Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Page 26

‘Of course. Did you find the evidence you sought?’

  ‘The Gonk does not fail.’ He raised his teacup with a frown. ‘However, the Gonk was not entirely successful on this occasion.’

  ‘Stop wasting my time and get to the point.’

  He nodded and mumbled an insincere apology. ‘I obtained proof that the Royal Spymaster ordered the assassinations, but my enquiries did not lead to the purpose behind them. It may be enough for the king to investigate further, but does not in itself prove a plot.’

  The tables were beginning to fill up with patrons, and Katarina heard a couple occupy the table directly behind her. She chose her words carefully. ‘You would still like me to proceed and honour the agreement?’

  He had seen them too, and followed her lead, avoiding words that might draw unwanted attention. ‘I think it best.’

  ‘Very well. All of my people are accounted for,’ Katarina said. ‘None remain, ah, active. It seems they were all found.’

  ‘I suspected as much, but thank you, my lady.’

  ‘And the identity of the man who ordered the activity – you have his name?’

  The Gonk nodded. ‘Lord Bannas Relton, a sycophant and puppet.’ He smiled. ‘He was clearly part of a plot, but left little evidence.’

  Katarina leaned forward. ‘Was?’

  He shrugged. ‘After getting confirmation I carried out a search of his office. It, ah, didn’t go quite according to plan.’ He brightened. ‘But I did get a few answers, albeit nothing I could take to the king.’

  ‘I am sure my father will be grateful.’

  ‘Then he should be doubly grateful: it was Relton who interrupted my search.’ The Gonk smiled. ‘We had an interesting conversation before he… visited his ancestors.’

  Katarina raised an eyebrow. ‘Visited his ancestors?’

  ‘He called out at a rather inopportune moment and I was loath to leave him at my back.’

  Idiot! Katarina took a moment to compose herself. ‘And what did you learn?’

  ‘Three names, a triumvirate of betrayers. Two of them died under unpleasant circumstances last night.’

  ‘Unfortunate, I suppose. And the third?’

  ‘The third is the mastermind behind it, the most powerful and most heavily guarded lord in Meracia.’ He paused, as if waiting for Katarina to say something. ‘Lord Fel Drayken.’

  ‘I know who he is,’ she snapped.

  ‘I find it strange that the three lords most opposed to Meracian forces defending the Spur should all be closely connected to the Royal Spymaster. I find it especially odd that the very day you revealed your suspicions to me two of them died. One could almost believe you took a late night stroll around town last night – or perhaps your man?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Katarina lowered her voice. ‘The homeland does not consider this to be any concern of ours.’

  ‘You mean your father doesn’t.’

  ‘They are one and the same.’

  The Gonk gave a slight shrug. ‘I also found some interesting orders for the Spymaster from Drayken.’

  Katarina just stared at him, willing him to stop making the most of having an audience. It was the kind of stare that even Stetch might find discomforting, but the Gonk seemed unaffected. ‘Drayken commanded Relton to despatch every man under his command to find and kill the Knight of Angels, presumably as payback for the death of Drayken’s son. What interests me though is that a man seen fleeing one of the dead lords’ estates last night sounds very much like the same man.’ The Gonk’s expression remained carefully neutral. ‘I understand you spent some time in his company during your recent visit to Norve?’

  Katarina sagged. ‘I told him not to go after them, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘It’s as well he didn’t,’ the Gonk replied with a puzzled frown. ‘The King has forced the Lords’ Council to a vote on the war, and those three are the most vocal opposition to the king’s will.’ His eyes carefully searched her face. ‘There never was a plot to kill my king, was there? Instead, the scheme I uncovered is perhaps an even greater threat to Meracia. You could have told the Gonk.’

  ‘I was not sure,’ Katarina said in a small voice. ‘I thought St—Tol – mistaken. I could scarcely imagine such treachery – and it was still possible you were correct, although I admit that two concurrent plots seems unlikely.’

  The Gonk drained the rest of his tea and refilled it from the pot. ‘It’s worse than I could have imagined,’ he muttered. ‘Why would they do it?’ he asked as he replaced the teapot. ‘What do they possibly stand to gain from such treason?’

