Chapter twenty-five

Amansk

 

The first of the knights reached the small lakeside city at about two pm on the fourth day out of Castle Uberwald. They camped on the high ground to the west and the Baron had the Crimson Flame emblem unfurled. The banner was very large and could be seen clearly from most of the town. It was soon joined by a flurry of lesser flags, all flapping menacingly in the harsh wind. The army waited.

Arnon had summoned his troops several days before and asked them to assume defensive positions. However, he only had a few thousand men and there were no useful strongpoints to defend. Any largish force could take Amansk, but none had ever wanted to before. But now things were different – it had gone from a backwater to a strategic hub in the blink of an eye.     

Beyond the mobilisation of his military forces, which amounted to not very much, Arnon had two diplomatic cards to play. He could trigger his alliance with the Oketian city states, which, theoretically, would bring them all into a war; and he could appeal to Eth, as the most powerful co-adjoining nation. Arnon had been reluctant to do either of these things, however, because of the threat to his daughter. But now he couldn’t avoid it – his city would require it.

So, as soon as Arnon knew that they were under imminent threat he went into his study and wrote three letters.  He penned one very rapidly to his father-in-law, Lord Arbutus, the Governor of Gorodnikov:

 

My dearest Father,

It is with great regret that I inform you that my dear city is in its greatest danger in living memory. The Knights of the Crimson Flame, who were to me just a legend, have come out of Formor and now threaten us from the west. We are in desperate need and any help that you can send would be inestimably welcome.

I will send Dominic as liaison officer, with this letter. Please accept my apologies if this seems inappropriate, but he is the only one I trust to send and who knows Gorodnikov well. You should know that I greatly value his contribution to my court, particularly his influence on my son, who is wild and reckless. Dominic had done a marvellous job of calming him down.

I cannot overstate the seriousness of our plight. The Crimson emblems of our enemies fill our western horizon.      

Please reply as soon as is possible.

Your loving son,

ARNON, PRAEFECTUS

 

Arnon sighed. He should have sent this letter days ago, as well as one that explained what had happened to Arbutus’s granddaughter. Now he’d sent one but not the other. He only hoped that news of the kidnapping had not got through to the Governor through the grapevine.  What could he do though – no-one could avoid the law of unintended consequences.

He folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, addressed the envelope, and sealed it with the old imperial praefectorial stamp. It looked both extremely official and terribly outdated: perhaps that didn’t matter, the days of an inpendent Praefectus might well be numbered. The best that they might then hope for was to be become a province of Formor. But what use would that be? He knew that he needed to find a way to fight, but how could he when they held his only daughter? Who could ever fight if he thought that the thing he loved more than anything else in the world might be destroyed?

He felt a pang of guilt about the other partial deception in the letter he had just written. He wasn’t sending Dom to his father-in-law because it was the best political decision; he was sending him to remind Arbutus of the past, and of the size of the favour that he still owed Arnon. This was a cynical decision, but what choice did he have? By the time the letter reached his father-in-law his beloved city might be up in flames. Amansk was a timber built city – it would go up like matchwood. His heart almost broke to imagine it. 

Ours is a beautiful little city, he thought, we never did any harm to anyone. What have we done to deserve this?

He forced himself to pick up another piece of paper from his desk drawer and to write upon it. He knew that the High Lord needed to know what was happening, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t, and perhaps couldn’t, act at such a distance and for such a paltry ally.  Still, it was worth recording exactly what had happened and who was to blame. He made a special point of describing in detail that odd man Balliwick, as he didn’t trust him for a second. Perhaps the High Lord knew something more about him. He’d have to send this letter north as fast as he could.

Arnon’s third letter was to Marthian. This was the easiest one to write. She just needed to be warned about exactly what was happening. He wondered what she was doing now and whether she was better prepared than he was. It was odd that he’d never actually met her, and he had never seen her white city out there in the wilderness. 

He placed all three completed letters in his desk drawer and locked it. Then he stood up, shook himself like a dog shedding puddle water, and called for Viktor. Viktor appeared at the door, looking very pale.  Arnon pointed back out of the door.

