Treason, p.13
Treason, page 13
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
Adeone simply dismissed Haster. Once the door closed, he said, “There are times I wish you weren’t so conscientious about keeping your weapons sharp, Festus. Hillbeck, stay where you are. Richardson, see if Simkins has a bandage, please. I’d rather not have to send for the doc.”
Hands tended to, Adeone turned to Hillbeck. “There is a commission with your name on it, if you want it, Sergeant.”
Hillbeck blinked, stunned. “I’m sorry but I don’t really want it, Sire. I like being a sergeant. We find out things that the officers don’t. I don’t particularly want any more responsibility than I have. I suppose you could say I’m content.” The involuntary words surprised him. He wasn’t content but he didn’t want to be a captain, so he failed to amend his statement.
Adeone considered him. He noted the slight surprise in Hillbeck’s eyes and knew that the sergeant hadn’t meant the last part. “Thank you for a straight answer. That’s all for now.” After Hillbeck had left, Adeone said, “Get him assigned to my guard, Richardson. I always have one duty sergeant, might as well make it one I can trust.”
Once Richardson had gone, Landis said, “I’d like you to dine at Landis House, Sire, whilst we test everything in the kitchens here. I’ve also told Simkins to stop having a selection of food in the triniculum. I know you like to help yourself when you’re ready, but we can’t take the risk anymore.”
Adeone eyed him. “We’re letting Scanlon win minor victories—”
“Better than him winning the ultimate one!”
“Quite. Fine. What’s for dinner then?”
“I have no idea. They don’t know you’re coming.”
Adeone chuckled. “Cornelia does say she doesn’t need warning.”
Chapter 22
TURNING POINT
Very Late Evening
Wynfeld’s Office
FOR WYNFELD, still working at eleven that night, it had been a normal day, with its normal working pattern. All the men had reported for duty and nothing significant had occurred. Reports had been compiled and sent to the Palace. As he considered going to bed, his office door crashed open. Glancing up, he rose and saluted as the Major and Lord Landis entered.
The Major snapped, “Remind us what your job is, Wynfeld!”
“Collecting information with a view to the protection of our King and his heirs, sir,” responded Wynfeld crisply.
“Correct. So where, in Sicla’s Cavern, were you and your information when would-be assassins nearly poisoned the King earlier today?”
Aghast, Wynfeld swallowed before answering. “I suppose I must have been here, sir. Unfortunately, I can’t be precise, as I don’t know when they nearly poisoned our King. Is he unharmed, Lord Landis?”
Landis, keeping his temper, thought, ‘Pedantry is no saviour, Wynfeld.’ In an uncompromising voice, he said, “Yes, but no thanks to you or your men. A palace guard foiled this attempt. Your regiment isn’t doing its job. The men were talking about this quite openly in the Teran Arms. You’re naïvety shows as you’ve not found out about it sooner. There is no room for mistakes! If you make another, you will be replaced. I am not allowing anyone in your post to fail, this spectacularly, more than once. You might be in Terasia for all the help you are!”
The Major weighed in, “And I shall not tolerate my subordinate officers making a mockery out of the militia. You are failing, Wynfeld. The King has requested that you remain in post or I’d have you out. He only gives people one second-chance. Sharpen up your act. The King appointed you but circumstances change quickly. You will get the men up to scratch or suffer the consequences. I want to see a marked improvement on the information coming in. What’s more, get out on the bloody street yourself. Don’t rely on your men to do all the work.”
Wynfeld had barely taken a breath before Lord Landis said, “Maybe, Captain, you would like to consider the consequences of Lord Scanlon getting more power than he already holds, just as an incentive. That’s all I have to say. Goodnight, Major.”
