Ally of the Crown Read online

  “All true.”

  “There has to be more to it than that.”

  “There is. But it’s none of your business, Mistress Nosy.”

  “My name is Fiona Cooper. Miss Cooper.”

  “It’s still none of your business.”

  “You kidnapped me. I think some of it is my business.”

  The man’s hands on the reins drew in a little tighter. “I hired Lucille to perform certain services. She agreed, but then changed her mind and fled—taking my money with her.”

  “Distasteful services, no doubt.”

  The man chuckled. “If that’s what you want to believe, Miss Cooper, go ahead.”

  “They must be at least a little immoral, if they won’t allow you to go to the law.”

  “I just don’t have time to involve them. There’s a deadline. Which, thanks to Lucille, I’m now going to miss.”

  Fiona let out an exasperated breath. “Could you possibly be more cryptic? What is so secret that you can’t just say it? You won’t even tell me your name!”

  “You didn’t actually ask, Miss Cooper.”

  “Common courtesy says, if I give you my name, you should return the favor.”

  “Very well. You can call me Sebastian.”

  “What, no last name?”

  “You don’t need to know my family name. And the reason I’m being so cryptic is it’s not entirely my secret to tell.”

  “Then tell me what you can.”

  It was Sebastian’s turn to make an exasperated noise. “Fine, Miss Cooper,” he said, “but only because I feel some small measure of guilt at having dragged you into this. I’m trying to prevent someone from suffering at the hands of a blackmailer.”

  “I see,” Fiona said. “And going to the city guards or the Crown would only make the blackmailer carry out her threat. So how did Lucille fit into this?”

  Sebastian was silent for a long moment. Just as Fiona was about to prod him for more information, he said, “The blackmailer’s evidence is being held in the Jaixante. Do you know what that is?”

  “Of course.” Belatedly Fiona realized it wouldn’t be “of course” for ninety percent of Tremontane’s population. The Jaixante was the royal city of Veribold, a city within the capital city of Haizea, and no foreigners were allowed in. Even Fiona, in her travels with Roderick, had never been farther than its outer courts. “That is, I’ve heard it’s very isolated.”

  “It is, except for seven days a year, when the Irantzen Festival is held, celebrating Haran’s discovery of ungoverned heaven. Since Haran was at first acknowledged only by women, the festival is for women only—women and their attendants. So I hired Lucille to be my disguise, so to speak. Only I think I paid her too much, and she decided to leg it.”

  “How much?”

  “Four thousand guilders.”

  “Four thousand—”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me how stupid that was. I should at least have paid her only half up front.”

  Fiona bit back a handful of other comments and came out with, “Can’t you hire someone else?”

  “The festival begins in four days. It will take nearly all of that time to reach Haizea. I’ll just have to come up with another plan.”

  Fiona went silent. She wondered if Sebastian was thinking of an alternate plan right then. He still wasn’t telling her everything, starting with who needed saving from the blackmailer. If the information were in the Jaixante, the blackmailer had to be someone high in the Veriboldan government, but would such a person care about blackmailing a Tremontanan? On the other hand, would Sebastian care about saving a Veriboldan? And Holt kept calling him “sir,” which suggested Sebastian was wealthy enough to afford servants, as did that outrageous sum he’d given Lucille…there were just too many unknowns, and Fiona had never been good at ignoring puzzles when they came her way.

  “What was Lucille supposed to do? Just attend the festival?” she said.

  “Attend, and keep the Veriboldans’ attention on her so they wouldn’t notice Holt and me sneaking about,” Sebastian said.

  “Would they really let a Tremontanan woman in?”

  “Haran’s revelations proved we all go to the same heaven, and this festival is supposed to be a celebration of our similarities. I’ve heard. I only know a little about it.”

  “That’s a terrible risk to take. Suppose you’re wrong?”

  “This is—was—the best chance I had. It was worth the risk.”

  “You could bribe a Veriboldan servant to find the information for you.”