‘Go and find Toby and Dom for me, would you’ he said, ‘I have some work for them to do’

 

***

The two friends had seen the banner almost instantly, as it was preceded by the thunderous noises made by an army on the move. They had slipped out of town unnoticed by the city guard and made their way to the side of the lake. From there the banner could be seen very clearly, and it was possible to get a good look at the congregating army on the hillside.  They looked like a carpet of red flowers, resting on a sea of horses.

They peered out at the army for several minutes before either of them spoke.

‘How many do you think are there, Dom?’ asked Toby, turning to his friend, ‘your eyes are better than mine’

‘I’d say we can see ten thousand’ said Dom,’ but there must be many more to come’   

 ‘So, from those chaps alone, we’re already outnumbered’ murmured Toby, turning now to look back towards the city. 

Dom followed Toby’s gaze and patted him on the shoulder. Sometimes there wasn’t much that could be said. They stood there for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts. Dom sat on a rock and watched Toby very carefully.

‘We have to do something! We can’t just let them walk all over us’ said Toby 

The prince walked a few steps forward as if advancing towards the enemy. He went to draw his blade and then realised that he had been in so much of a hurry that he had forgotten to buckle it on. Dom stood up gracefully, unbuckled his own sword and scabbard and offered it to Toby with a flourish.

‘Are you mocking me, Dominic?’ the prince asked, a little sadly, still staring at the enemy hoards.  

Dom shook his head and returned the sword to its scabbard. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

‘I thought that you were making a symbolic gesture’ he explained

‘No’ muttered Toby, kicking the sand, ‘just me being a bit of an arse’

 

They sat on a white skeletal log that had long been lying by the side of the lake. It was as hard as bone or iron. The northerly wind blew through them and then veered west.

‘We have to do something, though – this is our home’ said Toby

‘Yes,’ said Dom, ‘but fighting now would be pointless. We need to postpone our strike until we’re stronger’

‘What about my sister?’

‘Fighting will only make it worse for her, I’m guessing. Maybe she’s up there with Baron Von Thing’

‘Perhaps…’ said Toby, unconvinced.            

They stood on the lakeside watching the wind blow wave after wave on to the shore. Toby wondered if the knights would be as hard to resist. ‘Well, only one way to find out’ he thought.

He turned back towards Dom and gestured for him to come forward.

‘Let’s go and see if she’s there, then…’ he said, ‘…and Dom – maybe I will need that sword, after all’

Chapter twenty-six

The Quienimon Gate

 

Kath couldn’t believe her eyes – how could anyone do something so stupid and so dangerous?  She watched as her friend ran on towards the gate. Intense irritation surged through her and she used the only thing she had available to block the way; she swung the rod so that the sphere fell down in front of Potentilla. The elf tried to swerve to avoid it, but it was too late. There was a faint plopping noise and Potentilla was sucked in. She made no sound as she disappeared, but did have time to stare back at Kath. Kath, however, couldn’t tell what the look was, as Potentilla was upside down and the moment was too fleeting.

Kath let out a terrible wail. The others gasped and Viola ran forward towards the sphere. Without giving it a moment’s thought she raised her hands, palms outwards, to nose height, crossed them at the wrists and then turned them inwards so that the palms now pointed in towards her face. The air filled with a crackling energy, rather like the smell in the middle of a thunderstorm. The sphere stopped its constant rotation and it turned white. It had only been a foot or two in the air, but now it gently floated down and nestled on the ground.

‘How did you do that, Ma’am?’ asked Craetegus, staring open mouthed at the sphere.

Kath let out another wail. She dropped to the floor with her hands on the back of her head.

‘What have I done?’ she sobbed, ‘I think I’ve killed Tillie!’

Viola looked once again at the now stationary sphere. She had no idea how she’d disabled it, but she knew who had taught her: how or when she couldn’t even begin to imagine. She made a split second decision.

‘Corporal – go and see if you can help Till… the lieutenant’

Craetegus hesitated in front of the sphere. He peered at it as if looking for a door.

‘Do it now, corporal! That’s an order!’

The young elf breathed in deeply and then threw himself into the sphere. This time there was no plop, just a faint buzz as he disappeared.  There was complete silence except for the continuous hum of the Wall.

Viola walked over to Kath and helped her up. Kath’s eyes were wild and her cheeks wet. She seemed incapable of speech; she clung to Viola and stared at the sphere.

