Treason, page 18
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
The Chief Merchant of Oedran crossed his path.
“Come to remind us all who runs the city, Merchant Chapa?”
“Would I presume, my lord?”
“Yes. Definitely. How’s trade?”
“Good enough. How are you and Her Ladyship?”
Lord Landis had to smile. “Well enough. Are you alone today?”
“For now. I’m sure others will turn up soon.” Merchant Chapa discreetly looked around. Noting no-one was close, he said, “The King was looking careworn when I last saw him.”
“He must have had a good night’s sleep since then,” said Landis dismissively. “He was perfectly well when I spoke to him earlier.”
“I’m glad, my lord. I should allow you to continue.”
When the Chief Merchant had gone, Landis frowned. Two people had said the same thing to him in the space of a few hours. Yet he hadn’t thought the King looked strained.
* * *
In the Inner Office, the King was talking to Wynfeld. “…For the next thing, I need your discretion to be absolute. I believe Lord Landis is a scryer, but I don’t wish to ask him myself. If I’m right, there will be reasons why he’s never told me. I wish to respect those reasons but I need to know the truth. He knows you’re watching him and he wouldn’t concern himself with that – it would be a simple annoyance to him – but he’s convinced he’s being followed. Someone is targeting him. I have no doubt that Lord Scanlon is ultimately responsible but I need you to check it out. Firstly, Lord Landis’ safety is paramount but, secondly, I need to know if he’s a scryer. I realise you’ll need your men’s help, but I don’t want a whisper, not even a thought, that I have doubts that Lord Landis is telling me everything. I dislike the idea myself. It has crept up on me over many moons.”
“Very good, Sire. I’ll do my best. When would you like to know by?”
“Whenever you can be certain, but hopefully not more than a couple of seasons.”
Wynfeld rose, saluted and left, wondering how common such challenges were going to be. Finding out a secret a Lord of Oedran didn’t want known by his closest friend was going to be difficult when he couldn’t openly enquire about it. The best he could hope for was circumstantial proof.
Once alone, Adeone tried to dismiss the surging feeling he’d just betrayed Landis’ friendship. It wasn’t just the events of the morning that had sowed the seed. He’d called round to Landis House unexpectedly one day. Instead of being shown straight to the study, William had informed him Landis was seeing to business and would the King mind waiting in the library? That hadn’t been odd, but Landis had been unfocused when he appeared. Adeone had also sensed a different edge to his friend, something that could be described as a high metallic note – something unnatural. Over the next year, whenever he thought about it, it had seemed strange. One night, on the edge of sleep, he recalled Laioril’s stories and the metallic note made sense. It was the note, the colour of magic. Some, it was said, would see a gold outline to a person who had recently been utilising the magical energy and some would hear a golden note. It was the latter that Adeone had sensed in watching his friend that day. Landis had, when younger, had his signet ring specially made from obsidian. Adeone had accepted the eccentricity at face value. Now he fretted that there was more to it. He tried to picture the ring. Did it contain a polished surface? If it did, Landis was being dangerously negligent wearing it in the Inner Office, but Adeone didn’t like to think he’d be that careless.
Chapter 32
BLACK-SCRYERS
Alunadai, Week 28 – 22nd Ralal, 1st Noris 1209
Oedran
GHOSTLY FIGURES moved in an intricate dance of unknown destinations; mocking the decay of humanity, the inanimate world around them was in sharp focus. Landis’ mind’s eye strolled amongst them: hunting, searching. No-one came into focus: he didn’t know any of them, hadn’t heard descriptions. He passed through throngs and along streets and into alleys, some barely more than unroofed rooms in size. Houses squeezed together, caking river mud - or what he hoped was mud – stuck to ancient cobbles and cracked paving stones. Two child-sized shadows raced around, pushing past adults. The uncanny silence filled his mind. He stilled. Gradually, people slid into focus. Women talking in a doorway, no, arguing; the older with hands on hips clearly telling the other to take a long hike over a short cliff, the other, with arms flailing, explaining exactly what she thought to that idea. Men, leaning on the wall, taking bets on who would win. Children mimicking them all. He focused on the details, the alley nameplate, the front steps, brushed clean, the door posts needing care, the symbols denoting their occupants’ professions scratched into doorposts or painted on the walls.
