The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (53 page)

“Gentlemen!” Marcus said. “Could I ask you to open those doors?”

The Guardsmen looked at the president, who looked at Marcus for a long moment, then nodded. Two Guardsmen by the main doors pulled them open, and the sound of the crowd outside redoubled.

“You claim to represent the people,” Marcus said, shouting to be heard over the noise. “Well, there they are! I think they’ve made their wishes clear.” He looked up at the president. “Unless one of you would like to go out there and explain it to them?”

The president’s sunken eyes met Marcus’. His lips tightened until they were white.

“It seems,” he said, “that we have no choice.”

“Vhalnich!” The roar of the crowd crashed through the cathedral like ocean waves. “Vhal-nich, Vhal-nich, Vhal-nich!”

“No,” Marcus said. “I don’t think you do.”

On the way back to the Vendre, the Patriot Guard walked behind him, an escort instead of a prisoner detail. It was a subtle difference, but one that Marcus could appreciate. They left in the same roundabout manner they’d arrived, so as not to get bogged down, but Marcus could hear the cheers of the crowd as the good news was announced.

The look the president had given him before sending him off had been pure poison, though.
I’ll have to tell Janus to watch out for that one.

The Guards at the Vendre had gotten the news, too, and they stood aside as Marcus entered. Some of them even saluted inexpertly as he passed. He went
directly to the third floor of the tower, where a large room directly underneath the queen’s had been given over to the Vendre’s second most important prisoner.

The guard by the door unlocked it and stepped formally out of the way. Marcus put his hand on the latch, hesitated, then knocked.

“Come in,” Janus said.

Marcus opened the door. The cell was much like his own, though larger and slightly better furnished. Janus was sitting at a round table with a stack of letters. He signed the page under his hand with a flourish, set his pen aside, and sprinkled the ink with fine sand from a dish. Only then did he look up and favor Marcus with one of his there-and-gone-again smiles.

“Ah, Captain. It’s good to see you.”

“And you, sir.”

Marcus felt as though it had been ages since he’d laid eyes on the colonel, but Janus behaved as though he’d stepped out of the room only moments earlier. He, also, was clean-shaven and in a fresh uniform, not the fancy courtier’s getup but the plain blue field uniform of an army colonel. The silver eagles on his shoulders gleamed.

Janus put his letter carefully on top of the others. “You’re here, I assume, to tell me that the deputies have decided to put me in charge of the city’s defense?”

Marcus felt his mouth hang open for a moment. He closed it, firmly. “Someone’s already told you, sir?”

“Not at all. The guards are very careful when they speak to me.”

“Then—” Marcus gritted his teeth. “Don’t tell me this was part of the plan all along.”

Janus looked up at him, surprised. After a moment, he laughed. “Oh no, Captain. No, only simple logic. After the arrests, there were only two logical courses for the deputies to take, and one of them was to put me in charge.”

“What was the other?”

“To have me executed, obviously. But if they were going to do that, they’d hardly send you to bring the news.” He tidied the edge of the stack of letters, picked it up, and got to his feet. “Shall we go?”

In the corridor outside, they waited while the Guard fetched Janus’ sword, and Marcus explained what he knew of what had been happening, including Peddoc’s march and Orlanko’s subsequent victory.

“It’s too bad they didn’t send for you sooner,” Marcus said. “After what happened to Peddoc, it’s not going to be easy to get people to fight.”

“True,” Janus said. “On the other hand, it buys us time.”

“How so? There’s nothing stopping Orlanko from marching on the city.”

“He won’t do that if he can possibly avoid it. Fighting in the city itself could lead to a long battle, and give his troops the chance to change their minds about their allegiance, not to mention causing considerable damage. Peddoc gave him exactly what he wanted, a nice quick victory in the open field. Now that he has it, he’ll try to convince the deputies to surrender.”

Marcus nodded. “That makes sense. Quite a few of them looked a little queasy with the way things are going. If Orlanko gave them an out, they’d probably take it.”

“And end up on the scaffold just as soon as he got things under control. We need to make it clear to them that the Last Duke is not to be trusted, whatever he offers.”

The guard returned, carrying not only Janus’ thin sword but Marcus’ battered old saber. He buckled it on and was surprised at how much better he felt with the familiar weight on his hip.

