Off Armageddon Reef (20 page)

But even more importantly, there was a social openness in the Kingdom of Charis, as well. No one would ever confuse Charis with a representative democracy. King Haarahld would probably suffer an apoplectic attack at the very notion. But the Royal Charisian Navy had a centuries-long tradition of accepting only the service of freemen, outright serfdom had been abolished in Charis well over a century ago, and by the standard of any other Safeholdian state, Charisian commoners were undeniably “uppity.”

Which, coupled with the centrality of trade and traders to Charisian prosperity, helped explain why Haarahld's parliament was an active, vital part of his government. For the most part, it did what it was told, but it zealously guarded its prerogatives, and Haarahld was wise enough to side with the Commons against the Lords sufficiently often to leave no doubt in anyone's mind where the true power lay. For that matter, most of the Charisian nobility was actively involved in trade, without the arrogant hauteur of the landed nobles of Harchong or Desnair. They recognized ability as being just as vital as blue blood. The mere possession of a title did not excuse sloth or indolence, and a Charisian commoner of ability and energy could expect to rise far higher than his counterpart in almost any other Safeholdian realm.

That was why Merlin was here. The basic matrix of Charisian politics and society offered the most fertile soil for the seed he had to plant. There was still the minor problem of Langhorne's insurance policy, which Owl had discovered in his orbital survey. Figuring out a way to deal with
that
was going to be…a challenge. But, even after it was overcome, it was obvious to Merlin that he couldn't possibly try to impose technology upon Safehold, any more than he could single-handedly overthrow the Church. The changes he had to induce must be organic, must grow out of a genuine shift in basic attitudes and belief structures.

Merlin had come to think of himself as a virus. The analogy wasn't perfect, but it worked. By himself, he could accomplish nothing. But if he found the proper cell, invaded it, made it over in the necessary image, it would spread the infection for him. And Charis was the perfect host.

Assuming, of course, that he could prevent its destruction.

Fortunately, he continued to share one common trait with Nimue Alban; both of them had always liked a challenge.

“What's so damned important?” Prince Nahrmahn demanded in a surly tone.

The prince wore a light robe of Harchong cotton silk over his pajamas, and his expression was not happy as Hahl Shandyr, the fifth Baron of Shandyr, was shown into his breakfast parlor. Nahrmahn, as every male of the House of Baytz seemed to be, was short. Unlike his late father, however, he was also a corpulent man with a round baby face which was capable of beaming with the simple joy of human kindness whenever its owner required it to. At such times, the casual observer might be forgiven for failing to note the hard, calculating light which burned behind its apparently mild brown eyes.

At other times—like now—Nahrmahn's expression was a clear warning that he was in a foul mood, and when that was true no one would have called his eyes “mild.”

“I crave your pardon for disturbing you so early, My Prince,” Shandyr replied, bending in a deep and profound bow. “I wouldn't have done so had the situation not required your immediate attention.”

Nahrmahn grunted. The sound managed to combine dubiousness and irritation in almost equal measure, Shandyr noted unhappily. Nahrmahn hated having his leisurely breakfast routine interrupted by business, especially when the business in question included things he wasn't going to like hearing about. And there were very few bits of news, Shandyr knew, which he was going to be less happy to hear about over the post-breakfast pastries. On the other hand, the Prince of Emerald recognized Shandyr's value. And however irritable and…demanding Nahrmahn could be, he also recognized the value of loyalty. Unpleasant scenes were far from rare for those unfortunates who found themselves bringing him bad news, but in the long run, he was a craftsman who cared for his tools, and he didn't
really
have the messenger beheaded.

Not often, at any rate.

The prince looked at him for several moments, keeping him standing. That wasn't a particularly good sign, in Shandyr's experience, but it wasn't necessarily a disastrous one, either. The baron stood as calmly as he could under his prince's scrutiny, waiting. Morning breeze blew gently through the wide, open window, stirring the sheer drapes, and the luxuriously furnished, room was quiet enough that Shandyr could hear the rattle of near-palm fronds and the twittering of birds from the palace gardens, the more distant whistle of wyverns from the palace mews, and the occasional zinging whine of a spider beetle as it droned past the window. Then the prince snapped his fingers at the servant standing behind his chair.

“A cup of chocolate for the Baron,” he said, and the footman produced cup and chocolate pot as if by magic. Nahrmahn pointed at a chair at the foot of his table, and Shandyr seated himself and waited, with carefully hidden relief, until the cup arrived in front of him.

“Leave the pot,” Nahrmahn directed the servant.

“Yes, Sire,” the man murmured. He set the pot at Shandyr's elbow, then bowed himself out of the room. That was one thing about Nahrmahn's servants, Shandyr reflected as he sampled the delicious chocolate. They were well trained and knew the value of discretion.

