Imperial Spy (27 page)

‘Clever, isn’t it?’ Femke said with a grin. ‘The outer door must be closed and the concealed button pressed in order for the real Treasury door to open. What thief would
step into an empty room with no obvious route onwards and then close the door behind him? None that I know.’

‘But how did you know what to do?’

‘Let’s say I had a bit of “inside” help,’ Femke replied with a chuckle. ‘Come on, don’t stand there gawping. Less than a minute ago it was you urging me
to hurry up. Bring the rucksack and let’s pack what we came for. Don’t take anything we don’t need. A couple of thousand gold pieces will do nicely. If we take them from the right
places, they’ll be unlikely to notice it missing.’

It was a bold statement, and Femke quickly realised that it was also wrong. Two thousand gold crowns was a lot of coins. They were never going to be able to conceal the fact it had gone. As soon
as they realised the futility of attempting to conceal the theft they began simply scooping coins into the bag until Femke estimated that they had enough.

‘OK, that should do it. Let’s get out of here while the going’s good,’ Femke ordered.

Danar did not question her this time. He swung the now heavy pack up onto his shoulders and raced back out into the empty room. Femke found the secret button again to close the hidden door and
then reopened the metal door back out into the guard corridor.

To their relief, the corridor was still empty, aside from the two cloth piles containing the small glass vials. Femke swung the metal door closed and paused for a moment, torn by indecision.
Personal pride made her want to lock the door. For a moment, pride and practicality warred within her. Practicality won the day. They did not have an infinite amount of time to play with, so she
put aside her desire for neatness and concentrated on getting them out of the Palace safely.

‘Danar, stand still whilst I repack the vials,’ she ordered. ‘I’m not leaving them behind.’

Danar quickly jammed the burning torch he was carrying into a spare wall bracket and then held as still as he could, barely daring to breathe as Femke picked up the glass vials from where he had
stacked them a little earlier.

Femke put first the blue vials and then the green vials back into the rucksack, taking care to place plenty of cloth over the gold coins and a thick barrier of cloth between the two types of
vials. However, rather than put all the vials inside, Femke kept back one vial of each colour, which she held, one per hand.

‘An insurance policy,’ she said with a slight shrug, as Danar noted what she had done. ‘I’ve also left the top of the rucksack unfastened, so don’t fall over.
Falling could prove messy. Come on, time to go.’

They moved swiftly to the end of the corridor. Femke pressed her ear to the door to see if she could hear anything outside. Nothing was discernible so she cautiously opened the door a crack and
peered out. The corridor was empty as far as she could see. With gritted teeth, Femke opened the door a little further and checked the other direction. Again, all was clear.

‘Looks like Reynik’s diversion is working well,’ Femke murmured softly to Danar as she stepped out into the corridor.

Danar had barely stepped through the doorway when a group of Royal Guards emerged from a side corridor some distance towards the front of the Palace. One glance told Femke that two of them were
the guards she and Danar had replaced.

‘That’s them, Captain. Hey, you! Stop where you are!’ one of the guards shouted.

‘I thought this was too good to be true,’ muttered Femke through clenched teeth. ‘Got your mask handy like I told you? Get it on. Things are going to get messy. Don’t
watch me – go that way. Now!’

Danar fumbled in his pocket for his mask and started off along the corridor. Femke did not wait to see if he had done as he was told. Instead, she took a couple of deep breaths and marched
purposefully towards the oncoming guards, who were now approaching at a run with their weapons drawn. Holding the second breath, Femke raised her hands high above her head and threw the two glass
vials to the floor in front of the oncoming soldiers. Hurled with such force, the glass vials smashed instantly, despite the thick pile of the carpet. The coloured powders mixed.

Femke turned her head away and grabbed her own mask from where she had tucked it into a pocket. There was a short hiss, followed by a loud whooshing noise as the corridor filled instantly with
billowing clouds of acrid blue smoke. Femke whirled and ran down the corridor after Danar, putting her mask on as she ran. Twice she ricocheted off walls as she blindly sprinted forward until she
burst out of the edge of the cloud. As Femke found clear air she discovered that Danar was not far ahead of her. Behind her, muffled by the still expanding cloud of thick smoke, the sound of men
retching told her there would be little pursuit from that direction for a while.

‘Danar!’ Femke called through her mask. ‘Danar, stop. Let me grab another couple of vials.’

‘Shand alive, Femke! What in the name of all that’s holy is that stuff?’

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know,’ she replied. ‘Got ’em. Come on, we need to stay ahead of the cloud. Take off your mask, but keep it in your hand. Be ready to
put it back on again if I tell you. If we meet anyone on the way out, it would be better if we bluff. I don’t want to use any more of this stuff than I have to.’

Femke took off her own mask. With a quick glance back at the swirling mass of smoke still expanding along the corridor, she set off through the Palace at a steady run in the direction of the
servants’ exit. They encountered a couple of servants along the way, whom Femke advised against heading towards the middle of the Palace.

‘I think someone has tried to assassinate the King with poisoned gas,’ she gasped. ‘Alert everyone to look out for intruders. We’re going to secure the servants’
exit.’

Danar simply followed in Femke’s wake, watching with an ever-growing respect as she manipulated people with bold, directive orders and statements. Servants, courtiers, and other Royal
Guards all followed her orders, simply because they could not resist her powerful, authoritative supervision. With Femke’s bold bluffing, they raced through the Palace with ease until they
were within sight of the servants’ gate.

Femke saw the crowd of guards at the gate and instantly recognised trouble. Someone with sense had reasoned that with insurrection at the main gate, there was the possibility of further trouble
at the secondary gate. As a result, a whole section of men had come to augment the regular guards.