They waited in tense silence for what seemed like an hour, with the purr of the wall behind them. Viola’s tunic was soaked with Kath’s tears and she could hear her mumbling, ‘no, no, no…’ over again against her shoulder. Viola’s heart was beating very fast and her mouth was dry. She began to fear, with a sickening feeling, that she had sent a second soldier in to die in exactly as the first.

Craetegus’s head appeared out of the sphere, as if in mid-air. He looked unharmed but puzzled.

Kath broke free of Viola and ran towards him.

‘Is she alive?’ she shouted, ‘Is Tillie alive?’

Craetegus looked up at them all and then looked even more surprised. He was about to answer Kath when an arrow flew through the air and struck him in the face. He fell into a pool of his own blood.

The squad turned to face a volley of at least twenty arrows coming from a copse to their right, where one of their guards had been posted. Viola looked round and made a split second decision, based on instinct rather than logic.

‘Into the sphere’ she ordered, running on towards it.

Kath had staggered up in front of the prone body of Craetegus and as Viola rushed on she pushed the human forward violently, so that they both fell into the sphere.  They tumbled through what felt like cotton wool and then tripped, as if they had missed the bottom two or three stairs of a staircase. Everything was suddenly bathed in a bright green light and they were in what looked like a vast chamber. The walls looked like clouds, but this was not the most unusual thing about the space. They were lined with green pods, each about seven feet high and three feet wide, and apparently made out of green light. They stretched on for as far as they could see along both sides of the structure.

Viola pivoted to see if any of the rest of her squad had made it through. Sedum was there, and three others, but that was it. She moved back to where they had come, and pushed her head very slowly through the entrance wall. As expected, she could now see hazily through the sphere and back into the real world.

She could see at least thirty Portalian elves standing in front of the sphere. She pulled her head back, but fortunately they didn’t seem to have seen her. Pulling her bow off her back she notched an arrow.  She nodded to the other elves and they copied her, rapidly preparing an arrow in each bow. She nodded again. They fired through the white, curved, entrance. As soon as the arrows had disappeared, Viola ran forward and pushed her head out through the entrance again.

The Portalis troops were in disarray, running back towards the copse from where they had clearly advanced. Viola was not in a mood to let them escape.

‘Let’s get after them’ she shouted, ‘now’

‘And Kath’ she added, ‘I need you too! Follow me!’

Viola jumped out of the sphere with her bow still in her hands. The Portalians had run no more than a hundred yards away. She looked back to check that all of her team was with her and then turned to the sphere.

‘Kath’ she yelled, ‘use your rod’

Kath looked completely startled but she lifted the rod up anyway. Viola reversed the gesture that she had made earlier. The sphere instantly lit up with its dark green light and began to rotate.

‘Now’ barked Viola, ‘suck them all up!’

Kath was overcome by the strangeness of the moment and the vehemence of the command. She sent the sphere out across the plain with a savage flick of her hand. It swept off towards the fleeing elves like a huge catapult shot which never left its giant netted sling. As the sphere bounced against the closest of the runners there was a familiar plop and they disappeared. It was an easy job to manoeuvre the sphere so that it captured all the Portalians that they could see; it moved very much faster than the elves could run.

Finally, Kath brought the sphere back to the gate. She was flushed and her eyes were still wide with shock. She didn’t look as if she was fully aware of she was doing.

Viola lifted her hands up again and repeated the actions that stopped the sphere. She looked over at her remaining troops.

‘I’m going to go in and try to find Tillie’ she said, ‘the rest of you – look for any survivors and render any aid that is needed. If I don’t return in an hour, retreat back to Ortia as best you can. Don’t follow me in!’

She plunged back into the sphere, half expecting to find a horde of angry Portalians, all with their sharp blades drawn. However, all was as before – there was just the big white cloudy space and the green pods.

Kath appeared next to her. She was shaking, but now looked slightly more composed.

‘Where did they go?’ she asked, ‘where on earth did they all go?’

Viola pointed to the pods.

‘In there’ she said confidently and then halted, looking suddenly perplexed.

‘Possibly…’ she continued, falteringly.

Kath stared at her, mystified.

‘How do you know that...?’ she began, but Viola was already away, walking over to the pods.

Kath followed, realising that she wouldn’t get the answer to any of her questions yet. More pressingly, they needed to find Potentilla.

