Moonlight and Ashes (23 page)

His eyes flashed, and he stood up. ‘No, I can't believe that! I can't! It's just not possible. The Mancers would never dare touch a hair on the head of my son, I'm certain of it – certain! I'm
on
the Mancer Council, for God's sake! And how, if he really was in a Mancer prison, could he have possibly escaped? It's never been done before.'

‘Thankfully, a way was found, my lord,' I said, discreetly. ‘As to the rest, well, Max believes it wasn't an official Mancer operation – he believes it was done on the sly by rogue elements.'

‘What? Who?'

‘Think, my lord,' I said. ‘Think.'

‘I can't,' he said. ‘I don't understand.' But I had seen the expression that flashed in his eyes and I knew that he understood, that he had already suspected the truth.

‘A blanking order can only be authorised at the very highest levels. A rogue Mancer could certainly not do it, not even the General Secretary of the Mancers can do it. You know that, my lord.'

‘You are surely not saying that the Emperor –'

‘No. I do not think it was the Emperor. He has been as deceived as the Mancers. Count Otto, I know it was Prince
Leopold who forged his father's signature on the order and that it is
he
who is behind it all.'

There was a dead silence.

Then he said, slowly, ‘It can't be. The Crown Prince and my son – they are best friends. Close as . . . brothers . . . since childhood.'

I saw the knotting of his hands as he wrung them together. He was protesting, I thought, but it was no real surprise to him.

After a time, he said, ‘Why? It makes no sense. What has Max done to deserve –'

‘It's not what he's done, sir. It's what he
knows
.'

He jerked his head up and stared at me. ‘Whatever do you mean?'

‘Max knows something about Leopold – a secret so big and dangerous that the Prince is willing to kill him for it and to take the most enormous risks, like counterfeiting his father's signature on a blanking order.'

‘Max – Max told you this?' he quavered.

‘No, I worked it out for myself. But I know that's why he was worried for you. He'd hoped you'd believe the fairytale they told you about a secret mission and that you wouldn't ask awkward questions.'

‘Why, in God's name, would he think that?'

‘Because he was afraid that if you got even an inkling of the truth, you'd be in great danger too. That's why he didn't try to get back here, and why he hasn't tried to contact you.'

He swallowed, running a nerveless hand through his hair. ‘But he has changed his mind as he sent you here.'

‘No, my lord, he did not send me and he doesn't know I'm here. I just thought you needed to know.'

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘Thank you so much. I can't tell you how important this is to me. Oh, my poor son.'

‘He is very brave, my lord,' I said. ‘Brave and loyal and steadfast and true . . .' My throat thickened, for I'd had a sudden image of Max and all at once I missed him so much it was like a dagger thrust in my heart. ‘He is a real hero. A true prince of the heart, not like Leopold who is a prince only in name.'

He winced and I thought I'd gone too far. Then he looked at me shrewdly and said, ‘You love him, don't you?'

I swallowed. ‘Yes, I do. I love him very much. And he . . . he feels the same.'

‘I can see why,' he said. ‘You are the most unusual person I have ever met. And still I do not know your name.'

‘That is not important, my lord,' I said. ‘What matters is that I am a friend of your son.'

‘And of mine too, now, I hope,' he said, getting up. He walked around his desk and held out his hand. ‘May I hope for that?'

‘It would be an honour, my lord,' I said, and we shook hands. It felt like such a solemn moment, and yet like such a joyful one, too. The tears in my eyes were now as much of gladness as of sadness, for I no longer felt so alone.

‘Well, my dear friend, I think we cannot let things go on as they have. We need to help my son.'

I thought of telling him what I planned to do but two things stopped me: one, I was not sure if the shock Count Otto had already received would be stronger than the loyalty of a lifetime dedicated to the Emperor and his family; and two, I remembered the warning Thalia had given me at Dremda. I could not tell anyone about my
mission, no matter what happened. But I had to say something. ‘Yes, but what can we do? What do you suggest?'

‘I think we need to know what we are up against,' he said. ‘And for that we need some answers. We need to know what secret Leopold is hiding. I think I may have just the idea as to how we might be able to trick it out of him. Listen . . .'

His plan was bold but simple. Leopold would be asked to come that very day, in lieu of his ill father, to an urgent meeting at a hunting lodge Count Otto owned in the woods on the outskirts of the city. He'd be told that he was to meet an important representative of a foreign power, who had insisted on the meeting being kept strictly private. Leopold would then be taken to a room where one of Count Otto's most trusted servants, a man called Bastien, would play the part of the mysterious emissary, while Count Otto and I would be concealed behind a panel in the same room. Bastien would be briefed with a set of questions which were designed to flush out Leopold's secret without appearing to do so. What would happen afterwards, the Count said – whether we simply used the information as leverage over Leopold to ensure Max's safety, or revealed it to the world – would depend on what secret the Prince was concealing.

