The Lion of Senet (30 page)

Chapter 48

The street down which Reithan led Tia was narrow and cluttered, the houses built so close together there was barely room to squeeze down the lanes between each building. When they finally found the house on Chandlers Street, they discovered a small cottage filled with cats. The place stank, and there wasn’t a surface in the house that wasn’t coated in cat hair.

Far from being a fearsome member of Antonov’s dreaded guard, Ivon Modonov proved to be a rotund little man with a balding head, a warm smile and a passion for his feline companions that Tia thought a little unnatural. His uniform was stretched tight over a well-fed belly, and he was armed with nothing more dangerous than a table dagger.

Ivon welcomed them cheerfully, calling Reithan his cousin and asking them loudly about their journey from Versage, in northern Senet, no doubt for the benefit of his neighbors. Tia followed Reithan into the cluttered little house, through a dim hall into the kitchen at the back, which was cluttered with bowls of food and saucers of souring milk left out for the cats. Ivon shooed a big black tom off one chair so that Tia could sit down, and a litter of ginger kittens off another to make room for Reithan.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to see you,” Ivon announced as he set about making tea for them. “Not considering who arrived today.”

“You know about Johan Thorn, then?” Reithan asked.

“The whole palace is abuzz with the news.”

“Where are they holding him?” Tia demanded. “Can we get to him?”

Ivon turned and studied her curiously for a moment and then turned to Reithan. “Who is she?”

“This is Tia. She’s a friend.”

“Hmm...” Ivon replied with a frown. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes,” Reithan assured him, with a faint smile. “I trust her.”

“Does she understand how dangerous it would be for me if anyone thought—”

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Tia cut in impatiently.

Ivon glowered at her. “And you don’t have to act so uppity, missy.”

“Tia...” Reithan warned, before she could respond. She opened her mouth to object, then clamped her lips shut tight. Tia knew the look on Reithan’s face well enough to heed his warning. Once he was satisfied that she would say nothing further, he turned back to Ivon. “Will you tell us what you know?”

The fat little man carried the teapot to the table and laid out three chipped cups. He told another gray tabby to scat, before taking the chair on the other side of the scrubbed wooden table. “We got word Antonov was coming home about three weeks ago. He sent a pigeon from Elcast.”

“They made good time then,” Reithan remarked.

“Aye. And brought Thorn with them. He’s to be held in the palace, not the garrison, I understand. His guards have been handpicked, I know that much. There’s not a one with a modicum of sympathy for Dhevyn among them.”

“So getting to him through the guards is out of the question?”

Ivon nodded. “Completely.”

“What about you?” Tia asked. “Can’t you get in to see him?”

“I work in the quartermaster’s store, missy,” Ivon told her as he poured the tea. “It means I hear a lot, I see a lot, but I don’t have access to anything important. I certainly don’t have an excuse to visit with the likes of Johan Thorn.”

“Who else will be allowed to see him?”

“Not many at all, I’d say. They’ll not let anybody near him.”

“I’m surprised Antonov didn’t parade him through the streets in chains when he arrived.”

Ivon shrugged. “Not so surprising, really. He probably wants to wait until Queen Rainan gets here.”

“She’s coming here to Avacas?” Tia gasped.

Ivon nodded. “It’s Prince Kirshov’s birthday soon. There’s a huge celebration planned.”

“So she was probably invited long before Johan was captured,” Reithan concluded. “Still, the timing couldn’t be better for Antonov. If he’s planning to make an example of Johan Thorn, what better time than when the Queen of Dhevyn is here to watch? Is there any way to get a message to Johan?”

Ivon shook his head. “I doubt it. But let me see tomorrow. I might be able to figure something out by then.”

Reithan thanked him and they kept drinking their tea.

When Ivon returned to the house the following evening, the news was even less encouraging. The whole of the third floor of the west wing was sealed off and off limits to all but a select few. The list of people permitted to enter the prohibited area was depressingly short. Prince Antonov, the High Priestess, the Shadowdancer Ella Geon, Prefect Barin Welacin and his staff, and, for no apparent reason, Dirk Provin.

“Why Dirk Provin?” Tia asked suspiciously when Ivon informed them of the list. She remembered those iron-colored eyes, wondering what Antonov’s Elcastran pet had done to deserve such a dubious honor.

