Imperial Spy (13 page)

Femke reached the door at the bottom of the steps and stopped. It was dank and dark despite the flickering light of the Count’s torch behind her. The lock and bolt were a simple
arrangement and Femke silently gave a prayer of thanks as she noted the single bolt. Any more would have presented her with a severe challenge.

‘Open the door, Ambassador. Your lodgings await you. I’m sorry my humble accommodation doesn’t quite live up to the West Wing of the Royal Palace, but you’ll have to make
do for now,’ he said.

Femke drew the bolt and pushed the door open. It creaked slightly about halfway open. As Femke stepped through the door she turned and gave the Count a look of disgust.

‘Surely you’re not going to leave me in this hole?’ she asked. ‘I’ll freeze to death in no time.’

‘I’ll bring you a blanket later,’ Dreban said with a grin that showed no sympathy. ‘Judging by the items in your knap-sack and the weapons you keep about your person, I
find it difficult to believe you’re a wilting flower who cannot endure a little discomfort. You’re without doubt the most unusual Ambassador I’ve ever met. I almost believed you
innocent for a while. You play the “I’m just an innocent victim” act well, but you bear the tools of a trained killer. There’s no hiding from evidence like that. What I fail
to understand is why the Emperor of Shandar would send you here now? It’s strange timing. I’ll want answers from you before I hand you to the King. Truthful answers.’

The Count stepped forward and forced Femke back further into the cellar with the point of his sword. There was barely time for her to glance around in the flickering light of the Count’s
torch before Dreban pulled the door closed with a resounding bang, plunging the room into inky darkness. There followed the sound of the bolt being driven home and the jangling of keys before the
rattle and snick of the lock being secured. That one short moment of light was enough for Femke to allay her worst fear. The room was not bare. It was filled with a mishmash of old junk and out of
vogue paraphernalia, but there were ample resources to enable her to escape.

Femke had already dealt with the most difficult part of opening the door. Dreban had made her take off her clothes, where the majority of her tools were hidden, but Femke had managed to secure
one item in her mouth as she had lifted her dress over her head. She had always made a habit of tacking various oddments inside her clothes and this habit had paid off today. It had been easy to
catch the little coil with her teeth as she removed her dress, biting it free and tucking it in her cheek with her tongue. Later, when Dreban divided his attention between watching her and lighting
his torch, Femke palmed it from her mouth. It was then easy to manipulate the little piece of metal so that the coil of thin thread attached to it was free to unravel.

When Dreban had given his little speech at the doorway to the cellar, Femke had surreptitiously inserted the little piece of metal into the bolt socket with her thumb. Then, behind her back, she
had partially unravelled the coil of thread and flicked the remaining cord inside the cellar to the left of the door. When she was ready to make her escape, all she had to do was to find the end of
the cord and pull it gently. The cord would then pull on the attached piece of metal in the bolt socket, drawing the bolt out. It was a simple trick, but it did rely on the bolt not being stiff.
The cord, whilst strong, was not unbreakable. Femke had no worries with this door, for the simple rectangular metal bolt had drawn easily at her touch. There was no reason to believe it would be
stiffer when she came to draw it again.

The main problem was to find something with which to pick the lock. With no light at all, Femke had to work solely by touch. It was difficult to keep track of time, but she estimated an hour had
passed before she managed to extract a suitable nail from one of the shelves on the wall. At one point, a slight sound outside the door made Femke pause in her search and feel her way silently
across the room. The Count could be bringing the blanket he had promised, or food and drink, she thought. Femke stood by the door and listened for several long minutes. There were no further
sounds. Eventually, with a shrug, she returned to her work.

Once she had the nail it took less than two minutes for Femke to open the lock, but having done so, she relocked it again immediately. By her reckoning it was still late morning outside. The
Royal Guards would still be out in force, looking for her. Femke was well hidden here and not in a hurry to jump back into the fray. Instead she located the cord leading from the bolt socket and
tucked it down by the base of the door-frame to make it as inconspicuous as possible. Then she settled down to wait for night to fall.