  ‘Power, I should imagine.’ Katarina refilled her own cup with the last of the tea. ‘Perhaps he would rather be king of a conquered land than lord of a free one. Did you find enough evidence to indict Drayken?’

  His lips curled in frustration. ‘Enough to unsettle the Lords’ Council, enough to sow doubt and warrant further investigation. But not enough to condemn the man. Your knight needs to finish what he started: the third lord must die – and it must be before the vote tomorrow.’

  Katarina shook her head and tried to fight back the tears. ‘No.’ Steven is dead or dying, he’s not going to help anyone.

  ‘Child? What’s wrong?’

  Katarina fought to compose herself. She straightened up and took in a few breaths until she trusted herself to speak. ‘Two of your friends found him last night as he returned.’ I will not blub like a child. ‘The idiot saved an innkeeper and got cut by a poisoned blade for his troubles.’

  ‘Hanwell root?’

  Katarina nodded.

  ‘I am sorry.’ To his credit, the Meracian spy did actually sound regretful. ‘The documents I brought must reach the king; we must hope it is enough to question Drayken’s loyalties and sway the vote.’

  Katarina wiped a tear from her eye and nodded. ‘You have my word.’

  ‘Good, ah, that’s good, Lady Katarina, but we are facing a small setback. Don’t look round, but it seems that one of my fellow problem-solvers has tracked me down.’

  Katarina picked up her teacup and frowned over its lip at the annoying man. ‘Don’t look round?’ Do you take me for a fool? And what do you expect when you murder their master?’

  ‘The Gonk apologises.’

  ‘Apologise away, but it’s not going to help with the other two lurking behind you but,’ Katarina leaned forward, ‘don’t look round.’

  He ignored the jibe, sipping thoughtfully at his tea. ‘An interesting problem,’ the Gonk offered. ‘We must find some way to hand over the evidence which escapes their notice and does not arouse suspicion.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps if I was to lean over and paw at your breast? We could use the distraction to pass the documents under the table.’

  ‘Yes,’ Katarina agreed, ‘I suppose me stabbing you in the eye would distract them.’ She waited for this to sink in and then said, ‘Now, why don’t you slip the evidence under your palm and place it on the table and I’ll take care of the rest.’ She raised a finger and jabbed it towards him. ‘How dare you suggest that!’ She lowered her voice as her open palms came down with a smack to the tabletop. ‘Left or right hand?’ she hissed.

  His eyes darted left, his head twitching in that direction too. Katarina rose to her feet and took a small step to her right. She leaned forward, left hand encroaching onto the Gonk’s side of the table, a couple of inches from his right. Katarina raised her right hand, bouncing her finger back and forth in front of his face.

  ‘You despicable man,’ she shrieked. ‘I’ll have no more of your lies!’ Katarina drew her right arm back and brought her open palm scything down across the Gonk’s left cheek. ‘No more!’ she screamed in his face, and as his hand slid off the folded documents her left palm dropped over it, drawing the evidence back towards her as she stood straight. ‘It’s over.’ She scooped up the proof as everyone nearby turned their attention to them. ‘Go back to your whore,’ she shouted, turning on her heel and rounding the table back to the waiting road, all eyes for fi
fty yards following her progress.

  That’s how you do a handover without being noticed. It didn’t hurt that the Meracian spy would have a pink handprint on his face for the next bell or so.

  She heard footsteps behind her.

  All I have to do now is get back to the Ninety-Third Passage alive.

  *

  Katarina walked down the road with an itch on the nape of her neck. Somewhere behind her at least one of the Meracians was likely following. She couldn’t look back; that would reveal she knew of the pursuit. Instead, she maintained a steady pace as she left the cluster of tea rooms behind. All she could think of was the poisoned dagger the man carried; one had already taken Steven, would she be the next victim?

  A dark shape loomed over her right shoulder, one calloused hand gently cupping her elbow and propelling her along.

  ‘Walk,’ Stetch grunted. ‘Don’t look back.’

  ‘There were three watchers.’ A brief cry went up behind them, and Katarina fought the urge to turn, Stetch’s steady presence alone keeping her moving forward. He leaned in close, a faint hint of ale and seawater on his breath.

