“Who is this person?” Exeter asked.
“I have no idea. I only just met him tonight at the gala. He never mentioned his name. Odd, don’t you think? He was very insistent that I get this message to you immediately, saying he would be waiting at the front gate.”
Exeter continued to stare at Albert for a moment longer, looking both puzzled and angry, apparently undecided which to commit to. The gate was open, but the lion was in no hurry to escape. He turned to the guard with him. “Vince, keep him here.” Exeter retreated back toward the interior of the castle from which he’d come.
Albert did not like the keep him here comment and stood uncomfortably in the shadow of the guard.
Vince was one of those men who Albert assumed was born to the job of professional soldier. He stood too close for Albert’s sensibilities. He could smell the reek of stale sweat. And Albert, who was proud of his ability to read men, found looking at Vince was like peering at a blank wall. No complexity, no mystery, no color-cows had more depth. He was a full head taller than Albert, a large, balding, unpleasant head. His face was a map of scars. And even without the souvenir blemishes of his trade, Vince could never have been considered handsome. The viscount wondered what poor woman once called this her baby, and how she had managed to avoid drowning it.
Exeter returned with a lieutenant of the guard and six other soldiers. He was moving quickly.
“Keep him here until I get back,” he told Vince; then facing the lieutenant, he said, “Wylin, there’s an idiot sitting in a carriage out front marked by a rose. Go arrest him.”
Simon Exeter followed behind Wylin and his men but stopped at the keep’s entryway while the rest walked to the front gate, then beyond. Across the bridge, the line of carriages waited. Each had lanterns lit. Some of the horses wore blankets as they waited for their fares or lords to return from the feast.
Simon might have suspected the gods were allied against him if not for the viscount’s unexpected message. After the girl’s vanishing act, he had spent last night and all that day canvassing the city, interrogating whores and thieves. He deputized two dozen men and had sheriffs working double duty searching every closet and cupboard for the girl. Now he might actually have her.
Simon didn’t like the way the gate guards were acting. Both stared at him oddly.
Wylin trotted back across the bridge and up to Exeter. “Empty, sir.”
“Empty?”
“Nothing inside, well, except for this.” Lieutenant Wylin held out a parchment.
I said come alone. And I meant it.
You have one more chance. Get in this carriage.
Tell the driver to take you to the graveyard on Paper Street in the Merchant Quarter. When I see the carriage arrive, and that you’re alone, I will contact you.
Simon crushed the note in his fist and marched across the bridge toward the carriages. The men waited, watching him.
“You there!” he shouted at the carriage driver, who sat nervously.
“I didn’t do nothing, Your Lordship. Honest.”
“The man who was in here. Your passenger. Where did he go?”
“He switched carriages but paid me to wait for him, sir. Said he would be back, sir.”
“He switched?” Simon grinned. “Which one is he in, then?”
“Oh, the one that left, sir.”
Simon’s smile vanished.
“Which way did it go?”
“Ah … that way, sir.” He pointed. “Made a left at the square.”
“Merchant Quarter.” Simon slapped the side of the carriage, making the driver jump.
“You aren’t thinking of actually going, are you, Your Lordship?” Wylin asked. “I mean alone.”
Simon fixed him with a withering glare. “Don’t talk to me as if I were one of your idiot men.”
“My apologies, Your Lordship.”
“He’s cagey, this one.” Simon had his doubts when the viscount delivered the message, but as he looked across the dark square, he became convinced whoever it was did indeed have the girl. “Not a complete idiot.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Never mind. I’ll go alone, but I want you and your men to split up and walk to Paper Street. Send a dozen this time. Have them take off their colors and chain and go by different routes. When you get there, fan out around the entrance to the graveyard and wait for my arrival. When you hear me whistle, close in. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, sir, but where do you want me to pull the men from? I don’t have authority to draw men away from the walls, not on a night when the king is holding a party.”
“Pull them from the city guard, Gentry Square. Start with my sheriffs and fill out the ranks with their deputies. They don’t need to patrol anymore. That should be more than enough. Gather them on your way, but be quick. I want you there before I arrive.”
“Yes, sir. We’re on our way.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?” the driver asked.
“Wait here. I’ll need you to drive me.”
“As you wish.”
When Simon returned to the reception hall, Vince was still keeping an eye on the viscount, who had a decidedly nervous look on his face.
“Vince, go to my chambers. Fetch my sword and cloak.” He turned to the viscount. “This man who gave you the message. What did he look like?”
“Big man. Dark complexion. Blond hair, though, with a thin mustache that ran down around his mouth, you know.” The man swirled his finger around his lips. “Slurred his words a bit I remember. I take it you didn’t see him.”
“No, but I will.” He looked the viscount over. “Who did you say you were again?”
“Viscount Albert Winslow.”
“What holding?”
He smiled sheepishly. “My grandfather lost the family fief. I’m just a landless noble.”
“Worst kind of vagrant-a noble one. Do nothing, contribute nothing, but suck off of every landowner’s teat like it’s your god-given right. Isn’t that so?”
“That’s me exactly, Your Lordship.”
“You’ve served your purpose. Go on. Go steal the meal you came for.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship.”
Simon left the castle, crossed the courtyard, and passed once more through the gate under the withering stare of the boy-guard. He climbed into the carriage marked with roses and yelled to the driver, “Take me to Paper Street, to the graveyard in the Merchant Quarter.”
“As you wish, my lord.” The carriage pulled away from the line and entered the city streets.
Who could he be? Most likely that stupid thief I beat the other night. Thinks he can make a coin selling the girl to me. Hanging three of his cohort clearly wasn’t enough to penetrate that top hat.
Simon was torn between having the thief leader killed or rewarded. He guessed it would all depend on what the girl told him. He just hoped he wasn’t chasing a ghost. And who was this mysterious giant blond the viscount mentioned? This was the problem with conspiracies and coups-they were never simple.
The carriage came to a stop. Looking out the window, Simon was puzzled. They hadn’t traveled far. They were only in Gentry Square.
“Keep going. I said Paper Street. That’s in the Merchant Quarter.”
The driver climbed down and opened the carriage door, stepping in.
“What are you doing? Get out! Are you mad?”
“Yes. Very.” The man was small and thin, but there was something about his eyes, something unnerving. Even more disturbing was the prick of a blade that the driver suddenly pressed to his throat.
“I don’t have many friends,” the driver said. “I can actually count them all on one hand and not use all my fingers. Like anything rare, they are precious. And yes, I get very mad when one is hurt. But I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way. What you were actually asking is if I’m insane-crazy, isn’t that right?” The man’s voice was cavalier without any hint of fear or respect, yet soft, words whispered as gentle as a lover. “Well, to be honest, I think you might have a point there too. Oh, and feel free to whistle. Thanks to you, all the sheriffs in Gentry Square are gone, and thanks to the gala, all the residents are away as well. No one is going to hear your signal or your screams.”