The fat little clerk shrugged. “I was lucky to learn of the list, missy. I didn’t ask for reasons.”

“Will you stop calling me missy? My name is Tia.”

Ivon turned to Reithan as if she hadn’t spoken. “There’s none on that list liable to help you, I’m guessing.”

“Perhaps,” Reithan agreed thoughtfully. “Although, like Tia, I’m curious as to why Dirk Provin would be allowed to visit Johan Thorn.”

“He’s probably here to learn the finer points of torturing a man to death,” Tia suggested sourly.

“Maybe. Is there any way we can get close enough to find out?”

“In the palace, you mean?” Ivon asked.

Reithan nodded.

“I suppose you could try for work there. If you wait outside the South Gate in the morning you might get a position.”

“How does that help?”

“Everyone looking for work in the palace lines up there each morning at the dawn of the second sun and waits to be called,” Ivon explained. “The palace housekeeper reads out a list of trades and positions she needs to fill and if you think you’re qualified, you step forward. Some people wait for months, though,” he added. “And some days there’s nothing at all. Still, with the prince’s birthday coming up, they’ll probably need extra staff. Do you have any experience?”

“Doing what?”

“Cleaning?” Ivon suggested, looking at her as if she was just a little dim.

“Sure. I clean the palace in Mil all the time.”

Reithan smiled. “She’ll be fine, Ivon. Just don’t ask her to pretend she’s a whore. I can tell you from experience that she’s not very convincing at that.”

Ivon studied her for a moment with a frown. “Do you own a dress?”

“Of course I own a dress!” No need to tell him she’d only worn it once.

“Then tomorrow morning you must wear it. You’ll never get picked wearing that.”

“We appreciate this, Ivon,” Reithan said, before Tia could ask what was wrong about the way she was dressed. Her vest was clean, and her trousers weren’t even patched. She’d seen a lot worse in the streets of Avacas on their way here.

The rotund little man shrugged. “You’ve a cause to fight for, Reithan, and so have I.”

“What’s your cause?” Tia asked.

“Senet.”

“But you’re helping us. How does that help Senet?”

“Half the wealth of this nation is wasted keeping troops posted throughout Dhevyn,” Ivon explained in a lecturing tone. “Children starve in Avacas so that the Lion of Senet can hold onto Dhevyn. Many believe he is empire building at the cost of his own kingdom. Some of us have chosen to do what we can to aid Dhevyn in its fight for independence, so that Senet might also be free.”

Tia found herself somewhat chastened by his answer. She had never given much thought to what the Lion of Senet’s schemes might cost his own people. In Tia’s mind the world was divided into two sorts of people: those who were loyal to the true King of Dhevyn and those who weren’t.

Later that evening, Reithan found Tia in the small yard at the back of the house, playing with a litter of tabby kittens. She had found a length of string to amuse them and the kittens were determined to kill the strange, skinny beast that wiggled along the step in front of them, tantalizingly out of reach.

Reithan sat down beside her, smiling at the antics of the kittens for a moment, before he spoke. “So, are you ready for this?”

“For what?” she asked, pulling the string along the step. “A lifetime of servitude?”

“Hardly a lifetime’s worth,” Reithan chuckled. “We just need to get one of us near him.”

Tia was silent for a moment, then she glanced at Reithan. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted me to come.”

“I wouldn’t say I actually planned it,” he told her. “But the thought did cross my mind that you might come in handy. You’re Senetian, for one thing, and with that red-blond hair, you look it, too. You’ve a much better chance of getting a position in the palace than I.”

“And once I do? What then?”

“We’ll wait until we find out where you’ve been assigned before we decide what to do next. The chances are that you’ll wind up in the kitchens or the laundry and never even see the inside of the palace proper, so let’s not get too excited.”

She nodded in agreement, snatching the string from the grasp of a kitten as it waggled its bottom, preparing to pounce. The kitten leapt after the string, claws and teeth bared. Tia pulled her hand clear just in time.

“There was one thing I wanted to warn you about,” Reithan added cautiously.

“What’s that? Are you going to tell me not to get into any political discussions about the legality of the Senetian occupation of Dhevyn? I’m not that stupid, Reithan.”

“I was going to warn you to be careful if you should happen to meet Ella Geon.”