Getting comfortable was difficult, but Femke found something that felt like an old wall-hanging or a thin rug and wrapped it around her body for warmth. Curling up in an old armchair she closed
her eyes to rest, but despite the silent darkness, sleep did not come easily. The bruising across her body from her fall into the tree began to infiltrate her consciousness again. The pain crept
over her like a vine. Growing. Squeezing. Invading. In comparison, the scrape on her leg where the dog had raked her with its teeth felt little more than a dull burning. Femke did not know where
her scalp was cut, but the wounds there brought no pain so she left them alone for fear that poking around would restart the bleeding. Eventually, Femke drifted into a restless slumber.

Disturbing dreams troubled her throughout the lightless day. When Femke finally awoke with a start from a particularly disturbing nightmare, she could recall no specifics. One thing Femke knew
with surety was that the Count had not come down to the cellar during the day. The spy felt sure she had never done more than skimmed the surface of sleep and was positive she would have shed her
fragile slumber at the slightest of sounds.

There was no way of being certain of the time of day, but Femke knew instinctively that night had fallen outside. It was time for her to move and get down into lower Mantor before the Count
handed her to the King.

It took a few moments to establish her orientation in the pitch blackness. Femke shivered as she shucked off her makeshift blanket. The stone floor felt freezing to her bare feet as she crept
across to the door. For a moment she could not find the nail and cord. A surge of panic gripped her, but the dismay was fleeting as both came to hand seconds later. Femke sighed with relief and
mentally berated her momentary loss of discipline.

With practised ease, Femke made no noise as she opened the lock. Adrenalin flowed as she took up the slack in the cord. There was always the danger that a sudden load on the cord would snap her
link to freedom. With a silent prayer to any deity that chanced to be listening, Femke gritted her teeth and carefully increased the tension on the cord. Her reward was the gentle scraping sound of
metal against metal. Slowly – ever so slowly, Femke pulled until she felt the cord give as the thin metal plug pulled free from the socket. She winced as it swung, knocking against the
escutcheon plate with a sharp tapping that sounded loud in the silence of Femke’s dark prison. In reality the noise was not sufficient to carry far.

The door was open, but Femke knew that chance would now play a large part if she were to escape cleanly. Taking care not to open the door more than halfway, Femke slid silently out of the
cellar. The stairwell proved as lightless as her prison, so she crept up the dark stairs on all fours, feeling ahead at every step for anything that could make a noise. The door at the top of the
stairs opened into the passageway between the kitchen and what had appeared to be the main living area of the Count’s residence. When she reached it no light spilled around the edges of the
door, so it was reasonable to assume nobody would be in the unlit passageway.

Femke tried the handle and was pleased to find the door unlocked. The next few minutes would be crucial. Clothing was top of her priority list, but if she had to flee without it, she would. The
last place she had seen her clothes was in the kitchen. Her knapsack was also last seen there, so the kitchen was the first place to look.

Faint light shone in through a small window in the passageway. It lit Femke’s way as well as any torch. Before moving out into the passageway Femke paused to listen. The house was silent.
Had Dreban dismissed his staff for the day to avoid one of them discovering her? It would not surprise her. It was also in character for him to renege on his promise of a blanket, and deny her food
or drink.

The Count thought to parade me in front of the King’s Court as a desperate fugitive, Femke thought grimly. When I’ve found out who did kill Baron Anton, I’ll expose him for the
slimy, underhand snake he is.

Again no light spilled around the edges of the kitchen door. She did not hesitate to open it. However, as she lightly turned the handle something pushed against the door, forcing it to open
towards her. A dull thud echoed in the passageway as a large object impacted the floor by her feet.

Femke jumped back and jammed a hand into her mouth to stifle a scream, for as she looked down, a lifeless pair of eyes stared back. It was the Count. To Femke’s horror, the greater ambient
light filtering through the windows of the kitchen revealed that one of her knives was buried to the hilt in his throat.