When I asked, Count Otto said that Leopold was unlikely to be suspicious about the meeting because, since his return to Faustina and the illness of his father, he'd had to deal with quite a few matters that the Emperor would normally have handled personally. ‘Besides,' he had said, with an ironic air, ‘he adores intrigue and thinks he has me thoroughly fooled, so why should he fear me in any way?'

This is how it was to be done: I was to go to the hunting lodge at once in Count Otto's carriage with a message for Bastien, and then I was to wait there. Count Otto, meanwhile, would go to Leopold's quarters and brief him in person about the meeting (less risky than sending a message). All going well, they would be at the lodge within an hour or two. As soon as they arrived, I would conceal myself in the meeting room, to be joined by Count Otto shortly after Leopold was introduced to ‘the emissary' who'd be waiting in the drawing room. Both would be taken to the meeting room when we were out of sight. It all depended on ifs and buts and a good sense of timing. But there was a hardness to Count Otto now, a steely purpose in his eyes, that made me feel that this plan would work. The man of action and power was back, I thought, and Leopold had made a formidable enemy. But he didn't know it, not yet, and therein lay our chance.

But as I sat in the Count's carriage a few minutes later, it had suddenly become more than a chance to learn Leopold's secret. Why shouldn't I kill him today at the meeting? The audience had always been a big risk, with
all those people. But it had been a risk I'd been willing to take as I'd thought there was no other way of getting to the Prince. Now there was another way, I felt I had to take it.

I had to retrieve my weapon from the hotel and bring it with me. I would not tell the Count I had it, of course. Nor would I tell him of my intentions. I'd take them all by surprise and it would be done before they even knew what was happening.

I asked the driver to stop near the Hotel Bella, telling him I wanted to be sure we weren't being followed, and ran all the way to the hotel, where I got to my room without attracting attention. I unlocked the desk, tore open the box, and threw the dagger in my bag. Then I slipped out again and was back in the carriage in no time.

Alone in the carriage, I took out the dagger from my bag and looked at it. The scabbard, with its fine chasings, gleamed in the dimness of the carriage like a silver shaft of moonlight. I took off a glove and carefully drew the blade out. Made of fine tempered steel, with a silver hilt, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship. And wickedly sharp, as I learned to my cost when the knife slipped a little in my hands and nicked a finger, drawing blood. Sucking the finger to stop the bleeding, I awkwardly replaced the blade in its scabbard and was about to put it back in the bag when I suddenly remembered that I still had a leaf in there. I could not risk it touching the dagger for any length of time. Because, if I was right about how the magic worked, it might somehow pick up on my half-buried qualms and pull the rug out from under me by changing the dagger in some unexpected and unwelcome way at the wrong moment.

I could not hide the knife in my clothes, for it might drop out at any moment, so instead I withdrew the leaf from my bag and tucked it securely under the cuff of my sleeve. I put the dagger back in the bag, padding it out a little with strips torn from the hem of my petticoat. I wrapped my bleeding finger with another strip of cloth and put my black gloves back on, then sat for the rest of the journey with the bag on my lap, nervous as anything, but glad for it would all be over soon.

Once we'd left the city boundaries, it was only about ten minutes before we reached the hunting lodge. We weren't far from the bustling streets of Faustina, but we might as well have been in another world, I thought, as the carriage drew up in front of a large, but simple, two-storey house made of weathered pine. There were a few outbuildings scattered around: a stable, a henhouse, a shed – all set in the middle of a deep, green wood. The air was fresh and clean, and all was quiet, with only the occasional birdsong breaking the silence. There was not a soul in sight and, for an instant, I felt uneasy.

The driver smiled at me and said, ‘I expect the servants are having a nap – they'd not be expecting anyone,' then marched up to the front door and knocked. Moments later, a servant came to the door, a small hard-looking man with a face that looked as though it had been carved out of rock. The driver told him I had been sent by Count Otto, that I had a message for Bastien, and that I was to be afforded every comfort while I waited. Then he tipped his hat at me and went off back to Faustina to pick up the Count and the Prince.