Six minutes later, when his senior officer also left, Wynfeld collapsed onto his chair and thought for all he was worth. He started making notes. They didn’t have enough people in the taverns. He went and counted the number of people from the Teran Lordship that were working for them. They might as well have had none. He’d have to have a good look at where they had men and where they didn’t. The sergeants would also have to step up. He could only use the information he was given to compile the reports. He might stop the sergeants writing part of it, or start interrogating them on the report to make sure it contained all the information possible. Then the words ‘palace guard’ seeped into Wynfeld’s brain. They needed to stop relying on Captain Haster and get informers inside the Palace. They had to tidy up the way they collected and collated information. Maybe he should engineer some time at Court. Even in the midst of his angst, he smiled. Queen Ira would have laughed at the thought of him there. Things were certainly going to change. He’d speak to his sergeants in the morning and discover where informants were lacking. He walked over to his quarters and told his batman to wake him at six o’clock. He needed an early start.
Chapter 23
KING’S GUARD
Cisadai, Week 16 – 23rd Macial, 2nd Easis 1209
Palace – Court
THE MORNING SUN streamed through a square-paned window onto Sergeant Hillbeck standing almost motionless by an entrance into the Court rooms. Every so often he glanced out of the windows, happy to be able to. The previous day, with its fears and freedom, felt like a dream. After leaving the Inner Office, he’d borrowed a horse and ridden home, glad to be within the Rex Dallin’s embrace after fearing he’d never see the valley again. His brother and wed-sister hadn’t asked what had prompted the sudden visit and he hadn’t explained, he’d simply enjoyed being there. Now, he was just relieved to be back with the reassuring predictability and boredom of his days.
A fellow sergeant disturbed his ordered and predictable morning with a summons from Captain Haster: he was being relieved of his post. He didn’t lie to himself; by reporting the captain he’d been on shifting ground but his upbringing, instinct and duty had guided his steps. He proceeded through the Palace and, other than a slight twinge of foreboding, his conscience didn’t trouble him.
Walking along the Guards’ Corridor, he nodded to a fellow sergeant whose eyes met his with a new wariness. Haster couldn’t have broadcast the events of the previous day. His life-bind would have prevented it, unless the King had told people, but that was unlikely. He, himself, certainly hadn’t told anyone. So why the wariness?
He entered the captain’s office and saluted, trying to determine if their relationship had changed.
“Orders from the King’s Office, Sergeant. You’ve been assigned to His Majesty’s Guard with immediate effect. Report to Sergeant Marsh and be mindful of the honour.” Haster paused. “You deserve the promotion, Hillbeck. You’re an excellent guard and I hope you serve His Majesty with the same dedication as you showed recently. That’s all.”
Once out of the office, Hillbeck didn’t know whether to curse or celebrate. The King had taken him at his word and left him a sergeant; however, the King’s Guard answered to the King or his Defenders and there wasn’t a captain. In comparison to other ‘Guards’, a sergeant in the King’s Guard was a captain. He wasn’t sure he appreciated the irony. He couldn’t refuse the transfer. The method of the order, through the King’s Office, meant that refusal was never an option. The day before, he’d faced King Adeone with a debt between them, which had been cleared in that room. This was the King’s whim, one that couldn’t be refused under any circumstances. The King had spoken and Hillbeck recognised the tone of voice.
He’d have to clean up his life but, for the first time in months, the day promised something new, something unknown. Even though he had decided to embrace the predictable the night before, he grinned and part of him wanted to whistle as he walked, but anyone who saw him whistling would be cutting in their remarks.
As he approached the doors to the Audience Chamber, he knew Sergeant Marsh was evaluating him. He’d heard enough about the senior sergeant of the King’s Guard to be wary and respectful. Marsh wasn’t yet thirty and headed the most prestigious guard in the empire. An excellent judge of character, a pragmatic attitude and a decent sword-arm had got him noticed. He’d become head of the King’s Guards in 1207 after travelling with the King to Lord Faran’s in Lufian. In the last two years, he’d gained a reputation as a disciplined, fair man who worked hard.