They stopped in front of the first pod on their left. As they approached it Viola tapped the palm of her right hand on her chest three times and then made a fist in the air. The green substance of the pod instantly became translucent. They could see a figure through the misty barrier. 

‘How on earth did you know how to do that?’ gasped Kath. Viola ignored her – she had no explanation that she could give her anyway: it just came naturally.

Inside the pod they could now see a tall human dressed in white robes standing, apparently frozen to the spot. They both recognised the clothing immediately. This was one of Whitecloak’s acolytes.

‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Kath

‘I don’t know’ replied Viola

She looked carefully at the Tlaxacan human. He showed no sign of injury or ageing. Who knew how long he had been there.

‘He has a gate key, Vee’ said Kath.

There grasped in the human’s frozen hand was an unmistakeable green pebble.

‘There’s the answer’ said Viola, ‘he was trying to get in’

‘And then he got zapped…’ suggested Kath, peering in again.

‘…Is he dead?’ she asked, her face creased up with worry.

‘No’ Viola answered emphatically, shaking her head vigorously. Then she thought again.

‘I really don’t know’ she said, correcting herself hurriedly.

Kath took a step back.

‘You’re making my flesh crawl, Vee – stop doing that’

Viola held up her hands and shook her head.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t really know what’s happening to me’ 

Kath stomped off down the row of pods.

‘Whatever it is’ she said, ‘you’d better use it to find Tillie’

They worked their way down the pods, uncovering each one and noting who was inside. The next eight after the man with the key were all humans dressed as Whitecloak adherents. In the tenth was an elf, but it wasn’t Potentilla.

‘I wonder who that is?’ whispered Viola, ‘and how long he’s been there’

Kath stood staring into the pod. She seemed transfixed by what she saw.

‘About six months’ said Kath.

‘What?’ asked Viola – it was clearly her turn to be perplexed.

‘That’s Lucius’ said Kath.

Chapter twenty-seven

Kinspit

 

By nine o’clock the next morning Hardacre had dried and ironed Kathleen’s clothes, prepared breakfast and packed a lunch for everyone.

‘I’m sorry that I won’t be here to prepare any more meals today...’ he said as he served the morning tea to his three guests, ’...as you all know, I am leaving for Oikonde for a day or two’

Kathleen looked up from her boiled egg and smiled. She was feeling a lot better and seemed to have suffered no real harm from her unplanned dunking.

‘That’s fine Laurence – I must get back as soon as possible anyway – who knows how long those Outer Void substances will remain in that still…’

Hardacre nodded politely and poured the tea into her cup from his largest teapot.

‘And Laurence’ Kathleen continued, ‘we will try to keep each other informed of anything that happens, shall we, by mail paper? Anything that you find out may well be very useful for my studies’

‘Yes, madam – if you really feel that that might be helpful to you… Certainly I will happily send you and Mr Ismay updates concerning anything that I might discover’

Kathleen nodded, happy to have Hardacre’s support.

Celia and Owen were tucking into a huge mountain of toast, all of which, of course, Celia had prepared herself. The new jar of blackberry jam had also been opened, despite that fact that the old, already open jar, was staring them in the face on the worktop. Hardacre sighed to himself and wondered if it was perhaps a good thing that he was leaving for a while.

John was still in bed, which was vexing because his master had expressly promised to accompany Kathleen to the University. Hardacre planned to leave it until nine fifteen, when he would take up a tray. That would still mean that they wouldn’t get out of the house until just before ten and so he wouldn’t be able to teleport until a little while after that. As usual, he felt the day’s plans slipping away. He stopped for a second and allowed himself the indulgence of pouring himself a cup of tea. There was clearly little point in hurrying.

‘How are your repairs progressing, Mr Floyd?’ he asked as he sipped his tea.

‘Passably well, Mr Hardacre’ said Owen, ‘it’s just a tad fiddly. It’s secure but I’d really like to make the thing an invisible mend’

Kathleen put down a toast soldier on to her plate and looked up.

‘Do you mean from both sides, Owen?’

Owen nodded. He glanced up at Hardacre.

‘Does John have any plans to rebuild the vault, Mr Hardacre?’

Hardacre frowned and looked noncommittal.

