The Monster War: A Tale of the Kings' Blades (38 page)

“Of course. Sir Lothaire…Sister Emerald.”

“Sister?” Master of Rituals frowned. Then—“
Sister
?” He reared back in horror and fell flat on his back. His glasses flew off. “But tonight…you had to…they made you…”

“She insisted,” the older man said sadly. “I warned her, of course, but she saw it as her duty. Her courage is truly an inspiration.”

“Is it really?” she snapped. “Please get up, Sir Lothaire. I am here on His Majesty’s service, you understand. I need your assistance.”

He scrambled to his feet and kissed the fingers she offered. “My lady, you have only to ask! Admit…a surprise…never dreamed…” His face was scarlet. Gentlemen were not supposed even to
see
a lady’s knees.

“Do please sit.” She waved him to the settle. “Sir Saxon, show him the Chancellor’s letter.”

Grand Master pouted and went to the document chest.

While Master of Rituals was reading the letter through for the third time, holding it at the end of his nose, Emerald found herself struggling to stay awake. It had been a very hard day and the fire was hot. Here she was safe. Release of tension was having its effect.

Grand Master, who had been sulking on a stool, suddenly beamed and said, “And what else can we do to assist you in your inquiries, Sister? You have only to ask.”

She choked back a yawn while she considered asking him to jump off a high cliff. “I need to send an urgent letter to Lord Roland.”

The smile soured into suspicion. “One of the carters could take it to Blackwater and give it to the hostler there. He can find someone to take it on to Holmgarth and put it on the coach.”

“Would you be so kind as to send it under your seal? I did not bring my own, naturally.”

That was better—he would be able to read it and see that she was not tattling about him. He smiled, sickly sweet. “Or I might possibly persuade one of our penniless knights to take it directly to Holmgarth—even Grandon itself, if you will guarantee the costs. They welcome any chance to visit court again.”

“Very kind of you. I also need a safe place to sleep. This Brat is going to be
exceedingly
good at hiding.” Right here in front of his fire might be best of all.

Lothaire dropped the letter in his lap and began fumbling in pockets. “By the seven saving spirits! A remarkable document, eh, Saxon? Who’s this Princess Vasar?”

He was accepting the situation much better than his superior had. But he must be clever. When Blades in the Guard were knighted and released from their binding, they might sink into poverty and vanish, or they might rise to great honors, as Sir Durendal had done. Or anything in between. Lothaire had entered the College of Conjury and become a sorcerer.

“No idea,” Grand Master said. “Your glasses are on the floor by your foot.”

“Oh…thank you…What did you want to see me about?”

“He didn’t,” Emerald said. “I did. Unless you know of anyone missing from the hall tonight, I am satisfied that no Ironhall resident has been bespelled, at least so far. But I cannot yet certify that the buildings are harmless. You keep conjurements in your laboratory, Sir Lothaire. I sensed them as I went by.”

He blinked. “Enchanted bandages for first aid, until we can organize a healing. Nothing more.”

“There was more.”

“Oh?…nothing of any significance. Maybe the old books I brought from the College….”

He was lying, and that was a shock. Suddenly she was not sleepy.

“You will not mind if I examine them, as my duties require? The royal suite, Grand Master? I need to see in there. Upstairs in King Everard House, in the servants’—”

“The royal suite of course! But private quarters are private.” Grand Master had forgotten he was trying to be helpful. “A girl disguised as a boy prying around in men’s bedrooms? Think of the potential for scandal!”

“Then the King stays away.”

“You cannot wander in those places without attracting suspicion! The candidates never go into those areas! Especially the Brat.”

“Tush, Saxon!” Master of Rituals said soothingly. “A White Sister need not enter a room to know if it contains magic. Right, Sister?”

“As long as the room is not too large and I am only concerned with really dangerous enchantment. I can sense that from outside the door. Tell me about the towers.”

“Er, towers? Not much to tell, my lady.” He removed his glasses to breathe on them. “The four on the bath house are fakes. The four on First House…all different. This one contains a stairwell, is all, and the turret room above is Saxon’s bedroom. Right, Saxon? The Seniors’ Tower is similar, but it has only one door. Nothing inside except a stair up to the turret. Nobody sane goes up
there
and I can’t imagine anyone sane wanting to. Don’t suppose it’s been cleaned since my day. It had never been cleaned then.

“Mine…my tower?…The Bursar’s office on the ground floor…my lab above it, and the turret’s sometimes called the Observatory, for no reason. I keep junk in it. The fourth is called the Queen’s Tower. Don’t know why. Do you, Saxon?” He was lying again.

Grand Master said, “The ground floor room is Leader’s office when the Guard’s here. The room above is locked, and so is the turret room above that. They’re said…they were the royal quarters before Main House was built.”

“What’s in there now?” Emerald asked.

Grand Master laughed. “I can’t recall ever being in there. When I was elected I explored everywhere I could, but I could find no key to those rooms. The turret room windows are draped or shuttered. I have been meaning to break in, but I have never gotten around to it.”

“There’s sorcery in there.”

Both men looked skeptical.

“Can’t imagine how it got there.” Lothaire was lying again.