  “That has its own set of problems, namely that Veriboldans don’t always feel obligated to honor their agreements with non-Veriboldans. But it’s my backup plan. Followed by assassinating the blackmailer, which I really don’t want to do, aside from my qualms about taking a life. From what I know of the woman, she’ll have safeguards to ensure the information comes out if she dies in a suspicious manner.” Sebastian laughed, a short, mirthless bark. “Trust me, I’ve considered all the possibilities.”

  I bet he hasn’t considered this one. “I’ll do it,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “Get you into the Irantzen Festival.”

  Sebastian hauled on the reins so hard Fiona nearly lost her seat. “What?”

  “You need a woman to attend the festival. I’ll do it.”

  Holt drew up nearby. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “Aside from our mistake being completely out of her mind? Miss Cooper, you don’t even know us! Why should you want to throw your fate in with ours?”

  Fiona considered this. She had a plan already; she was going to Dineh-Karit. But after Sebastian’s admittedly sketchy explanation, the idea of the mysterious southern continent didn’t seem so appealing. They’re strangers, he hasn’t told you everything, it’s not your problem, her inner voice whispered. “Because I think you can afford to pay another four thousand guilders, and I could use the money,” she said.

  It wasn’t true. The truth was, this was a real adventure. Sneaking about the Jaixante looking for incriminating evidence, fooling the Veriboldans—a mere sea voyage to a distant, foreign country was trivial by comparison. “You don’t have to pay me until I’ve gotten you inside,” she added, “in case you’re worried about being cheated again.”

  “This is a bad idea, sir,” Holt said.

  “It’s a terrible idea,” Sebastian said. “I don’t know you. You could be a servant of G—of the blackmailer, sent to lead us astray, or put us in a compromising position.”

  “You can’t seriously believe that.”

  “Miss Cooper, you have no idea what I’ve been through in the last two weeks. That possibility isn’t even the least likely one I’ve considered.”

  “I don’t even know who the blackmailer is or who’s being blackmailed.”

  Holt said, “Lucille likely chose her because they are similar in appearance, sir. You know she would have anticipated being…retrieved. Miss Cooper is unlikely to be an associate of the blackmailer.”

  “Don’t argue on her behalf, Holt. She hardly needs it.” Sebastian closed his eyes and cursed. “Miss Cooper,” he said, “I’m tired and hungry and desperate, or I’d argue with you further. As it is…I accept your proposal. Four thousand guilders, to be paid when Holt and I have access to the Jaixante.”

  “Do you really have that much money on you?”

  Sebastian groaned. “It has just occurred to me,” he said, “that you might be part of a ruthless gang of robbers, looking for a rich mark. Holt, let’s ride on. If we’re about to be murdered for the contents of my money belt, I want to see if we can have a good breakfast first.”

  He heeled his horse around and set off westward. After a moment, Holt came up level with them. Fiona held on and watched the Snow River approach. She felt no regret about her hasty decision. Choose, and bear the consequences, but never look back. She’d learned that when her marriage was failing; you made the best decisions you could, and
you lived with what happened. But she did feel a little light-headed, as if she were being swept along by the cold current she could see ahead of them. Four thousand guilders is a lot of money, she thought, and who says you can’t go south afterward? But she had a feeling that whatever came of this adventure, a southern voyage still wouldn’t seem exciting.

  4

  The sun rose as they reached the Snow River. At this time of year, its name was entirely appropriate; it ran sluggishly, and Fiona half expected to see chunks of ice bobbing along in its current. Clunky, foreshortened boats were pulled up along the shore, and as she and her companions approached one of them cast off its moorings and headed out into midstream. The Device that propelled it made a loud thumping sound, like a bass drum, and it echoed into the still winter morning like the heartbeat of a lost god.

  Little sheds clustered at the river’s edge, well-lit and smelling of hot bread and meat and coffee. The morning breeze wafted the tantalizing smells to Fiona’s nose, and her stomach rumbled in response. Sebastian chuckled. “Food first, then the ferry,” he said, “then we’ll buy you a horse when we’re across the river. No sense buying one on this side and paying for the extra passenger. I hope you can ride.”

