Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (9 page)

10

T
he next morning, gunshots and the sounds of skirmishing on the south side of town announced the arrival of the battalion. Vitala watched from the window as the soldiers marched past the apartment in formation on their way to the center of town. Their presence made her restless; she and Lucien were now trapped in the apartment until they departed. To keep herself occupied, she assigned herself the task of keeping watch. In the early afternoon, she spotted a small party of soldiers working its way down the street and knocking on the door of each apartment and villa.

Hanna barked orders. “You and Lucien, down in the cellar. Glenys, in the back bedroom with Flavia.”

Vitala descended the cellar ladder first, then assisted Lucien, holding him steady as he grunted with each painful step. Hanna closed the trapdoor above them, leaving them in darkness. With a flourish of her hand, Vitala summoned a blue ball of magelight. Lucien settled against the dirt wall opposite her, wedged in between two sets of shelves. Vitala realized the space was so cramped they would probably wind up touching. She hadn’t minded when it was Glenys and Flavia, but this was Lucien. She curled up tight, pulling in her legs to avoid bumping into his.

For a moment, Lucien looked disappointed. Then his eyes gleamed, and he deliberately stretched his legs across the cellar and rested them against hers.

“Bastard,” she hissed, kicking him.

“Don’t be cruel. I’m injured.” He pointed at his bandaged leg and dumped his foot practically in her lap.

Vitala laughed—she couldn’t help herself—and tossed his foot off her lap. She flung her own legs into the shared space, denying it to Lucien. Gods, what had come over her? Why was she acting like this? It was hardly professional. “What are the soldiers doing?” she whispered. “Why are they going house to house?”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but then there was a rap on the door loud enough to have been delivered with a stick or the pommel of a sword. They fell silent.

The door opened. Hanna’s voice was mild as warm honey. “Good afternoon, sirs.”

“Good afternoon, madam.” Footsteps rained on the floor over their heads. Vitala counted two soldiers. Chairs creaked as they sat. “I understand you’re a midwife and herb woman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You live here alone?”

“With a slave girl. And a dog.”

“Is the slave at home? Kindly bring her out.”

“Glenys, come,” called Hanna. A door opened, and there were quiet footfalls, but no creaking of a chair. Vitala imagined Glenys with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, the picture of a docile Riorcan slave.

“We’re putting together a picture of what’s happened here,” said the soldier. “Did you know any of the bandits?”

“Not personally, sir. I know them only by reputation. Their leader is a man named Gordian. He was an officer in a battalion that was disbanded, and he came to Tasox with a number of men from that battalion, who proceeded to run up tabs at the local inns and taverns. When an innkeeper pressed them for payment, there was a fight, and they burned down the inn, which was a terrible tragedy. Two children were killed, and—”

“I know that part already,” said the soldier. “Were all the bandits from outside Tasox, or were some of them locals?”

Hanna hesitated. “If any locals were involved, they were not people I knew.”

“Failure to provide your full assistance in this investigation is a crime, madam. Think hard.”

“Yes, sir. I am thinking hard.”

“Where are the bandits staying?”

“I’m told that Gordian has taken over the council chamber, and that the Black Lamb and the Clay Platters inns and the northern bathhouse hold some of his men.”

“How about food and supplies? Who provides them to the bandits?”

“Well . . .” Hanna sounded uncomfortable. “No one
provides
them, exactly. The bandits take what they want, without paying. Most of us have had things stolen.”

“Including you?”

“Yes, sir. They’ve broken in several times and stolen medical supplies.”

“How did you resist them when they broke in?” asked the soldier.

“I told them to leave,” said Hanna. “But we’re just two women here, and they had pistols. And our dog’s not the aggressive sort.”

Vitala, uneasy at this line of questioning, scooted close to Lucien, cupped her hand around his ear, and whispered, “Why are they asking about the stolen supplies?”

He whispered back, “Don’t worry about it. They always ask these questions.”

“But it sounds like they’re blaming her for letting them take the supplies—”

“It’s early information gathering—nothing more. If they have concerns, they’ll come back later with mind mages for a full interrogation.”

Vitala frowned. That almost sounded worse. It would be a disaster for Hanna to be interrogated by a mind mage. Mind mages could tell truths from lies, and Hanna had secrets—not only that she was an Obsidian Circle spy, but also that she was sheltering Lucien. “If a mind mage interrogates her, won’t he find out she’s hiding you?”