Even in the spectral state, he blanched. Above the door with the arguing women was a symbol he feared. As he noticed it, he noticed the older lady’s eyes scanning the alley, her arguments falling silent. He pulled back quickly to his study, draping a cloth hurriedly over the scrying bowl. He emptied the water from it and stowed it away.
Shaking, he collapsed onto a chair. She’d sensed him, she’d known he was there watching. Who was she? Had the ancient scrying bowl he’d borrowed from Ceardlann magnified his presence as it magnified his skill? Maybe Ira had been right when she lent it to him, maybe there was something unknown about it still. His heart caught in his throat. He wished she was present to talk to, to confide in. She’d kept his secrets so well he feared he didn’t know how to keep them himself any longer.
The mark he’d seen in Seeping Close haunted his mind. What was an unscrupulous scryer, a so-called black-scryer, doing in his lordship? Why would any scryer sell their services? Legends said there were never more than a handful of people alive with each of the Ullian Spirits but hues were more numerous. Scryers were probably the most abundant of the hues, but Landis was willing to bet there were no more than fifteen in any province with one. He’d always believed there would be, at the most, three in Oedran: himself, the intelligence regiment’s and one other. Had he just found them?
Reaching for pencil and paper, he tried to sketch to clear his mind, but he was sketching the alley, the symbol, a black six-pointed star in an eye. Cursing, he threw his pencil down. He’d have to discover why she was in his lordship. Could she be the one who’d been following him?
He had to deal with the situation. His bylawman could terminate the tenancy agreement on some pretext; however, that would appear highly suspicious. He had to be subtler and plan for the longer term. He debated with himself for twelve minutes or so, completely failed to hear a knock at the door and was surprised when William entered unbidden. Landis made up his mind.
* * *
Six minutes later, in response to a summons, the warden knocked and entered the study to find Landis writing letters. He inclined his head slightly. “You wished for a word, my lord?”
Landis looked up. “I did, Sandbine. Nothing to worry about. Can you let Gibb know I want a word when he gets back from his rounds? I’d also like to see the tenancy lists, please.”
Sandbine hesitated. “Of course, my lord.”
Landis chuckled to himself as the man left. He was from a Denshirian merchant family and had started work within the Landis staff as a scrivener. Landis could remember Sandbine helping him with his lessons, so that meant the man had worked for them for over thirty years. He really should be used to their eccentricities but he never quite managed equanimity over them.
A few minutes later, the warden returned with a clerk loaded down with the lists and a footman carrying an extra table to put them on. When Landis had waved them to set everything down at the side of his desk and the footman and clerk had left, Sandbine hesitated.
“Is there anything I can do to help, sir? Some of these are cumbersome.”
Brightly, Landis said, “No, thank you, Sandbine. I am more than capable of managing cumbersome things.”
Only uncertainty and concern met the wry observation. “If you’re sure, my lord. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, thank you. That’s all. Don’t look so worried. What’s the worst I can do?”
The warden merely inclined his head before leaving, his silence speaking volumes.
Waiting until he was sure that the warden wasn’t returning on the pretext of having forgotten to mention something, Landis turned to Seeping Close. Unsurprisingly, no-one had declared themselves as any type of scryer. The occupations helped to determine his tenants’ rent. He never wanted to charge more than a family could reasonably afford, and had been understanding if an accident had meant the breadwinner couldn’t work for weeks. He’d waive their rent but he might call in the debt in other ways.
