Imperial Traitor (29 page)

‘Whatever you produce is likely to be of a far higher quality finish than the players are used to,’ Femke said with a grin. ‘I think the majority of the clothing that they work
with is barely tacked together.’

‘Then I’ll give them something that will last through many repeat performances,’ she replied. ‘Come back and see me as soon as you can with the measurements. In the
meantime, what costume will you need for yourself?’

Devarusso rubbed his eyes for the third time in as many minutes. Dawn was breaking and the early-morning birdsong was nearing the peak of its daily crescendo. Dark rings
encircled his eyes. Femke was still hunched over the stack of parchments working like a woman possessed.

‘For Shand’s sake, Femke!’ he swore. ‘Take a rest. You’ve earned it. Your spin on the play is great. You’ve utilised all the extra characters in a way that
will see them needing minimal acting practice. As long as their weapons play is good, then they’ll look spectacular on stage. Your instinct for drama, irony and use of language is excellent.
I’m beginning to share this vision of yours in spite of myself.’

‘But we’re so close to finishing . . .’

‘Which means it will not take long to do so when we resume. Go. Get a couple of hours of rest and come back when you’re ready. I need sleep, even if you don’t. If anyone had
ever told me they could adapt a play to give it such a different feel in a single night, I’d have declared them mad. Had I not witnessed you do it, I’d never have believed it possible.
I can see where you’re going with it. Some of the amended lines will need work, but you’ve held to the traditional storyline, which has always worked well. We’ll sort out the
casting and start rehearsing this afternoon. However, we won’t be able to do that if you’re dead on your feet.’

Femke sat up and looked at the page of text on the table. It blurred in and out of focus as she struggled to read the notes she had written. For a moment she felt dizzy, as the world seemed to
spin out of control. She placed her hands flat on the table in front of her and pressed down hard in an effort to restore her sense of balance.

‘Are you all right?’ Devarusso asked, his voice suddenly full of concern.

‘I just sat up too quickly, that’s all. You’re right. I’m tired.’ She got to her feet slowly to avoid any further dizziness. ‘I’ll see you in a few
hours. Thanks for all your help, Devarusso. I’d never have got that much done without you.’

He shook his head self-deprecatingly. ‘The work was yours. All I did was nudge you every now and then. If you ever get tired of getting into trouble, I’d be happy to have you back
here as one of my actors – you know that. After seeing this, I’d be happy to have you rewrite plays for me too.’

Femke gave a weary smile as she reached for the door handle. ‘Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment but, inspired or not, this will most definitely be my first and last. I’ll see you in
a couple of hours. It would be good to get the amended script finished before we begin rehearsing.’

‘Good, yes – essential, no. Rest. I’ll see you when you’re feeling recovered. I’ve plenty to work with for today.’

Lady Kempten could not sleep. Her imagination would not stop creating dire images of what might be happening in Shandrim. Bad dreams had troubled her every night since her
husband had left and she was becoming paranoid that buried somewhere in the nightmares there might dwell a grain of truth.

There were many who believed in the power of dreams. Some claimed they could interpret them. Isobel did not normally believe in such things, but the dreams were beginning to wear at her sense of
reality. The more she worried, the more she convinced herself that something bad was happening, or going to happen.

She rolled over again, plumping the pillow before trying to settle her cheek into it. No position felt comfortable this evening. Despite the heavy blankets she felt cold and alone without her
husband.

A flicker of light against her closed eyelids had her sitting upright in an instant. ‘I didn’t imagine it,’ she thought, her heart racing. ‘That was a real light, I know
it was.’ With shaking hands she reached out to the bedside table and felt around to the back leg nearest to the bed where she had tied a small dagger. It was well that she had tied it in
place with a bow, or she would have struggled to make her trembling fingers untie the knot.

Cautiously, with the dagger clutched tightly in her right hand, she swung her feet out of bed and took her first step across the floor towards the door. A distant grumble of thunder brought her
to a stop. The flicker had been lightning! Relief spread through her stomach, bringing a flush of warmth and making her feel foolish. There had been an unusually large number of storms this spring.
Why should another be any surprise?

