Imperial Spy (3 page)

‘I’m sure you’re right, your Majesty. Shalidar is renowned in certain circles for his abilities. He wouldn’t want loose ends. If Vammus had information about
Shalidar’s activities within the Palace, Shalidar would be sure to silence him. It looks a clear case of murder.’

Femke’s thoughts settled for a moment on her mentor. Lord Ferrand had hated Shalidar. The assassin had once been a colleague and close friend of his, but Shalidar had betrayed his
espionage training. He had traded his honourable status as a trusted spy for the gold that evil men were willing to pay for the hire of a professional killer. This had earned Ferrand’s
eternal enmity. Femke felt similarly betrayed. The mere thought of taking lives for money turned Femke’s stomach.

‘I thought you should be aware of this, as Shalidar might also consider you to be a loose end,’ the General added, watching her reaction closely. ‘The assassin appears to have
been party to Vallaine’s deception, though his choice to work with Commander Vammus was a strange one. Shalidar was clearly manipulating events here in the Palace to his own ends. You ruined
his plans so you’ll need to be very careful. I’ll have my men searching for him at every opportunity, but given the ease with which he penetrated my residence in the military district,
and his intimate knowledge of the Palace, you must remain alert.’

Femke was momentarily shocked. Becoming a target of the assassin had not occurred to her. They’d crossed one another several times over the last few years. Shalidar seemed to have fingers
in every pie. Femke had a strong suspicion he had killed one of her few true friends in the Palace a year ago. He had also dropped hints that he knew something about her mentor’s mysterious
disappearance the year before. Femke had expressed her distaste for him over time by annoying him whenever possible. This had brought little satisfaction, but had given momentary pleasure on
occasion.

Annoying an assassin was dangerous, but there was a certain protection offered by the Assassins’ Creed. All members of the Assassins’ Guild swore an oath never to kill for pleasure.
Killing was business. Now the situation was different, though. Femke had crossed the line from being a simple annoyance to interfering with Shalidar’s real business. He would not forget how
close her knife had come to hitting him, and he was unlikely to forgive her for ruining his chances of a prosperous future in the Palace. If Vammus had gained the Emperor’s Mantle, the
rewards for Shalidar would have been great. Femke developed a sudden, uncomfortable feeling between her shoulder blades as her mind came to grips with her vulnerability. It was difficult to prevent
the unconscious urge to roll her shoulders and relax the muscles, but she was determined not to let the General see her discomfort.

Once she had digested Surabar’s theory, her sense of reasoning began to assert a new hypothesis and the uncomfortable feeling subsided.

‘I’ll be safe enough for the time being,’ Femke said thoughtfully. ‘If Shalidar wanted to take his revenge then he would have struck quickly, as he did with Vammus. With
your troops scouring the city for him, Shalidar will make himself scarce for a while. If I were he, I would lie low for a few weeks until the hunt had diminished. Then I’d return and make my
hit.’

General Surabar considered Femke’s logic for a moment and shrugged.

‘You may be right,’ he admitted. ‘Still, it won’t hurt to take a few extra precautions. I don’t want you staying in the Palace. Go to whichever safe house in the
city you consider to be most secure. Report to me each day this week, but at a different time every day. I’ll write you a schedule, which should be kept between you and me. Do not enter or
exit the Palace through predictable gates. Keep your movements around the city random – I’m sure you know the drill.’

‘Thank you, your Majesty. I’ll be sure to be careful.’

‘I have it in mind to give you a special mission that should put you out of Shalidar’s reach for a while,’ the General added, his eyes going automatically to an immaculately
stacked pile of documents on his desk. ‘But I’ll explain that after my official crowning ceremony tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’ Femke exclaimed. ‘That will take the Nobles by surprise. They won’t anticipate a ceremony that soon.’

‘First rule of combat,’ Surabar grinned. ‘Keep the enemy on the back foot. If you can keep enemies off balance and unable to anticipate your next move, they’re always
going to be on the defensive. The ceremony will not only be tomorrow, but as a General of the Legions, I’ll ensure that the whole coronation is swamped by a heavy military presence. The
Nobles won’t be able to move without tripping over soldiers. I doubt that they’ll try anything stupid whilst I’m surrounded by hundreds of loyal troops.’