Marsh turned to his fellow guard. “Nip and get one of the lads, Smithers.” Once the extra guard was there, he continued, “I shall be in the guardroom. Come with me, Hillbeck.” Once in the guardroom, Marsh said, “Find somewhere else to sit and natter, lads. Me and your new sergeant need to talk.” Once alone, he explained, “They’ll end up in the antechamber and give anyone who enters pause for thought. Now, Lord Landis informed me of events yesterday and I’ve seen reports about you. I’m not concerned about your record as a guard, but I am by your off-duty record. If I find you hungover or drunk on duty, you’ll be gone. Your predecessor blundered and there was no second chance. You’re on duty this afternoon and evening. We mostly follow the Palace Guard shift pattern for actual guarding. His Majesty’s not got anything planned elsewhere, currently, so you should have a nice quiet first shift. Administrator Richardson will inform you if that changes. I’ve put you with men who know the procedures, but I’ll run you through things properly tomorrow morning because we have extra duty hours for training and the like. Your new room is ready for you and you’re expected to be available at all times unless you’ve taken formal leave with His Majesty’s permission. That doesn’t mean you’re on duty, but you can be called back to be on duty at any time. Is that understood? Good. Now…”
A couple of minutes later, they left the guardroom as Landis was passing. Both sergeants saluted, and Landis looked sharply at Marsh.
“Not at your post?”
“I was quickly explaining matters to Sergeant Hillbeck, Defender. The King has knowledge that I was meaning to do so.”
“Thank you, Marsh. I won’t keep you any longer.” Landis turned his attention to Hillbeck and pointed to the guardroom. Once there, he continued, “Congratulations on your transfer. I want to thank you again for what you did yesterday, but there is the small matter that we can’t seem to find the men responsible for the attack. Haster’s admission is nothing in comparison to conspiring with the men. That is a rather dangerous position to be in. You need to help us find those men. So, in an hour and a half, I want you to report to my house ready to remember. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Hillbeck, swearing in the privacy of his head.
“Good, until then, Sergeant.” With that, Landis went to update Adeone on what had occurred when he saw Wynfeld the previous evening.
Hillbeck used some of the time between leaving Landis and heading through the city to move his belongings from his billet to the small room on the ground floor of the Privy Wing that was his new home. It wasn’t much: a bed, a small table, chair and nondescript wardrobe. He’d just put his off-duty clothes away when a knock at the door heralded a curious footman with his new living tokens. They were used to inform others what your place was and, more importantly, to get fed and watered.
After the footman left, he turned the tokens over in his hands, examining them. His previous ones had entitled him to use the Guards’ Hall. These entitled him to use Upper Hall also, the most prestigious refectory in the Palace. He didn’t know if he would ever use it. Sitting having dinner with the likes of the Steward and other heads of departments would probably give him indigestion.
He made sure his personal chest was locked and headed out into the city. The walk from the Palace to Landis House wasn’t unpleasant. The day still retained crisp clear skies but, now he wasn’t busy organising his new life, he was in too much turmoil to enjoy it. By the time he’d finished with Lord Landis, he might be the shortest-lived sergeant the King’s Guard had ever had.
* * *
At Landis House, he presented himself at the tenants’ door. It seemed the most appropriate. He had a strange look from the footman who answered, which was explained by Landis’ manservant.
“King’s senior staff come to the front door. His Lordship is particular about that. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, Sergeant. Lord Landis has not yet returned from the Palace. Please, just wait in here; I will collect you when His Lordship can see you.”
Here turned out to be an empty room with a tiled floor and tiny window. Nothing else marked it out. Not a chair or painting. It had the feel of a cell and he idly wondered if it had been used as one in the past and whether it would be one again. He’d been waiting for around a quarter of an hour by his estimate when William collected him.
He stood in Lord Landis’ study unnerved by the way the lord simply watched him as though he was taking him to pieces, one inch at a time. The grey eyes bored into him with a steeliness at odds with Landis’ persona. For years, he’d heard people mention Lord Landis as a man you didn’t cross; he suddenly understood why.