  So do I, Fiona thought.

  They dismounted near one of the sheds—they looked like dollhouses, with their fronts cut away. Fiona could see inside to the ovens and stovetops throwing off welcome heat that made their owners sweat in the chill morning air. Sebastian paid for hot rolls and coffee for the three of them, and Fiona stood next to his horse and ate and watched the distant city. Ravensholm, straddling the river a mile or so to the north, was just beginning to wake. Lights sparkling across it started to flicker and dim, and Fiona imagined she could hear it stretch and yawn, a giant bear turning over in its hibernation.

  She wiped her mouth and handed back the empty coffee mug, chipped enameled tin that the coffee shed’s owner tossed into a stack for washing, then followed Sebastian and Holt toward the river. The river, unlike the city, was fully alert, and more ships left their moorings as they approached the ferry, or one of the ferries. It was a broad, flat platform with a rail about three feet tall on both of its long sides. On its short sides, one of which pointed into the river, the other of which was nestled against the bank, were boxy glass and silver Devices. Fiona walked over to look at the nearer one. Gears and coils of metal were visible through the glass, and a greenish glow hovered over the entire Device.

  “Miss Cooper,” Sebastian called, “won’t you join us?” He was standing a few feet away, next to a grizzled woman wearing a peaked cap and a heavy felted wool coat. “Mistress Clarence says we’ll cast off in half an hour.”

  “And don’t go messin’ about the Devices,” Mistress Clarence growled.

  Fiona smiled politely and concealed her irritation. As if she’d hurt the things, anyway.

  She followed Sebastian, who was leading his horse toward a spot marked off on the deck, then made way for Holt, who came up behind. The horses seemed not at all bothered by the motion of the wavelets slopping the sides of the ferry. Just to satisfy herself, Fiona went forward to look at the other Device. It was identical to the first, but glowed purple instead of green. She walked away before Mistress Clarence could make an issue of her “disobedience.”

  A few other horses came aboard, then a small family, well bundled against the cold. Fiona caught the eye of one of the three children, who was five or six years old, towheaded with a round, plump face. She smiled and winked, and the child turned away quickly the way children that age usually did with strangers. Good. He wasn’t too young to learn friendliness was no guarantee of trustworthiness.

  The ferry jolted, and the almost imperceptible hum of the Devices turned into an air-shattering roar that faded slightly, but was still uncomfortable. A noise-dampening canopy had been drawn across the place on the deck where the horses stood. Good for Mistress Clarence, Fiona thought. She winked at the small child again and grinned when he ducked away. A jolt, and the ferry swung free of the shore and made its way into the river with a barely perceptible movement.

  Sebastian came forward to join her, but said nothing, merely leaned against the rail and bowed his head, apparently watching the river. Fiona settled in beside him and did the same. The roar of the nearby Device made conversation difficult, anyway.

  Minutes passed, and she fell into a reverie in which her mind floated free of her body, bobbing along with the ferry like the rushing current that crossed its bow. Or was it really the bow, since when it came back across the river, it would become the stern?

  Idly, she tapped the toe of her boot against the rail post. She was marginally aware of the other passengers, particularly the three children chasing each other around the deck and shrieking. Mistress Clarence shouted something that sounded like a command to get down off the gate, which had been latched across the stern to keep anyone from accidentally going overboard. The children seemed as unimpressed by Mistress Clarence’s authority as Fiona had been. There she was again, shouting at the children to stop doing whatever it was. Where were those children’s parents?

  “It’s children like those that make me grateful I don’t have any,” Sebastian said, pitching his voice to carry over the sound of the Device. “Though their parents don’t seem to be trying very hard to control them, so I’m not sure where the fault lies.”

  “I was thinking much the same,” Fiona said, matching his tone. “Though they’re quiet now.” The children had disappeared. It was probably too much to hope they’d gone overboard—no, that was uncharitable, since much of their bad behavior should be laid at their parents’ door. She and Roderick had never had children. First, they’d been on the road, not a practical life to raise a family in, and then, when they’d settled in Kingsport, their marriage had been strained, with neither of them interested in adding the burden of children to it. Now Fiona wondered, as she occasionally did when she saw someone else’s children, what her life would have been like if she had a couple of children to care for.