“Why?” Tia asked with a shrug. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

“No, she doesn’t. But you know who
she
is, and I don’t want you forgetting yourself.”

“There’s nothing to forget, Reithan.”

“She’s your mother, Tia.”

“Ella Geon is the woman who gave birth to me,” Tia corrected coldly. “She is
not
my mother. Did you think I was hoping she’d notice me across a crowded room and run to embrace her long-lost daughter?”

“You sound very bitter. It worries me.”

“I’m not bitter.”

“No?” he asked, with a raised brow.

“All right, maybe I am a little bitter,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what’s at stake. I’m not going to endanger you, Johan Thorn, my father and everybody in the Baenlands, just to satisfy my own selfish desire to strangle the cold-blooded bitch.”

“You’ll get your chance one day, Tia. Just not here. Not now.”

“I know.”

He smiled at her and turned his attention to the kittens, one of which had decided that his boot was fair game. Tia watched the little tabby attacking Reithan, thinking that their own struggle against Senet stood about as much chance of succeeding as the kitten’s hopeful attack on Reithan’s boot.

She steadfastly refused to think about Ella Geon.

Chapter 49

It was during his second week in Avacas that Dirk met Barin Welacin, the man responsible for interrogating Johan Thorn.

Since arriving in Senet, Dirk had gone out of his way to appear unconcerned about the fate of the former Dhevynian king—for the pirate’s protection as much as his own. His feelings about Johan Thorn were ambivalent, but he had no desire to make things easier for the Lion of Senet, so he feigned indifference to the prisoner’s welfare, while hoping against hope that something would happen that might spare the exiled king from his fate.

As the days passed with no attempt to rescue Johan, Dirk wondered why his people in the Baenlands had done nothing to free him. Although Dirk knew there was no ransom on Ranadon large enough to secure Johan’s release, and no force strong enough to steal him from under Antonov’s watchful eye, it still seemed a bit craven of his followers to simply leave him to die.

Fortunately, it wasn’t that hard to stay out of the way of the people involved in Johan’s incarceration. The third floor of the west wing had been turned into one big prison, and was off limits to all but a select few. Alenor speculated it was because her mother was due any day, and Queen Rainan of Dhevyn would not be amused to find her brother rotting in a leaky dungeon somewhere beneath the palace.

The sheer size and complexity of the Senetian palace almost overwhelmed Dirk. His home at Elcast Keep had always exuded a feeling of ageless solidity. By contrast, the palace in Avacas seemed a study in tasteless and conspicuous wealth. There were more servants in one wing of the palace than served the whole of Elcast Keep, and the entire staff outnumbered the population of Elcast Town. There were servants to clean his boots, servants to take care of his clothes, servants to make his bed and servants to tend his bath. There was even a servant who insisted it was his job to dress Dirk each morning, a task he hurriedly assured the young man he could more than adequately do himself.

He wasn’t just given a room in the palace, he was given a whole suite on the same floor as the royal family. The suite included a bedroom three times the size of his old room on Elcast, a sitting room, a book-lined study and bathroom sporting a tub large enough to swim in. Even more impressive was the fact that the thermal springs below Avacas had been tapped for the benefit of the palace occupants, and at the turn of a gold-plated stopcock, the bath could be filled with steaming, faintly sulfur-tainted water.

The day before his sixteenth birthday, Dirk was called to Antonov’s study to discuss the proposed trip to Arkona the following day. True to his word, Antonov had arranged for them to visit the vast Senetian horse markets so that Alenor could find a new pony and Dirk a suitable mount for his birthday. As Arkona was some eighteen miles from Avacas, they had decided to make a day of it. Antonov had planned a picnic, and they were taking so many servants with them to attend their every need that the whole thing was taking on the complexity of a major expedition.

Barin Welacin was sitting in the straight-backed chair opposite Antonov’s gilded desk when Dirk entered the room in answer to the Lion of Senet’s summons. The Prefect was a small man, with a deceptively pleasant face and short stubby fingers that seemed out of proportion to his palms. He had dark curly hair and warm brown eyes, and looked no more dangerous than Alenor.

“Ah, Dirk!” Antonov declared expansively, as Dirk stopped in front of the desk and bowed respectfully to the prince. “Thank you for sparing the time to see me.”

As if I had a choice.
“I was told you wanted to see me, your highness.”