  ‘Two now,’ he whispered.

  Katarina didn’t feel bad at all about that.

  38.

  ‘Katarina?’

  ‘Tol?’

  He forced his eyes open, and Tol found himself back in his room at the inn. Was that really just a dream? he wondered. It had seemed too real, too strange. It had felt terrifying, but deep down Tol knew he – or at least his mind – had travelled to Heaven, and he had communed with Kalashadria, seen through her eyes.

  ‘You’re a—awake!’

  A figure was hovering over him, and Tol’s blurred vision picked out a mane of long blonde hair dangling over his chin. ‘Vixen?’ He blinked and the image swam into focus; it really was his childhood friend. ‘What happened?’ He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the effort was too great and even the slightest movement sent tendrils of pain slithering through his body.

  ‘You were poisoned,’ Vixen said. ‘Hanwell root, she said it was called. She said few survived but I knew you would. The dagger,’ Vixen explained, ‘all the Meracians use poisoned daggers.’ Finally, she paused for breath, receding from Tol’s vision as she stood straight. ‘You had me worried… You remember what happened? The two assassins who caught you at the door as you returned?’

  Tol tried an experimental nod from his prone position. ‘I remember,’ he croaked, and as he saw the relief wash across his oldest friend’s face Tol realised she had been worried he had lost his memory. Vixen’s face was still etched with worry lines even now, and she looked to have slept in the chair next to his bed. How close was I to dying? The thought made him shudder.

  Vixen took a deep breath, and Tol watched as the worry began to recede from her face. ‘You had me worried,’ she repeated. ‘Can you sit up?’

  With Vixen’s help he managed to get himself upright and leaned back against the wall, sweating from the effort. Vixen passed him a mug of water and Tol drank greedily, half-choking as he poured too much down his gullet.

  ‘How long?’ he asked between gulps.

  ‘Less than a day,’ Vixen said. Her eyebrows knitted together as she frowned at him. ‘I thought you were done for, the others did, too. You were so pale, and feverish.’ There was a question lurking in her eyes, and Tol willed her not to ask it. His friend seemed to understand – even after so many years apart. ‘You are sure you’re not crippled? You can move?’

  Tol handed her the empty mug and wiped his chin with one hand. ‘I feel as weak as a lamb but I can still move.’ He lifted one hand and pointed to his legs. ‘See? I can still wiggle my toes.’

  Vixen gave him a put-upon look. ‘Well that’s going to come in really useful if more of those assassins find you.’ She was quiet a moment. ‘I read to you.’

  Tol nodded. ‘I know. I was lost and your voice guided me back.’

  ‘Back?’ Vixen’s ruddy face paled. ‘From death?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Tol tried a tentative shrug and wasn’t surprised when his muscles groaned in discomfort. ‘Near enough, I think. Thank you for bringing the journal,’ he continued quickly, trying to change the subject before Vixen asked more difficult questions; he didn’t want to think about his near-death experience and wasn’t sure he could even explain it – certainly not without revealing the truth of his connection to Kalashadria. ‘It gives me hope after all this time to know my ancestor wasn’t a traitor. It’s the greatest gift you could have brought.’

  Vixen hurled herself upright. ‘You must be hungry,’ his friend said. ‘I’ll see if the innkeeper can fix you something.’ She hurried to the door, leaving Tol wondering what he had said wrong. Probably just been worried, he told himself.

  ‘Next time you get attacked by Meracian assassins,’ Vixen said as she yanked the door open, ‘don’t get cut by the knives.’

  ‘I didn’t know they were coated in poison!’

  Vixen gave him a pitying glance. ‘I thought everyone knew that. Didn’t you learn anything at that monastery?’

  ‘It’s an abbey,’ Tol muttered. ‘I probably wasn’t paying attention when they told us that. Or being punished,’ he reluctantly admitted. He hung his head under Vixen’s withering glare. ‘Didn’t seem important at the time,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Of all the people to save…’ Vixen pursed her lips. ‘You should have let her die; the beer here isn’t that good.’