‘He hasn’t mentioned any and at the moment we don’t have anything to put in it’

‘Nothing much yet’ agreed Celia, ‘but there will be stuff soon enough’

‘Anyway’ said Owen, ‘he probably shouldn’t reconstruct it here – I don’t think that the fabric will be strong enough to take it any more’

Hardacre looked glum. He glanced across at the Grandfather clock in the hall. It was ten past nine.

‘Perhaps you could mention it to Mr Ismay, sir,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure that I want to be the bearer of that bad news’

Kathleen was finishing off the remains of her egg with a spoon. 

 ‘It’s probably better with the twins, anyway’ she said, ‘easier for us all to have access’

‘I’m sure you’re right, Councillor Mannings’ Hardacre said, finishing his tea.

They caught each other’s eyes. The only time that Hardacre used the formal term ‘councillor’ was when he was annoyed or worried.

Hardacre excused himself and then picked up John’s tea tray and took it out. The others couldn’t help sharing a sly grin as he left.

‘Is Laurence going to wake him up?’ asked Kathleen

Celia was chewing a corner of her piece of toast and waited until she had swallowed it before responding.

‘He’s always in bed at this time of the morning’ she said

‘A bit of a night owl’ added Owen, absentmindedly

It was Kathleen’s turn to look impatiently at the clock.

‘A night owl…’ she repeated, slightly sourly, ‘so I’ve heard’ 

Celia began to feel Kathleen’s agitation. She always disliked it intensely when that happened. Empathy was all well and good but not at this time of the morning while trying to enjoy a hearty breakfast.

‘He’ll be down soon’ she said, trying to sound reassuring. She tried to change the subject.

‘Did you ever find out who the old owner of the reality still was, Katy?’

‘I have the scribbled instructions that she left behind, with me’ said Kathleen, picking her now almost completely dry bag up from the floor. She opened the bag and passed the three yellowing pages over to Owen and Celia. She had had the foresight to put her papers into a waterproof bag.

They stared at them for several minutes. Owen’s Archaic Elven was excellent, but Celia had to read some of the more tricky words several times.

‘And that’s all the instructions that came with it, yes?’ asked Celia

‘And you still bought it’ said Owen. He turned one of the sheets upside down and pretended to try to read it.

‘It’s been very useful’ Kathleen said, defensively. Celia smiled and nodded very vigorously. There was no point making things worse.

‘It’s only this one unexpected thing that’s ever happened’ she said

Owen turned the last page round the right way and looked at it with a less jaundiced and now more professional eye.

‘Fine hand’ he said, ‘a bit unsteady. It’s in perfect archaic elven. Old school eastern elf, I’d say. I think you’re as likely to find out something useful here as anywhere’  

‘No signature though’ sighed Celia, ‘so a bit of a needle in a haystack’

Owen thought about this.

‘Not really C.  How many of these things could ever have been made? Katy just needs to find the right clues’

‘What clues are those, Owen?’ said John as he strolled in, looking tired but immaculately dressed. Hardacre had a rule that the less sleep John had had the night before the better turned out he had to be.

‘A clue to Katy’s missing manual’ Owen explained patiently.

John smiled.

‘She’s come to the right place’ he said, but seemed a little preoccupied.

‘Well, Katy’ he said, ploughing on, ‘are you ready to go?’

Kathleen was tempted to say something about how long she’d been waiting, but she realised that it probably wasn’t worth it. She got up from the table and stuffed her papers back in her bag. John had already gone to get his coat. She disappeared after him.

‘Is that all the toast?’ asked Owen

‘I can make some more…’ replied Celia

John’s head reappeared round the door.

‘We’ll have to eat out tonight’ he said, wrapping a scarf round his neck, ‘did Laurence tell you?’

They both nodded.

‘I’ll take you somewhere really grand’ John said.

‘That’ll be nice’ said Celia, blandly, ‘I hope your meetings go well’

John was already out of the kitchen again and heading to the front door with Kathleen in tow. He allowed himself a parting shout.

‘I hope so too – I’m really keen to track this Macrocephalos chap down’

The door closed behind them and then there was silence again in the house. Celia looked intently at Owen.

‘Are you coping?’ she said, lines of worry creasing her face.

‘It’s just tiring’ he replied, ‘you know that’

‘And you still want me to hang around?’

He nodded and then looked away suddenly. Celia wondered why.