  “Quiet might be dangerous,” Sebastian said, casting his gaze over the ferry. “I just don’t understand families like that. Letting their children turn out to be little monsters. My brother—” His lips snapped shut over more words.

  “What about your brother?” Fiona asked, curious. Sebastian went back to looking at the water. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she said, inspired. “He’s the one being blackmailed.”

  “My youngest brother, yes,” Sebastian said reluctantly. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “It’s not as if I know who your family is, Sebastian.”

  “No, but the less information I give you, the less likely you or anyone else is to figure it out.”

  Fiona wanted to prod for more, but Sebastian’s face was grim and she concluded it would be a waste of time. “You sound as if you don’t like him much.”

  “I don’t. I know, he’s my brother, I’m supposed to love him, but he makes it impossible. He’s selfish and arrogant and if it wouldn’t destroy my family, I’d leave him to hang.”

  “Not literally hang?” Something tickled her nose, and she sneezed.

  “No, figuratively.” A corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up. “He’s not a criminal, just stupid, and his reputation affects the rest of my family. Unfortunately.”

  “I’m sorry.” She thought of her aunt and uncle and cousins, who weren’t perfect, but were generous and kind. “It must be difficult to do all this on behalf of someone who it sounds like doesn’t deserve it.”

  “It is, but—”

  The biting tickle grew worse. Fiona realized she smelled smoke an instant before the high, terrified whinny of a frightened horse cut the crisp morning air. Sebastian’s head whipped around, then he ran for the makeshift corral, Fiona hard on his heels. More screams joined the first, these human, some of them the high-pitched shrieks of children.

  Straw covered the deck where the horses stood, and fire licked at it, making the hor
ses lunge away and press against each other in their desperation to reach safety. One of the children cowered in the midst of them, jostled by their frantic movements. Sebastian swore and dove for the little boy. Fiona went for the fire.

  It was small, thank heaven, but the light breeze fed it, and soon it would be out of control. Fiona whipped her cloak off and smothered the little fire, snatching the cloak away before it could burn. She stomped on what was left, wishing she were in a position to simply disassemble it with her hands, to cast the burning straw over the side of the ferry. The smell of scorched fabric joined the smell of smoke. Fiona scowled. If her cloak was ruined…

  Sebastian had dragged the little boy away from the horses, leaving Mistress Clarence and her assistants free to care for the maddened animals. He set the boy on his feet and stepped back, allowing the child’s distraught, shrieking mother to sweep him up in her arms. The boy screamed in pain, clutching his arm. “Holt,” Sebastian said, “would you mind taking a look?”

  Holt detached the child from his mother, making the boy scream more loudly. “Don’t you touch my son!” the father shouted, grabbing Holt by the shoulder and pulling. He might as well have tried to lift the ferry. Holt ignored him.

  “Holt has medical knowledge,” Sebastian said to the father, prying the man’s fingers off Holt’s shoulder. “Let him work.”

  “Get your hands off me!”

  Sebastian grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted, spinning him around and taking his arm in a complicated-looking lock. “Let him work,” he said.

  “His arm is broken,” Holt said. “It is not a bad break. I believe I can splint it, if someone will find me a length of board and some strips of cloth or short ropes.”

  The passengers, crowding around, made no move to help. Exasperated, Fiona went aft, searching for something Holt might use. The ferry was made of wood, and surely there were scraps of it lying around. She found, strapped to the rear of the ferry near the Device, a couple of oars that looked too large for a person to handle. She glanced around. No one was watching her; their attention was either on Holt, Sebastian, or the horses. With her back turned and her hands shielded by her cloak, she traced a fiery line around the oar where the blade met the handle, let it burn briefly, then smothered it with her hands. Setting the oar on the deck, she put her foot on it where she’d burned nearly through the wood and pulled up on the blade, snapping it off the handle neatly.