Femke’s initial estimate placed the head count around twenty. Worse than that, there was a sergeant amongst the guards. His eyes narrowed with suspicion the moment he saw the two of them
running towards him. Femke did not slow down, but continued to lead Danar at a run towards the gate until they were almost on top of the main group of guards.

As she got to within about ten paces of the front guards, Femke simply yelled ‘MASK!’ at the top of her voice and hurled the two vials in her hands at the feet of the soldiers. The
tinkling smash of the glass was followed by the same hiss and whoosh that Danar had experienced in the corridor earlier. This time, however, he did not react fast enough. Before he had a chance to
get his mask on, he was engulfed in thick, blue smoke.

Danar did not inhale much of the noxious gas, but even a little was enough to incapacitate him instantly. Nausea gripped him and before he knew it, the young Lord was doubled over and vomiting
helplessly. Any thought of getting the mask into place dissipated instantly as the gas entered his system and overthrew his control of bodily functions. Danar struggled in vain to regain a measure
of control over his stomach, as more and more of the smoke entered his lungs.

It took a few moments for Femke to realise Danar was no longer following her. As she threw the vials down, Femke had taken a deep breath and held it for the second or two required to get her own
mask in place. Then, with the cloud growing rapidly, Femke bowled into the guards and scattered them like a runaway cart hitting a fruit seller’s stall. The combination of the smoke’s
incapacitating effect and Femke’s lightning fast fists, elbows, knees and feet cracking into the guards was devastating. The entire party of Royal Guards were rendered helpless within a
matter of seconds.

Because the powders had mixed in open air this time, rather than in the confined space of the Palace corridor, the cloud dispersed quickly, rising into the evening air in a great billowing
plume. So as soon as Femke realised that Danar was not following, she turned and saw him through the thinning blue smoke, doubled over and firmly in the grip of the smoke’s pernicious
effects.

‘Damn!’ she swore, her expletive muffled by the cloth mask.

There was not a moment to lose. More guards could arrive at any time. It was obvious that they could no longer make a slick getaway with Danar unable to stand straight, let alone run. All she
could do was to help him out through the gate and hope to drag him away before more guards appeared.

Femke ran back and grabbed one of Danar’s arms, wrapping it around her neck. Then, with strength born of desperation and a flood of adrenalin, Femke all but carried the young Lord out
through the servants’ gate and into the street. Reynik suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, taking up position on the other side of Danar. Between them, they whisked him away from the Palace
and into the increasing gloom of the approaching night.

In the distance, Femke could hear chanting and a babble of angry voices, which she assumed was the demonstration in front of the main Palace gates. As soon as she could, Femke ripped off her
mask with her spare hand and cast it aside.

‘Can I assume you got what we needed?’ Reynik grunted, as they pulled Danar into a quiet side street.

‘You can assume away,’ Femke replied in a voice that brimmed with success. ‘We’re all set for the next phase.’

The Emperor had hardly left Shandrim before Lord Kempten started to get trouble from the more senior of the old-school Lords. The first delegation came to see him before the
day was out. Lord Veryan led the party of five in through the study door and made it quite clear he was their spokesman.

‘So, Kempten, old man, why did Surabar leave
you
in control? I thought you were opposed to his ascension to the Mantle.’

‘That I was, Veryan. In fact I’m still not totally convinced by him, though my respect for the General is rising. What’s your point?’ Kempten replied, instantly roiled to
the core by the snide tone of his fellow Lord.

‘We’re here to organise the takeover of Shandar. With Surabar away and power transferred to you, the Legions are no longer on his leash. It will be easy enough to install a true
Emperor before the pretender returns from Thrandor.’

‘Treason, Veryan, is treason. If you want to hang for it, then go ahead, but I’ll not stand for any such nonsense whilst
Emperor
Surabar is away. He made me Regent in his
absence. I intend to see his Empire is waiting for him when he returns.’

‘Really, Kempten?
Emperor
Surabar, is it? Come; do tell us. How did he buy you? Did the offer of power as his right-hand man win you round? Was the promise of being Regent enough to
win your soul? Or were you always a secret radical, desiring to give power to the common people?’

Kempten looked at Veryan with contempt. As he scanned the faces of the other Lords, he recognised the same blinkered mentality in each of them. There was little point in trying to negotiate with
them. They were as open to change as a rich merchant was to opening his purse for a beggar. Talk would get him nowhere. He needed to show them the door swiftly, before they prompted actions
everyone would regret.

‘Emperor Surabar didn’t bribe me, Veryan. Nobody was more surprised than I when he made me Regent. I don’t know why he chose me. I do know he’s aware of
my
flirting with treason against him, but I’ll not stain my Noble birth-name further by breaking the trust he’s shown. He has honoured my house. He
is
Emperor. He made
me
Regent. Those are the facts. Now, gentlemen, if you don’t have any further business, then I suggest you leave.’

A nod to the guards who had remained in the room was enough. They stepped forward and placed their hands upon their sword hilts. This was more dramatic than Kempten had wanted, but it was
effective.

For a moment, Lord Veryan and his companions did not move. They simply stared at Lord Kempten with a mixture of fury, disbelief and disgust in their eyes. Then, after a moment that appeared to
hang in the air for ever, Veryan turned and led the others out of the Emperor’s study.

‘Shand alive!’ Kempten breathed as the door closed behind them. ‘If Surabar has to cope with that sort of attitude every day, it’s no wonder he’s not interested in
keeping the Mantle. I sure as hell wouldn’t.’

‘Psst! Ambassador Femke? Are you awake?’

Ennas was lying on the narrow bunk with his back to the door and his solitary blanket drawn around him as he always did when he heard the guards change over. The oncoming guard always opened the
little window at the door to check on the prisoner. It was part of the handover procedure.