‘I’m happy to stay…’ she said cautiously, ‘but only if it’s useful to you’

‘Well’ he said, slowly, ‘I’m happy for you to stay so long as it isn’t interfering with anything important that you need to do’

‘Do you think I shouldn’t stay?’ she enquired, worrying momentarily that he thought she was wasting her time.

‘Do you want to stay?’ he asked, quietly.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ she responded, even more softly.

They stared at each other for a moment and ached for the ability to read each other’s minds. They groped for the right words to say next.

Hardacre, who had reached the entrance to the kitchen several seconds before and heard all of their conversation, timed his entrance to exactly this moment. He made absolutely no indication that he had heard anything; that was often the key to providing covert assistance.  

He interrupted them with the tone of someone who is speaking only because he really feels compelled to.  

‘Councillor Franklyn’ he said, formally, ‘I wonder if I could ask you to do me a rather large favour while I am away’

Celia was startled out of her difficult conversation. She wondered what on earth he wanted her to do. She tensed slightly, just in case it was something to do with Owen.

‘You may have noticed – in fact how could you have failed to notice – that the combination of Mr Ismay and my assistant, Simkins, does not amount to a an acceptably stable domestic set-up’

Celia made some little noises that could be interpreted in any number of generally neutral ways.

‘Anyway -  I think that they need some, umm, oversight, by a more responsible adult than either of them could aspire to be’

‘Yes, Laurence?’ Celia said, now rather amused.

‘So’ Hardacre continued, ‘I was wondering whether it might be possible for you to stay a few days more and ensure that nothing goes terribly awry’

Celia smiled and was completely taken in.

‘Of course, Laurence, I’d be very happy to, and I think Owen will need some more moral support anyway’

Owen nodded his head thankfully.

‘Yes, of course’ he said, ‘that sounds like a splendid idea’

‘I’m sorry to have had to ask you, Madam’

Celia frowned.

‘Stop that! And now go and do your duty! We’ll be fine’

‘We’ll have some more toast, for a start’ said Owen, grinning

‘I’ll go and pack then’ said Hardacre, bowing to them both. He turned on his heels and walked back down the hall corridor. Anyone approaching him at this point would have wondered why he had a very slight, quietly satisfied, smile.

Chapter twenty-eight

Castle Uberwald

 

Gerard had never met any of the Pale Flame Knights before, and his first impressions weren’t very favourable. They had come to the castle several days after the first Crimson Flame knights had left and as far as he could see they were identical to the more numerous Crimson Flamers except that they wore white flames on a black background rather than crimson flames on a white background. He had also heard that, unlike the Crimson Flame Knights, they had made a vow of poverty.

He had been introduced to the Grandmaster of the Pale Flame Knights, Otto Kantor, very briefly when the white knights had come into the city. Von Eisen had been vague about Gerard’s role in his organisation to Kantor, but that was fine. As far as he was concerned the Baron kept him on so that he could do any vaguely dirty work that seemed beneath the knights themselves. Recently, though, he had had very little to do and now he was just waiting for Von Eisen to pay him off. He had gathered a nice stash of money and he planned to lay low in his big house in Teulacen, in Eastern Formor by the great lake. That would give him about six months of idle pleasure before he would have to work again.

It was surprising, then, when this Otto Kantor, the lesser Grandmaster, turned up his door late one night. Gerard had a small apartment in the depths of the castle, at ground level, nothing like as pleasant as Victoria’s and Lily’s penthouse suite, but fine for him.

He opened the door cautiously, as it was after eleven pm and he never had visitors at this time. Otto was holding a lantern and looking rather furtive. Gerard thought him a rather sombre, potentially dangerous man; just like the Baron.

‘Lord Kantor’ he said, speaking carefully, ‘how can I help you at this late hour?’

‘May I come in?’ asked Otto, looking around for anyone who might have seen him.

Gerard considered saying a brisk ‘no’ and shutting the door in his face. He still had a half-finished glass of whiskey and was rather enjoying drinking it on his own. He sighed and pulled the door open enough to allow his visitor to squeeze through. Otto entered awkwardly and in a great hurry.

Inside the apartment was a small sitting room with two old but comfortable arm chairs, a small bookcase and a table.

‘Sit down, Lord Kantor, if you please’ said Gerard..

Otto hesitated for a moment and then sat, rather uncomfortably. He scanned the room with flickering movements of his eyes but never once looked fully at his host.

