What?
No one knows, but a trader by name of Gersh, a man of uncommon honesty, told me he had left Ran when the pirates were making a landing near a town called Farborough. Some pirates caught sight of his wagon as he was turning around and began to give chase. But while Gersh looked on in wonder, their leader ordered them back and up into the hills north of the town. Gersh swears they were spreading out as if on a manhunt. Gersh has given votive offerings to Ruthia twice since coming back to Rodez. Thanks to the Goddess of Luck was more proof the story was true than not.
How long ago did this happen?
Four days, perhaps five, Im not certain. Gersh came to me seeking a ship for Ran I might have cargo upon, with which he might bundle his trade goods, for a small fee, of course. I was happy to accommodate him, and as there appears to be a truce verging, it may be that ship will actually get to Ran. First trade goods in after peace is declared will fetch a good price.
Jim had a hunch, but he would not share it with Jacobo. Anything else?
Nothing at the moment, unless you wish to hear about trade speculation and hedges against the coming drop in prices of goods if the war ends soon. One mans opportunity is another mans disaster.
No, said Jim standing. He pointed to Jacobos ear. Sorry about that, but trust has been hard to come by lately. Ill see youre taken care of for your troubles. Just remember I was never here and we never spoke.
With a slight smile Jacobo said, Is someone there? I cant see anyone or hear anything.
A second later Jim was through the curtains at the front of the store and gone. Jacobo waited for a moment, then stood and slowly made his way to the front of his establishment where he was delighted to find the curtains drawn back and the closed for business sign taken down.
Two blocks away, a bored-looking seaman leaned against a piling on the pier, absently whittling at a stick of wood as he glanced around from time to time. Jim had found this location years before and it enabled him to see anyone coming or going from Jacobos shop, as the only exit from the alley onto which Jacobos back door opened was just three buildings away from the street upon which his shop sat.
After half an hour, Jim was satisfied that Jacobo had been telling him the truth, or at least the truth as he knew it, and was not seeking to announce to the that Jim Dasher was in the city. And so Jacobo survived another day to increase his prosperity.
Jim looked around one last time, ensuring he was not being observed, and took a deep breath. He had one safe house close by, and he would thoroughly examine every approach to make sure it was clear, then he would go to ground. He would need to spend at least a week to discover the truth behind Jacobos rumour of peace. In general, he welcomed such news, but behind it he sensed a great mystery. Who was the shadowy player who had meddled so effectively in the affairs of three great nations, and to what end?
Much work lay ahead and there were few if any in the region Jim could safely trust. Still, he was not without his own resources and had others like Jacobo who were not part of the loose criminal brotherhood to whom his role as Upright Man of the Mockers of Krondor gained him access, nor part of his network of royal agents.
Knowing that caution overrode urgency, Jim vanished into the crowd in the bustling city of Rodez.
Lady Franciezka sat quietly in her study, before the window, knowing she was under observation. She had identified Worthingtons agents weeks before and knew exactly where they were. She had turned it into a bit of a game, having come up with names for each, though she did not yet know their true identities. Right now, she was being observed by Pierre, who was situated in a window in a rented room across the square opposite a tiny garden behind her townhouse. Andre was drinking numerous cups of tea at a small table in the cafe at the corner, which allowed him an unobstructed view of her townhouses entrance. At sundown they would be replaced by Anton in the room, and Serge at the cafe, who would retire to the corner and a miserable doorway in which to huddle after the cafe closed.
She had turned this into a game, slipping in an out of her home unobserved, or making a grand show of leaving to go shopping or the rare trip to the palace to look the part of an unneeded lady-in-waiting to the Queen. The rest of the time she conducted her own business. She had grown so bored with the game she had taken to leaving her window shutters open at night when she bathed so that her silhouette could be seen on the gauze privacy curtain, hoping it teased or annoyed Anton. For a moment her thoughts turned to James Jamison, and she wondered if Jim would be annoyed or amused to discover her teasing. She would be certain to ask him when next they met, if they again met.
She tried to be the professional about this, but found her mind often turning to Jim and she realized that a man she already had tried to have killed twice was the only man shed ever encountered who truly understood her. She felt herself torn between loving him for that and wanting him dead even more. She confessed to herself, not for the first time, that affairs of the heart were not good for her: she was bad at them. It was when she didnt care that she was her most effective, when she could use her acting skills and her body to convince a man to do whatever she wanted. When she started to care, then she got into difficulties.