“I sensed it as I went by with Intrepid,” she insisted. “It’s faint and I think not threatening, but I need to inspect it more closely.”

“I shall have the door forced.”

“Don’t be hasty, Saxon,” Lothaire said hastily.

“I have to find somewhere to put this Princess Vasar. Normally I’d put her in the royal suite, but it sounds as if she will be here at the same time as the King.”

“Why not organize the sopranos to look for keys? They’re turning the place upside down anyway hunting for the Brat…. I may have a bunch of ’em around—keys, I mean. In the lab somewhere? Somewhere.” He was lying. She knew he was lying. He must know she knew. Whatever she had expected to find in Ironhall, it was not voluntary treason. “Sister, we cannot expose you to any more of this brutality. Saxon, I wish you’d get rid of that Servian brute…makes my flesh crawl. You need a refuge from the mob, my lady.”

“I certainly do.”

“How about the Observatory?…wonder if the rain’s stopped?”

She needed sleep, but work must come first. “Would the middle of the night be a more private time for me to inspect some of these confidential places?”

“Not without an escort!” Lothaire said firmly. “Ghouls haunt the night hereabouts, especially when there’s a new Brat around.” He rose. “Come, Sister. Saxon will lend us a lantern, and I will show you some Ironhall secrets.”

IT DID OCCUR TO EMERALD THAT SHE MIGHT BE crazy to go off into the night with a man she knew was lying. Yet Sir Lothaire’s lies did not reek as much of death spirits as they would if he were luring her into danger. Whatever he was plotting could not be murder.

He led her out through the corner door to the stair, curving around and upward until it reached two doors. One must lead to Grand Master’s bedroom. Her guide reached for the latch on the other.

“It’s narrow out here, Sister. Stay close to the wall, please.” He stepped out into moorland wind and a spray of mist. She followed, closing the door.

“Dark!” he said cheerfully. “Raining!” Even more unnecessary. “Wait a moment for our eyes…should have thought to borrow a cloak from Saxon for you.”

“That’s all right. Except I’m going to dribble soup all over your battlements.”

He chuckled. “Keep away from the edge. The crenels are too low.”

“Crenels?”

“The gaps you shoot through. The high bits you hide behind are called merlons. But even the crenels are supposed to be high enough to provide cover. These merlons are fakes—just pieces of wall. Any real archers out there could see all of you as you walked along the parapet…even your legs.”

“And if I take a wrong step I walk right through and fall?”

“That sums it up. Stay inside the merlons.”

She followed the sickly twinkle of his lantern. Once they were around the curve of the tower she no longer had its comforting stonework beside her, only lead-plated roof sloping down to ankle level. On her right was stone, slabs of masonry alternating with nothing, two stories of fresh air above the moor. She was glad that the overcast night was dark enough to hide the view.

“I take it the boys never come up here?”

“Never say ‘never’ in Ironhall.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Seniors’ Tower has no door out to the parapet, but a few maniacs have signed their names on the outside of it over the years.”

Emerald shuddered. Earth people like her were rarely good with heights. If Wart were here, he would be running along the merlons and turning cartwheels.

Lothaire himself was another air type, probably air-chance. He was inquisitive, cheerful, and disorganized. He might still be a very fine swordsman if he didn’t lose his glasses. She liked him and was inclined to trust him, in spite of his lies.

Soon she detected sorcery ahead and knew they were approaching the Observatory door. The lantern moved to the right and around the tower. A lock clattered.

Sir Lothaire had spoken truly when he told her he used the Observatory turret room to store junk. It was even more cluttered than the Records Office, with piles of boxes, books, barrels, pots, decaying bags, crumbling scrolls, all stinking to her of sorcery. The enchantments were so confused that she could not hope to identify individual spells. All eight elements were involved and yet death was the least noticeable. There was nothing deadly here.

“What is all this?”

“Hoping you could tell me, Sister. I brought some things from the College when I came…seems every Master of Rituals for centuries must have done the same. You think one day this place will just explode?”

“Or I will. I can’t possibly stay here tonight.”

“Oh, well…of course not,” he mumbled. “You see no threat to His Majesty?”

What she could see mostly was dust. Nothing had been moved in this garbage heap for years. “None.”

“Ah! And would you care to inspect my lab also?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, no…glad to be of—” Sir Lothaire disappeared through the floor.

In fact he went down a stair, but so steep and narrow as to be almost a ladder. Following, Emerald found herself in another hodgepodge dump of sorcerous junk, no tidier than the one upstairs and—curiously—almost as dusty. The healing magic racked her with waves of nausea, and she realized that she would never be able to tolerate a major healing.

“Something wrong, Sister?” Sir Lothaire inquired anxiously. He raised his lantern so his face was a gargoyle in the darkness.

“Too much spirituality, is all. I detect nothing that should alarm the Royal Guard.”

He sighed, undoubtedly with relief. “Good, good…. see what I came for…around here somewhere…”

A box of keys, she decided. That had been his most resounding lie earlier.

“Ah, got it…have a confession to make, Sister. Prefer…of course—I mean, you must do your duty—if possible…prefer you not mention this to Grand Master….”