“She,” he corrected. “Mind mages are women. And they can’t force people to talk. All they can do is determine, when somebody does talk, if he spoke the truth. It’s unlikely Hanna will be interrogated, and even more unlikely the questioning will turn in the direction of who’s hiding in her cellar.”

Vitala leaned back against the dirt wall.

“What about the man in the apartment next to yours? Felix is his name, I believe,” the soldier was saying. Papers rustled. “Yes, Felix. Did the bandits steal from him?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” said Hanna. “Felix and I rarely speak.”

“What about the baker up the street?”

“Krys? He’s had several break-ins.”

Vitala leaned in close to Lucien again. “They’re getting Hanna to rat on her neighbors. What if her neighbors rat on her? What if they don’t like her and they make false accusations?”

Lucien shook his head. “The mind mages will straighten it all out.”

Vitala’s stomach twisted. That was what she was afraid of.

•   •   •

When the questioning was over, an unusually subdued Hanna let Vitala and Lucien up from the cellar. Lucien repeated his assurances—this was standard military procedure, they would use mind mages to sort out truths from fiction—but Vitala knew Hanna was thinking what she’d been thinking: that they could not afford to be subjected to such an interrogation.

“Begging your pardon, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Hanna, “but you’re not in charge anymore. You don’t know how they’ll proceed.”

“I know well enough,” he said. “This is how it’s always done.”

The following morning, Hanna and Glenys were called out to attend a birth. Vitala and Lucien, bored and stir-crazy, cobbled together a Caturanga board out of an old quilt and a set of pieces out of empty jars and bits of firewood. They played, stationing themselves at a table near the window to watch for soldiers, with Flavia lying across Lucien’s foot. Lucien had a new strategy: he kept opening with the Vagabond’s Gambit. A gambit in Caturanga meant offering up a piece in sacrifice in order to gain a more advantageous position—in this case, early control of the Vagabond. If Vitala captured the sacrificed piece, she accepted the gambit. She could also leave the piece where it was and decline. But she was curious. She accepted the gambit every time he offered it. She won the first game but lost the second. That was the first time Lucien had beaten her, and his crowing about it was so irritating that she challenged him to a rematch, accepted his gambit again, and beat him.

When they’d tired of the Caturanga, Lucien disappeared for a moment, then returned with what looked like a fireplace poker. He unstrapped his peg leg and used the poker to pry the gold bands off the dark wood. Vitala watched wordlessly for a while, fetching one of the mangled bands when it flew off the leg and skittered across the room.

“The gold is too conspicuous,” Lucien explained.

“I agree.”

“Also, we can sell the bands if we have to.” After he pried the last one from the peg leg, he set to work on the crutch.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

“If we
have
to,” he repeated. “We could melt them down. They’re solid gold.”

By the time he’d finished the task, his injured leg was bothering him, and he went to the back bedroom to lie down. Vitala stayed by the window, watching flies knock against the glass and clouds drift past. In the afternoon she heard activity in the distance—the shouts of soldiers, some kind of announcement made by a voice too far away for her to make out, and then, a little later, agonized screams. Her flesh quivered—it sounded like somebody was being staked. Multiple somebodies. Who were the victims?

Some hours later, Hanna and Glenys returned with flushed faces.

“Gordian is dead!” cried Glenys.

“And his lieutenants along with him,” added Hanna. “Good riddance!”

Lucien emerged from the back bedroom, bleary-eyed, his hair mussed from sleep.

“The soldiers staked them?” asked Vitala.

“Yes, on Barley Street.”

Barley Street was Tasox’s main thoroughfare; Vitala had traveled on it on her way into town.

“Good,” said Lucien. “Let’s hope it’s all over now.”

But it wasn’t. The battalion did not leave, and as the days passed, Hanna and Glenys returned from each birth pale and breathless, listing the new staking victims they’d seen. “The baker in Westmoon Square,” Hanna said. “And that boy—the brother of the baby we delivered two sagespans ago.”

“I don’t understand,” said Glenys. “How could he have been involved?”

“He must have been,” said Lucien. “The mind mages would know.”

“With respect, sire,” said Hanna, “word on the street is that the mind mages are not being used.”

A wrinkle appeared in Lucien’s forehead. “Then the commander is a fool. Have you learned his name yet?”

“Tribune Milonius.”