“I did, yes,” Antonov agreed. “Have you met Prefect Welacin, yet? He’s going to begin Johan Thorn’s interrogation tomorrow while we’re in Arkona.”

“My Lord Provin,” Barin Welacin replied, rising to his feet and bowing with remarkable deference.

“Prefect Welacin.”

“We were just discussing the issue of Thorn, in fact,” Antonov told him.

“I can come back later if you’re busy, your highness.”

“Not at all! In fact, you might be able to assist us.”

“
Me,
sire?”

“His highness informs me that you spent a great deal of time in Thorn’s company on the voyage from Elcast,” Barin said, taking his seat again. “Perhaps you can offer some insight regarding the best way to deal with the man.”

“I thought
you
were the interrogation expert, Prefect Welacin,” Dirk replied, a little annoyed that he was being drawn into this. “I can’t see how my opinion would be of much use.”

“It might,” Barin replied with a shrug. “Do you think physical torture would work on him?”

“I think you’d be wasting your time,” Dirk answered honestly, after only a moment’s hesitation. He couldn’t afford to give the impression that he cared about Johan’s fate. “The man survived a tidal wave, Prefect Welacin. He has a tolerance for pain that defies belief.”

“Then what do you suggest, Dirk?” Antonov asked. He was leaning back in his chair, studying Dirk intently. Sunlight streamed into the office from the diamond-paned windows, catching the gilt on Antonov’s chair and making him appear bathed in his own light. Dirk suspected the desk and chair were placed quite deliberately to make the most of that effect. “What would you do if you were trying to extract information out of a man like Johan Thorn?”

Dirk was tempted to reply that he would never be stupid enough to let an enemy remain at large for so long that it became an issue. But he didn’t.

“I don’t know, sire.”

“Perhaps he would respond to another sort of pressure?” Barin suggested. “If we could capture one of his cohorts and threaten his life? That might work. I heard reports that Reithan Seranov was seen in Paislee recently.”

“Who’s he?” Dirk asked, before he could stop himself. He really should learn to stop asking questions.

“A drug runner and a murderer,” Antonov informed him coldly. “I would torture Reithan Seranov just for the hell of it, if I ever got my hands on him. Rumor has it that he’s Johan’s right-hand man.”

“Then you’d be wasting your time.” Dirk shrugged. “He’d be just as ready to die for his cause as Johan is. And Johan would probably let him die for the same reason. You’d have more luck with a complete stranger than you would with one of his followers.”

Antonov nodded, wearing a disappointed frown. “You’re right, I fear. But then, we never thought this was going to be easy. Are you all set for the trip to Arkona tomorrow?”

“Er...Yes, sire.” As usual, the abrupt change of subject caught him off guard.

“Excellent. I would ask a favor of you, though, Dirk. Stay close to Alenor tomorrow. She’s feeling a little guilty about buying a new mount. I think she fears Snowdrop will feel betrayed if she finds another horse to love. You know how it is with young girls and horses.”

Actually, Dirk didn’t know, but if agreeing to console Alenor was all it was going to take to escape this room and the discussion about the best way to torture Johan Thorn, then Dirk was more than willing to accommodate the prince’s request.

“I’ll keep an eye on her, your highness.”

“Thank you, Dirk, I knew I could rely on you.”

“May I go now?”

“Of course.”

Dirk bowed politely and let himself out, leaving Antonov and Barin alone to make their plans.

The following evening, on their return from Arkona, Dirk was looking around the crowded anteroom for Kirsh or Alenor when the Baroness of Quaran, a coastal holding east of Avacas, cornered him near the tall windows overlooking the palace gardens, and began to question him about his mother.

Her inquiries had seemed innocent enough at first. She began by wishing him a happy birthday, but her conversation rapidly progressed to questions about whether or not Morna had resumed her affair with Johan Thorn while he was a prisoner on Elcast. And what did his father think about it? Antonov came to his rescue, interrupting the interrogation with a question of his own about this year’s grape harvest. As Quaran was renowned for its wine, and the baroness was anxious to promote her produce to the prince, she abandoned Dirk for a more profitable discussion with the Lion of Senet.

Antonov smiled sympathetically at Dirk as he steered the baroness away, as if he understood how uncomfortable Dirk was, and how much his intervention was appreciated.