“I am here only to defend His Majesty, Sir Lothaire. Unless you are committing treason or a major felony, I shall not—”

“Not
major
. Minor, perhaps…a minor theft, technically. When I came here from the College…brought, um, this….”

It looked like an egg carved out of ice. It bore a powerful aura of motion, of rushing water, turbulent air. She had met that before some-where…. Yes, on Master Nicely, the inquisitor.

“It’s what the Dark Chamber calls a golden key.” Even in the uncertain light, Lothaire was visibly blushing as he made this confession. “The College was trying to duplicate the enchantment. This was one of my final attempts…works quite well. Not as well as the originals…”

Emerald laughed as she saw the implication. “But quite adequate for Ironhall’s ancient locks? And what does lurk in the Queen’s Tower, Sir Lothaire?”

He sighed. “You’d better see for yourself. Can you remember the way from here?”

She flinched. “Can’t we go along the parapet?” The wolf pack must have abandoned the hunt by now. Why risk rousing it?

“Not unless you want to try it in the dark. The Queen’s Tower is visible from the yard, and I don’t like showing lights there.”

“You are not coming with me?”

He seemed puzzled by her reluctance. “I’ll follow in a few minutes. I have to round up some candles. Here, take my token, just in case.” He produced another lantern and lit it for her. “And the lantern…Even if there are people still wandering around, not everyone here is a baby hyena, Sister. Seniors and knights don’t stoop to bullying children.”

“I turn right. Down some steps. Left, right. Up stairs. Left. Right?”

“Yes. Well done. You go first. I’ll follow. If you are unlucky enough to run into the cannibals, I’ll chance by and conscript you to move books for me or something. That way they won’t guess we’re in cahoots.” He beamed encouragingly. He enjoyed finding complicated answers to simple questions.

It wasn’t far. She couldn’t possibly be unlucky enough to run into Servian, could she?

Nevertheless, her mouth was dry as she peeked out the lab door and ascertained that the coast was clear, the corridor dark. Holding her lantern high, she hurried off.

She arrived safely at the door she had passed with Intrepid. It was still locked; the faint odor of magic still lingered. She waited, looking back at the stairs. And waited, in steadily rising panic. She had thought the Master of Rituals was being honest with her, but perhaps in all that elemental racket she had misjudged him.

Eventually light appeared in the stairwell. It grew brighter. Only when it reached the top was she certain that Lothaire was the one carrying it. He beamed cheerfully at her as he approached, but she turned her face away, not wanting him to see how relieved she felt. He touched the icy egg to the keyhole. The lock clicked. They went in and closed the door.

He lit an extravagant number of candles so she could admire.

“These windows overlook the moor, you see…no one will notice. Wall hangings…silk…artists from Gevily…candlesticks must be gold—feel the weight of them!—mother-of-pearl inlay on the spinet…”

The room was small but most gorgeously furnished, even by palace standards. Its tapestries and carpets were exquisite. The furniture was long out of style and the mosaic ceiling even more so, but they were still beautiful and valuable, a lost treasure.

“This is the salon,” he said. “Through that door is the tower room. That was the lady’s dressing room, and her bedroom was in the turret above. Can’t show you those tonight.”

The suite had been shut up and forgotten for ages. The ever-curious Lothaire had found it with his magic key. But that was stolen property, so he had never told anyone about his discovery until now. He welcomed the chance to show it off and brag as if he owned it.

He had used it as if he owned it. His clutter was everywhere. The elegant escritoire was littered with scrolls and the carpet with discarded quills. The sorcery Emerald had detected came from a pile of boxes, most of which were still roped for transport. Rather than clean out his official quarters, he had moved his effects in here.

She perched carefully on a chair that looked as delicate as a spiderweb. “How could this have been forgotten?”

“After Main House was added, it wouldn’t have been needed. And the key was inside! There’s a key that fits the door lying right there in that drawer. All the others must have been lost. I suspect the last ruler to use it was Queen Estrith, a hundred years ago. Main House is older than that, but the gowns hanging upstairs are in the style of her time.”

Estrith had been deposed and died in the Bastion. She had never come back for her gowns.

The sorcerer squirmed and added, “There are some papers dating from her reign….” Which he had read, of course.

Emerald grinned at him. “But tomorrow Grand Master’s going to break down the door!”

He winced. “How can we stop him?”

“Easy! Do you really have old keys lying around your lab?”

“Sister, I have old
everything
lying around there.”

“Then put the key from that drawer in a bunch of others and hand it to Grand Master! I won’t tell, promise!”

Master of Rituals nodded sadly, looking around his secret chamber. “After I’ve tidied up here. I haven’t used the tower rooms at all.”

“I’ll help you move in the morning.” She had just condemned herself to several trips along the battlements. “Are there any blankets or covers upstairs?”

“Silk sheets, down-filled quilts!”

“No bats or rats?”

“Sister!” Master of Rituals protested. “We do not have rats in Ironhall! And no bats, unless you mean some of the old knights.”

Emerald sighed happily. “So tonight the Brat will sleep in the Queen’s bed!”