“Incidentally,” Janus said, “I’m impressed that you managed to persuade the deputies to order my release so quickly. I was worried they might wait until it was too late.”

“I had help with that, sir. Lieutenant Ihernglass is still
on assignment
”—he waggled his eyebrows suggestively—“and he’s made some very useful contacts. They were able to spread the notion that putting the hero of Khandar in charge would be just the thing.”

“I . . . see.” Janus had an odd expression for a moment, then shook his head. “You’ll have to bring me up to date on the lieutenant’s activities, but some other time. Are Lieutenant Uhlan and his men being held here at the Vendre?”

Marcus glanced at one of the guards, who gave an awed nod. Janus fixed the man with those huge gray eyes.

“Bring them down to the common room, if you would, and find me a candle and a stick of sealing wax.” He flourished the stack of papers. “I have messages that need delivering.”

“You wrote all those out on the assumption they were going to put you in charge, rather than execute you?” Marcus said, as they went downstairs.

“Indeed. I had time on my hands, so I thought I might as well get something accomplished. If they decided the other way, well, no harm done.”

“No harm done.” Marcus shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you can be very odd at times.”

Janus cocked his head. “Really, Captain? It seems perfectly logical to
me
.”

—

An hour later, about a dozen of the Mierantai had been mounted on horses from the prison stables and sent riding in various directions, though to what end Marcus had no idea. The rest—almost a hundred men—had been returned their red-and-blue uniforms and their long hunting rifles. Lieutenant Uhlan led them out in a double column through the front gate, with Janus and Marcus strolling between them.

“The deputies asked me to bring you to the cathedral,” Marcus said. “I imagine they want you to swear eternal loyalty and listen to speeches.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint them,” Janus said. “There is a great deal to be done, and time may be very short. Can I rely on you for a few of the more sensitive tasks?”

Marcus instinctively straightened to attention. “Of course, sir.”

“First, you must deliver my regrets to the deputies. Tell them I would be honored if they would join me in Farus’ Triumph tomorrow, an hour before noon, and that I will be more than happy to swear any required oaths there in public.”

Marcus nodded. “They may not like that.”

“If we survive the next few days, I’ll happily take up the issue with them. For now, time is of the essence.”

“Yessir.”

“After that, get in touch with Lieutenant Ihernglass. Ask him to spread the word among his Southside contacts that the new commander will be giving a speech in the Triumph tomorrow. We’ll want a crowd.”

Marcus nodded. Privately he wondered what, exactly, Janus had in mind, but he knew better than to ask. The colonel would share his plans when he thought it was important, but he had a taste for the theatrical, and he loved to whip away the bedsheet at the last minute to show that the lady had vanished. It was a failing in a senior officer, Marcus thought, but as such things went, a fairly minor one.

“After that,” Janus went on, “I need you to fetch the queen from the Vendre.”

Marcus blinked. “The queen, sir? I mean . . . I’m not sure . . .”

“Lieutenant Uhlan will assign you a squad, but if the Guards give you any trouble, please direct them to me. And I would think you would be on familiar terms with Her Majesty after your adventure in the palace garden.”

“That’s true, sir. I’m sorry. It caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Marcus had a space in his mind labeled “Queen,” and he couldn’t quite make the waifish young woman he’d escorted from the palace fit into it. “Where would you like me to take her?”

“There’s a manor house called the Twin Turrets on Saint Vallax’s, not far from Bridge Street, that I happen to own. I’ll send another squad there to make sure it’s secure, and we’ll use that as our headquarters. You can take Her Majesty there, and bring her to the Triumph in the morning.”

“Understood, sir.”

“After that . . .” Janus paused. “Your vice captain of Armsmen. Giforte, was it?”

“Yessir. Alek Giforte.”

“What did you think of him?”

“He’s . . . a good man, I think. Cautious. The men have—had—a great deal of respect for him. He’s been vice captain a long time, and quite a few captains have come and gone. He more or less ran the place. But . . .”

Janus quirked an eyebrow. Marcus hesitated.

“He’s been doing jobs for Orlanko. ‘Fixing’ things.”

