In Search of Spice (3 page)

“Arise,” she smiled at him.

“Your Highness, we are well served by our future Queen, both in your martial abilities and your wisdom.”

“Regrettably I am unable to continue tomorrow, for my father does not know I am here. I intended to step back today, whatever the outcome and hoped to sneak back to the Palace without his knowledge. I fear that is no longer an option.”

Ariston extended his arm. “May I have the honour of escorting you to your changing quarters, Highness?”

She smiled, placed her hand delicately and lightly on his forearm and they walked off the salle to a standing ovation.

Victor turned to his friends. “That was quite incredible. I think we need a barrel of wine, never mind a bottle. Ha! I had a feeling it was the Princess.”

“You say that now. I didn’t see you rushing to the bookies for a bet.” Francis was a fellow aficionado and a long time crony.

“That might have been injudicious to say the least. I believe there was quite a lot of money laid on her being Red Rattna’s granddaughter. There was no money on her being our own Royalty.”

“I should think not. Who would have guessed that pretty girl could do that?”
 

“Anyone in the army, for a start. She caused quite a stir when she served on the frontier.” Adrian was a recently retired soldier.

“The Princess? She fought in the army? You’re joking.” All the others looked at him in astonishment.

“Indeed I am not, but your response just shows how out of touch you are here in the capital. We’ve always had a fighting monarchy here in Harrhein, although the women try to turn the nobility into stuffed cockerels.”

“Well, if you say so. Anyway, that winning strike. It was impressive, to be sure, but why is the Heron Strike so special? It looked spectacular, why isn’t it done more frequently?” Bruno did not understand fencing, or fighting. But was a keen follower of the elder men and their largesse.

“Hah! Looks are deceptive.” Victor was delighted for the opportunity to explain. “Usually when you get so high, you open up your body to your opponent who will always get his blade back and skewer you with ease. You have no defence. But she was cunning in a way no man could be. Incredible elasticity of body, she leapt high to keep his blade in contact with her own and how she got her foot up there, I don’t know. Once she got her foot on his blade, he couldn’t get back to take advantage as she went on the attack. Mind you, doubt anyone over the age of twenty could get their foot up that high.”

Count Rotherstone sat at his desk reading a report on the peccadilloes of a baron he planned to subvert. A hesitant knock on the door revealed his secretary, a young priest called Thomas who was terrified of him.

“Ah, three messages have come in, sir,” stammered Thomas, as those cold grey eyes looked down that long nose at him. He always thought the Count looked like a grey heron, about to strike and skewer him, “Two from the brothel in Piccadilly and one from the Candler.”

“Read me the Candler’s message.” The Count returned his gaze to the report.

“Yes, sir.” Thomas looked down at the message. “A gentleman came into the shop and purchased two ash black candles.” The Count looked up sharply, and Thomas jumped. “He commented that the kitten was causing trouble again and it was time to drown her.” Thomas looked blankly at the message. “That’s all there is, sir.”

“It is sufficient,” breathed Count Rotherstone. “Put the messages on the desk and leave. Ask Bessin to attend me.”

Princess Asmara Starr relaxed in her bath, smiling and wincing a little as her hand maid worked on her scratches and pulled muscles. The door opened and a girl slipped in, coming up and sitting by the bath. The princess looked at her and raised a sculpted eyebrow.

“Asmara, trouble. You must leave. There is to be an assassination attempt on you tonight, and it is serious enough that I don’t think you can avoid it.”

The Princess sat up. “Call Belkin, I need to talk to him. Enough, Sophie, get the towels. Luce, who’s behind it?” No fuss, the Princess went from luxuriating to business in seconds, her mind rapidly scanning through her options.

“Well, it is supposed to be your cousin, Raphael.”

“He’s a dolt and a coward.”

“I already told Belkin to come; I knew you would want to speak to him. Told him it was urgent.”

