The Death Of The Necromancer - The Death Of The Necromancer Part 27
Library

The Death Of The Necromancer Part 27

He paused and corrected himself graciously, "If we are to do anything about it, I must have a pardon and some assistance, thank you."

"What are you talking about?" Giarde demanded.

Ronsarde waved his arms in frustration, causing the watching Guards to stir nervously. "The person who caused the disturbance in the Courts Plaza, the deaths in Vienne Prison and Valent House. He is most certainly a sorcerer, he is most assuredly mad, and I would have apprehended him by now without all this deliberate interference."

"You know who he is?"

Ronsarde glanced at Nicholas. "Not yet, but we have our suspicions. I need a pardon, Captain. The situation is urgent."

Giarde's expression was difficult to read. He put his pistol into his coat pocket and said, "It's very late."

"She will be awake."

He can't mean who I think he means, Nicholas thought, shifting uneasily. This experience was surreal enough already.

Giarde hesitated. "You're not exaggerating this?"

Ronsarde's expression was grim. "I only wish I was."

"All right." Giarde tossed the pistol Nicholas had stolen to one of the Guards. "Follow me."

Ronsarde nodded as if pleased. Nicholas took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart.

Giarde led them through dark halls, further into the tower. With the lamps of the Guardsmen sending shadows chasing up old stone walls that bore marks of fire and at least one round impact that looked as if it could have come from a cannonball, they might have been passing back through time. Nicholas would not have been terribly surprised if they were leading him to one of the dungeons below these ancient floors. He thought about bolting down one of the cross corridors they passed but knew that would be useless; he didn't know the place and would probably be rounded up within minutes.

It was known there were areas in the lower levels of the palace still sealed off from when the Unseelie Court had occupied it for that short time over a hundred years ago. Corridors, storerooms, stairwells, huge echoing cellars, blocked off by falling walls and collapsed roofs, that had been left as they were with no effort expended to reclaim them from the earth.

But the double doors they eventually came to opened into an old if not ancient stairway, lit prosaically by gaslights. The gas pipes were mounted on the walls, since the plaster and wood panelling must be only a thin veneer over solid stone. Nicholas knew they had left the tower; this must be the King's Bastion.

They went up the stairs and through a few echoing halls with abrupt turns and occasional dead ends, until Nicholas realized he was thoroughly lost. He could tell they were approaching the more well-usedportions of the palace when the floor underfoot turned from polished wood to white marble.

They passed several of the semi-public areas, seeing no one but a few quiet servants, then entered a reception room. Giarde said, "Wait here," and continued on, leaving the other Queen's Guards with them.

Nicholas folded his arms, resisting the urge to pace. The room was small, chill, with a marble floor and mantels and a set of delicate giltwood chairs that looked as if they would burst apart if sat on. He knew he looked an odd figure here, dressed all in tattered black and with an expression of dark outrage.

It was perhaps an appropriate appearance for the first Alsene to visit the palace of Ile-Rien in so many years.

Leaning on his cane, Ronsarde said conversationally, "I discovered your rather colorful antecedents when I was first investigating your foster father. I thought it of no consequence, however."

Nicholas looked at him, eyes narrowed. "You're not endearing yourself to me, you know."

Giarde reappeared and motioned them to follow. As they did, Nicholas noticed the Queen's Guards remained behind. He glanced sideways at Ronsarde but couldn't tell if the Inspector seemed relieved or not. They went down another hall and then through an open doorway into a vast chamber.

There was an arched arcade running all along the upper half and a floor covered with parquet and very old Parscian carpets. An enormous chimneypiece of black and white marble would have dominated the room, except for the gold-framed mirrors, the elaborate floral designs of the figured ceiling, and the faded glory of the two-hundred-year-old tapestries. The furniture was all marquetry or vermeille, all in colors of old gold or amber, until the room seem to glow with it. Ronsarde nudged Nicholas with an elbow and pointed up. Three large gold lanterns of intricate design hung from the ceiling. "From the barge of the Grand Cardinal of Bisra, looted during the battle of Aids in the last Bisran War," he whispered.

"The touch of the conquering barbarian among the splendors of civilization."

"I heard that."

There was a woman sitting in an armchair near the massive hearth. She was small and her face was very young, a girl's face almost, except it was too thin to be entirely childish. Her hair was red and worn piled up under a very old-fashioned lace cap, and her dark dress looked plain and almost dowdy, until the lamplight caught it and revealed it as a deep indigo velvet. She was laying out cards in a game of solitaire on the little table in front of her and she hadn't looked up at her visitors.

She said, "You were arrested." A quick, almost furtive glance revealed she was speaking to Ronsarde. Her voice was light and unexpectedly girlish for someone with such a serious mien.

"I was, my lady," the Inspector said calmly.