A serving girl knocked lightly on the door and she bade the girl enter. The maid presented a parchment bearing the royal seal, and said, From the palace.
Turning away from the girl, she broke the seal on the parchment. Quickly reading the message, she read it again to ensure she hadnt misunderstood anything. She assumed her observers were likely to know what was in this message. Turning back to her maid, she said, The royal blue dress, I think, the one with the white-trimmed hem, not the silver. It is after all, court, not a palace gala. Tell Gregor to have the coach ready in an hour. We are going back to the palace.
Yes, madam, said the maid.
Waiting for her maid to go about her business, Franciezka sat back as if calmly considering what was happening, but inward she was seething with conflict. By nature, she hated anything happening in which she had no control, and even though life had taught her control was most often an illusion, she found she was happiest when influencing events and people. She had learned every weapon there was from fear to love, seduction to bribery, gratitude and taking advantage of other peoples better nature. Her only saving grace was that it was all for the Crown, and if shed willingly give her own life for King and country, she had no problem giving others, let alone causing a little annoyance, anger, fear, or an occasional broken heart.
What was troubling her most of all at the moment, was the idea that Lord John Worthington was making an unexpected move. Not even a simple case of him doing something recognizable at an unexpected time, but rather doing something totally unexpected, irrespective of the timing.
He was hosting a gala for the King.
Reading court language as well as anyone, the tone of the invitation told her that nothing short of being on her death bed could permit her declining. Moreover, something of significance, even something momentous, was being celebrated.
She was doubly suspicious because it was so sudden. Even modest parties by the Crowns standards took days to prepare. But then it occurred to her that perhaps it wasnt so sudden. Perhaps preparations had been underway for days because Lord John knew exactly what was coming.
They couldnt be celebrating the death of King Gregory: even with magic it might take some time to dispatch the King. No, this was something else. And it couldnt be Lord Johns announcement of his sons betrothal to Stephane, since she couldnt be betrothed in absentia. Her curiosity was piqued, and that outweighed her caution. She picked up a small bell and rang it. A moment later the maid reappeared and Franciezka said, Ive changed my mind. The red, with the silver trim, and the ruby earrings. Now, send for Millicent and tell her I need my hair up within the hour.
Yes, my lady! The maid ran off.
Then she remembered something Jim had said to her. Whatever happens, at least its interesting. That had been in another context, but it certainly applied here.
Then she wondered where he was. For the first time in her life, she worried for his safety.
Damn that man, she whispered to no one.
Carriages rolled into the palace as the sun set in the west. Footmen were turned out in formal palace livery, pale green jackets with white silk collars, pale yellow hose, and their heads topped with small yellow caps to match the hose. Idly, Franciezka considered there must be someone locked deep within the palace, unknown to any but a few key people the King alone perhaps whose only task in life was to devise odd uniforms for the servants in Roldem, a uniform that changed each year.
Fashions for the nobles changed as well, of course. She knew a handful of designers and their seamstresses competed each year to set the tone for the following years look how low the neckline should be or how many petticoats were to be worn under the skirt, what colours were current and which adornments were now passe. Once a look had been achieved, others slavishly followed, and a year later those styles were being imitated in the Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms.
At least the Keshians, tradition bound as they were, avoided such petty concerns about fashion. More to the point, such gowns and jackets would have been uncomfortably hot to wear near the Overn Deep. As her carriage came to a stop, she decided the Keshians were extremely practical to run around nearly naked. If she had to endure that beastly heat, shed do the same.
The door opened and a footman extended his hand to allow Franciezka to descend from her carriage with grace, despite the ridiculous skirt fashion dictated she wear this year. At least she liked the colour, a brilliant crimson that suited her colouring and brought out what colour there was in her otherwise pale cheeks. Jim had once observed that if she were any more fair shed be as white as muslin. Damn, she was thinking of him again
She moved as quickly as decorum permitted from the massive courtyard up the sweeping staircase that led into the palace. Once inside, she hurried towards the royal apartment, half-expecting to be barred by guards under orders from Lord John Worthington. She was relieved that not once was she challenged and by the time she reached the royal familys apartments within the heart of the palace, an illusion of normalcy had almost returned.