Eventually, Landis spoke. “What have you got for me?”
“I can’t remember much, my lord. The Teran Arms isn’t that well lit.”
“Really!”
Hillbeck riled. “Yes, my lord. I can tell you one was roughly five-foot-eight and the other just under six feet. The shorter one was stocky, the other more slimly built and taller. Both had middling brown hair and their eyes were dark rather than light. They didn’t sound like they came from Oedran, but I wouldn’t say they came from that far afield either – maybe a twenty-mile radius. They knew one another well enough to finish sentences for each other. Might even have been brothers or cousins. Same features if only slightly different through life experiences. Straight noses. Clothes were thin, well-worn calf-length breeches and loose tunics, but they were each wearing gloves and a cloak made to last. Thick, oiled material—”
“For saying you ‘can’t remember much,’ you’ve remembered a remarkable amount of detail,” remarked Landis. “What were they drinking?”
Hillbeck snorted. “Probably the same gnat’s pee the rest of us were, my lord. There was a prostitute and her pimp who might have noticed more.”
Landis stilled. “You didn’t mention them yesterday.”
“I was considering His Majesty’s presence. She was there the first evening I noticed the men. I think the landlord might have more knowledge of them all, although no-one seems to ask questions there.”
“Talking about not being from Oedran, you’re not either, are you?”
“Erm, no, my lord. About ten miles away. Small farm. Too many sons. Had to find myself a spot in the world and Oedran was close.”
“Is that the answer you give to everyone?”
“Yes, my lord. It is the truth, after all.” A shiver went down his spine as Landis studied him. This man was dangerous.
Landis said, “Yes. It is the truth. It is now even more imperative that you continue to give that answer. Is that understood? Good. We need you to keep an eye out for those men. I doubt anyone will see them at the Teran Arms again. They’ll know their plan went wrong; however, we’ll see that men are in place there just in case. Your information has been very useful. Don’t return to the Teran Arms yourself. It will be dangerous for you. If, however, you see any of the other people who were in the bar with you that night, you don’t show recognition, but you do tail them and then tell me where they are living. Just remember the person following who doesn’t think he is being followed has a very short lifespan. Keep your eyes open for trouble, Hillbeck. You’ve helped to save the King’s life. That puts yours in danger. You can go.”
Hillbeck left, thinking that Landis had shown another side to his character. How on Erinna did he know the rules for tracking people? What sort of lord would ever need to know them?
Chapter 24
PROGRESS
Morning
Wynfeld’s Office
WOKEN BY HIS BATMAN, Wynfeld realised that the knot of dread in his stomach hadn’t disappeared as he dreamed. Not that he had been dreaming; his sleep had been unusually light, his mind trying to work out what to do.
His batman passed him his belt, adorned with scabbards. Donning it, he sheathed his sword and dagger.
“I’ve warned the mess you’ll be wanting breakfast early, sir.”
Wynfeld entered the officers’ mess and glanced at the duty corporal. “What’s for breakfast, Evans?”
“Cap’n says porridge is good.”
Wynfeld chuckled. “Porridge it is then.” When the corporal passed him his breakfast, Wynfeld eyed him balefully. “I thought you said porridge?”
“Well, we got a bit bored of that and, this early, porridge is still stewing. Hope you don’t mind bacon and eggs, sir.”
“It’ll set me up nicely for the day. I’ll have to start coming in early more often.”
He watched the corporal’s features struggle between the conventional ‘it’ll be a pleasure’ and the reality of ‘please don’t’. He merely winked and tucked into the breakfast. His mind still turning over the events of the previous day.
When the Major entered, he rose and saluted. It was rare that the Major entered the mess and Wynfeld feared another dressing down.
He hesitantly resumed his seat at a nod from his commanding officer. He could see Evans taking a careful interest in what was happening.
“You’re up early, Wynfeld,” remarked the Major from the opposite chair.
