Above all, if his efforts failed, he could be a long way away before the finger of blame was pointed at him. Not that it would be. He was almost certain of success now. Too many obstacles had been pushed aside. Anything that raised its head had been decapitated before it became a problem. Something that the commander of the Intelligenciers, and a number of his men, had discovered to their detriment.
Amaury had never expected that the dragon-slaying expedition would be greeted with cheers and garlands of flowers, and that proved to be the case—they were observed with ambivalent silence. Simply being accepted was more than enough for now; the important message was that these brave men and women were going out to risk their lives to protect the citizens of Mirabaya. Soon, he would set up medical clinics about the city to further highlight the benefits the Order could bring. Food would be preserved magically, ensuring there was no risk of people going hungry, water purified to make sure no one got ill. One step at a time, he would win the people’s hearts and minds over to the Order. They might not be cheering now, but Amaury was confident that they would one day.
It was difficult not to become elated at the prospect that his long-laid plans were finally coming to fruition. Even had sight of the Order taking on the role he had always envisaged for them not been enough to bolster his spirits, the knowledge that the Cup was only a few hours from his grasp would have made this a great day even if the Spurriers were marching out under a barrage of abuse and rotten fruit. The former addict had pulled it off, which meant Luther was due a bonus for coming up with the scheme. A man like him was far too useful to neglect. Indeed, there might be a higher office in store for him.
However, the timing was far tighter than he would have liked. It had been his intention to first use the Cup on himself, and then, in the lesser way of the Silver Circle, on key members of the expedition. Commander Dorant had forced his hand by trying to stir up trouble, and Amaury’s quick reaction hadn’t come soon enough to stop the city’s tension from tipping over the edge.
Trouble had flared up in a couple of the usual hotspots. Nothing that couldn’t be contained for now.
The public needed to see action, to see the Order they feared marching off to defend them. The plan was for Vachon to find somewhere secluded to camp a day or so south, and wait for Amaury to bring him further information on the dragons’ location. In truth, he would meet them to administer the Cup’s bounty. When they returned, bearing the dragons’ heads as trophies, then, perhaps, the city would greet them with joy and flower garlands.
Amaury smiled broadly as the expedition disappeared from sight, passing over the bridge from the Isle to the right bank, toward the gate that would take them out of the city to the south. Beside him stood the king, whose smile was so obviously forced, he might as well have been scowling. Every so often he would wave stiffly to the crowd. He might not have been happy with the way Amaury had brought the Order out into the open, but when he saw how well things turned out, he would be grateful. He would realise the great service that the Prince Bishop had done for the kingdom. One by one, the pieces were falling from the board into Amaury’s pocket, proof indeed that hard work and perseverance eventually bore fruit.
Within an hour of the discovery of Commander Dorant’s body, the Intelligenciers of Mirabay had ceased to exist. Black robes and accoutrements adorned with the staff, skull, and sword insignia were cast aside in favour of the aprons of grocers, the jackets of bakers, the smart tunics of merchants pretending to be more successful than they actually were. Dorant’s remaining men—for more than he had met their ends that night—did what they were trained to do, melting into the population.
Their mission remained the same, emergency protocols having long since been created in the event of a successful, concerted attack on their command structure. No one would have known that the man leaning on a wall next to a grocer’s stall in one of the small market squares on the left bank of the river had worn Intelligencier black up until that morning. He chatted and joked like other men who had nothing better to do with their days. Every so often, he would pass comment on their new magical saviours, the tone of his voice conveying far more than mere words alone ever could. The people of Mirabay were well attuned to such rhetoric, priding themselves on sharp minds and even sharper tongues.
Traders and customers laughed and joked with him, voicing their concerns along with his. By late morning a crowd had gathered and the discussion had grown more serious. Two cream-robed individuals walked through the square shortly after the cathedral’s bells had rung the midday chimes. The square was bisected by a street that linked the Order’s headquarters to the Isle. The Intelligencier had chosen his spot with care: it was only a matter of time before members of the Order passed through.
It was unclear who threw the first rotting vegetable, or what type of vegetable that was. That first object was followed by a deluge, including a chunk of something more solid—a piece of a packaging crate or a market stall. When it struck its target, the mob cheered and surged forward. There was pushing and shoving, and someone let out a raucous cheer before holding a swath of torn cream cloth high overhead, the first trophy.
The Intelligencier didn’t see steel being drawn, but he did hear the scream that followed. The second scream tore the mob apart in panic, revealing two bodies on the ground. Standing in the gap were a cream-robed man and woman, with drawn blades and fearful looks on their faces. It was disappointing that they hadn’t used magic, but the Intelligencier was given to understand that not everyone in the Order was able to, at least not in any worthwhile way. Not yet.
His work done, he melted away with the fleeing crowd. The Order had murdered two citizens on the streets of Mirabay, in front of dozens of witnesses. Before the cathedral’s bells rang again that day, the news would have reached every corner of the city. Commander Dorant’s fire had been lit.
Amaury’s skin tingled as soon as Ysabeau walked into his office. Without a word, she offered him a leather pouch. He stood, reached across his desk, and took it reverently. Opening the pouch, he took out the Cup and cradled it in both hands, studying the swirling blue-and-grey patterns in the steel.
“Well done,” he said.
“There wasn’t much to it,” Ysabeau said. “Just a hard ride with a special touch to speed it along. The other fellow did the hard work.”
“You dealt with him?”
She nodded.
“Excellent,” Amaury said, transfixed by the Cup. “Where did you find him?”
“Venne,” she said. “Where the dragons are. Was hoping I might see one, but no luck.”
“Venne…” Amaury said. So that’s where Gill has gotten to. He wondered if he should have tasked Ysabeau with killing him also, but now that he had his main objective clutched firmly in his hands, it was easy to regret the opportunities not taken. Ysabeau might have ended up dead, and the Cup would still be in Gill’s pocket. “You must be exhausted. I’ve had your room readied. Gaston will see that you have everything you need. Rest awhile. We can talk again later.”
She moved to the door, and Amaury had the sensation that he had forgotten something.
“Ysabeau,” he said. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She turned and smiled. “You’re welcome. Dad.”
“All this effort will be worth it, I promise.”
She shut the door behind her, leaving him with the object of his dreams. He set the Cup on his desk and sat, content for a moment to study its plain beauty. He had desired it for so long. For much of that time he had thought it might be nothing more than a myth, but here it was. To think that Amatus himself had held this little bowl in his hands, had drunk from it, received his great powers from it … the idea was intoxicating. It was such a simple little thing; it was difficult to fathom how much power it contained.