Nicholas felt the back of his neck prickle. Traditionally in Ile-Rien, officers of the royal court and personal servants addressed royalty as "my lady" or "my lord" instead of the more formal and cumbersome "your majesty." That Ronsarde had been granted that indulgence showed he was closer to the Crown's confidence than Nicholas had previously suspected.

"Can't have that," the Queen muttered, as if to herself. She turned over a card and ran her thumb along the edge, lost in thought. "I know who you are," she said. Another quick glance showed she was speaking to Nicholas now. "It was distressing that Rahene Fallier brought you here without informing me."

"Distressing, but not entirely unexpected," Giarde added.

The Queen shot Giarde a dark look. She made an abrupt gesture, as if embarrassed by this admission. "Politics, you understand."

"I avoid politics, your majesty," Nicholas said.She looked up at him then, for the first time, eyes narrowed as if she suspected mockery. She probably was mocked, to her face or to her back, by the more sophisticated ladies of the court and by those of her advisors who didn't appreciate serving a woman who appeared barely out of childhood. If he remembered rightly she wasn't older than twenty-four. Apparently satisfied that he had spoken in all seriousness, she said, "Wise of you," and looked back down at her game. She placed the card carefully in the array on the table. "There is a resemblance. I think it's the eyes." She turned over another card and studied it. "And I suppose your mother must have been the first new blood in that family for several generations."

She was speaking of his resemblance to the long-dead Denzil. Nicholas damned Greanco's skill.

"Circumstance has made them insular," he hesitated infinitesimally, "your majesty."

"It was a pretty damn deliberate circumstance," the Queen corrected, her voice dry. She glanced at him furtively. "When I was a child I met your aunt Celile once, at a garden party the Valmontes gave at Gardien-on-Bannot." She shuddered, not theatrically, but apparently in real horror at the memory.

"Horrible woman."

"You should try having to face her over dinner." The words were out before Nicholas could stop them.

The Queen hesitated, her hand on a card. Her smile was so brief it might have been imaginary. She looked at him directly then, her large eyes utterly serious, and said, "I've seen the house, from a distance.

It was horrible, too. What was it like there?"

Nicholas drew a breath but was temporarily unable to speak. He knew he needed to answer her but he hadn't expected this. If he had ever imagined this meeting, he would never in his wildest dreams have constructed it in this fashion. He thought of the decaying, faded glories of the Alsene Great House, the land meant to support it long gone, either sold off to pay debts or taken by the Crown as more punishment for Denzil's long-ago attempt to seize the throne. Roland Fontainon's throne, who was this woman's great-great-grandfather. He said, "Mercifully, I don't remember much of it." There were details, long buried beneath the surface, that insisted on springing to mind. He added only, "My father died and my mother fled with me to Vienne."

She blinked, her expression unchanging. "Are we related?"

"It's a distant connection." He suspected she knew it very well; the purpose of the question had been to ascertain if he knew it.

She sat back in her chair. "By the charters of Old Vienne and Riverside, and the Council of Margrave and the Barons of Viern, there is a proposed line of descent that gives you a claim on the throne." One eyebrow quirked, but her face was serious. "I might have to marry you."

The shock wasn't mild but Nicholas realized immediately that he was being tested, in ways both subtle and blunt. It explained what Fallier wanted of me, he thought, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps that was why the family seldom left the estate. His father had only left long enough to court his mother. And there were those who had never left the slowly rotting house, who had spent their whole lives living for the past. He was probably the first Alsene to come to Vienne in generations. He said, "The Council of Margrave and the Barons of Viern was invalidated by the later action of the Ministry, in their first convening in Vienne."

"That's true." The Queen slumped back in her chair suddenly, frowning. "I'd forgotten."

Thank you, Doctor Uberque, for a thorough grounding in the history of court law, Nicholas thought, though he didn't believe for a moment the Queen had forgotten that obscure fact. It was like watching Madeline play a role, only underneath it all Madeline was basically harmless and the Queen was anything but. The woman uses candor like a loaded pistol. He still thought her courtiers probably mocked her, but if they did it within her hearing, they probably didn't do it twice. In his peripheral visionhe saw Giarde wincing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

She sat up straight again and Nicholas suspected he was about to be dealt another roundhouse blow.

She said, "But you're still the heir to the Alsene properties."

"Like being the heir to Hell, only less glamorous," Nicholas said, keeping his voice light. But this was almost a relief. He had never expected nor wanted to inherit anything from the Alsenes and indeed he doubted they had anything worth wanting. He bowed, ironically. "I renounce my claim, your majesty."

"Really? Because when you say it to me, you know, it's official." The Queen pointed this out somewhat diffidently, as if embarrassed by it.

