Tryst
959 Words
Tryst~
Nigel Willoughby
Jorendon
Nigel penned the letters and summoned his secretary.
“Get these out to Bresca and Larad this morning. Make copies for all the ministries and deliver them this afternoon.”
“Yes, my lord.” Brunet turned to make it so.
“Wait, there’s more. Take a seat.”
Brunet hesitated at the invitation but took a chair.
“At half-past midnight, go to the Silver Fox brothel in Cabbagetown. Go alone and see you are not followed.” Nigel handed him a rose quartz coin engraved with a crescent moon. “Give this to the girl with a burn scar across her cheek. She’ll see you to a room.”
“Minister Willoughby, I don’t—”
“Save the piety. I’m told she’s quite talented in that regard, but I’m not sending you to bed her. Follow her to the room and wait. A tall man in a cloak will come to you. Make sure his hood hides his face. Escort him here.”
Nigel scratched out an address and passed it to the wide-eyed young man.
“Make certain he makes it to the cellar unobserved. Then leave.”
Brunet blinked at the paper for a moment. “Yes, my lord. You can count on me.”
“I am. See I don’t regret it.” Nigel gathered his things. “Now, I have preparations to make.”
# # #
Nigel snapped the reins over the mule’s back, but the beast paid him no heed. It kept to its maddeningly slow pace, rattling the cart over the rough cobbles of a narrow street in Cabbagetown. Disguised as a white-haired old woman on her way home from delivering evening meals at the prison, Nigel drew less notice than the alley cats prowling for mice.
He passed the last functioning streetlamp several blocks ago, so he let the reins go slack, and the mule plodded to a halt. Moving faster was beyond the beast’s comprehension, but stopping seemed its forte.
Nigel twisted on the bench and flung back the canvas covering the cart’s load.
“Quiet. We walk from here.”
The man unfolded his lanky frame and tucked a tuft of red beard beneath a cloak Nigel was disappointed to be losing. It was a good cloak, made of a fine Aleron wool that kept out the coldest wind, but not so heavy it weighed down the shoulders.
Oh, well. Can’t be helped.
Nigel led the man through the maze of alleyways that would deposit them at the Silver Fox, appraising his stealth with a modicum of approval. Danyl of Dobberton took more care with his steps than most men bothered with.
Two blocks and done. A quick night’s work.
Nigel turned a corner, and a movement overhead brought him up short. Silent feet landed before him. A lithe black form blocked his path. The slight whistle of breath affirmed to his ears what his eyes already surmised.
N’si.
“Now is not the best time for a tryst, my dear.”
“A charming invitation.” Her lilt carried wary respect. “But contain your yearning. I am not here for you.”
“What brings you, then? Mischief or silver?”
“Curiosity,” she said. “Day after day, Kitsune speaks the name. Danyl of Dobberton.”
Curiosity with a propensity to turn lethal. N’si acted on whim and blamed Kitsune the Trickster for the ruin they left behind. Nigel’s sidestep put Danyl behind him.
“Keep walking,” he told the priest. “I’ll find you.”
Quiet footsteps retreated, confirming Danyl was smarter than most he’d rescued through the years.
“Kitsune wants him dead,” she said, edging closer.
“I want him alive.” It was a familiar impasse.
Nigel sunk to a crouch. She circled to his deadlier side. Her hand moved to her belt, and his muscles coiled. The click of a flintlock froze them both.
“Hair trigger. Twitchy finger,” a steady voice warned. “Care to take your chances?”
Her yellow eyes darted from Nigel to the shadowy silhouette of Jules Brunet. She backed away with a feral hiss.
“This is not the day you die, Nihyllen.”
“When did that crystalize for you?”
“Take care not to vex me again soon.” She sprung for a gutter pipe and scaled a ramshackle building. Nigel watched her fling a leg over the roof’s edge and disappear. She would not be back. Not tonight.
His secretary merited more immediate attention. How much of what he’d overheard had he understood?
“Initiative can be useful, Manser Brunet. It can also get you killed,” he said. “I sent you to keep a prescribed appointment.”
“And you would have found me there, my lord, had you reached it.”
# # #
Nigel reclined in his seat. He feigned interest in the play, watching from his private box in the grand old Falkender Theater. It was a tedious production about ill-fated lovers, long on melodrama and short on wit. A rasp at his ear intruded on his boredom.
“Where’s Danyl? What’ve you done with him?”
Took his sweet time getting here. Nigel scowled and slipped to the back of the box hidden by fringed side curtains. He settled into the seat beside Peder Griffith.
“I moved him out of Deighton’s reach.”
“The whole city is talking about Danyl’s death.”
“Death?” Nigel smirked. “A convenient exaggeration. I think we’ll let it stand.”
“His cell was locked and barred. The guard swears no one came or went except the meal woman. When Deighton sent for Danyl, the guard found a pile of ashes atop his sandals.”
“And what does the city say to that?”
“They say God struck him down. They say when King Walter banned the burnings, God sent down the fire himself,” said Peder.
“So it would be blasphemy if the Beacon initiated a search for his escaped prisoner.”
“Mother of Aurel,” said Peder. “You staged it all.”
“It amused me.”
“But how? Why?”
“No matter. I said I would keep your friend from Deighton’s bonfire. It’s done.”
“Where is he?”
Nigel shrugged. “I expect he’s on Phoenix Island by now.”
“Phoenix—” Peder lowered his astonishment to a whisper. “Phoenix Island is a fable.”
“It’s real enough, for Danyl.” Nigel suppressed a smile.
Legend claimed Phoenix Island was impossible to find, for any who went searching without invitation. The shifting mass of earth would sink into Lake Jura, leaving only mist behind, then rise again at some distant spot in the largest lake in Innis.
“So you aren’t revealing where you hid him. Fair enough. What becomes of him?”
“He stays put until the hubbub dies down. Then he will be given options, some safer than others. From what I’ve learned of Danyl, I expect he’ll make a bold choice.”
Chapter 18
- Writer
