actually Clarke’s men. If she was right,
Clarke couldn’t spare even this one.

Lieutenant Hardy escorted Telaine through the
sprinkling rain to one of the storage towers and unlocked it with a
giant, ancient key that had some rust on the shaft. Inside, filling
the space, were several dozen long crates. “Are those all full of
defective guns?” Telaine asked in a faint voice.

Lieutenant Hardy nodded. “Happen you’ve got
your work cut out for you,” he said without rancor. He lifted the
lid from one of the boxes, which had had its nails pulled for easy
removal. Telaine looked inside. The guns were packed in straw, and
as she reached down to the bottom of the crate, she guessed there
were about ten guns in it. She counted crates. Four hundred guns.
“This is a lot of weapons for one fort, isn’t it?” she asked.

Hardy said, “Supposed to be one for every
soldier plus a hundred more as spares.”

Telaine dragged an unopened crate away from
the rest—they were heavy, and Hardy had to help her—and began to
disassemble the first weapon. “I didn’t think you had so many
soldiers here,” she said.

“We’re temporarily understaffed. Had a
problem with the paperwork for some transfers. We’re expecting a
bunch of new troops in a few weeks.” He pulled up a crate and sat
down. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m transferring out after the snows
end.”

“Are you happy about that?” Telaine said. She
already knew the answer.

“Damn—I mean, very happy, begging your
pardon, miss. Been here nearly a year and I’m ready to get back to
civilization. Someplace that ain’t cold and wet eight months out of
twelve. You hear that?” The rain was coming down fiercely now and
Telaine could hear it hitting the ground like hail, pounding the
roof above her head. “It’s full autumn now and it rains so much we
got moss growing on anything sits still long enough. Then the snows
close down the passes for four, five months or more. A man can go
out of his mind cooped up here that long.”