He studied the names of the other occupants of the alley but recognised none of them. Tapping his fingers on the desk, he idly drew other symbols and the black-scryer one. Trying to think, he looked out of the window. The twins were getting on each other’s nerves in the garden. They were certainly growing up quickly. They spotted him and waved, as though they had just been talking pleasantly together. He simply shook his head at them and turned back to his desk. He wasn’t fooled.
A couple of minutes later, running feet stopped outside his study and whispering ensued.
Welcoming the distraction, he said, loud enough to carry to their ears, “You know, you might as well come in and discuss whatever is so important on this side of the door.”
Tentatively, the door opened; Julius put his head around it and then Julia’s appeared. Landis motioned them inside. Normally kept well away from the study, they entered hesitantly.
“What mayhem are you two up to then?” asked Landis.
“Nothing, father,” replied Julius innocently.
“I used to try that line on your grandfather. He never believed me, so why should I believe you?”
“Because, for once, it is the truth, father.”
“I like the fact you added ‘for once’. Shouldn’t you both be studying?”
The twins looked at each other. “We’ve finished for the day, father,” they replied in unison.
“Shall I check?”
Julius shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Finish off properly later and I might forgive you for so blatantly lying.”
Julia smiled a sweet, deceptive, smile. “Thank you, father. What are you doing?”
“Checking the tenancy lists over. It’s not the most exciting job.”
She walked over to him and draped her arms around his neck. “Are you hunting for anything?”
“No, just checking that they’re in order.”
Her gaze fell on the lists on her father’s desk and she suddenly asked, “I wonder if Becka Tolse realises that her name is an anagram of ‘to see black’? It would be funnier if it were ‘to see red’ but, then again, her name wouldn’t be Becka Tolse in that instance, would it?”
Mercifully, there was a knock on the door, so Landis didn’t have to reply to his daughter’s musings that had just provided him with the answer he needed. Instead, he said, “I think that knock will be our chief bailiff. Run along and tell your mother you’re dining with us when the King visits later this week.”
It hadn’t been the chief bailiff; it had been William delivering a letter from the Palace. Once he’d left, Landis studied the lists for the Seeping Close again. This time, the name did jump out at him. Becka Tolse: a widow from South Anapara. He stared at the name and smiled slightly. Julia was quick.
The next mystery was why Becka Tolse was in his lordship. The list said she’d been a tenant for five years. Long enough for Scanlon or his agents to have found her. Whatever she was up to, she was up to it in his lordship because scrying close to home was easier. Her name could be an unfortunate coincidence, but Landis had an inner certainty it wasn’t. It was far too dangerous for him to investigate further by scrying.
The bailiff arrived half an hour later. “You needed a word, m’lord?”
“I did, Gibb. How often are these lists updated?”
“Every season, m’lord.”
“How do you check people’s professions?”
“Ain’t easy to, m’lord. We tend to find out over time when they’ve lied. Their rent’s backdated for as far as we can prove.”
Landis inwardly noted the information. “Right. When was the last update of this list made?”
“Beginning o’ winter, m’lord. They’re as accurate now as they can be? Why? Is there summat wrong?” If there was, the bailiff wanted to get his hands on whoever had informed Lord Landis before informing him.
Landis smiled. “I’m merely curious.”
That didn’t reassure the chief bailiff. No lord was ever that curious. “Right, sir.”
Landis decided to ignore the disbelief. “Next question, have you ever seen any of these?” He tossed the sketch of the symbols over.
“I’ve seen them all in me time. The eye’s rare, sir. Never ‘ave found out what it meant. The anchor’s pretty common, ‘specially down by the river.”
“Yes, I thought that might be the case. I found the eye in an old book once. It means a black-scryer. I expected it would be non-existent, but you tell me you have seen it?”
“Aye, sir, but I’ve been walking the streets o’ the city for o’er thirty years now.”
“True. I wonder what other signs there are. I know there are signs for most of the magical hues and spirits. From what I recall, the book is fragile, but I’ll have the relevant portion copied for you. Now, you will please document and record every sign you come across in my lordship – on a map, if it will make your lives easier. I’m curious about the different trades that use them and the number of people who advertise their professions in such a way. Basically, I want to know of any symbols you find. Don’t worry about sparing my blushes.”
