Excerpt: Live By The Sword

The door of the study crashed open, letting in a chilling draft and a fashionably-dressed middle-aged man. The clerk at the large desk winced, but as if it was a habit, and poked the fire purposefully before returning to his writing.

The man who had entered flopped into a large and comfortable chair, watching the fire blaze, and then grimaced, got up, adjusted his stiff embroidered tunic and belt and sat back down again. “The Queen (bless her gracious name) has favoured me with some information,” he announced.

The clerk continued writing. The quill scratched, and he made a mental note to extract more black ink from the steward.

“She has, in her infinite wisdom, decided that the princess and the prince will be travelling north,” he persisted, his tone sardonic. “No, Nicol, you need not react, I know it is an effort. The princess Oschana and his highness Prince Tamos have missed their royal half-sisters so very much that they have been harbouring a secret wish to visit them ever since they left two years ago. And if you believe that, Nicol, you will believe anything.”

The clerk raised his head to eye his master. The man was somewhere between forty and fifty-five, and was often described as having both the temperament and looks of a badger, but not by Nicol. He was dressed fashionably, as befitted a noble, and rather gaudily, with several large rings on his fingers, but kept his hair shorter than most nobles and refrained from wearing ridiculous hats. “I will, Master Degwyn?” Nicol said, since his master appeared to want a reply.

Master Degwyn sighed and shifted in his seat. “You will indeed. Ah, for the days of a Queen with a sensible head on her shoulders and princesses who kicked neither puppies nor servants... Princess Oschana is a repulsive little creature and you never heard me say that.”

“Quite, sir,” Nicol said soothingly. He was used to similar outbursts from his master.

“Would you be too young to remember Queen Ysaine?” Degwyn said. Nicol recognised that tone: it meant reminiscences.

“Yes, my lord,” he replied, peering at the well-bred scrawl he was busy turning into a coded message. “I was very small when she died.”

“A pity,” Degwyn said gloomily. “That way you would better understand what a horror Queen Olawyn is. Queen Ysaine came to Farlan more than thirty years ago now... she was beautiful, you know, not bland like Olawyn, she had character. Dark hair and dark eyes and the most lovely smile, and she was very small compared to most women at this court, and she had sense, but she was quiet... Everyone adored her. Including me, and I as you know have exacting tastes. She had the king wrapped round her little finger and chose to let him make his own choice to marry her, which, may I tell you, is damned unusual.” He shuddered, with courtly exaggeration, and Nicol recalled various women who had hopefully haunted Master Degwyn’s footsteps. “Princess Alina (one of the true princesses, I like to think) is like her.”

Nicol called Princess Alina to mind. Medium height, dark hair, pretty, sensible. He nodded.

Degwyn shot upwards abruptly. “And why can’t you trust what I’ve said about Queen Ysaine?” he demanded sharply.

This was a common test. “Because I have no other sources of information and you are biased.”

“Correct,” Degwyn said, satisfied, and sank back into his seat again. “We may make a spymaster of you yet, Nicol. We may yet.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There was a contemplative silence in the room. Nicol finished copying out the letter, and handed the original to his master to burn. Degwyn swung out of the chair, ripped the original in half and in half again, and then began to poke the first piece into the fire.

“You mentioned that Princess Oschana and Prince Tamos are going north.” Nicol’s tone was bland.

“I did.” Degwyn paused, his voice becoming more serious and heavy. “I daresay you know why, if you have read the reports from the far south.”

“I have, sir. Plague.”

“Plague,” Degwyn repeated. “A dreadful thing, Nicol.” He shifted suddenly, as if broken from a trance, and snorted. “The Queen does not believe it to be as serious as my reports declare, yet she sends her children north. Very telling, don’t you think, Nicol?”

Nicol nodded, melting the wax to seal the coded letter, metal stamp at the ready.

“Princess Alina must not be ignorant,” Degwyn said quietly. “That is why I ask you to code these letters, Degwyn. That those we serve may protect themselves.”

“Do we serve Princess Alina, sir?”

Degwyn glanced up, and laughter sprang into his eyes. “In a manner of speaking, Nicol, in a manner of speaking!” He shrugged. “The reports are only rumour. They may be true, but we don’t know that yet. I shall be taking a holiday, Nicol, you will take your usual place among my retinue... I should inform the queen.”

“I suppose you should, sir.”

“She will be annoyed.”

“She usually is, sir.”

“Very true.”

The sounds of an argument filtered through the thick door. “Let me pass! I am the king’s daughter, and this is my home! You must let me pass! I shall call the guards!” a young female voice shrieked.

Degwyn cursed colourfully, unfolding himself from his seat. “The revolting child is pestering the clerks again!”

There was a yell of pain.

“I daresay she has just bitten one,” Degwyn hissed, striding to the door and flinging it open, “what a pity she takes after her mother so. Master Crabapple will be joining the royal retinue, you are to send the letters by his assistant Mistress Tanwyn.” He passed out like a bad-tempered storm, slamming the door shut behind him and letting in another cold draught. Nicol tucked the letter under a pile of papers, and then stood noiselessly, slipping across the room to stand by the door, which had not properly closed.

He heard the Princess Oschana declaring shrilly that she would certainly tell her mother, and Degwyn saying icily that she might do so all she pleased but that the king still ruled in Farlan and the king’s work must not be interrupted because he was away fighting the pirates of the southeast, as the queen well knew and ordered herself. Nicol smiled quietly to himself- some things never changed. Princess Oschana was a nosy child, and this made it her eight attempt in the past fortnight to barge into what she did not yet know was the centre of Farlan’s spy network and find out exactly what was going on.

Nicol went back to the desk, pulled a dark cloak on over his equally sober tunic, and put the letter into a large pocket: it was snowing outside, and he wanted neither to be soaked nor the letter to get wet. He left the room by another door, not leaving a note- Master Degwyn would know well enough where he had gone to –and walked quickly down a small dark passageway before producing a bunch of keys and unlocking a door, which he passed through and locked after him. Then down the servants’ stairs it opened onto, and through the kitchens, out into a courtyard and so on until he reached the door with a brass plate on it saying MASTER CRABAPPLE, PHYSICIAN in large letters, and knocked.