“Milonius? Tribune Donatus was in command when we left Riat.” Lucien’s eyes went to Vitala. “I thought you said the battalion commander was one of the traitors. If that’s so, why would Cassian replace him?”

Vitala swallowed uncomfortably. “Perhaps he promoted Donatus to a higher position.”

Lucien frowned. “Perhaps.”

Vitala was impressed at how well Lucien was getting along with Hanna. She’d expected him to be a brat, snobby and domineering, but the man had manners. He praised the humble food Hanna brought him and thanked her for her attentions when she changed his bandages and treated his burns. Only one incident had been embarrassing, when Hanna had brewed some lemon balm tea and Lucien had shut himself in the back bedroom and refused to come out until the smell went away. Emperors had their quirks, but he wasn’t as bad as she’d expected.

“Where did you get your dog?” Lucien asked Hanna one night at dinner, in between sneaking Flavia bites from his plate. “I have a suspicion about her.”

“From one of our clients,” said Hanna. “We delivered a baby for a young family, and they didn’t want her after the baby was born. We didn’t need a dog, but we didn’t want to see her drowned, so we took her.”

“Did they say anything about her background?”

Hanna shrugged. “Nothing.”

“I believe she’s a hunting dog. Not a hound, but a spaniel or a retriever. Watch this.” He pulled the dirty, rolled-up bandage from her mouth and tossed it across the room. Flavia eagerly bounded after it, snatched it up, and brought it back. “Retriever.”

“Lots of dogs play fetch,” said Hanna. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“She
looks
like a retriever. She’s got the size and build for it. I grew up with dogs at the palace, and she strikes me as the hunting type. But her coloration is unusual. This white stripe across her body—I’ve never seen anything like it. She might be crossbred.”

“Perhaps she is. We’re not hunters, but we find she’s good with our patients. She likes to stay with them, keep them company.”

“Tell me about your business,” said Lucien. “I know there’s no Healer in town now, but there used to be. Why use these primitive supplies and antiquated methods when a Healer would be preferable?”

“Healers are expensive,” said Hanna. “And most of them will not attend a common woman’s birth unless there are complications. Herb women like me serve the townsfolk who are too poor to afford a Healer’s services.”

“How many cannot afford a Healer?” asked Lucien. “What about an infantryman’s wife? If he’s sending most of his pay home, can she afford a Healer?”

He questioned her all evening about money and medicine, his eyes intense and calculating. There was no doubt he’d returned to his old self.

•   •   •

The next morning, Glenys and Hanna were gone when Vitala woke. When they had not returned by nightfall, Lucien, now reasonably agile on his crutch and peg leg, paced to the window and pushed the curtains aside. “Difficult birth, do you suppose?”

“I hope that’s all it is,” said Vitala.

But they weren’t back the morning after. A complicated birth could last more than a day, but with the soldiers in town, the long absence was suspicious. And Hanna ought to have sent Glenys home at least once to send word or fetch supplies. Vitala tucked a pistol in the folds of her syrtos. “I’m going to look for them.”

“How can you?” asked Lucien. “They didn’t tell us where they were would be.”

“I’ll ask around. Someone must know where they went.”

Lucien shook his head. “You shouldn’t be out there on your own. I’ll go.”

“What?” Vitala laughed. “You’re too recognizable! Especially with that.” She pointed to the peg leg.

“My face isn’t well-known,” he said. “I could take off the leg and use just a crutch. The gold bands are gone.”

“I appreciate your trying to protect me, but you’d be crazy to show yourself on the streets with the battalion there. Remember my orders to bring you safely to my superiors?”

He frowned. “Better to fail at those orders than wind up dead.”

That’s what you think
. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

With a sigh, he resumed pacing. “Be careful.”

Vitala stepped outside the cottage for the first time in days. The scene wasn’t what she remembered from the day they had arrived, that of a well-to-do but subdued mercantile town. Instead, Tasox had become a dead, dry husk. The streets were empty of life, and the stench of rotting meat clogged the air. At the end of the street, two impaled corpses swayed on stakes. Vitala ran to them, looked up, and gagged at the sight. Ravens had eaten away parts of their faces, but they were not Hanna and Glenys. Placards were mounted at the base of each stake with crude lettering. The first read, P
ROVIDED SUSTENANCE TO THE REBELS
.
The second said, H
OUSED THE REBELS.