  The door slammed shut behind her before Tol could think of a response. The worst of it was that Vixen was right: his task in High Mera was too important to endanger himself saving a sullen innkeeper.

  She was right about the beer, too.

  *

  Tol hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the steaming bowl of stew arrived. He made short work of it, Vixen watching on in silence until he finished it.

  ‘You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is you are mixed up in, I can help.’

  ‘The Gurdal have almost crossed the desert,’ Tol said quietly. ‘The only thing between them and Meracia is the Spur and the four Desolate Cities. By now, they may already have reached Shade – it could have already fallen.’

  Vixen shrugged. ‘That’s why the army is gathering. They will stop the Gurdal at Galantrium, as they did before.’

  Tol looked into her eyes, saw the utter certainty there and had a moment of doubt, knowing that he was about to shatter her conviction. ‘They will lose,’ he said. ‘The Meracians have not sent enough soldiers.’ He saw the hope wither in those bright blue eyes and pressed on, ‘Kalashadria has seen the forces marching to the Spur and it will not be enough to stop the Gurdal – not unless Meracia commits its full strength.’

  Vixen looked dazed. ‘Its full strength… Why have they not already done so?’

  ‘That’s why I was sent here,’ Tol explained. ‘Many of the Meracian lords have not sent their men to the Spur, and Kalashadria believes that it is the work of Gurdal spies or their demon masters; if the Gurdal are not stopped on the narrow sands of the Spur it will be too late once they reach the open grasslands and their forces spread out.’

  Tol paused, watching as Vixen tried to digest the news, her face taut with worry. After a moment she nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There’s a conspiracy, led by three of the Meracian lords. I killed two of them last night.’ Tol sighed. ‘Perhaps it’s enough.’

  ‘But you’re not sure?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt to make sure. We can pay the last one a visit when you’re better.’

  ‘It has to be tonight. If the remaining Meracian soldiers don’t march in the next few days they’ll arrive too late.’

  ‘I haven’t any plans for tonight.’ She grinned. ‘But I’m not carrying you.’

  Tol smiled sadly. ‘It’s a one-way trip.’

  Vixen nodded and stared into his eyes. ‘Then we will take it together. First, though, you need a bath or they’ll smell you from a mi
le away.’

  Tol didn’t know what to say so he just nodded and peeled back the corner of the sheets. ‘Where are my trousers?’

  ‘We had to take them off, you were feverish and soaking wet.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me and your tiny friend.’

  Katarina? Tol groaned; he would never live this down.

  Vixen laughed. ‘I’ll say this for her, that girl knows a thing or two about getting a man out of his trousers.’ She clapped Tol on the shoulder. ‘Right, let’s get you up.’

  *

  ‘Where is he?’

  The voice was unmistakable, shrill and angry. Even the heavy oak door couldn’t muffle Katarina’s voice successfully. Tol sat up, the steaming water lapping around him in the tin tub. It had started scalding, but the heat had leached some of the aches and pains from his bones and had now cooled to a pleasant level. Vixen had tried, albeit playfully, to remove his smallclothes, but Tol had drawn the line at that and reluctantly compromised by agreeing to let Vixen stand outside the bathing room. He had periodically suffered her shouted interruptions to check that he hadn’t drowned, but wasn’t about to tell her it had taken three attempts to remove his smallclothes, and had very nearly cracked his skull open on the tub in the process.

  Tol didn’t hear Vixen’s reply, but Katarina’s high-pitched warble picked up again. He concentrated as both women lowered their voices, trying to pick out their conversation.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Tol heard Vixen say, the words barely a whisper through the heavy oak.

  ‘He just woke up, and suddenly he’s all better?’ Tol strained harder as Katarina’s voice dropped further still. ‘Did you ask him?’

  Tol heard a distant footstep, its echo full enough that he knew it came from the corridor’s far end. How can I hear that? he wondered. That’s stout oak, I shouldn’t be able to hear them whispering, let alone distant footfalls.

  ‘He’ll tell me when he’s ready,’ Vixen replied.

  ‘Well, he’s going to tell me now,’ Katarina hissed. Her voice rose to a normal level. ‘I need to talk to him, stand aside.’

  ‘No, he’s in the b—’