“All right,” Nahrmahn said as the dining parlor door closed behind the servant. “I don't imagine you came calling this early to bring me
good
news.”

“I'm afraid not, My Prince,” Shandyr admitted. In fact, the baron would vastly have preferred to wait. Unfortunately, while Nahrmahn was never in a good mood when business interrupted his morning routine, he would have been in an even worse mood whenever he eventually discovered that Shandyr had delayed bringing him this particular bit of information.

“Well, spit it out,” Nahrmahn commanded.

“My Prince, we've received a report from Lahang. Cayleb is still alive.”

Nahrmahn's round, chubby face tightened, and his eyes narrowed ominously. Shandyr, as the man ultimately responsible for the planning and execution of all of Nahrmahn's clandestine operations, had seen that expression on several occasions, and he ordered his own expression to remain calm.

“Why?” Nahrmahn asked coldly.

“Lahang wasn't certain when he wrote his report, My Prince,” Shandyr replied, reminding himself that he and his network of agents succeeded in Nahrmahn's service far more often than they failed. “As you know,” he added delicately, “Lahang wasn't completely free of constraints when he organized the assassination.”

Nahrmahn's lips tightened further for just an instant, but then they relaxed, and he nodded curtly. He knew exactly why Shandyr had raised that point, but the semi-excuse had more than a little validity, and he recognized that, as well.

“Granted,” the prince said after a moment. “On the other hand, I thought the people he'd chosen were supposed to be professionals.”

“They were, My Prince,” Shandyr said. “At least, they came highly recommended. And, under the circumstances, I have to agree with Lahang—and, for that matter, with the Duke—that using any of our own people would have been…unwise.”

“Not if they'd succeeded,” Nahrmahn growled. But then he shook his head. In fairness, Lahang had been against the operation from the outset, and not just because of the tactical difficulties of arranging it. But the duke had convinced Nahrmahn to overrule his agent on the spot, and Lahang hadn't been picked for that assignment at random. The fact that he'd initially opposed the attempt to kill Cayleb wouldn't have kept him from doing his very best to make the assassination succeed. And given the way things seemed to have worked out, he'd obviously been right about the need to maintain the greatest possible degree of deniability on Emerald's part.

“No. You're right, Hahl,” he conceded at last. “Even if they'd succeeded, they might have been taken, made to talk.”

“From Lahang's report, it sounds as if at least one of them
was
taken, My Prince,” Shandyr said. Nahrmahn grimaced, and his spymaster shrugged. “At the moment, it appears unlikely the fellow knows much about who hired him. It sounds as if he was one of the common swordsmen.”

“Thank Langhorne for small favors,” Nahrmahn muttered, then inhaled deeply.

“What went wrong?” he asked in a calmer tone, reaching for his own chocolate cup and sipping with a delicacy which always seemed a bit odd in someone as rotund as he.

“Lahang is still working on the details.” Shandyr gave another small shrug. “Obviously, he has to be particularly careful just now. Suspicion in Tellesberg has to be running high, and Wave Thunder's going to be looking very carefully at anyone who seems to be poking around for information at a time like this. From the preliminary reports and rumors he'd been able to pick up before dispatching his message, though, it sounds like something out of a children's tale.”

Nahrmahn's eyebrows arched, and Shandyr chuckled humorlessly.

“According to Lahang, the story going around in Tellesberg is that the assassins almost succeeded. That they
would
have succeeded if not for the intervention of some mysterious stranger.”

“Stranger?” Nahrmahn repeated.

“That's what Lahang says, My Prince. So far, there aren't any reliable details on just who this ‘stranger' might be, but the gossip running around Tellesberg already has him bigger than life. Some of the wilder tales insist he's some sort of
seijin
, probably with a magic sword, to boot. But almost all of the rumors, even the more reasonable ones, agree it was he who warned Cayleb and his bodyguards at the very last moment. The attackers still managed to kill or wound all of Cayleb's guards, but between them, Cayleb, his guardsmen, and this stranger killed all but one of the assassins. Most of the gossip agrees that the stranger killed over half of them himself.”

“It sounds like we should have hired
him
,” Nahrmahn observed with bleak humor, and Shandyr allowed himself a small smile in response.

The prince sat back in his chair, nibbling on a pastry rich with nuts and sticky with honey, while he considered Shandyr's report. Shandyr often wondered how the man could savor such sweet, heavy treats, given the climate of a sea-level capital city almost directly upon the equator, but Nahrmahn's sweet tooth was proverbial. He chewed thoughtfully, steadily, for at least five full minutes, and the baron sat equally silent, sipping his own chocolate. Finally, Nahrmahn finished the pastry, wiped its stickiness from his fingers with a napkin, and drained his own cup.