“Very well, m’lord.” He had long ago ceased to ask any but the necessary questions. The fewer enquiries he made, the more likely he was to find out something, eventually.
Landis obliged. “I wish to stop non-declarers and rogue traders but don’t let that get out. Just pass it off as another of my eccentricities.”
“Very good, m’lord. I’ll let the lads know. We’re all on a different beat.”
Landis noticed that his chief bailiff hadn’t asked what eccentricities. “Thank you. For curiosity’s sake again, I’d like a map with the men’s routes on them when you hand me the information a week before the Munlumen.”
The bailiff relaxed. A week before the beginning of spring gave him more time than he’d been expecting.
Chapter 33
OF SPIES AND GOVERNORS’ GUARDS
Cisadai, Week 31 – 16th Anapal, 2nd Anapcis 1209
Wynfeld’s Office
THREE WEEKS LATER, Wynfeld broke the red seal, telling himself it was a coincidence but not believing it. There, in Richardson’s careful hand, was a summons to see his King. Stomach churning, he folded the letter and put it carefully away. With his commission in his breastplate, in case he had to rescind it, he made his way to the Palace, going over the events of the previous day.
The thronged streets didn’t calm him, nor the quiet corridors. Should he admit he’d failed immediately? Or should he let his King lead? He knew which Simkins thought best, but there were days he wasn’t so certain.
The Outer Office fell silent as he entered, which did nothing for his nerves as he waited. Richardson gave nothing away, Jacobs and Kenton busied themselves with their tasks. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the soft breathing of those wielding them.
When Richardson asked him to wait in the Audience Chamber until the King was free, he was only too pleased to do so. The cloying atmosphere made it hard to breathe.
Six minutes later, he watched the Steward leave with a frustrated gait. Something had rattled him. Was their King in a bad mood? Richardson crooked a finger at him.
Once in the Inner Office, Wynfeld blurted out, “Sire, I think, first and foremost, I’m going to have to tell you that I’ve failed. The men won’t accept the changes I’m proposing and, given the delicate nature of their work, I didn’t feel it was right to force the change.”
Adeone rose, crossing to a window. He surveyed the scene: the lawns and gardens below invited him to take a walk. He ignored the invitation.
“That’s unfortunate and disappointing. Landis thought this might happen. What is your summation of the consequences if we were to force it through?”
“Basically, Sire, gathering intelligence would stop. I’m to blame. I said that it would be accepted.”
Adeone simply raised an eyebrow. “Not just you. Tell me what happened.”
Wynfeld did. However trustworthy Beaver had become, telling him that his unit would remain in Oedran, but others would be moved elsewhere had been risky. Telling the other sergeants even less had probably been stupid. Somehow – an unintended utterance, no doubt – the corporals had discovered his plans, or guessed enough. Their visit, polite though it had been, clearly said they didn’t want splitting across the empire.
Adeone listened carefully. Wynfeld’s agitation was clear but nothing was broken irreparably. As the captain finished, Adeone said, “We just need to take a fresh look at the situation. What are your immediate thoughts?”
“Leave the men as they are, promote or transfer those who wish to take that route, then fill their places. There isn’t anything else I can see. Sergeant Jones has proved if we get good men elsewhere, we get good information here. The Exarch wants to keep him in Garth when his regiment moves.”
“Yes, that’s why I asked to see you. Can you keep him in Garth?”
Wynfeld started. It hadn’t been about the semi-mutiny in his regiment. The King didn’t know what was happening there. He let out a breath and then tried to cover his relief. “Your Majesty, technically, Jones is still my subordinate. I only seconded him.” After a moment’s consideration, he continued, “Are there any free captaincies in Garth, Sire? He was tipped as the next captain for my regiment. I posted him for insubordination, but he has made a fresh start.”