Although the excuse for this evening’s gathering was his sixteenth birthday, dinner in the Lion of Senet’s palace was always an occasion, always formal, and required Dirk to dress in finery he would never dream of wearing in Elcast. The guest list was different every evening, and every person in attendance was a person of note. To Dirk, all this lot seemed to want was to either curry favor with Antonov or gawk at Morna Provin’s youngest son. Dirk was aware that he was the subject of intense speculation, but rarely was the subject discussed openly, and certainly not in his presence.

They were seated for dinner at the long table amid a forest of fine crystal and silverware, when someone asked if this morning’s executions had been successful.

“Moderately,” Antonov replied, taking a sip of his wine. The servants were laying out the main course: a sumptuous arrangement of delicately roasted meats and crisp vegetables accompanied by a delicate red wine sauce. The food served in the palace was always like this—rich, aromatic and served in quantities that defied logic. He’d never seen anyone finish a meal since he’d been in Avacas, with the possible exception of Kirshov, who apparently had a bottomless pit in lieu of a stomach.

“What did you hope to achieve by them, your highness?” a man a few places to Dirk’s left inquired. “I heard the dozen men put to death this morning were rounded up at random.”

“We were testing Thorn’s resolve,” Antonov shrugged, as if he were discussing the weather. “If one believes the legends he likes to spread about himself, one would think he was a noble champion of injustice.”

“And did he prove to be so?” the Baroness of Quaran asked.

“Quite the opposite, my lady,” Antonov told her. “And it’s not as if Welacin didn’t give him a chance. Before he slit the throat of each man, he promised Johan he would spare the man’s life, if Johan would tell him what he wanted to know.”

“And Thorn said nothing?” The baroness’s face was flushed, her eyes bright.

“Not a word. Johan Thorn maintained a stony silence throughout the whole ordeal.”

“Then your ploy was unsuccessful,” the man who had asked the question in the first place surmised. Dirk had been introduced to him earlier. He was an earl from somewhere in northern Senet.

“Not at all. If nothing else, we proved that Johan Thorn is a heartless monster. When one has shattered such a powerful myth, one cannot say that it was a completely wasted effort.”

Dirk nearly choked on his meal.
Twelve innocent men had
died and Antonov is pleased because he thinks he’s proved that Johan
Thorn is a monster?
He glanced across the table at Alenor, but she refused to meet his eye. She was trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. Kirsh was tucking into his meal, seemingly oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

The northern earl raised his glass to Antonov. “I admire your subtlety, your highness.”

“I can’t claim any credit, I’m afraid,” Antonov said modestly. “This masterful strategy was devised by our birthday boy, not me.”

Dirk froze as every eye at the table turned to him. He turned to stare in horror at the Lion of Senet, who smiled at him proudly.

“I’d never have thought up anything so fiendishly effective, myself,” Antonov continued. “But it’s a brilliant ploy. We just keep executing innocent men, giving Johan the power to put an end to the carnage anytime he wants. If he saves the lives of the innocent, he betrays his followers in the Baenlands. If he doesn’t, then our champion of injustice is responsible for the needless death of innocent people. And it has the added benefit that I can’t be accused of treating the Queen of Dhevyn’s errant brother like a common criminal.” He looked across the table and smiled at Alenor. “I’ve no wish to do anything that would cause dissent between your mother and Senet, my dear.” Alenor blushed, but didn’t answer him. She looked as if she wanted to disappear. Antonov turned back to the rest of the diners and smiled. “It’s quite simply the most ingenious stratagem I have ever seen.”

“And young Dirk here thought of it?” the baroness asked. She was looking at Dirk with a hungry, predatory eye, almost as if she found the idea arousing.

“I never suggested anything of the kind, my lady,” Dirk protested, finally finding his voice.

“Don’t be so modest, Dirk. I believe your exact words were that we’d have more luck with complete strangers than we would with his followers. Isn’t that right?”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but—”

“He gets his modesty from his father, I think,” Antonov laughed. “You remember how Wallin would never want to claim credit for anything during the war? A touching trait, I always thought.”

The guests all laughed politely at Antonov’s words. Dirk sat motionlessly at the table, the conversation going on around him like a blur.
It’s not my fault,
he told himself.
I didn’t mean
to...

But the damage was done, and it took less than a day for word to spread through Avacas that the whole sickening episode had been Dirk Provin’s idea.