The Rose and the Thorn

CHAPTER 16

Rose was in the castle?” Hadrian asked. He had returned to the driver’s seat, and even Dunwoodie’s coat wasn’t enough to keep out the chill.

“Didn’t expect that.” Royce’s voice came hollow out of the dark interior of the carriage beneath him.

“We in trouble?”

“Don’t think so. Sounds like we just lucked out. He said Exeter was still looking for her. The timing might be perfect.”

“They’ll never make it to the Lower Quarter.” Hadrian watched the girl and the guard walk briskly past the line of carriages heading for the city. He remembered her from the year before. Rose was the one who had brought him soup all the time. She spilled some on him once and they had a good laugh. She used to love his stories and once, just before they left, he danced with her in front of the fire. “We should give them a ride.”

“I’m here for Exeter and I need the carriage. You can go escort them if you want. I don’t need you for this.”

Hadrian dropped down off the driver’s seat and stood next to the coach’s window. The curtain was drawn, but Hadrian could see Royce’s fingers holding part of it open.

He watched the pair walk into the shadows and sighed. “I’ll stay.”

“No. You should go.”

“Royce, you’re hoping to ambush a high noble and you don’t think you might need help with that?”

“This is familiar ground.”

“How so?” Hadrian said.

“There’s a reason the Black Diamond returned our horses. A reason why people still fear men in dark hoods in Colnora. I have a lot of practice in this. I don’t need your help, but that castle guard could use another sword-or three.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the whole good deed thing?”

“Maybe Arcadius was right. Maybe you’re rubbing off.”

Hadrian wished he could see Royce’s eyes. Not that they ever told him much, but he was certain the thief was hiding something. Normally, convincing Royce to think of someone other than himself was like trying to explain to water that it shouldn’t always flow downhill. He also didn’t like him bringing up that Arcadius might be right. The last time they had seen the old university professor was when he’d practically twisted their arms into teaming up. Twisting Royce’s arm was never a good idea, and to hear him applaud the old man only convinced Hadrian something wasn’t right.

Hadrian took off the driver’s coat and hat and pulled his swords from where he’d hidden them on the driver’s seat. “I might still be back in time.”

“No rush,” Royce said. “Either way this works out, I’ll be busy all night.”

All night.

The words lingered as Hadrian walked away and would return to his mind several times before it ended. He slipped his cloak back on as he walked in shadows, and once he was out of sight of the gate guards, he ran.

He sprinted past the gentry shops, then slowed when he spotted the two. Hadrian kept a good distance. Following them wasn’t hard; he already knew where they were going. The guard glanced around a few times, but not nearly as much as Hadrian thought he should. The year Hadrian had spent with Royce taught him the value of awareness, and the last few hours of sitting on the coach’s bench had showed him just how active the streets were.

The pair cut through the homes and then passed under the Tradesmen’s Arch into the Artisan Quarter. There the world was darker, the homes smaller. Without enough income to pay for streetlamps, illumination came from the rare candlelight leaking out of windows through thin curtains that veiled the private lives of craftsmen, their wives, and children. Overhead, the moon had risen, turning the narrow streets into patterns of black and ghostly white. The tight buildings bounced sound, allowing Hadrian to hear their steps, loud and crisp.

He wondered what had gone on in the castle that night, and what might still be going on. Normally he didn’t indulge in pointless speculation about the nobility any more than he wondered what it was like to be a hawk or a fish. Meeting Albert had changed that. The viscount was … surprisingly human. He used too many big words but breathed air like everyone else. Hadrian worried about him. If there was some treachery going on, he hoped Albert had the sense to stay out of it.

The loud shuffle and clack of fast-moving heels on cobblestone filtered out of a side street. The folks of the Artisan Quarter were hardworking. Few wandered outside after dark, and none in such large groups. Hadrian ducked into the recess of a cobbler shop’s doorway, hitting his head on the boot-shaped signage, just as a patrol came into view. They marched quickly toward Rose and her escort.

“Halt!”