She lowered her dagger and chuckled quietly at her melodramatic reaction as she turned back to the bed. The room was dark, but not completely so, and her eyes had long since adapted to the low
light. She could see that the covers on the large four-poster were rucked and twisted from her tossing and turning. It would be as well to straighten them before getting back in, she thought.
Getting comfortable was proving impossible enough without starting out tangled in a mess of blankets and sheets.

Placing the dagger on the bedside table, Isobel methodically stripped back the blankets and sheets, re-making the bed layer by layer until all the bedding was flat and tightly tucked under the
mattress. She sighed and pulled back the corner in preparation to climb in. Again lightning flickered at the window, the blue-white light dancing through the curtains with the seductive allure of
fairy-like magic. As a little girl, Isobel had always found the sight of distant lightning against the night sky enchanting. It was a beautiful phenomenon. Despite the late hour she felt little
inclination towards sleep, and the chance to recapture something of her childhood innocence was appealing.

Moving to the curtains, she drew them apart. By chance, as the curtains moved, so the thunder rolled. However, the distant rumble was augmented by a sudden flurry of sound that caused Isobel
such a fright she leaped back in shock. A pair of pigeons roosting on the deep windowsill had startled into flight, disturbed by the sudden movement of the curtains behind them. Once again she
found her heart pounding and her face flushing, as she experienced feelings of foolishness for being so on edge.

‘For Shand’s sake!’ she muttered. ‘What is wrong with you tonight, Izzie?’

It took a few moments for her nerves to settle, but when they did she moved forwards and looked out from the window at the dark, silhouetted countryside. The treetops were unmoving in the
breathless stillness. Lady Isobel opened the window to better appreciate the beauty of the crisp, calm night air. The distant flash drew her eyes instantly as lightning once again forked down from
the heavens. The jagged fingers of incandescent energy were beautiful. At this distance it was hard to imagine that something so pretty could wreak damage and destruction. It seemed almost like a
momentary glowing spider web, connecting heaven and earth.

A movement down on the lawn by the pond drew her eye. It was hard to see much after the brightness of the lightning. Her night vision had gone, but there was definitely something out there
moving stealthily through the cover of darkness. She narrowed her eyes, trying her utmost to see through the after-image of the forked web of light. Then she caught a glimpse of it again – a
dark shape, creeping silently towards the house. What was it? It was hard to get any sort of perspective of size in this light.

The roll of thunder this time lasted a little longer than the previous ones, though it was no louder. As it died away a barn owl flew from the roof of the manor house down across the lawn
towards the willow tree by the pond. Isobel watched its ghostly passage, and was most pleased that she did not start when it let out its high-pitched hunting screech. Another flash of lightning lit
the sky, casting shadows and momentarily exposing the nightly hunters to their prey. The shape on the lawn was recognisable in an instant. It was a fox, doubtless looking to see if it could break
into the chicken coop. It was unlikely to succeed. The coop and shed were sturdy structures and the servants maintained them well.

Isobel drew in a deep breath, enjoying the evening air. As she did so, a hand suddenly clamped across her mouth and nose from behind, pulling her away from the window. She felt the prick of a
dagger at her throat and instinctively tried to scream. It was useless. Her assailant’s hand was clamped too firmly for anything but a muffled squeak to escape.

‘Silence!’ whispered a voice in her ear. ‘If you cry out, or try to attract attention in any way, I’ll cut your throat. Understand?’

For a moment she thought about trying to get free. The dagger on the bedside table gave her brief hope. If she could just break his grip and get her weapon, she might stand a chance. After a few
seconds, she realised the futility of her thinking. The man holding her was strong. His body felt hard against her back. He had made no sound as he approached her. Given the circumstances it was
quite likely that he was a trained assassin, or at the least a professional spy. The point of the dagger under her chin pressed slightly harder.

‘Understand?’ he repeated.

She gave the slightest of nods, careful not to press any harder against the dagger for fear of it breaking her skin.

