The Blue Swan's nightly fare was not as elegant as that of the establishments closer to the castle, but it catered to people like Rory Callen, who held a third-level position with the Sunry ambassador to the capital of Euriday. To say that the job didn't pay well was an insult to the very idea of coinage.
Rory wasn't here for the money.
He wasn't here for what he learned in the next moment, either.
The man came up behind him, a slow walk, but he never slowed as he passed.
"The king is dead," the stranger whispered.
He did not slow. Rory kept eating, and that came from training. He ate the food, left a few coins for the pretty barmaid he would never see again, and headed out the door.
The night had gone dark, misty, and wet. Not a surprise since the weather hadn't changed much in the last five weeks we had been in residence. Autumn in Euriday was not a pleasant destination.
King Dumasin was dead. Prince Kellic would take the throne.
Kellic was a bad-tempered bastard who hated anyone from Sunry or those who sided with them. Rory needed to get to the Ambassador's suite, produce his proper credentials, pack the rest of the team up and get them out of the city before Kellic got control. No mournful bells were ringing yet. News of the King's death was not widespread, though that wouldn't last long.
Rory didn't head straight to the apartment building shared by many of the ambassadors, but he didn't linger anywhere, either. He took back streets and alleys he had already marked out as safer from patrols. He stripped off his fine silken jacket in the darkest corner and turned it inside out to show a far rougher weave. The breaches and boots were nondescript and easily mistaken for workman's clothing.
The gold and sapphire earing and ring went into a secret, well-padded pocket where they weren't likely to be found, except by tearing the jacket apart. He crumpled his hat and pulled off the hair tie. As long as he kept his hair pulled into a pig's tail, no one realized the purposefully uneven, badly cut style.
A rock in his boot forced him to limp. When Rory came out the other end of the alley, a few moments after going in, he was a different man.
He twice heard the word 'king' uttered in whispers at corners. News had begun to spread as he had expected. He once heard 'Kellic' with a snarl, which was heartening -- although he had no hope that meant anything good. Rory wove a slightly drunken limp here and there, never going too close to anyone to draw attention, but picking up a few whispers.
The eight bell tolled. Still just the time, and he wondered if his usually reliable contact had been mistaken this time? It seemed unlikely. Not on something this important. So he kept going, now no more than a few thousand steps from the building.
Something wrong.
Dark-cloaked men lingered at the front corners of the building and probably at the back as well. Another of their ilk stood at the entryway talking to the doorman, old Anton. The doorman leaned against the wall, slumped slightly, and quite obviously dead.
Rory took a slow step back, lingering at the edge of the sputtering gaslight. No sudden moves or noises as he retreated to the far side of the previous building, another apartment where many government workers lived. He heard normal sounds and even crossed paths with a man and his wife heading off for a late dinner.
"Go back," he warned softly, despite that he ought to have kept quiet. He feared they would head uptown and cross in front of Ambassadors' House, drawing unwanted attention. The man scowled at him. "Go, for your own safety. The King has died, and Prince Kellic's men are next door. You do not want to be a witness."
The man glanced toward the building. The woman caught his arm. "Back in," she whispered. "We have teacakes enough for tonight."
The man didn't argue, but he did put a hand on Rory's shoulder. "We've drawn attention. Come with us."
"But --"
"I thought we would meet at the Highroad Inn for dinner," the woman said. "Well, come on in, Yul. We can warm up and have a few drinks, and perhaps, if we're not too tipsy, head for dinner later. Or should we order something from the kitchen?"
"The kitchen," her husband said. "Yul has walked a long way already, and there is no reason to trot him up the hill to a mediocre meal."
She held his arm, and Rory dared not pull away and try to leave. Two of the guards were heading their way. Rory had probably saved them, and they did the same for him.
The doorman at their domicile was younger than Old Anton and gave them a curious look as they returned with such a scruffy person.
"Let none but those who belong here in after us," the man said. Rory recognized him now: Jamison, third son of the Lord of Landtrust and an undersecretary to the Minister of the military. He likely ranked high enough to be obeyed, too.
They went through the inner doors and up two flights of curving stairs in silence, drawing no attention. The two had moved to walk behind Rory, keeping him well in sight. Jamison had served in the army and learned something from it, too.
"This one," Keltina said. That was her name.
Rory stepped to the side and let Jamison open the door. He went in and stopped a couple steps inside, looking at the lovely, well-appointed entry room.
"Let me take off my boots. They're all mud," Rory said with a wave down at them. "Then I'll sit where you say and answer what I can."