The pair stopped, and the men closed in. Like all the other patrols, this one had only one member in the black and white sheriff uniform. The rest were dressed in simple tunics and wool trousers, but each sported a white feather in his hat.

“What are your names?” the one in the uniform demanded.

“I’m Sergeant Richard Hilfred, of the royal guard.”

“You’re a castle guard?” one of the deputies asked.

The quarter sheriff shook his head and frowned. “The burgundy and gold falcon tunic and the chain mail didn’t give it away, huh?”

The other man shrugged, and another suppressed a laugh.

“And who is this?” the sheriff asked, nodding at Rose.

“That’s none of your concern. I am on the king’s business-leave us be.”

“Can’t do that. We’ve got orders to find a young girl-a whore.” He paused, looking at Rose carefully, shifting around her to get a full view. “For two nights a tiny army has crawled up every alley and looked in every rat hole. But no one’s seen anything close-until now.”

“And yet, I’m telling you I’m on the king’s business.” The escort’s voice didn’t have a hint of fear. If anything, he sounded irritated. “You see the uniform, you know what it means. Now leave us be. I don’t have time for your provincial games tonight.”

“Maybe you’re on king’s orders, maybe not. If you are, then there’ll be no trouble with you coming with us to the castle so we can ask Lord Exeter. If it checks out, we’ll apologize real proper-like and provide an escort to wherever it is you’re going so no other patrols interfere. How’s that sound?”

“I told you I don’t have time for games, boy.”

The sheriff didn’t like that. “I think you’re gonna have to make time, Sergeant Hilfred, because I’m not a boy. I’m a Medford quarter sheriff, this is my quarter, and the two of you are under arrest.”

The moment the sheriff reached out for Rose, Richard wasted no time. He jerked Rose back hard, causing her to cry out and fall to the street behind him. At the same time, he drew his sword. Before anyone else moved, he shoved the blade in and out of the stomach of the largest deputy, who at the time wasn’t even looking his way. Rose started screaming as the big guy crumpled in a little spin to the stone as if he were a dying top.

Richard swung at the uniformed sheriff, but by then all swords were out and the stroke met steel. The clang rang through the empty square as the men faced off. His focus on the sheriff gave the deputy an opening, and he slashed Richard across the back. The blow rocked him, but nothing more.

“He’s wearing chain, you idiot!” the sheriff shouted. “Grab the girl. Take her to Exeter!” The sheriff advanced, swinging and driving Richard to the side with a series of chops aimed at his head.

Still screaming, Rose crawled away until the deputy grabbed her by the arm and pulled the girl to her feet. She fought, kicking him in the shin, but the man held on. In frustration, he finally just dropped his sword, lifted Rose over his shoulder, and started carrying her toward the castle.

Hadrian waited until he approached the cobbler shop. “Evening, Deputy,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. “That’s a heavy load you’re carrying. Could you use some help?”

The man looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then said, “I dropped my sword back there. Could you get it?”

“You don’t have a sword, huh?” Hadrian replied. “That’s the problem with only carrying one.” In a breath, Hadrian had the point of his own blade touching the throat of the deputy. “Put her down.”

“I’m an appointed deputy. I’m working for Lord Exeter. Look at the hat!”

“Funny-that strategy didn’t work for the sergeant either.”

“You’ll be hanged for interfering.”

Rose did something behind the man’s back that Hadrian couldn’t see, and the deputy cried out, dropping her.

“Damn it! You bit me!” He reached out to grab her again and Hadrian pressed the point of his blade tighter against the man’s neck.

Thirty feet away, Richard and the sheriff danced to the tune of ringing swords. The sergeant was the better of the two, and being the only one dressed in chain doubled his advantage. The sheriff kept his distance, lunging only when Richard was distracted.

“Terence!” the sheriff shouted. “Just run and get help.”

The deputy took a step back, turned, and ran toward the Gentry Quarter. Hadrian let him go and sheathed his blade.

No longer distracted, the sergeant pressed the sheriff, who fell back but not fast enough. The sergeant cut him in the leg, and when he dropped, Richard thrust his blade through his side, twisting it before drawing it back out.