“I assume you've told me everything we know so far,” he said.

“I have, My Prince. As I've said, Lahang is working to get us more details, and I expect we'll hear from the Duke…eventually.” This time, he and Nahrmahn grimaced at one another. “Until then, however,” the baron continued, “we really
know
nothing.”

“Granted. Still, if the rumors and gossip all insist this stranger—whoever the Shan-wei he was—was responsible for whatever went wrong, I think we need to discover all we can about him. Somehow, I doubt he's just going to disappear—not after saving the Crown Prince's life!”

“You may well be right, My Prince. But it's also possible he's no more than a common adventurer who was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.”

“If you truly believe that's likely, Hahl, then perhaps I need a new chief spy,” Nahrmahn snorted.

“I didn't say it was likely, My Prince. I simply pointed out that it was possible, and it is. I agree that we need to discover all we can about him, especially how he may have learned about our plans ahead of time. At the same time, it's never wise to allow oneself to become too wedded to any set of assumptions before they can be confirmed or denied.”

“A valid point,” Nahrmahn conceded. “Still, I want to know everything we can about him.”

“Of course, My Prince.”

“And I think we need to consider our own exposure,” Nahrmahn continued. “I know Lahang's links to the Duke are well hidden, but Wave Thunder's no fool, and well hidden isn't the same as invisible. Haarahld is bound to suspect us, and if they've figured out more than we think they have, they may know exactly who Lahang is and pull him in for questioning. How much damage can he do us if they do?”

“A great deal, I'm afraid,” Shandyr admitted. “He's in charge of all our operations in Tellesberg, and he coordinates almost all of our agents outside the capital, as well. And although we never told him what our ultimate objectives might be, he's bound to have recognized, especially with the Duke's participation, that it was a direct attack on the monarchy, not just on Cayleb.” The baron sighed. “To be effective, he has to know enough—and be intelligent enough—to be dangerous, My Lord.”

“Should we consider his…retirement?”

“I honestly don't know.” Shandyr frowned, one fingertip tracing circles in a brilliant patch of sunlight on the table's waxed and polished surface as he thought about it.

“I'm sure he has plans in place to quietly disappear at need,” the baron said after a few seconds. “How good those plans may be is impossible to say, of course, especially from this distance. If the Charisians know or suspect who he really is, the chance of his managing to simply vanish probably isn't very good. They'd have to be prepared to pounce the instant he looked as if he might be trying to get out of town. Given the fact that it's what he knows that makes him dangerous to us, ordering him to try to leave Tellesberg might be the worst thing we could do, if it did cause them to go ahead and arrest him for interrogation.

“It would probably be simpler, and safer, to simply have him removed, My Prince. That would be relatively straightforward, and there are enough Charisians we could hire through a proper intermediary to kill him for any number of ostensible reasons without implicating ourselves. But he
is
our chief agent in Charis, and he's always been effective for us. Losing him, and all of his contacts and background knowledge, would be a serious blow. It would take months, probably years, for anyone else to develop the same capabilities and sources.”

“I know, but if Wave Thunder arrests him, we lose him anyway, with the added risk that they may be able to prove we were involved.”

“My Prince, Haarahld needs no proof of your enmity,” Shandyr pointed out. “From that perspective, what happens to Lahang is completely beside the point.”

“Not if it inspires him to respond in kind,” Nahrmahn observed dryly.

“Agreed. But if they aren't certain we were directly behind the attempt, they have to suspect everyone else, as well. Hektor must be on their list of suspects, for example. Even Mahntayl
could
have been responsible for it. If Wave Thunder has connected Lahang to us, then killing him would probably convince them we were the primary movers. After all, if we weren't, why would we want to remove him?”

“Decisions, decisions,” Nahrmahn sighed.

“There is one other aspect to consider, My Prince,” Shandyr said. Nahrmahn looked at him, then gestured for him to continue.

“There's always the Duke to bear in mind,” the spymaster pointed out. “I don't trust his ultimate reliability any more than I feel sure he trusts ours, but he has had direct contact with Lahang. If Lahang is interrogated, the Duke is just as exposed as we are, and also right where Haarahld can get at him. I feel confident he's keeping his own eye on Lahang, and that he has his own plans already in place to ensure Lahang never has the opportunity to betray him. Which means—”

“Which means,” Nahrmahn interrupted, “that we can rely on his self-interest.” He nodded. “That doesn't mean his plans will
work
, of course, but he's right there in Tellesberg, while we're two thousand miles away.”

“Exactly, My Prince.” Shandyr nodded. “And if he should have Lahang killed, and if Wave Thunder
hasn't
identified Lahang as our agent, then any investigation would lead to the Duke before it led to us.”