‘Pardon me?’
‘Don’t make me repeat myself. You know how tiresome I find it.’
‘Of course, Magistra.’ Waylian did his best to keep up as Gelredida squeezed herself through the thickening crowd. ‘But I still don’t understand.’
‘Did you think those errands I sent you on were just for your health?’ she said.
‘Well … no. But I …’
‘Milius the apothecary — what did you think of him?’
‘He kind of gave me the willies.’
Gelredida chuckled. ‘Yes, I’m sure he did. But then he is the foremost poisoner in the city. And I had to ensure he knew the ingredients for a very specific poison. One used not too long ago in the Tower of Magisters.’
‘Someone was poisoned in the tower?’
‘Come, Waylian. Surely you must have heard the rumours of old Archmaster Gillen’s death? Who do you think it was I dissected in the lower chambers all those days ago?’
Waylian thought back to when he had first come to the city and the rumours he’d heard flying around the apprentice chambers. Archmaster Gillen had been Lucen Kalvor’s tutor. Kalvor had succeeded him when the old man died quite suddenly.
‘Are you suggesting Archmaster Kalvor actually killed Gillen?’
Gelredida shook her head. ‘No, I’m not suggesting it, Waylian, I’m saying it outright. Those other fools in the Crucible Chamber are too blinded by Kalvor’s charm and power to see it, but the signs were all there. The poison he used leaves almost no trace … almost. The evidence is there for those who know what to look for. There are only two people in the city who could have crafted such a potion. I’m one of them, Milius is the other. I knew if you went to him with a list of just the right ingredients it would spook Milius enough to try to kill you.’
‘It would what?’ Waylian stopped in his tracks, staring at his mistress. She’d put him in danger before, he knew that, but to stand there and admit it.
Gelredida stopped and looked at him. ‘Come, Waylian. Don’t be such a fusspot. You were never in any real danger. Had Milius succeeded in poisoning you I’m confident I could have found a remedy before you expired.’
You’re ‘confident’?
Waylian shook his head. ‘What about the other business? Was my life in peril there too?’
‘Of course not … not really.’
That’s reassuring.
‘So who is Josiah Klumm?’
Gelredida eyes shifted to left and right as though someone might be listening in. She had been happy to talk in public about Lucen Kalvor poisoning his former mentor but this, it seemed, was something she wished to keep private.
Satisfied no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, Gelredida moved closer to Waylian. ‘Josiah Klumm is the illegitimate offspring of one Drennan Folds. If news of this was to become public knowledge it would be very embarrassing for the Archmaster.’
‘So you blackmailed him? You threatened to tell his secret?’
The Magistra looked at him as though it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard him say — and there was plenty to choose from.
‘Of course not. I threatened to kill the boy. Now,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘shall we be off? We have pressing matters to attend to.’
With that she set off through the crowd.
Waylian followed his mistress with thoughts of what he’d done coursing through his head. He was the one who’d brought Josiah Klumm to the Magistra in the first place. Did that make him complicit? Would Drennan Folds eventually want revenge? The prospect of that did not sit well at all.
‘What about the other Archmasters?’ Waylian asked, pushing his way forward to trot alongside his mistress. ‘How did you persuade them to change their minds?’
‘I didn’t. I gambled on the fact that once Kalvor and Folds were on side the others would follow. Marghil and the unfortunately deceased Crabbe didn’t disappoint. The only one I was unsure of was Nero, and once he’d shown his true colours I knew we’d won.’
‘But we were nearly killed.’
Gelredida raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is hardly the same as actually killed, is it, Waylian.’
He supposed it wasn’t.
The rest of the way they walked in silence. Even as Gelredida passed through the gates of the Crown District she said nothing. The Greencoats on the gate stepped aside as though they had expected her arrival. When they reached the gate to the palace of Skyhelm, however, things weren’t quite so simple.
Four Sentinels stood guarding the way, their spears shining in the winter sun.
‘I must speak with the queen,’ said Gelredida.
One of the knights looked down at her then shook his head.
‘I need a hundred crowns and a good night’s sleep,’ he replied. ‘But neither of us is going to get what we want today, old woman.’
Gelredida fixed her gaze on him.
Waylian could see the knight staring back from within his great helm. His three fellows shuffled uncomfortably. For some reason none of them could find the courage to speak and tell this old lady to be on her way.
After what seemed an age, the first knight suddenly moved from their path.
‘All right then,’ he said, his voice quaking slightly. ‘Come in.’
FORTY-ONE
It seemed with every report from the front the news became ever more dire. The numbers of men lost, the increasing need for reinforcements, requests for supplies they simply didn’t have, the villages burned, the townsfolk raped and murdered. The trail from Dreldun to the gates of Steelhaven would be thick with graves, yet the sacrifices made by the soldiers of the Free States might still all be in vain.
Janessa felt wretched. Felt that every man that was killed, every person that starved or died of cold or perished from infection was a result of her failure to make a deal with the Bankers League. And every passing day she knew the chances of her being able to ensure her city’s survival were slipping through her fingers.
Of course preparations had been made. Garret and Odaka had done much, their military experience invaluable to the city’s defence. They had tried to recruit fighting men from the teeming mass of refugees, but seemed to find only frail old men or keen but inexperienced boys. Odaka himself had told her that these would be the first to die once the Khurtas laid siege to the city walls. Janessa wanted to tell these inadequate recruits that they should return to their families, but how could she? The city needed all the defenders it could get. It would be lost without sacrifice.
Fodder, Marshal Farren had called them. Janessa could not bring herself to think of them like that. She could only think of them as old men and boys who were marked to die. Die because she had failed to make a deal with Azai Dravos to save her city.
Lamenting on it would do her little good, though, Janessa knew that. She had to move on. It was what her father would have done. In fact, King Cael would have proudly mounted Dravos’ head on a pike for all to see — a warning to any others who might try to betray the Mastragalls. Janessa would never have gone so far, but after what Dravos had done she was sorely tempted.
But Dravos was gone and the business of state demanded her full energy.
Despite the vital importance of most of her business in court, the throne room was largely vacant. Chancellor Durket and her Sentinels stood close by, but most of her court had taken their leave. Marshal Farren and General Hawke had made their way back to the front, and Hawke had only gone reluctantly. Baroness Isabelle Magrida and her son still lurked within the palace but rarely deigned to come to the throne room. The lack of attendance was something of a relief.
It was with some regret then, that after all her business was done, she saw Seneschal Rogan make his way to the throne. The man moved like a snake, seeming to slide across the floor, his feet hidden beneath the hem of his drab robe.
‘Majesty,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘I have come with matters that require your attention. It concerns an execution.’