Hadrian grimaced. That was uncalled for. He had him the moment he slashed the thigh.

With blood dripping from his sword, Richard charged Hadrian, who raised his hands in surrender.

“Easy, I’m on your side.”

The sergeant hesitated a moment, glanced at Rose, then nodded and sheathed his sword. “Thanks. Who are you?”

Hadrian looked at Rose. “I’m a friend of Gwen’s.”

“Who?”

“She’s the lady who runs Medford House,” Rose explained. “Hadrian was a guest.”

“Medford House?” Richard looked confused.

“Yeah, where I live. You know, where we’re going-where you’re taking me.”

“Oh yeah, right.” The sergeant nodded several times. “And we need to get going. Thanks for the help, friend.” He grabbed Rose once more and the two began to run.

They trotted through the central square past the fountain where the cobblestone formed a circle pattern. During the day, Hadrian had hardly noticed the fountain amidst the activity and the crowds, but in the silence of the chill night, it bubbled like a cauldron. Following behind them, Hadrian cringed. Rose’s white skirt stood out as brightly as a surrender flag, and Richard’s military boots slapped the street with enough noise to be a call to arms. Maybe it was the time he had spent with Royce, but the two appeared as deft as oxen. Ironically, after a year of being berated for his own noise and clumsiness, Hadrian could finally appreciate Royce’s frustration. Why don’t they just shout, “Over here! Come find us!”?

Richard stopped when they reached the gate to the Lower Quarter and turned, looking irritated to see Hadrian still with them. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you might need-” Shouts and the stamp of boots cut him off. Hadrian saw lanterns casting jittery shadows of running men.

“Stay here,” Richard told him. “Slow them down. I’ve got to get her away.”

Hadrian nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The sergeant smiled, and grabbing Rose’s wrist once more, they ran into the dark narrow streets of the Lower Quarter.

Hadrian turned to face the approaching noise.

“There! He’s one of them!” Terence, the once-unarmed deputy, had picked up his sword on the way back and now brandished it at him. At his side were three more men wearing hats with white feathers. None of them wore a uniform but all drew their swords.

Albert waited in the reception hall listening to the muffled sounds of gaiety seeping through the corridors. He could smell the scent of meat. Dinner was at long last being served, and he hoped he was about to be finished with his obligations for the night so he could enjoy himself. He looked forward to spending the rest of the evening indulging in the luxury afforded to his class, a lifestyle he had so sorely missed.

He tapped his toes together. His shoes were too tight. New shoes always were. The leather, always stiff at first, needed time to mold to the wearer’s foot and walking style. Albert could hardly recall the last time he had new shoes. Four, maybe five years ago? These were nice. He stared at his toes and realized he couldn’t care less about shoes-he wanted a drink. Maybe after proving himself, Royce would lengthen his leash. In some ways he felt like he had sold his soul, given away his freedom, and yet perhaps freedom was overrated. He had never been more free than when he was living in that barn in Colnora. Any freer and he’d be dead. It was impossible to argue with Royce or Hadrian that he could drink responsibly. They knew so little about him. All they had ever seen was a filthy, penniless vagrant who would sell the shirt off his back for a cup of rum. What they couldn’t see was that drink had not brought him there-drink was how he dealt with it. How else could a man accept helplessness and the inevitability of starvation? How could a man born to a world of castles, carriages, and kings accept a pauper’s end, except by washing it away?

The problem was that while he had his doubts about Hadrian, Albert was certain Royce was not above killing him if he messed up. There was something about that man that reeked of death. Albert spent many years in castle courts learning to assess people, knowing who could be pushed and who might draw a sword at a joke. These were skills courtiers either developed quickly or died in an early misty-morning duel. Albert hadn’t been lying. He was terrible at fencing, but he had developed other skills. The combat skills of the court were the ability to evaluate a man’s intents and purposes in an instant. This is what made Albert certain Royce was more than capable of murder; he sensed a degree of experience in him. There was also a total lack of hesitancy. Royce wouldn’t give Albert a chance to explain or excuse himself. For now there could be no drinking, but maybe one day, when he had proven himself an asset-

“What’s this all about? Who are you?”

