Jurgen threw up his hands. “Fine, then. I cannot argue based upon what we’ve been presented.”
“So, what will you do?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the consulship to claim my seat.” Jurgen took a deep breath. “I want something from you, though.”
Laedron appeared to be confused. “What could you possibly need from me?”
“To go with me. To watch over us whilst we’re inside the Ancient Quarter and the Vicariate.”
“Impossible.”
Hearing the word cross Laedron’s lips gave Brice a strange feeling. Lae’s never said impossible before. What has gotten into him?
Jurgen shook his head. “Not impossible.”
“Then how?”
“The militia commander, Dalton Greathis. If I were to write a recommendation, you would be hired on without reservation.”
“Hired on? You mean the guard, don’t you? The militia?” Marac asked, displaying a dumbfounded expression.
“Yes, my young friend.”
“Won’t they figure us out, though? We’re not from here-not by far. Why would they believe us?”
Jurgen grinned. “I’ve known Master Greathis for years-from my church duties and in personal life-and a recommendation from me would get you in the door. So long as you don’t say anything foolish, few questions would be asked. Besides, Heraldans are descendants of the original Midlander settlers-Sorbians and Cael’Brillanders. You look like them for the most part. Anyone who might recognize you would likely dismiss any suspicions if you were wearing guard’s clothing.”
Marac gazed at Laedron, who was rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “You can’t be considering this.”
“Why not?” Laedron asked. “What better things have we to do?”
“Eliminating Tristan, for one, and taking care of Vicar Forane might be a good start.” Marac fixed his eyes on Jurgen. “Right?”
Laedron nodded. “Those are all our goals, Marac, but Jurgen has work to do before we can accomplish any of it. We can’t just march into the Vicariate and slay them both.”
“He’s right,” Jurgen said. “I have work to do, and I’m not convinced Vicar Forane is the enemy.”
“Not convinced?” Brice got to his feet. “What, do you not believe me?” It seems nobody believes me. Seems as though no one takes me seriously around here.
“It’s not that, not by far.” Jurgen walked to his side and patted him on the shoulder. “She may be influenced or otherwise forced to act in this manner. I only mean for us to wait until we can verify where she stands.”
Nodding, Brice lowered himself into the chair. “Very well.” He turned to Laedron. “So, you and Marac will be parading as guards. Caleb and I will meet Vicar Forane, and Jurgen and Valyrie are going to the consulship.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Jurgen said. “I think we should send someone to the Ancient Quarter wellspring each night to keep in contact and coordinate our efforts.”
“Agreed.” Laedron took a sip from the cup before him. “May the Creator aid us in our mission.”
4
Valyrie heard a knock on the door, and her eyes flicked open. Her dreams had kept her in twilight the entire night, somewhere between being asleep and a groggy consciousness. She could still hear her father’s tortured screams, leaving her with a sick feeling. Since her father’s death, she could barely recall or remember the finer details of what had passed. In that moment, her life had changed forever.
Even the low light of the lantern caused her to squint, and the haze of suddenly waking blurred her vision. “Just a moment.” She covered her nightclothes with a long robe and opened the door.
Jurgen stood dressed in his priestly garb. “I thought we might get an early start. In truth, I’d much prefer to be there before Tristan arrives. It may make his dreadful gaze easier to bear.”
Her eyesight finally returned to normal, and she could see the darkened halls past him. “What’s the hour?”
“One, maybe two hours before dawn. I’ll wait in the common room.” He turned and walked away, and Valyrie closed the door.
Though she wanted to give parting words to the others, she decided simply to pack her things and leave. After dressing, she met Jurgen in the common room, and they departed the headquarters.
Upon passing a familiar street, she said, “We’re not far from the inn.”
Jurgen glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the road ahead. “Yes, no more than two or three blocks.”
She wondered how long it would be before her uncle got word of her father’s passing. I hope he doesn’t find me when he does. The man’s never liked me. I’d surely find myself given up as a ward of the church. Her thoughts drove her to miss her father even more. She knew he would have never allowed that to happen, but he was gone.
Jurgen led her along the familiar boulevard, which opened to the view of the Ancient Quarter. Before Jurgen had returned, she would often visit the ancient structures and dream up stories of people and places long ago, and when she told her father her tales, he took it harshly. Quit fooling around, girl, he would say. You’re wasting your time. Learn a trade, do it well, and get hired with a noble family with sizable wealth.
As they passed the rich mansions, she smiled. Like that one, Father? she mused, observing a seneschal holding a cumbersome ledger while being chastised by his employer, a well-dressed noblewoman who had probably never lifted a finger to do her own work. That would have been a better choice?
Jurgen entered the portcullis of the Ancient Quarter first, and he quickened his pace. The familiar gray and tan stones seemed more vibrant inside the Ancient Quarter, as if washed and maintained on a regular basis.
“Slow down,” Valyrie said, picking up speed. “Why are you so hasty?”
“These are the consuls’ houses. I don’t want to be seen.”
Once beside him, she slowed to match his pace. “You’ll have to be seen eventually. Isn’t that why we’re coming here?”
He raised the cowl over his head. “Yes, but not too soon. We must go to the steward’s house.”
“The Ancient Quarter has a steward?” She recalled the last time the local steward had visited the inn-to collect taxes and make sure everything was on the up and up. “What’s the need?”
“He handles the housing assignments in the Ancient Quarter, amongst other things. Vicars aren’t required to pay rent, but we must check in.” Jurgen stopped at a door fronting a common house smaller than the others she’d seen, but by and large better than the domiciles of the lower quarters. He knocked and received a muffled, unintelligible reply from within.
“Yes?” a man asked, opening the door. “Oh, it’s you. We weren’t told of your visit, Vicar Jurgen.”
“With war swirling on our very borders, I thought it best to make my way back. I’m in need of a place to stay, along with my charge.”
The man stepped back inside, leaving the door ajar. Sorting through a cabinet of drawers, he produced a key, then returned. “Here you are, Your Grace. Anything else I might do for you?”
“No, and I prefer to announce myself at the consulship today. No need to spread the word prematurely.” Jurgen exchanged a smile with the man and took the key. “I’ll let you know.”
“Very good. And good to see you back, Your Grace.”
After giving the man a nod, Jurgen walked with more confident steps, seeming to know the way without instructions. Valyrie followed him to the end of the row, and they stopped in front of a smaller townhouse set off from the street. Though not as large as those close to the entrance of the Ancient Quarter, the house had been constructed with the same fine materials. The yellow bricks gleamed in the morning light, and the exposed wood of the supporting posts shined as if freshly lacquered.