Authors: Brock E. Deskins
The Agent (40 page)
Adam and Evelyn took control of the soldiers defending the palace. Without anyone of rank to contradict the Queen and Remiel’s heir, most of them readily accepted their return to the throne without question. The few who balked fell in line as the ranks of Altena loyalists swelled.
The Hillmen besieging the palace walls ceased their assault when Adam appeared and led them into the city to quell fighting between his allies and The Guild’s security forces. Once he was able to regain control of the constabulary and turn their men to his side, he was able to crush nearly all resistance by morning.
The Guild’s private army reached the capital only to find the gates barred against them and a sizable force ready to defend the walls. With an unknown army less than a day away approaching from the east, the hired swords put down their weapons and disbanded without a fight.
Justice was swift and severe. Trials were held enmasse, and convictions were carried out within the week. By month’s end, nine former members of parliament and a dozen senior Guild members swung from freshly erected gallows. Dozens more from each of the traitorous camps were sentenced to prison labor camps proportionate to their involvement.
Evelyn sat tall and looked regal upon the throne, a feat far easier to accomplish now that her son was born and no longer trying to kick his way out of the womb. Aniston sat to her right as the Queen’s consort and father to the future King. Adam stood to her left as her senior advisor.
Noblemen and courtiers filled the audience hall, not all of them pleased with the day’s spectacle, but any dissent or ill words were tightly suppressed or spoken only away from the Queen’s ear.
Evelyn stood to address her audience. “Laird Melkior, Clan Lairds, thank you for your patience while my brother and I restored order to our house.”
Melkior nodded and smiled. “We’ve waited a couple hundred years for justice. A few more weeks seemed reasonable enough. I congratulate the young Highness for bearing her people a strapping young prince.”
“Thank you, Melkior. Although the resettlement and repatriation of your people is already underway, I would like to formally acknowledge your brave warriors for helping us remove the villainous scum who murdered my family and stole my birthright. I am also pleased to denounce the wrongs my forefathers committed to yours so long ago and hope that by returning your lands and rights I am able to make amends between our people.”
“If we all bore the shame committed by our fathers and grandfathers, then wouldn’t none of the children be able to show their faces in public with dignity.”
Evelyn looked out over the crowd and called out, “Garran Holt?” She turned her head to face Aniston. “Has he still not appeared?”
Aniston shrugged and shook his head. “No one has seen or heard from him since he escaped hospice two weeks ago.”
Evelyn sighed and faced the court once more. “I had hoped to bestow our kingdom’s highest honor to Agent Garran Holt for his amazing act of bravery and heroism in person, but it appears that I must issue it in absentia. Please enjoy the feast and festivities in the plaza. This court is adjourned.”
The Queen returned to her seat. “Have we any word of Joshua Roux, Sabinus Cole, or Roger Seaver’s whereabouts?”
Aniston frowned as the names brought a bad taste to his mouth. “No, and with more than half of the diplomatic corps purged of Gregor’s cronies, it is going to be a challenge to bring them to justice. We believe a private ship sailing under an Opatian flag that made a brief stop in Artemisia belonged to one of them and likely had the three on board, but it set sail for parts unknown before our agents could reach it.”
“Slippery bastards,” Evelyn cursed. “It was bad enough that I allowed Gordon to escape, but our victory will forever feel hollow until Joshua Roux and his remaining architects’ heads adorn my wall. Where in the world is Garran Holt?
***
Gordon rode his mount through the tight streets of Wildemont, a bustling town in Arnao’s northern reaches. While he could never return to his estates back in Anatolia, he was not without means. Fortunately, he had taken Gregor’s advice and created several caches and bank accounts across the land using pseudonyms in the event that exactly this should happen.
Although such preparations had not done Gregor any good, it allowed him to travel and live a relatively comfortable life. He missed having servants and people bowing and scraping, but he began to appreciate the benefits of a simpler life, not having to look over his shoulder for a plunging knife being one of them.
He located the finest inn in the town and stabled his horse. Hungry and road weary, Gordon sat at a table and grabbed the attention of the nearest serving woman. A buxom young woman approached, her tight bodice barely able to contain her ample bosom, her frilly skirt displaying her smooth, shapely legs well past the knee.
“What can I get you, handsome?”
“Your best wine and whatever is on the dinner menu, please.”
“You look tired. Have you traveled far?”
“Much farther than the measure of mere miles, I assure you.”
The waitress sat down in the chair opposite Gordon and rested her chin on the back of her hands. “You’re different than most men who come through here.”
Gordon smiled, appreciating the attention. “How is that?”
“I don’t know. You look and talk like a man used to being obeyed. I find that kind of confidence very attractive.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhmm. What’s your name?”
Gordon paused. “Jeffery, and you are?”
“Mathilda, but my friends call my Mattie.” Mattie drew an invisible circle on the table with her finger. “Do you plan on staying the night?”
“It was my intention, yes.”
“Maybe after your meal I can show you to your room—personally.”
Gordon smiled and gazed at her longingly. “I suddenly find myself with an appetite for something off the dinner menu.”
Mattie stood and held out her hand. “I will be happy to take your order.”
Gordon let the girl lead him upstairs to one of the rooms. She playfully shoved him inside before turning and locking the door. She stumbled into Gordon’s arms where he began anxiously kissing her neck. Mattie giggled, broke away from his grasp, and began seductively tugging at the laces of her bodice.
Filled with ardor, Gordon lunged forward and began tearing at the strings securing his prize. She was young enough for their tryst to be scandalous but old enough not be indecent, which was exactly how he liked them. His questing hands stopped and he stepped back, eyes wide and questioning when a grapefruit tumbled out of her corset, thumped against the floor, and rolled beneath the bed.
“What…?” Gordon muttered as he looked from the girl’s face to the darkened space beneath the bed. His head whipped to the side when the door of the wardrobe swung open and a man appeared. “Holt!” Gordon cried as he stumbled backward and fumbled for the sword belted at his waist.
Garran smiled and took a bow. “In the flesh. Nicely done, Liam.”
Liam removed the other piece of fruit from inside his shirt and tossed his wig onto the floor. “Thank you.”
“What do you want?” Gordon cried. “You can’t touch me! Evelyn and Adam both swore that no one would harm me!”
“You see, Liam, this is precisely why I never ask permission to do anything. It gets in the way of some of life’s most enjoyable activities.” Garran turned back to Gordon. “You hurt my friend’s sister and family, which hurt him, which in turn hurts me, and I simply cannot allow such a thing to go unpunished.”
Gordon retreated until his back fetched up against the corner of the room. “You buggered me in my goat ass, so we’re even!”
“You did what now?” Liam asked.
“It’s a hilarious story. I’ll tell it to you later. No, Gordon, we are far from even. You caused a lot of damage, hurt a lot of people, and you must suffer for each of them.”
Gordon dropped his sword and cowered in the corner, holding his hand out beseechingly. “Please, please don’t kill me!”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you.”
Gordon lowered his hand. “You’re not? What are you going to do to me?”
Garran reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a strand of cubes about an inch square and spaced approximately two inches inch apart. He held one end of the string at shoulder height and let the other end clatter to the floor.
A sinister smile crept onto Garran’s face. “Are you familiar with ass beads?”
The End
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