Lord Exeter came at him swiftly. The man was imposing. His long dark hair pulled back, the finely trimmed goatee, and harsh eyes. When taken together, it presented a severe presence that screamed, Threat! In that instant, Albert could see that he, too, had killed and would kill again. Men of power-of real power-were always scary.

Exeter surprised him so much that Albert barely remembered what he was supposed to say.

“Your Lordship.” Albert bowed. “I am Viscount Albert Winslow.”

Exeter glared. “Who?”

“I would not expect you to have heard of me.”

“What do you want?”

“I was bidden to relay a message to you from a very generous man. I honestly don’t know what it means, but it sounded most disturbing. I was asked to say the following…” He had also been asked to say the previous. The preamble worked out between himself and Royce as a means of insurance to keep him safe. He was unleashing a lion after rattling his cage, and Albert felt it was important to at least have a chair. Albert took a deep breath-he wanted to get through the whole message without pause. It was important that Exeter heard it all before rushing off. “ ‘I know your plan,’ ” Albert said in his reciting voice. “ ‘I have Rose. Perhaps we can make a deal. I am waiting in a carriage out front-a carriage marked by a rose. Come alone.’ ”

“Who is this person?” Exeter asked.

“I have no idea. I only just met him tonight at the gala. He never mentioned his name. Odd, don’t you think? He was very insistent that I get this message to you immediately, saying he would be waiting at the front gate.”

Exeter continued to stare at Albert for a moment longer, looking both puzzled and angry, apparently undecided which to commit to. The gate was open, but the lion was in no hurry to escape. He turned to the guard with him. “Vince, keep him here.” Exeter retreated back toward the interior of the castle from which he’d come.

Albert did not like the keep him here comment and stood uncomfortably in the shadow of the guard.

Vince was one of those men who Albert assumed was born to the job of professional soldier. He stood too close for Albert’s sensibilities. He could smell the reek of stale sweat. And Albert, who was proud of his ability to read men, found looking at Vince was like peering at a blank wall. No complexity, no mystery, no color-cows had more depth. He was a full head taller than Albert, a large, balding, unpleasant head. His face was a map of scars. And even without the souvenir blemishes of his trade, Vince could never have been considered handsome. The viscount wondered what poor woman once called this her baby, and how she had managed to avoid drowning it.

Exeter returned with a lieutenant of the guard and six other soldiers. He was moving quickly.

“Keep him here until I get back,” he told Vince; then facing the lieutenant, he said, “Wylin, there’s an idiot sitting in a carriage out front marked by a rose. Go arrest him.”

Simon Exeter followed behind Wylin and his men but stopped at the keep’s entryway while the rest walked to the front gate, then beyond. Across the bridge, the line of carriages waited. Each had lanterns lit. Some of the horses wore blankets as they waited for their fares or lords to return from the feast.

Simon might have suspected the gods were allied against him if not for the viscount’s unexpected message. After the girl’s vanishing act, he had spent last night and all that day canvassing the city, interrogating whores and thieves. He deputized two dozen men and had sheriffs working double duty searching every closet and cupboard for the girl. Now he might actually have her.

Simon didn’t like the way the gate guards were acting. Both stared at him oddly.

Wylin trotted back across the bridge and up to Exeter. “Empty, sir.”

“Empty?”

“Nothing inside, well, except for this.” Lieutenant Wylin held out a parchment.

I said come alone. And I meant it.

You have one more chance. Get in this carriage.

Tell the driver to take you to the graveyard on Paper Street in the Merchant Quarter. When I see the carriage arrive, and that you’re alone, I will contact you.

Simon crushed the note in his fist and marched across the bridge toward the carriages. The men waited, watching him.

“You there!” he shouted at the carriage driver, who sat nervously.

“I didn’t do nothing, Your Lordship. Honest.”

“The man who was in here. Your passenger. Where did he go?”

“He switched carriages but paid me to wait for him, sir. Said he would be back, sir.”

“He switched?” Simon grinned. “Which one is he in, then?”

“Oh, the one that left, sir.”