‘Please don’t call me “Lord Kantor”, Mr Hoffmann’ he murmured stiffly, ‘we use only first names in my order’

He hesitated and then finally looked Gerard in the eye.

‘”Otto” is perfectly acceptable’ he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Gerard was surprised by this: among the Crimson Flamers titles were supremely important.

‘Do you mean that I should call you “Grandmaster Otto”?,’ Gerard asked, feeling a little confused, but also amused.

His visitor shook his head.

‘No, that’s not necessary – just “Otto” would be best’

Gerard scanned Otto up and down. He was dressed in a simple black cloak with a white shirt and dark breeches. He would have blended in well in a clerk’s office, except for his eyes, which were painfully intense. There was nothing to suggest that he had either money or power, which was disappointing.

‘Then you can call me “Gerard”, if you like’

Otto nodded gravely. Gerard thought it was time to come to the point.

‘So, “Otto”, what do you want?’

The knight looked uncomfortable again. Gerard made no attempt to reduce this discomfort.

‘I want to arrange a meeting with Princess Lily of Amansk’

Gerard was surprised, again. Why was he asking him?

‘That’s not really something that I can arrange, I’m afraid. Access to her highness would be the Baron’s business’

‘I was told that you might be able to organise…’ Otto coughed and frowned, ‘I mean, that you might arrange, a brief, informal visit’

Gerard leant forward so he could examine the knight very closely.

‘Why would I do that?’ he said, ‘It would be dangerous and I would risk losing my job’

Otto looked down at the table, once again unwilling, or unable, to look Gerard in the eye.

‘I have also been told that you are willing to risk quite a lot if the payment is good enough’

Gerard said nothing, but certainly didn’t jump up to deny it.

Otto slid his hand into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a wallet and started to take something out of it. His hands fumbled, however, and he dropped it on the floor, scattering paper notes. He scrambled around trying to pick them all up.  Gerard thought that he looked comical, but there really was a lot of money. It was useless money, of course, but there was still a very substantial amount of it.

Gerard helped him pick the crisp bank notes up. Otto sat back down and folded them carefully back into his wallet.  Despite himself, Gerard felt compelled to say something.

‘You know these are only valid in the Empire, don’t you?’ he said, ‘no northern state accepts paper money’

Otto looked up at him coldly and nodded even more icily. 

‘I have some other currency’ he said, reaching into another pocket in the wallet. He pulled out three Imperial sovereigns and placed them on the table. If anything Gerard liked the knight even less now, but he had instantly become very interesting. He had all this southern money and so he must be in Imperial pay. He’d never seen the mighty Baron with any imperial currency. These knights were different, after all. 

Gerard stared longingly at the big shiny coins. Three pure gold sovereigns were worth about a month’s pay. This might well be worth doing, particularly as most of the Crimson Flamer army had already left for Amansk.  The two prisoners didn’t need to know that this wouldn’t be a scheduled meeting.

‘I have my reasons for not wanting to involve the Baron’ Otto said, ‘and I have also been led to believe that if you are paid enough then you will keep quiet about arranging such a meeting’

Otto picked up a sovereign. He turned it so that Emperor Pallatian’s head was staring at him. Gerard shivered slightly.

‘Forgive me if I seem to be approaching this problem in a clumsy way’ said Otto, ‘I have lived under monastic rules for the last eighteen years and we do not use money. Neither do we have vagabonds’ 

Gerard smiled to himself. Why did people always assume that he’d be insulted by such a description? He was clearheaded enough to know that if one stole, cheated and abducted for a living then no-one would call them a hero. It was extraordinary, however, how many of those same rude people would insult you while offering big bags of money.

‘So – three elfrounds for a visit,’ asked Gerard, ‘Is that what you’re offering?’  

Otto tilted his head and looked uncertain. He nodded experimentally.

‘Are you trying to fool me, Mr Hoffmann?’ he asked

‘Actually no – well, not at the moment, anyway’ 

 Gerard leant over and picked up the sovereigns. He held one up so that now he could see the Emperor’s head. He laughed.

‘Long live the Imperial mint, eh, Otto’

Otto looked at him as if at a snake that had just slithered out from a pile of logs.

‘All hail the Emperor!’ he murmured, and got up. The conversation was clearly at an end.