to have found favour with the Empress. It doesn’t hurt the paladins to be on good terms with him.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here to think of this kind of thing, Devlor. These diplomatic shenanigans aren’t my forte. Never have been.’
‘Quite so, uncle. But the credit really belongs to you, for allowing your home to be used tonight.’
‘I can see you’re going to be a great asset to the clan leadership one day, my boy.’
‘Thank you, uncle. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘But not too soon, what?’ He laughed.
‘As you say, sir. Ah. Here comes the guest of honour himself.’
Laffon joined them, a crystal wine glass in his hand. Devlor thought it typical of the man that it contained nothing stronger than water.
‘It’s a wonderful gathering, gentlemen.’ He flashed them a rare smile. ‘Thank you again. It was good of you to arrange this at such short notice.’
‘We’ve been intending to do it from the moment we heard you were coming,’ Devlor lied. ‘It seemed appropriate to have you here following Rukanis’ successful prosecution, in which you played such a vital role.’
‘Hear, hear,’ the older Bastorran added.
‘You’re too kind,’ Laffon replied, lifting his glass to pallid lips.
‘Of course, this should be seen as a double celebration,’ Devlor said.
‘How so?’ Laffon asked.
‘Apart from Rukanis’ guilt being established, we have cause to commemorate your other triumph, Commissioner, in respect of the CIS being given so much greater responsibility in the war we’re all fighting against the terrorists.’
‘The Empress did my organisation a great honour in
bestowing such trust on us. We’ll all be doing our best not to let Her Highness down.’
‘Gods bless her,’ Ivak declared, taking a swig from his brandy glass, which he then deposited on the tray of a passing servant.
‘I’m sure there’s absolutely no danger of you or your esteemed organisation disappointing the Empress,’ Devlor said. ‘And it goes without saying that the paladins will always be keen to co-operate with you in every way we can.’
‘As will the CIS with the paladins,’ Laffon returned in a show of equally transparent insincerity. ‘I very much look forward to our working as closely together in future as we just have in respect of the Rukanis case.’
At that point, Devlor’s aide, Lahon Meakin, approached, bowed and begged their pardons. He whispered briefly in the younger Bastorran’s ear, and as quickly withdrew.
‘I do apologise,’ Devlor told them, ‘but a trifling matter requires my attention for a moment. If you’ll excuse me…’
‘Certainly, my boy. The work goes on, doesn’t it? There’s no rest for the upholders of the law. You go ahead. I’ll keep the Commissioner here company.’
Devlor smiled and exited.
The message Meakin had delivered to him, as earlier instructed, was merely a reminder that midnight was a little more than a quarter of an hour away. And midnight, as paladin tradition dictated, was the hour when an honoured guest was toasted.
Devlor walked out of the reception room, nodding and smiling at guests he passed, and into an adjacent chamber which in turn led to the hallway where the front door was. He lingered there for a moment, exchanging the odd word, then retraced his steps back to the reception room.
Laffon and his uncle were still engaged in conversation.
‘Everything all right, my boy?’ Ivak enquired.
‘Perfectly, uncle. Only I’m afraid it’s necessary to take you away from our guest for just a moment.’ He looked to Laffon. ‘A small decision has to be taken in respect of the wine we’ll be having later. It’s very much a matter for the head of the household.’
‘Of course. I quite understand.’
‘Surely you can take care of it, can’t you, Devlor?’ Ivak said, piqued at the prospect of being dragged away.
His nephew glared at him. ‘It really would be best if you could come yourself, uncle.’
‘Oh, very well. Excuse us, Commissioner.’ He was led off grumbling.
Devlor took him to another, less crowded room.
‘Uncle, the fact is I told a little white lie back there.’
‘You did? You don’t want me to select the wine?’
‘No. This has nothing to do with wine. It’s a matter I thought best dealt with away from prying eyes. A messenger just arrived with this.’ He turned his jacket to one side, revealing an envelope poking out of his inside pocket.
‘What is it?’
Devlor leaned in and whispered, ‘It bears the seal of the Empress herself.’
Ivak’s eyebrows rose. ‘A message from the imperial court?’
Devlor nodded. ‘Under the circumstances I thought it best to be discreet.’
‘You were absolutely right. Hand it over, it could be urgent.’
‘And possibly sensitive. It’s certainly going to be of a private nature. Perhaps it would be best perused in your study, with the door locked. Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Yes, good idea.’
‘Here, slip it into your pocket; there’s no sense in letting everybody know about it. You get on. I’ll make your excuses.’
They parted at the foot of the staircase.
Devlor returned to Laffon. He invited several others to join
them. Then one or two more. Before long, the younger Bastorran was at the centre of quite a group, amusing them with his fund of anecdotes and stories of clan exploits.
Two floors above, his uncle had secured his study door and was sitting at the desk. When he took the envelope from his pocket, he noticed something odd about it. It bore a wax stamp, but the wax was flat and unadorned. There was no imperial seal, as Devlor had told him. Puzzled, he reached for a paper knife and slit open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of vellum. He unfolded it and found that it was completely blank.
It was unlike his nephew to play stupid tricks on him. He felt there had to be some kind of mistake. Perhaps Devlor had accidentally given him the wrong envelope. But why he should be carrying around a sealed envelope containing a blank sheet of paper was beyond Ivak’s understanding. There was nothing for it but to go back downstairs and get it sorted out.
As he rose from his chair he heard a faint noise behind him, and started to turn.
He almost managed it.
Downstairs, Devlor was finishing an elaborate tale about a paladin campaign from a century before when Meakin appeared at his shoulder and politely coughed.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s almost midnight, sir.’
‘Nearly time to toast our guest. Uncle’s the one for that.’ He looked about the room. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘Ah, I remember. He said he was going up to his study. Probably engrossed in some paperwork or something and forgot about his guests. That’d be typical of Uncle Ivak.’
‘Would you like me to go for him, sir?’
‘No, don’t worry yourself, Meakin. I’ll pop up there myself.
You all keep yourselves amused,’ he told the guests, ‘charge your glasses, and I’ll be back down with him in a minute.’ He headed for the stairs, walking casually and exchanging smiles with everyone he passed.
When he got to the first landing, and was sure he couldn’t be seen, he flew up the steps two at a time. Arriving at the study door he rapped on it and called his uncle’s name, just to be sure the meld had done her job. There was no reply so he got out his spare key and let himself in.
Kordenza
had
done her job, and a thorough one at that. His uncle was slumped over his desk. He had multiple stab wounds in his back and there was blood everywhere. There was no question that he was dead. Devlor went over, snatched the envelope and blank sheet of vellum, which were speckled with crimson, and stuffed them in his pocket.
Items of furniture had been overturned, and various bits of bric-a-brac were scattered around. The meld had made it look as though there had been a fight, as instructed. He moved to the alcove, where the curtain had been left open, and saw that the door beyond was smashed. Way down at the bottom of the back stairs lay the body of the guard. So far, so good.