“The Prince Bishop, of course.”
Val couldn’t help but laugh. It struck him as ridiculous that he might be thought a spy. It was flattering, though. “I don’t work for him. I’ve never even seen him.”
“Well, like I said. Anyway, I don’t believe the king has taken ill. I think the Prince Bishop arrested him, threw him in a cell, and is in the process of stealing his throne. I went up to the palace last night to take a look for myself.” He gestured to his waist, where his wound was concealed by his tunic. “As I’m sure you’ve worked out, I got caught.”
Even to Val, undertaking such an action alone seemed foolishly dangerous. What could dal Ruisseau Noir hope to achieve against the might of the most powerful man in Mirabaya?
“I know what you’re thinking,” dal Ruisseau Noir said, with that affected, casual wave of his hand that made him look like an idle dandy. “What can one man hope to achieve in the face of such opposition?”
Val nodded and dal Ruisseau Noir laughed.
“I wasn’t alone last night. I’m afraid that I’m not going to tell you any more than that, however. Still, seeing as you’re in on part of the secret, I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”
He took a scroll from his tunic and handed it to Val. A small blob of black wax sealed it shut, but there was no crest impression on the seal, as Val would have expected. “Will you deliver this for me?”
“Where do I need to take it?”
CHAPTER 8
Gill got up early the next morning, eager to take a look around on his own and get a better sense of the mood in the city. For the most part he was hoping for inspiration as to how they could get into the palace. He had spent plenty of time there as an active member of the Silver Circle, and hoped a stroll around some familiar landmarks might jog his memory of some of the palace’s secrets. With his hood pulled up to minimise the unlikely chance he would be recognised after five years in the provinces, he wandered toward the palace.
It was an old building, and old buildings always had entrances and passageways that had been forgotten, or were known only to a few. He had spent enough time sneaking women in to see the old king behind his wife’s back, not to mention the legion of mistresses who were marched in and out of the quarters of his Silver Circle comrades, to know this. The hidden doors he knew of were out of sight, rather than secret. If the head of the palace guard was worth his pay, they’d all be patrolled pretty regularly.
The old quarry shaft left over from the palace’s construction was the obvious way to try to sneak in, but it had been pretty comprehensively sealed up not long before Gill’s departure from Mirabay in disgrace. He recalled the engineers saying there was no way it could be breached. Of course, they hadn’t had access to the most powerful natural mage seen in centuries. He wondered if Solène would be able to do anything with it, and added the idea to his mental list.
Even if he could get into the palace and as far as Amaury’s office, he still had to take the Cup from the Prince Bishop. Both Cups, in fact. He didn’t have a problem with that—a reckoning between Gill and Amaury was long overdue and he relished the prospect. If he had to kill Amaury to get the Cup away from him, all the better.
He reckoned something of such importance would be with the Prince Bishop at all times. All he had to do was get to Amaury before the man finally decided to use the Cup. Ordinarily, the easiest thing to do would be wait for him to be out and about, somewhere Gill could get to him without too much security. A few sell-swords, or a little magical distraction from Solène, and Gill would have the singular pleasure of prising the Cup from Amaury’s cooling dead fingers.
Sadly, from the look of the palace, that plan didn’t have a chance. In all his time there—even after the many attempts on the old king’s life—Gill had never seen such a heavy, visible presence of the palace guard. If Amaury had locked his gates so securely, there was no way he planned to come out any time soon. Certainly not before he’d used the Cup. While he was holed up safe in there, sending his underlings out into danger, he could take his time. Amaury was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. If they wanted the Cup, they’d have to go in and take it. That was going to bring with it a whole world of problems.
Determination was all well and good, but it didn’t get him into the palace, or to Amaury. He wondered if there was anyone in the city he could call on for help. No one sprang to mind, although it did remind him that Val was in the city somewhere. He wondered how the lad was progressing. Perhaps, if things went well, when all this was over, he could call on the youngster.
As he walked back to the Wounded Lion, he racked his brains for any old associate, legitimate or otherwise, who might be of use. There were sell-swords, smugglers, and thieves who had crossed his path over the years, whose services could be had for coin, but after Barnot’s betrayal, he felt it prudent to avoid them.
By the time he got back, the only idea he’d come up with was to have Pharadon turn into a dragon and torch something to draw troops away. He paused in the doorway and thought about it more. He’d have to move fast while Pharadon was doing his thing. An attack like that would only encourage Amaury to use the Cup. Gill shook his head and he was filing that away as a last resort when he realised there was someone behind him trying to get in.
He stepped into the Wounded Lion, apologised to the person he’d blocked, and only then looked to see who it was. Val. He did a double take, to confirm it really was who he thought it was.
“Val?” The worried look on the boy’s face added years to him. It wasn’t what he expected if Val was living and studying with Hubert dal Volenne, and Gill wondered what had happened.
Val looked at Gill with suspicion. For an instant his face hardened, but as soon as recognition reached his brain, he smiled.
“Gill?”
“Not too loud, lad,” Gill said. What happened next came as a complete surprise. Val threw his arms around the older man and gave him a hug. Guillot didn’t know how to react. He gave Val an awkward pat on the back. “It’s good to see you too.”
“I didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” Val said. “I didn’t even know how I’d find out.”
“I was going to call on you as soon as I got the chance. How’s life with old Hubert? He’s a good sort, if a bit old-fashioned. I learned so much from him back in the day.”
“He’s dead,” Val blurted out.
“Come again?”
“He died some weeks ago.”
Gill frowned with confusion. “What did you do?” He realised they were still standing at the doorway. “Come, let’s get a seat. Innkeep! Two mugs of your morning-brew coffee!”
“I’m here on an errand,” Val said. “It won’t take a second.”
“Of course,” Gill said. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Val had found himself a job. He was an enterprising and determined lad, as his getting Gill to take him on as his squire had shown. “I’ll wait for you at the table. Come join me when you’re done.”
Val nodded eagerly and Gill took a seat. He allowed his mind to return to his problem and watched Val approach the bar while anticipating the invigorating effects of the Wounded Lion’s morning brew. It gave a kick to the system that would enliven even the most tired mind and was the saviour of many an Academy student in the run-up to exam time. Hopefully it would provide him the focus he needed to come up with a workable solution.
There was something decidedly odd about the way Val was behaving, almost as though he was acting out a pantomime of carrying on in as suspicious a manner as he could manage. At first Gill didn’t think too much of it; after all, the lad had come from the stable at the Black Drake and had been squire to someone who rarely observed the niceties. Gill reckoned it would take Val a while to feel comfortable on the inside looking out, rather than on the outside looking in. When he saw the lad pass the innkeeper a small scroll sealed in the anonymous black wax of the Intelligenciers, Gill nearly threw up.