The servant silently ushered me into the house to a sitting room where a fire burned brightly. I took off
my bonnet and gloves and looked around. It was a cosy, welcoming room, with good armchairs, a fine rug, and a portrait above the fireplace that was not of the imperial family but Count Otto's own. There was Max, aged about eleven or twelve, standing next to a younger-looking Count Otto behind an armchair on which sat a dark-haired woman of a delicate, almost frail, beauty. This must be Max's mother, I thought. Startled, I realised something I should have noticed before. Max had never spoken of her to me – not once. He had spoken of his father but not of his mother. And the Count had not mentioned her either, which probably meant that she was not there any longer; that, like me, Max was motherless.

But on Andel's boat, I'd told him about my mother's death and what had happened after. He had hugged me and comforted me. And yet he had not said a word about his own loss at a time when, surely, it would have been natural to tell me. It was strange and a little disturbing. But there must be an explanation, I thought. Perhaps he had not been close to his mother. Or perhaps she had died a long time ago and it no longer affected him. Or he had simply not wanted to intrude on my own grief and troubles. But none of it seemed particularly plausible when I thought of the Max I knew.

‘Good day, Miss,' said a voice behind me. I turned to face a tall man dressed all in black, with greying hair cropped short and steady green eyes. ‘My name is Bastien. Will you please come with me?'

Still clutching the bag under my shawl, I followed him to another room. It was a small, pleasant dining room with a window looking out across the woods. Its panelled walls
were plain except for the fact that halfway up they were painted with a faded, but still pretty, frieze in a pattern of flowers and leaves, and here, too, was a fire burning in the grate. The table was set for one, and there was a sideboard on which reposed platters of cold meat, cheese, fruit and bread. There was also a carafe of what looked like freshly made lemonade.

‘Count Otto thought you might be in need of refreshment while you wait,' said Bastien. He closed the door behind him, and added, ‘As this is the room where the meeting is to be held, I am also to show you where you must conceal yourself when the time comes.'

He pressed a spot in the wall closest to the sideboard, and the panel instantly slid across to reveal an opening.

‘To close it again, you just need to push the lever inside. You also use it to get out again. Watch.' He stepped into the opening, and touched a lever set into the wall inside. At once, the panel began to close. He pushed the lever again and the door opened. ‘Is that clear, Miss?'

‘Yes. But is there a way to see what's going on in this room from there?'

‘Of course. Take one of those stools over there and I will show you.'

I obeyed and stepped into the opening with him. Beyond was a dusty space about as big as a fairly large wardrobe, certainly enough to conceal two people. Bastien took the stool and placed it against the wall.

‘Climb up here, Miss,' he said. ‘See the raised knot of wood to your right, there? Press it.'

I did, and the knot of wood slid up to reveal a hole about the size of a small plum. It was closed off at one end by some gold-coloured glass.

‘Put your eye to it, Miss,' Bastien instructed.

I did, and saw that though the scene outside was bathed in yellow light, I could see clearly into the room.

‘From the outside it just looks like part of the frieze, like the coloured heart of a large daisy. Nobody has ever spotted it.'

‘It's so clever,' I said in genuine admiration.

Bastien shrugged but looked pleased. He ushered me back into the dining room, closed the panel, and said, ‘Now, Miss, if that is all clear to you, I will leave you here in peace to enjoy your meal. I will be back in a short while.'

And he went out, closing the door behind him. I experimented a couple more times opening and closing the secret panel, and looking out through the peephole before sitting down to a very hearty meal, suddenly as hungry as a wolf and as thirsty as a desert.

Time passed. Bastien came back and cleared the table while I went back to the sitting room. I tried to read for a while but the books on Count Otto's shelf were not very interesting and even if they had been, I doubt I would have been able to concentrate. It wasn't just my nervous tension. In the warmth of the sitting room, my heavy meal was making me feel a little sleepy, though I tried hard to fight it. I opened a window, breathed in the fresh, cool air, and paced up and down the room, trying not to think too much. But nothing seemed to work. And then, just as I thought I would have to give in and lie down on the sofa for a few moments, the door opened and Bastien came in.

‘The carriage is approaching the house,' he said. ‘It's time.'

He looked quite different, dressed in smart travelling clothes: a grey suit under a silk-lined grey coat that made him look every inch the diplomat. From his hand dangled a black silk mask. He saw me glance at it and smiled.

‘Count Otto's idea. A mysterious foreign emissary should want to conceal his identity till he is face-to-face and alone with the one he has come to see.'

I smiled back. Count Otto was no fool. Hiding my bag under my shawl, I quickly followed Bastien back into the dining room, now set for two, but much more elegantly than it had been for me, with silver cutlery, crystal glasses and a vase of flowers atop a snowy white tablecloth. I only just had time to glance at it before Bastien pressed the panel to let me into my hiding place. He handed me a handkerchief.