Simon’s smile vanished.

“Which way did it go?”

“Ah … that way, sir.” He pointed. “Made a left at the square.”

“Merchant Quarter.” Simon slapped the side of the carriage, making the driver jump.

“You aren’t thinking of actually going, are you, Your Lordship?” Wylin asked. “I mean alone.”

Simon fixed him with a withering glare. “Don’t talk to me as if I were one of your idiot men.”

“My apologies, Your Lordship.”

“He’s cagey, this one.” Simon had his doubts when the viscount delivered the message, but as he looked across the dark square, he became convinced whoever it was did indeed have the girl. “Not a complete idiot.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Never mind. I’ll go alone, but I want you and your men to split up and walk to Paper Street. Send a dozen this time. Have them take off their colors and chain and go by different routes. When you get there, fan out around the entrance to the graveyard and wait for my arrival. When you hear me whistle, close in. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, sir, but where do you want me to pull the men from? I don’t have authority to draw men away from the walls, not on a night when the king is holding a party.”

“Pull them from the city guard, Gentry Square. Start with my sheriffs and fill out the ranks with their deputies. They don’t need to patrol anymore. That should be more than enough. Gather them on your way, but be quick. I want you there before I arrive.”

“Yes, sir. We’re on our way.”

“What do you want me to do, sir?” the driver asked.

“Wait here. I’ll need you to drive me.”

“As you wish.”

When Simon returned to the reception hall, Vince was still keeping an eye on the viscount, who had a decidedly nervous look on his face.

“Vince, go to my chambers. Fetch my sword and cloak.” He turned to the viscount. “This man who gave you the message. What did he look like?”

“Big man. Dark complexion. Blond hair, though, with a thin mustache that ran down around his mouth, you know.” The man swirled his finger around his lips. “Slurred his words a bit I remember. I take it you didn’t see him.”

“No, but I will.” He looked the viscount over. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Viscount Albert Winslow.”

“What holding?”

He smiled sheepishly. “My grandfather lost the family fief. I’m just a landless noble.”

“Worst kind of vagrant-a noble one. Do nothing, contribute nothing, but suck off of every landowner’s teat like it’s your god-given right. Isn’t that so?”

“That’s me exactly, Your Lordship.”

“You’ve served your purpose. Go on. Go steal the meal you came for.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship.”

Simon left the castle, crossed the courtyard, and passed once more through the gate under the withering stare of the boy-guard. He climbed into the carriage marked with roses and yelled to the driver, “Take me to Paper Street, to the graveyard in the Merchant Quarter.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The carriage pulled away from the line and entered the city streets.

Who could he be? Most likely that stupid thief I beat the other night. Thinks he can make a coin selling the girl to me. Hanging three of his cohort clearly wasn’t enough to penetrate that top hat.

Simon was torn between having the thief leader killed or rewarded. He guessed it would all depend on what the girl told him. He just hoped he wasn’t chasing a ghost. And who was this mysterious giant blond the viscount mentioned? This was the problem with conspiracies and coups-they were never simple.

The carriage came to a stop. Looking out the window, Simon was puzzled. They hadn’t traveled far. They were only in Gentry Square.

“Keep going. I said Paper Street. That’s in the Merchant Quarter.”

The driver climbed down and opened the carriage door, stepping in.

“What are you doing? Get out! Are you mad?”

“Yes. Very.” The man was small and thin, but there was something about his eyes, something unnerving. Even more disturbing was the prick of a blade that the driver suddenly pressed to his throat.

“I don’t have many friends,” the driver said. “I can actually count them all on one hand and not use all my fingers. Like anything rare, they are precious. And yes, I get very mad when one is hurt. But I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way. What you were actually asking is if I’m insane-crazy, isn’t that right?” The man’s voice was cavalier without any hint of fear or respect, yet soft, words whispered as gentle as a lover. “Well, to be honest, I think you might have a point there too. Oh, and feel free to whistle. Thanks to you, all the sheriffs in Gentry Square are gone, and thanks to the gala, all the residents are away as well. No one is going to hear your signal or your screams.”