Bells began to ring.The Blue Swan's nightly fare was not as elegant as the establishments closer to the castle, but it catered to people like Rory Callen, who held a third-level position with the Sunry ambassador's (something) to the capital of Euriday. To say that the job didn't pay well was an insult to the very idea of coinage.
Rory wasn't here for the money.
He wasn't here for what he learned in the next moment, either.
The man came up behind him, a slow walk, but he never slowed as he passed.
"The king is dead," the stranger whispered.
He did not slow. Rory kept eating, and that came from training. He ate the food, left a few coins for the pretty barmaid he would never see again, and headed out the door.
The night had gone dark, misty, and wet. Not a surprise since the weather hadn't changed much in the last five weeks we had been in residence. Autumn in Euriday was not a pleasant destination.
King Dumasin was dead. Prince Kellic would take the throne.
Kellic was a bad-tempered bastard who hated anyone from Sunry or those who sided with them. Rory needed to get to the Ambassador's suite, produce his proper credentials, pack the rest of the team up and get them out of the city before Kellic got control. No mournful bells were ringing yet. News of the King's death was not widespread, though that wouldn't last long.
Rory didn't head straight to the apartment building shared by many of the ambassadors, but he didn't linger anywhere, either. He took back streets and alleys he had already marked out as safer from patrols. He stripped off his fine silken jacket in the darkest corner and turned it inside out to show a far rougher weave. The breaches and boots were nondescript and easily mistaken for workman's clothing.
The gold and sapphire earing and ring went into a secret, well-padded pocket where they weren't likely to be found, except by tearing the jacket apart. He crumpled his hat and pulled off the hair tie. As long as he kept his hair pulled into a pig's tail, no one realized the purposefully uneven, badly cut style.
A rock in his boot forced him to limp. When Rory came out the other end of the alley, a few moments after going in, he was a different man.
He twice heard the word 'king' uttered in whispers at corners. News had begun to spread as he had expected. He once heard 'Kellic' with a snarl, which was heartening -- although he had no hope that meant anything good. Rory wove a slightly drunken limp here and there, never going too close to anyone to draw attention, but picking up a few whispers.
The eight bell tolled. Still just the time, and he wondered if his usually reliable contact had been mistaken this time? It seemed unlikely. Not on something this important. So he kept going, now no more than a few thousand steps from the building.
Something wrong.
Dark-cloaked men lingered at the front corners of the building and probably at the back as well. Another of their ilk stood at the entryway talking to the doorman, old Anton. The doorman leaned against the wall, slumped slightly, and quite obviously dead.
Rory took a slow step back, lingering at the edge of the sputtering gaslight. No sudden moves or noises as he retreated to the far side of the previous building, another apartment where many government workers lived. He heard normal sounds and even crossed paths with a man and his wife heading off for a late dinner.
"Go back," he warned softly, despite that he ought to have kept quiet. He feared they would head uptown and cross in front of Ambassadors' House, drawing unwanted attention. The man scowled at him. "Go, for your own safety. The King has died, and Prince Kellic's men are next door. You do not want to be a witness."
The man glanced toward the building. The woman caught his arm. "Back in," she whispered. "We have teacakes enough for tonight."
The man didn't argue, but he did put a hand on Rory's shoulder. "We've drawn attention. Come with us."
"But --"
"I thought we would meet at the Highroad Inn for dinner," the woman said. "Well, come on in, Yul. We can warm up and have a few drinks, and perhaps, if we're not too tipsy, head for dinner later. Or should we order something from the kitchen?"
"The kitchen," her husband said. "Yul has walked a long way already, and there is no reason to trot him up the hill to a mediocre meal."
She held his arm, and Rory dared not pull away and try to leave. Two of the guards were heading their way. Rory had probably saved them, and they did the same for him.
The doorman at their domicile was younger than Old Anton and gave them a curious look as they returned with such a scruffy person.
"Let none but those who belong here in after us," the man said. Rory recognized him now: Jamison, third son of the Lord of Landtrust and an undersecretary to the Minister of the military. He likely ranked high enough to be obeyed, too.
They went through the inner doors and up two flights of curving stairs in silence, drawing no attention. The two had moved to walk behind Rory, keeping him well in sight. Jamison had served in the army and learned something from it, too.
"This one," Keltina said. That was her name.
Rory stepped to the side and let Jamison open the door. He went in and stopped a couple steps inside, looking at the lovely, well-appointed entry room.
"Let me take off my boots. They're all mud," Rory said with a wave down at them. "Then I'll sit where you say and answer what I can."
Bells began to ring.
No comments:
Post a Comment