Femke laughed aloud. There were going to be some frustrated and flustered Noblemen at the ceremony tomorrow. There would not be an assassin in the Empire crazy enough to attempt a hit with this
lack of notice, in the presence of so many soldiers. The General’s tactics looked excellent, though he too would need to be careful for a while – at least until the more troublesome
Nobles were identified and either convinced of the soundness of his rule, or brought under control.

‘You appear to have everything in hand here, your Majesty,’ Femke said, mirth still evident in her voice. ‘You should know that the feeling on the streets of Shandrim about
your rise to power is very positive. You’re naturally being attributed with single-handedly foiling the plans of Lord Vallaine. I’m sure you’d find some of the wilder versions of
how you engineered his downfall amusing. More importantly, you have little to worry about from the general populace. There are many speculations as to what you’ll do about the recent plans
for city folk to be drafted into the Legions. And after our military defeat in Thrandor, people are curious to see how you will deal with the resulting diplomatic situation. After all, we were the
invaders. The people know that we cannot sit idly by hoping the King of Thrandor will forget our incursion. There will inevitably be reprisals unless something is done swiftly. Citizens seem
curious, rather than worried. It appears the people already have a certain degree of trust in your judgement.’

Surabar nodded, his eyes distant, as he considered the implications of her information. He drummed the fingers of one hand on the surface of the desk for a moment, but did not linger long on his
thoughts.

‘Anything else that I should know?’ he asked.

‘Nothing of particular interest, your Majesty. Do you have a mission for me today? Any rumours you would like me to start, or information that you’d like me to obtain?’

‘Nothing specific, Femke. Please continue to listen carefully to current rumours. I don’t think you need add to the speculation at the moment. I’ll start feeding information to
the people after tomorrow’s coronation. Rumour of the event will spread fast enough when the Nobles get their invitations this afternoon. Just be careful and lie low for now. I’d like
you to be at the ceremony tomorrow. Do you have suitable clothing to pass as a Noblewoman?’

Femke raised one eyebrow slightly and smiled. ‘Is the moon silver?’ she asked. ‘I’ll blend in, your Majesty. I’ve mixed with the Nobility before. I’m well
known to be the daughter of a country Lord from one of the coastal cities. There’ll be no problem with my attending.’

‘And are you the daughter of a Lord?’ Surabar asked with a smile. ‘I’m beginning to think nothing would surprise me about you, Femke.’

‘Not at all, your Majesty,’ Femke laughed. ‘But I enjoy playing the part.’

‘Good.’

The General pulled a piece of parchment from the desk drawer, dipped his quill into the inkpot and wrote down a list of times in a neat, bold hand. He passed it over the table to Femke.
‘Here you are. Commit it to memory and destroy it. Tomorrow’s meeting is in the evening to give you a chance to report on information from the ceremony. Try to get a feel for who
amongst the aristocracy will support my rule, and how fully.’

‘What time will the ceremony start, your Majesty?’

‘The coronation will begin at the second bell past midday. There are invitations for all the local Nobles. I got the list from one of Vallaine’s records. His paranoia has served me
well – apparently he was having most of them watched to some degree. Here’s an invitation for you as well. Who should I make it out to?’

‘I’ll be there as Lady Alyssa, your Majesty,’ Femke replied, smiling brightly with anticipation.

Surabar wrote the name onto the invitation and handed it to her. He watched her curtsy, turn and leave the room. He smiled as he considered the task he had in mind for her. Yes, he thought.
Femke will be perfect for the role. She’s younger than I’d like, but she’s more than sharp enough.

Femke spent that night in luxury. It made sense to be close to the Palace and she wanted to reestablish her identity as the spoilt daughter of a rich Nobleman, so she booked
into the Silver Chalice, one of the most expensive guesthouses in Shandrim. Before she did so, Femke made a quick side trip to change into appropriate clothing and to arrange delivery of some
luggage to the guesthouse later in the day.