“Logical, I suppose,” Janus said. “He’d need someone in the organization. I assume Orlanko had some hold over him?”

Marcus nodded. “Debt.”

“Ah, the old standard.” Janus fixed Marcus with a curious stare. “His credibility with the Armsmen would be an asset. Do you think we can use him?”

“I . . .” Marcus paused again. “I think his loyalty is in the right place, sir. But the Armsmen don’t really exist anymore. Some of them joined up with the Greens, and they’re probably Orlanko’s prisoners. The rest are lying low, I would think.”

“We’re going to need them, Captain. Along with every other man in the city with any kind of military training. Track down Giforte and sound him out, see if he’d be willing to serve the queen against the duke. If you think he’s trustworthy, have him start rounding up Armsmen. Not just the current ones, either. Any retired men who can still hold a musket would be welcome.”

“I’ll see if he’s willing, sir. If he is, I think we can trust him. His daughter is part of the group associated with Lieutenant Ihernglass’ contact.”

“I see. Excellent.” Janus clapped Marcus on the shoulder and smiled. “Off with you, then, Captain. We both have a great deal to do.”

—

It was, indeed, a busy day.

Giforte was nowhere to be found. According to the servants at the vice captain’s house, he hadn’t returned since the day the queen had surrendered to the deputies. Apart from that, though, his errands went swimmingly. The deputies
had been a good deal more polite than Marcus had anticipated, which he suspected had a lot to do with the twenty armed Mierantai who accompanied him. Their uniforms were a bit rumpled, but they were well disciplined and made a sharp contrast to the sloppy Patriot Guard. Afterward, he’d managed to pass the word to Ihernglass before hurrying back to the Vendre to retrieve the queen.

Retrieve the queen. Marcus shook his head.
Wouldn’t Mother be proud? Me, escorting the queen. Sleeping under the same roof as the queen, even!

The Twin Turrets occupied a very fine address, south of First Avenue and on the west side of Saint Vallax Street. It was a three-story stone manor set on a round, flat green, which was surrounded by a dense belt of colorful trees that mostly screened it from the view of its neighbors. The turrets that gave it its name were round and open-topped, rising from either end of the house and giving it a vaguely horned appearance. There had been surprisingly little looting and disorder on this side of the river, and along the front of the house the gardens were in full bloom.

It had obviously been locked up until recently, but by the time Marcus arrived the dust sheets had been taken off the furniture and a small squadron of staff was busy mopping the floors, hauling the art out of the attic, and generally making things presentable. Marcus recognized some of them from the Ohnlei cottage, more Mierantai imported by Janus from his home county. If they were intimidated at having the queen in the house, they didn’t show it.

Now it was morning. Marcus’ uniform had been thoroughly washed, dried, and folded overnight, and several of his shoddier pieces of kit, including his boots, had been replaced. His sword, old leather scabbard industriously buffed to a sheen it hadn’t had in years, lay on top of the pile. It was the kind of quiet efficiency that reminded him of Fitz Warus, or for that matter of Janus’ manservant Augustin.
I wonder if all servants are like that in Mieran County.
Or maybe, he thought, this was what it was like to be a noble—everything just
happened
, without your intervention or even your knowledge. It made him feel odd, as though the house were inhabited by helpful, invisible elves.

He came down from his bedroom—directly beneath one of the turrets, with a fine east view—and found the queen breakfasting in the dining room, attended by a servant and a pair of Mierantai guards. The table had been laid with an impressive meal, with a great river trout as the centerpiece, its head sitting in front of it on a separate plate and staring at Marcus with a resentful, fishy eye. It was buttressed by ham and bacon, buttered potatoes, diced eggs, and loaves of bread so steaming hot they could only have come from the house’s
own ovens. Marcus’ stomach gave a growl at the sight of the food. The queen, he noticed, was only sipping at a glass of water and nibbling a heel of bread.

She was dressed plainly, in a sleeveless black dress with no jewels or ornamentation, her brown hair tied in a simple braid. Her pretty brown eyes were vague, focused on the middle distance, and Marcus could almost hear the brass wheels turning behind them. She looked for all the world like somebody’s younger sister, a skinny girl in her late teens, perhaps a touch too serious for her own good.