Lord Danar rode back into Shandrim at a plodding pace ten days after he left on his quest to find Lady Alyssa. He was angry, frustrated and weary. Danar had left with high
hopes that he would catch up with the young woman swiftly, and had ridden hard. However, Lady Alyssa’s trail went cold within the first day. Beyond the first few hours of travel nobody had
seen or heard of her, which seemed strange – Alyssa was hardly the sort of person one could readily forget.

Once or twice there had been those who, at the sight of money offered in reward for information, claimed to have seen her. But when Danar questioned them more closely, it became apparent that
they were merely trying to take his gold. Alyssa had vanished without trace.

When he realised she had eluded him, Danar continued with his plan to press towards the nearest coastal city, and rode like the wind until he reached it. He rode hard until well after dark and
then rose before dawn each day to continue with all haste. However, when he finally reached the port city of Channa, the young Lord found that the mystery of Lady Alyssa’s disappearance
deepened further.

Nobody amongst the nobility in Channa had heard of a Lady Alyssa matching the description that Danar gave. Apparently there was a Lady Alyssa, who was indeed the daughter of a rich Merchant
Lord, but everyone to whom Danar spoke gave him the same story – Alyssa was neither attractive nor had she ever been to Shandrim. Danar found the stories difficult to believe. To make sure he
took a trip to see this Alyssa in the hope that those he had spoken to were wrong. They were not.

The Merchant Lord was surprised to receive a gentleman visitor to see his daughter. None had ever called before. Danar noted the momentary hope that flashed in the Merchant’s eyes when
Danar announced his wish to see Alyssa. He also saw that hope die when he asked if Alyssa had recently been to Shandrim.

‘No,’ the Merchant Lord answered. ‘She never goes anywhere these days.’

When his daughter emerged from a drawing room to greet them, Danar could see why. The poor girl was over-weight and not blessed with a pretty face. Her hair was lank and thin, and where some
girls could disguise much with nice clothing and make-up, it appeared this young woman was beyond caring.

Lord Danar had made his apologies for his mistake and left.

‘It’ll be just my luck to find that Alyssa has been in Shandrim all along,’ Danar grumbled, as he steered his weary horse towards the city centre. ‘I’ll bet
I’ve been flogging myself half to death hoofing it around the countryside whilst she’s been partying with my friends here in the city. No doubt Sharyll and the others will laugh
themselves hoarse at my expense. Well, let them! I’ll pay my dues to Sharyll, but I’ll be happy to have them laugh if I get to see Alyssa again.’

On arriving in the city centre, Danar went straight to Sharyll’s house to see if his fears were well founded. Sharyll did laugh at Danar’s fruitless efforts. He also took
Danar’s money, but the greatest insult was that Sharyll had heard nothing of Alyssa since the coronation ceremony.

Lord Danar was tired, dispirited and almost ready to give up on finding Alyssa altogether – almost, but not quite. There was one more avenue that he had not tried. The last time Danar had
seen Alyssa she had been in conversation with Lord Kempten. Did the old Nobleman know where she had gone? It was worth a try, he reasoned.

If old Kempten doesn’t know anything, then I’ll give it up for now, Danar promised himself silently as he rode away from Sharyll’s house. Alyssa is bound to surface again, so
I’ll make sure everyone is on the lookout for her. When she does, I’ll make sure I’m around to find out more about her. If I could just put my finger on what it is about her that
is so attractive . . .

The unfinished thought teased him. He could not identify what it was about Alyssa that made him willing to go to such lengths to see her. The young Lady was physically attractive, but no more so
than many of the other young Ladies at Court. He had courted many women whose physical appearance had been more appealing. There was something – an indefinable quality about her that made him
want to get to know her better. Was it that Alyssa was playing hard to get? Or was the young Lady really not bothered by his interest in her? It was hard to pinpoint. Both were new responses as far
as Danar was concerned, and either held appeal for their freshness.

Danar was sure he wanted to see her again. He tried to convince himself that all he wanted was an opportunity to explore her character, but in his heart he acknowledged this was a deception to
hide deeper motivations. Right now the motivation was irrelevant. He could not make progress unless he found her, and that was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated.