Imperial Spy (14 page)

Lord Kempten’s house was large and imposing. Shandese buildings were generally uninspiring to the eye, as the architects preferred practical designs. There were few even
amongst the Nobility who wasted time and money with frivolously fancy façades that served no purpose. The exception, of course, was the Imperial Palace, but that was a matter of Imperial
pride. The Empire could not be seen as being ruled from a soulless square brick building, no matter how practical it was. Therefore the Palace had been an ongoing project for generations of the
best stonemasons in the land, and its presence and beauty dominated the central area of Shandrim.

Danar reached up and rang the brass handbell sitting in a recess in the wall to the right of the main door. He smiled as he placed the bell back and wondered how many bells Lord Kempten had been
forced to commission during his lifetime. Most Noblemen these days had given up on the old tradition of handbells and had settled for having ornamental doorknockers fitted instead. This was due to
several spates when collecting doorbells had become fashionable amongst the youth culture of both commoners and Nobles alike.

The daring involved in acquiring some of the more ‘difficult’ bells had made them all the more desirable. Danar remembered some of his own exploits. He particularly recalled the
beating he had received from his father when he was caught attempting to relieve Lord Vittara of his brand new bell only minutes after the crotchety old fellow had placed it outside his door. The
beating had been painful, but it had not stopped him from returning the following day and adding the bell to his collection.

The door to Lord Kempten’s house opened. A maid in a plain brown dress with a starched white apron greeted Danar politely, inviting him to step inside out of the cold. Danar was happy to
oblige, thanking her kindly as he moved quickly in over the threshold. More memories were triggered as Danar looked around the entrance hall at the pictures, hangings and old battle flags that
decorated the walls. He had been here once before with his father some years ago. Nothing had changed – nothing at all. The entire hallway was identical to the way he remembered it.

‘Ah, young Lord Danar, what an unexpected pleasure!’ exclaimed Lord Kempten, as he strode into the hall from a side door. The old Lord extended his hand in the greeting of equals as
he approached, which momentarily surprised Danar, for he was used to his father still treating him as an itinerant young boy. ‘Come now, join me in some dahl. I’ve just had a fresh pot
brewed and from the flush of your face I’m guessing it’s chilly outside. A drop of something warm inside you will no doubt be welcome.’

‘Thank you, Lord Kempten, that would be most kind,’ Danar responded, genuinely surprised by the old fellow’s welcome. He remembered Kempten as a sour-faced old man who had no
time for youngsters and rarely uttered a good word about anyone. At the coronation ceremony he had worn his usual dour expression. This warmth was suspiciously out of character.

Lord Kempten led the way into a drawing room where Lady Kempten was sitting in a comfortable chair with a needlework frame on her lap and an open box with a mass of thread reels on a small side
table. A steaming pot of dahl on a tray with two empty cups and a small pot of sweetening were arrayed on a nearby table. As Danar bowed to Lady Kempten and began to apologise for interrupting
their relaxation time, another maid with a third cup entered and began to pour out the dahl.

‘Not at all, Danar, not at all,’ Lady Kempten said graciously, placing her needlework to one side and gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the other soft chairs nearby.
‘It is always a pleasure to have visitors. I’m afraid all of our youngsters are away from the house at the moment on one errand or another. Which of them was it you wanted to
see?’

‘Actually, my Lady, it was Lord Kempten I wanted a quick word with, but it will be my pleasure to join you for a cup of dahl first,’ he replied with a slightly embarrassed smile.

‘Ah, man’s talk is it?’ she said with a wink. ‘I’ll not embarrass you. Would you like to be alone with my husband for a few minutes? I can easily find something to
do if you’d rather I left.’

‘Nonsense, darling, I’m sure there’s nothing young Lord Danar here would have to talk about that would not be suitable for your ears,’ Lord Kempten stated firmly.
‘Isn’t that right, young man?’

‘Well . . .’ Danar started hesitantly.

‘Don’t bully him, love. If he would feel more comfortable talking man to man then it’s no problem for me to leave you for a minute or two.’

‘Thank you, Lady Kempten. I appreciate your understanding. I promise that I’ll only take a moment or two of your husband’s time.’

Lady Kempten finished pouring the dahl before taking her cup and quietly exiting the room with a gentle smile on her face. Danar fervently hoped that Kempten was not involved in some form of
extramarital relationship with Alyssa. Lady Kempten looked a wonderfully content wife and Danar could not bring himself to think of her hearing that Lord Kempten was having an affair.

‘Now then, Danar, what is all this about? Are you courting one of our girls? If so, then my wife is more than able to cope with news of that . . .’ Kempten began, a little annoyed by
the departure of his wife.

‘No, no, my Lord, it is nothing like that. I want to talk to you about the young Lady you were with at the coronation ceremony a couple of weeks ago,’ Danar interrupted quickly,
keeping his voice down at a conspiratorial level.

‘Lady Alyssa?’ Kempten asked, not lowering his voice in the slightest. ‘What about her?’

‘Well, my Lord,’ Danar continued, embarrassed by the old man’s boldness. ‘Firstly I wanted to ask what . . . I mean . . . well, you were walking closely at the ceremony
and I wondered . . .’

‘Ha, ha, ha . . .’ Lord Kempten roared loudly with laughter at Danar’s awkward attempt to broach the subject of the older man’s relationship with the young Lady.
‘You think Alyssa and I . . . ha, ha, ha!’

‘Well!’ Danar sighed loudly, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment. ‘That answers that question, I suppose. A more important question to me, though, is if you know
where I can find Lady Alyssa? I’ve been searching for nearly two weeks and there’s no sign of her anywhere.’

‘Well, young Danar, I appreciate your trying to save me the embarrassment of talking of this in front of Lady Kempten,’ the old Lord said, the sound of mirth still evident in his
voice. ‘I have no relationship with Lady Alyssa of the sort you were thinking, but I do owe her a debt, which I’ll be sure to thank her for when I next see her in Court. Unfortunately,
I don’t know where she’s likely to be found, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Alyssa were to remain a mystery woman for a long time to come. I doubt there are many in the Empire who
would know where she was at any one time, for I have my suspicions about her.’

‘May I ask what sort of suspicions, my Lord?’ Danar asked, curiosity bubbling inside him as his mind sought to consolidate his relief, frustration and interest with what Lord Kempten
was telling him. The idea that the old Lord was in Alyssa’s debt was fascinating, but Danar knew enough to stay focused on his primary goal. If he allowed Lord Kempten to begin imparting long
tales unrelated to Alyssa’s whereabouts, Danar knew he might lose the opportunity to learn where she had gone. Any clues the old fellow had would be better than nothing.

‘I cannot voice such things in any company at present, I’m afraid, but I’ll make one suggestion for you to try if you’re determined to find out where Alyssa is,’
Lord Kempten replied, his voice lowering slightly as if he were about to reveal a secret.

‘Anything,’ Danar responded eagerly. ‘Please, I’ll listen to any suggestions.’

Lord Kempten looked at the young Lord with a curiously pleased expression and Danar began to feel a strangely uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades. Why was the old Lord enjoying this
so much? Did he have a positive lead, or was he just enjoying the power of having Danar in the palm of his hand?

‘Well, if you want to know where the Lady Alyssa is, then I suggest that you book an audience with the Emperor and ask him,’ Kempten said slowly.

Danar’s jaw dropped.

‘The Emperor? Are you serious, my Lord?’ he spluttered. ‘I know I have a reputation for practical jokes and retribution is ripe for the taking, but I would appreciate it if you
would put that aside for a moment. I deserve reprisals. I deserve to have my leg pulled. However, this matter is of great consequence. I need a straight answer, my Lord. This is more important to
me than anything that I have ever done in my life.’

‘I am serious, Danar. Go and ask the Emperor. I have reason to believe he knows where Alyssa is. Of course, I have no idea if he’ll disclose the information to you, but if you
don’t ask him, then you’ll never know.’

‘What in the name of all that’s sacred . . . ?’ Femke breathed, her mind reeling in horror as she stared down at the body of Count Dreban.

Being framed for one murder was bad enough, but now the young spy had another corpse to deal with. If she were found anywhere in the vicinity, it would look as if she had been caught red-handed.
For a moment her shock held her motionless as her brain tried to come to terms with this latest turn of events. Someone, somewhere, was intent on making trouble for her, but Femke did not have the
slightest clue as to whom or why.

It appeared these events were directed at her personally, but Femke could think of nobody she had alienated sufficiently in the short time that she had been in Thrandor to warrant this sort of
reprisal. Was someone trying to make trouble for the diplomatic process that she had begun, or was someone using her as a convenient scape-goat for crimes planned before her arrival? If this last
theory held true, then Femke had been incredibly unlucky to choose the house of Count Dreban as her initial hiding place.

‘There’s no chance in this,’ she whispered quietly to herself. ‘Dreban was the one in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer must have followed me from the Palace,
or somehow intercepted me during my escape.’ Femke had been fairly desperate by the time she had dropped over the Palace wall. She was not overly surprised that she had not noticed anyone
following her.

‘Come on, Femke! Pull yourself together,’ she muttered, taking a deep breath and forcing herself back into action.

Carefully avoiding the Count’s body, Femke stepped into the kitchen and was delighted to find her pack and clothing was still there. The pack was open. Someone had rifled through it. But
as she quickly emptied everything out onto the side it became apparent that nothing was missing other than the knife used to kill the Count. To her surprise, even the money was still there.

Speed was of the essence. Femke quickly dressed in dark coloured clothes from her pack and bundled the dress she had been wearing during her escape from the Palace in with her other recovered
equipment.

Femke was not squeamish, but recovering the knife from the Count’s body was not a pleasant task. As she pulled the blade from his throat, Femke noted the accuracy and force with which the
blade had struck. Whoever had thrown it had known what he was doing, she thought grimly. There were not many who could throw a blade that hard and that accurately – a fact which narrowed her
field of search.

Although it was tempting to sneak around the Count’s house to look for more clues to the killer’s identity, Femke knew that doing so could invite further trouble. She was unlikely to
find anything even in daylight, but to risk lighting lamps would be foolhardy in the extreme. No, it was time to leave. There would be time enough to puzzle through the conundrum once she was
safely tucked away in a quiet inn somewhere in the lower city.

Femke slipped out through a side door to the house. As she left, she heard sounds of multiple booted feet approaching the front of the house. The heavy thump of someone knocking at the front
door with a clenched fist sounded loud in the stillness of the night air. Her decision not to search the house looked to be the best choice she had made all day. Silent as a shadow, the spy closed
the door and slid around the rear of the house to seek another exit from the grounds. Fortunately there was plenty of shadow for her to use as cover. Femke’s body was still extremely stiff
and sore. It also occurred to her that with the shock of finding the Count, she had forgotten to clean up her face of the dried blood from her earlier escapades.

As an experienced spy, Femke knew that blaming the stress of the situation for mistakes was all very well, but it did not change the fact that she was still making crucial errors. So far she had
managed to improvise around those mistakes by using hidden skills, desperate tactics and a lot of luck. This was no way to progress if Femke was to solve the mystery and prevent the potential
diplomatic disaster that could easily ensue.

So much for Surabar’s trust, she thought grimly. He should have sent a proper diplomat. All I’ve done is cause mayhem. Why did I have to run? If I’d stayed at the Palace and
done what any normal diplomat would have done, then at least the situation wouldn’t have worsened. I seem to be attracting disasters like moths to a lamp.