‘Good. Now I’m going to take my hand from your mouth and you’re going to answer my questions. Just look straight ahead at the window. So long as you do as I say, you
won’t be hurt.’ He gradually loosened his hand from her mouth and nose, replacing it over her forehead to better tilt back her head and expose her throat. ‘Where is Lord
Kempten?’ he asked. The man’s voice was hard as granite, with a rough texture to match.

‘He knows,’ she thought frantically. ‘What can I tell him that will satisfy him?’

‘He’s dead and buried. What more do you want from him?’ she answered with a sniff.

‘Don’t try to be clever, my Lady. I know the assassination was a fake. Kempten’s alive. Where is he?’

Isobel paused for a moment. There was nothing she could do. Given that the man already knew her husband was alive, any information she gave about his whereabouts would do little damage.

‘He’s gone to Shandrim, to claim what is rightfully his.’

‘So he’s going to take the Mantle then?’

‘Of course! What else could he do? Surabar made him his heir. The Mantle of an Emperor is not something to be thrown aside lightly.’

The man fell silent. She could feel him breathing as the seconds dragged from one to the next, but the pressure of the knifepoint at her throat did not waver.

‘Whereabouts in Shandrim is he staying?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. He didn’t tell me that.’

‘And do you know what he intends for the Guild?’

‘The Guild? Which Guild?’

‘Don’t play the fool, my Lady. It doesn’t become you. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

Isobel’s thoughts raced. ‘Whatever I say now will land me in trouble. What do I say? What do I say?’ When in doubt, a lie was more likely to be obvious. She decided that the
safest course was still the truth.

‘That very much depends,’ she answered carefully.

‘Don’t tease me, my Lady. I don’t take well to that. Come on – spit it out. It depends on what?’

Isobel paused for effect.

‘It depends on whether he can find a sure-fire way of destroying the Guild once and for all.’

The man grunted. To her relief, he appeared to accept her answer. The pressure of the knifepoint eased a fraction. Once again the silence grew and her mind played through the possibilities of
what would happen next. ‘If he’s a Guild member, the man’s unlikely to kill me. Without a contract it’s against the man’s creed to kill . . . unless someone has taken
out a contract. But who? Who would want me dead? What if he isn’t a member of the Guild, but one of their hired hands? Would he still be bound by the creed?’

‘Very well, my Lady. Thank you for your cooperation. Now, much as I’d like to leave you here and pursue your husband, I’m afraid I have specific orders that I’m bound to
comply with.’

‘He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die,’ she thought frantically.

‘Please, don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. I’m going to lead you out of the house. Make a noise, or try to attract attention in any way, and I’ll
kill you without hesitation. If you do draw the attention of others, you’ll be killing them as surely as if you ran them through with a sword. There’s no one in this house capable of
stopping me, so unless you’d like me to stain your lovely carpets with copious amounts of blood, I suggest you concentrate on doing exactly as I say. Now, I’m going to guide you
forwards. Walk as silently as you can. Let’s go.’

‘Well, I’d never have believed it unless I’d seen it with my own two eyes! Shand, but that’s the dog’s danglies! And you can provide a backdrop
like this to every scene?’

Devarusso was sitting on the audience steps about a third of the way up the tiered seating and looking on as Jabal created the illusion that converted the stage into a forest. The troupe
leader’s jaw had dropped in amazement as the transformation occurred. He got to his feet, his eyes still wide. Huge trees had sprung from nowhere, and anyone not knowing that it was a stage
would swear blind that the forest went on for as far as the eye could see between the enormous tree trunks.

Was that birdsong he could hear? And the other background woodland noises . . . this was beyond anything he had imagined possible.

‘To be honest, I’d rather not have to unless it’s totally necessary,’ Jabal answered. ‘It takes a lot of energy and I’ll need to have considerable reserves if
I’m to face the Guild’s master stone after the show.’

‘I could do it, Master,’ Calvyn offered, his quiet voice sounding confident. ‘I know you don’t approve of sorcery as an alternative to magic, but in this instance it
makes sense to play to the strengths of the available disciplines. I was trained by some of the most powerful sorcerers in Shandar. To create something like this would be simple. May I
demonstrate?’