Shandrim was an old city. It had been the capital of Shandar since before the great expansion of the Empire. The city centre had a few buildings that dated back centuries, but large areas had
been demolished and rebuilt when the present Imperial Palace was commissioned. The builders had used the opportunity to widen main streets, reducing the density of buildings and making the city
centre a lighter place. In contrast, the outer quarters of Shandrim had close-packed housing with dark, narrow streets. Criminal organisations flourished and competed, making the poorer sectors
dangerous to the unwary.

Femke knew every street and back alley intimately. Her network of informants and agents was extensive. Other contacts supplied her with safe houses and storage for her stashes of equipment and
disguises. The nearest of these held all she needed for her role as a Noblewoman.

A wig of dark hair, intricately curled and braided in an elaborate style, combined with careful make-up and exquisitely crafted clothing, changed Femke’s appearance so drastically that
none but those who knew her well would have recognised her. A carefully rehearsed haughty expression and a dismissive manner completed the disguise. Femke could not help but smirk as she surveyed
the results in the mirror.

Lady Alyssa was one of her favourite alter egos. Quite why Femke enjoyed playing the part of the attractive but obnoxious young Noblewoman so much, she could not say. The fact that Alyssa always
lived in luxury was part of the reason, though by itself this did not explain the attraction. Femke had often posed as other wealthy characters and enjoyed similar comforts. Perhaps it was the
secret enjoyment of seeing the outrage on others’ faces at Alyssa’s utter selfishness. There was something deliciously naughty about insisting that the owner of the Silver Chalice,
Versande Matthiason, bring Alyssa’s bags up to her personally, and demanding that Versande’s daughter serve as her personal maid for the duration of her stay.

The Silver Chalice was one of the oldest buildings in Shandrim, giving it character that was lacking in other expensive inns in the city centre. Her room was beautifully decorated and Femke
luxuriated in walking barefoot on the soft, thickly piled carpet. Everything about the room had been designed tastefully. The pictures of Nobles and horses blended with the rich, dark wood
furniture and the deep reds and greens of the carpets and curtains. The bedcovers were of a creamy white with beautifully embroidered flowers, giving the bed a fresh, inviting look. The sheets had
been perfectly pressed and folded with precision around the ample mattress.

It was hard to find things to complain about, but in her role as Lady Alyssa, Femke knew that it was both necessary and expected. Femke had Versande remove one of the pictures from the wall,
declaring that she found one of the gentlemen in it offensive, as he appeared to be smirking at her wherever she went. She also had him remove a vase of flowers that she described as vulgar. In
fact it was one of the most beautiful displays that she had ever seen, but Alyssa was renowned for her irritating nature and Femke was determined not to disappoint.

Versande did as he was asked without question, for he knew of Lady Alyssa’s reputation both for being a difficult guest, and for having a very deep purse. He was always willing to overlook
the nuisance factors and eccentricities of his guests when they paid well.

Femke relaxed in the luxury of her room and waited until the rest of the Nobility were sure to have received their invitations to the coronation. With a mischievous heart she kept up a string of
impetuous demands throughout the afternoon. It was easy to justify as character maintenance, but it was also deliciously enjoyable.

First she enjoyed a steaming hot bath, which naturally had to be at exactly the right temperature, requiring several adjustments with first hot, then cold and then hot water. After this she
dried herself with soft towels, which she insisted were pre-warmed. Then she ordered dahl and was delighted to receive a wonderfully aromatic brew served with warmed cakes and a generous helping of
whipped cream. Even Alyssa would have difficulty finding complaint with this, Femke decided, as she allowed the hot liquid of the dahl to dissolve the light cake on her tongue.

A gentle knock at the door sounded not long after she had finished, and the serving girl who had brought the dahl entered.

‘Was that to your satisfaction, my Lady?’ she asked shyly, her head down as she recovered the tray.

‘It was adequate, thank you,’ Femke replied haughtily. ‘Tell me, girl, do you have a dressmaker on the premises? I believe I’m going to need a new outfit for tomorrow, so
I shall require someone to make one for me tonight.’

‘A dress by tomorrow?’ the girl squeaked, a mixture of incredulity and horror in her voice. ‘I’m not sure there’s anyone here who could do that, my Lady. But
I’ll ask Father. Perhaps he will know of someone.’