“Well done, good thinking. Who’s been breathing up Raphael’s bottom?”

“You know very well it will be Count Rotherstone. He controls everything Raphael does and with him on the throne he will be the actual king.”

Asmara blinked from under the towel. “My father? Is he alright? Is there an attempt on him as well?”

“No, they see you as the danger. With you out of the way, Raphael will have time to ingratiate himself with your father, get named as heir and then they will finish him. But if you stay and fight, it could widen and drag him in.”

The door opened and a man came in. He saw the Princess’ nakedness and reddened. “I apologise, your Highness, this woman told me to come instantly.” He started to turn to leave the room.

“Oh, don’t be so silly, Belkin. This is too important to worry about false modesty. This woman is my spymaster, uh, mistress. Tell it all now, Luce.”

Belkin ensured he kept his eyes on Luce’s face, wondering that she looked vaguely familiar but he could not put a name to her.

Luce grimaced, living her life in the shadows meant she did not want to be known to anyone.

“Rotherstone has given Raphael a Mage, a powerful one. He is be-spelling the guards at this moment. It means if they see the Princess, they will see instead an Elf Crone Witch, and will call for archers and shoot her from a safe distance. That’s to ensure you can’t escape. At the same time they have a group of killers organised, disguised as elves, which will raid the palace - specifically your room. Your own men will think you part of that party.”

“How long will the spell last?” The Princess grasped the plan straight away, wincing at the thought of the guardsmen, whom she loved and with whom she trained at arms, killing her when she knew she would not be able to strike back.

“I don’t know, but it could be a week. You cannot hide from your guardsmen for even a day.”

“If there is an attack, I need to be with my father, supporting him and helping him. This is a really bad time, I am sure the new parliament is up to something.”

Belkin grunted. “You trust this woman?”

“With my life”

“Humph. That’s exactly what it is. Very well, crude it may be, but you cannot fight it without a hundred guardsmen, and many will die. Moreover, if they are all be-spelled, your most loyal men will kill you. Your father has managed to run the Kingdom perfectly without you for the last twenty years.” Asmara scowled at this. “He can sort out the problem much more effectively if he doesn’t have to worry about your safety. We must flee to Westport. Fearaigh will be safe.”

“No. I will flee, you must stay.” Asmara did not like Belkin’s words, but she had to accept their truth. She worried that her father needed her and liked to think she was important, so his words hurt. Then glee rose up inside her as her worries about her father diminished. Adventure! She would be out and away from insistent tutors, annoyingly insipid chaperones and dubious dancing masters, free as a bird. No way would she go to Westport. “Go to your rooms and sleep. If they don’t see me, they won’t be able to do anything. Tomorrow I shall be gone, Luce. So go to Belkin at 10 am. Belkin, request a private audience with the King, tell him what has happened. Introduce him to Luce. Luce, you must in future report to Belkin and the King.”

“No, As. Too many people.” Luce replied, causing Belkin to look shocked, both at the refusal and the nickname. “I shall report to Belkin, he can tell the King. We will protect him till you return.” She looked balefully at Belkin. “You, sir, will need further protection if you are close to the King. I am surprised they didn’t think to work out something about you tonight, but Raphael was always sloppy. They may not make the same mistake twice. I suggest you don’t see the King for a few days, and ensure he sees you no more than once a month, or you put yourself in danger. The King will understand. He’s a smart one. Tell him if you are killed, I shall appear at his bedside with news.”

She turned to Asmara, who was nodding. “Now, we must cut your hair and choose your clothes. What will you be?” Belkin noticed she did not ask where she was going and started to ask the question, then thought better of it. The Princess was clearly in complete accord with this strange woman.

“Yes, will shoulder length be enough? I thought to be a mercenary.”

“No, you will need it short. Where’s that black hair dye? Get a bit of dirt on your face. Keep it there. It will hide your cheekbones and make you look more common. Don’t take many clothes, get dirty, change your walk, you know the score, like when we went to Sarumstown.”

Belkin started, and wondered if he had an answer to a question which had bugged him for the last year. The Princess had managed to disappear for a whole month before reappearing very content and ignoring the angry instructors and courtiers.

“I need my rapier and bow. The leathers are in the cupboard over there. Sophie, get them, then leave. The less you know the better.”

“Mistress, I am coming with you. And I must cut your hair. You will need somebody to look after you. I could be your squire.”

“Hah! More likely my dog-robber. I won’t have a squire. No, it is too dangerous for you and I will travel too fast. I need to be 100 miles away by dawn and you can barely ride. And you would cut my hair too well. Leave now, take a holiday and visit your parents, give it three months then come back and see Belkin. He will give you a job. Here, take this purse, it will see you through.”

Sophie burst into tears, but went and got the clothing, then left, still crying.

Belkin watched her dress, and spoke. “Don’t take Farstrider. I know you love him, but everyone knows he is your horse. There is a new grey in the stall three down from him. He’s a good horse, take him instead. I will go down now and get rid of the stable boy, then tack him up.”

“Wait! Don’t take the passageway. Wait a moment while Luce finishes my hair. Luce, take him through the secret ways. I will follow in a moment.”

Luce nodded, finished hacking her long hair off and reached for the hair dye. “Belkin, bag up her hair, please. I will dispose of it so nobody knows they should look for a short-haired woman.”

She pushed Asmara’s head over the bath, rubbed the dye well into her hair. “Let that set while you ride. Find a horse trough in the morning and rinse it.” She put the pot in the bag with the hair and rose, turned and grabbed Asmara, hugging her for a moment before turning away and beckoning to Belkin, who swallowed as he saw her tears. He followed her out of the room through a door that opened when she touched something by the fireplace. It was dark in the passageway, but Luce produced a taper from a crevice and led off. She looked back over her shoulder once, “She’s like my younger sister. She saved me from the gutter and the whorehouse. I owe her everything. Have no worries, I will do what I can.”

She was off, before he could respond and he trailed along as best he could, wondering how she got her information.

Asmara finished pulling on the leathers, retrieved her bow and rapier, pulled out a fat purse and a money belt, slipped them on and followed. Her face was alight with joy, she had worked out where she was going and could not wait. She reminded herself she must look grave and concerned when she said goodbye.

Nobody spoke in the stable, Belkin had not only saddled and tacked the grey, but had chosen a beaten up saddle and old tack, though well oiled. He eased open the door, looked outside, and nodded.

Asmara saluted them , and was through the door, vanishing into the night.

Belkin turned to Luce. “Uh, we forgot to check how she will get in touch with us. So we can tell her when to come back.”

Luce allowed a faint smile. “Don’t worry about it. She knows how to get in touch with me, and she will contact you if I’m gone. I expect she will send us both a message and another for the King. We’ve prepared for this day for the last six months since we got a pipeline into Rotherstone’s plans.”

She wiped her eyes and was gone.

Fearaigh

M
ot raised her head , looking at the trees and her hackles rose. A big, tawny dog with black patches around her eyes, resembling a wolf. Patraigh instinctively pressed his knees to turn his horse and drifted towards the copse at which she stared. He rode along a low ridge overlooking a green valley through which a large cattle herd moved. As he approached the trees, wolves ghosted out to overlook the herd. Pat leant back, unstrapped the short spear from under his leg and squeezed his legs to urge the horse into a gallop, fearing he would be too late.

The lead wolf turned and inspected him, its tongue lolled from one side of its mouth while yellow eyes gleamed, even from the distance. Without thinking, Pat leaned forward and squeezed his legs again, urging the horse to top speed, barely conscious of Mot racing alongside him. The wolves watched him come for a moment, then as one, turned and raced away, vanishing into the birches. He slowed as he came to where they disappeared and Mot cast around. She checked in with her eyes .