something. “Here we are. It’s about time.”
The guards opened the gate and let them step through, as each wrote his name on the entry ledger. I studied the pair, watching the ledger as well. The taller one signed as Tuolon D’Spice, the shorter and younger as Karmeryn D’Essence.
“The messenger will escort you there and back.” The guard’s voice was even and firm, but carried a note of boredom, as if he’d made the same statement time after time.
“This way, honored traders,” I offered, gesturing to the side walkway.
“About time,” muttered Tuolon.
Because I had to lead them, I carried back trigger shields, ones that would spring full if either moved too close to me. Baratyn had assured me that there was minimal danger to me on the walk to the councilor’s study, because all unescorted strangers were suspect and detained. Once we were inside the Chateau and out of the already uncomfortably warm sunlight, I led them through the foyer and up the grand staircase past the two winged angelias of Pierryl the Younger. I still thought their proportions were ridiculous, especially after several months of anatomy studies. When we reached the top of the staircase, I paused to check over the two traders.
The younger one had come up the steps quietly, and that bothered me. So did the fact that neither was breathing any faster. I edged to one side, and gestured. “To the right, traders.”
“Go on!” snapped Toulon. “We’re not here to admire empty stone walls.”
I raised full shields before I led them down the east corridor to the fourth doorway, where I stopped and stepped aside. I rapped on Councilor Reyner’s study door. “Messenger Rhennthyl announcing Tuolon D’Spice and Trader Karmeryn D’Essence to see Councilor Reyner.”
“You may escort them in, messenger.”
“You can go now, fellow,” said the heavyset and dark-bearded factor.
“I’m to stay with you until you leave.” I smiled politely.
“My golds pay for whatever you make, fellow, and I say that-”
At that moment, I turned slightly and did my best to image-project absolute strength.
The other trader’s elbow went into the bigger man’s ribs, and he said quietly. “They’re guards, Tuolon. To protect the councilors.”
“My business is with the councilor, not for everyone to hear.”
“That is for the councilor to decide, honored trader,” I replied.
Because I didn’t like Tuolon, I was prepared with two possible imagings as I opened the study door. As taught, I stepped half inside, but to one side, my eyes on the two traders.
“I’d appreciate it if you would remain, messenger.” Reyner’s light brown hair was shot with gray, and he wore the pale blue stole-vest of a councilor over a thin but fine cotton short jacket. His eyes never looked in my direction, but at the tall spice trader.
Tuolon bowed, and his hands went to his waist.
I imaged an invisible shield between the two and the councilor. Even angled as it was, a lesson from Maitre Dyana, I was jerked off balance by the impact of the bullet on the shield.
The smaller man had not even looked at Reyner but was lunging at me with a knife. I wasn’t quite fast enough, and the blade hit my shields. That stopped him short, and the hesitation was enough for me to image caustic into his eyes and the lower part of his heart. He doubled over in agony.
Tuolon had turned the pistol in my direction, but I imaged iron into the barrel, and my shields channeled the metal of the explosion across his chest. He toppled forward.
“Guards to Councilor Reyner’s chamber! Guards!”
I didn’t move toward the taller figure or the shorter one, who was still writhing on the floor, but just held my shields to separate them from me and the councilor.
Reyner took out a cloth and blotted his forehead. He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
The shorter figure stopped twitching, but he was still breathing.
“The taller one looks like Tuolon. He even acted as obnoxious as Tuolon did.”
Two huge black-clad obdurate guards burst through the door, followed by Baratyn. He glanced at the councilor, then at me, then at the pair on the floor. “Take them below.”
In instants, both figures were trussed and carted away.
The councilor blotted his forehead again. “I’d heard . . . but never . . .” He shook his head.
“By your leave, Councilor.”
“You have my leave.”
Baratyn said nothing until we were out in the hall. “You sensed something, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir . . . but they didn’t do anything until the door was open.”
He nodded. “Professionals. We’ll be seeing more of them.” He studied me. “What you did takes strength, and I’d wager you didn’t eat enough breakfast. Go down to the kitchen and get something to eat. Otherwise you’ll be shaking all over in a glass.”
I didn’t argue. I already felt unsteady.
“When you feel stronger, come find me.”
“Yes, sir.” I headed down to the kitchen, by the northeast circular staircase.
As I entered, one of the servers looked at me. “Sir . . . you can sit over there. I’ll get something for you right away.”
I could hear her as she said to another server. “Must be trouble upstairs . . . come down here that pale . . . has to be the new security . . .”
“. . . times when the Council comes back, something happens . . . don’t say anything . . .”
In moments, there was a platter before me, with a slice of beef, an end cut already cooked enough to eat, with bread and cheese, and a mug of ale. “Sorry there’s not more hot, sir.”
“I understand, and I thank you.”
After she left, I began to eat, and within a few mouthfuls the shakiness vanished. Even so, I ate everything on the platter and finished the ale. By then, I felt normal, and I made my way back up the stairs to the main level. I knocked on Baratyn’s door, but he didn’t reply. So I went to the messengers’ study. It was empty, and I was glad for that, since I didn’t want to explain what had happened.
Basyl was the first to return, and he sat down on the other bench and nodded. “Busy out there . . . and hot.”
I nodded back. “Warmer than I’d like, especially outside.”
I couldn’t have been sitting there more than a tenth of a glass when Baratyn peered in. “Rhenn . . . good.” He gestured.
I followed him to his study, where he closed the door and turned to me. “Don’t worry about it. There’s an attempt like that about every other time the Council returns from recess.”
“I don’t know that I handled it that well. I thought I was ready.”
“You were ready enough. You kept the councilor from being hurt, and no one knows what really happened. If anyone asks, the story is simple. You knocked one assassin into the other and when he fired, his pistol exploded.”
That was true enough, so far as it went. “What about the one who was alive?”
“He’s still alive, but he was just a hired blade. He’s already admitted that he’d been paid to kill the assassin if it looked like they’d be captured. His fee went to his wife. He claims she’s crippled, and he won’t say where he’s from. So far.” Baratyn studied me. “You ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
He handed me a pasteboard. I took it. The name on it was Khatyn, Master D’Artisan, and the name and seal beneath were those of Councilor Sebatyon, a lumber factor from Mantes.
I walked back out to the gatehouse, at a deliberate pace, but not rushing.
Master Khatyn was a gray-haired man who only came to my shoulder, but he was wiry and moved with a spring in his step. Before all that long I was standing at the second door on the upper level in the west corridor announcing Master Khatyn. Despite my feelings that Khatyn was not a danger, I was more than ready as I opened the door and escorted him in.
“Honored councilor.” Khatyn inclined his head, although his eyes flicked toward me.
“The messenger stays. I prefer not to hear anything that cannot be said before him,” added Sebatyon.