He hadn't known. He hadn't lived at Alsene long enough to be taught all the vagaries of the landed noble's relationship with the Crown. Nicholas said, "I want no part of the family of Alsene. I am not the heir." There was a curious sense of freedom in saying it.

She glanced at Giarde and said, "We'll write that into the court proceedings, remind me, please."

Giarde sighed audibly and the Queen glared at him again. Nicholas would have given a great deal to know what their relationship was. Queens of Ile-Rien had always taken lovers among their personal guard; it was practically a tradition.

A large ginger cat suddenly leapt up onto the table and with great deliberation, settled itself down on top of the card game. The Queen froze, card in hand, and stared at it with a grim set to her mouth. The cat returned her gaze with a challenging air and settled itself more comfortably. The Queen sighed, evidently conceding the point, and set the card aside. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands, looking thoughtfully down at the carpet. "We were going on to that other matter. . . ."

Giarde evidently took that as a signal to continue. He cleared his throat and glanced at Ronsarde.

"I've sent for Lord Albier. He's in charge of the investigation of the incident today. I thought he might benefit from this discussion."

Ronsarde and Nicholas exchanged a look. Lord Albier was the head of the Prefecture and no one had said yet whether they were under arrest or not.

"And I've asked Fallier to attend," Giarde continued. He smiled. "His reaction should be illuminating."

The Queen glanced up at him, her mouth twisting ironically. Her expression as she looked at her Guard Captain was much the same as when she had looked at her cat, holding both affection and resigned annoyance.

A butler caught Giarde's attention from the doorway and the Captain motioned him forward. As the servant conferred with the Queen and Giarde, Nicholas said, low-voiced, to Ronsarde, "Well, are we for prison or not?"

"I'm not sure," Ronsarde admitted. "It's always so hard to tell what the dear child is thinking. Giarde has some influence on her but not as much as appearances suggest." He shrugged philosophically.

"You've escaped from the Vienne prison twice now, haven't you? Don't most sorcerous formulae suggest the third time should be lucky?"

Nicholas rubbed his forehead, to conceal his expression from the others. "Oh, if I'm to be sent to prison I'd prefer it to be for bashing in the head of a Prefecture Inspector and leaving his body in a midden." He was beginning to feel a deep sense of sympathy for Doctor Halle.

Ronsarde chuckled.

The butler retreated and Giarde glanced at them and explained, "Fallier and Albier are here."

The Queen shifted uneasily.

"This should be interesting," Ronsarde muttered.Nicholas folded his arms. Interesting was a good word for it.

It was Fallier who entered first, Lord Albier following him. Nicholas knew the sorcerer was almost instantly aware of his presence even though he gave no sign of it.

Fallier paused, meeting the Queen's gaze without challenge but without apology, either. She said nothing, merely looked at him with a light in her eyes that might have been contempt. It was the imperturbable Court Sorcerer who was the first to look away. Turning to Giarde, he said, "I was told this was a matter of some urgency, Captain?" His voice was cool.

"Inspector Ronsarde has some intelligence concerning the sorcerous attack on the Courts," Giarde said. He looked thoughtfully at the sorcerer. "That is all."

Fallier's eyes narrowed slightly and he looked from Giarde to the Queen. Nicholas saw that her hand, resting on the delicate chair arm, the jeweled rings incongruous next to bitten nails, was trembling. She is seething, he thought. He suspected this wasn't the first time Fallier had attempted politics, as the Queen had called it.

In the meantime, Lord Albier was staring at Ronsarde, caught between astonishment and anger. He was a large, florid man, very much the type of the military officer. The state of his clothes suggested he had dressed hastily. "Captain, I demand an explanation. Inspector Ronsarde is a wanted man. What the-"

"The Inspector has reasons for his rather odd behavior," Giarde interjected, before Albier could commit the indignity of swearing in front of his sovereign.

Ronsarde smiled at Albier. "Have you been searching for me very hard, sir? If so, I suggest it's time for another review of the detective force, because I assure you I was not that difficult to find."

Albier reddened. He looked at Giarde and said harshly, "I should have been informed-"

"You're being informed now," Giarde interrupted, apparently tiring of Albier's discomfiture. "Have you made any progress on discovering who turned the Courts Plaza into a sorcerous spectacle yesterday?"

Albier retained his control with an effort. "We had nothing to investigate. The sorcerers we called in could find no trace of the identity of the person who caused the disruption." Albier was all but ignoring the Queen, which Nicholas thought was poor judgement indeed.

Giarde nodded to Ronsarde. "I believe the Inspector can shed some light on it. He and his ...

associate have been investigating the matter."

For the first time Fallier's gaze came to rest on Nicholas. He allowed himself one small smile at the sorcerer's expense and Fallier turned his attention to Ronsarde, without reacting. He is a dangerous man, Nicholas thought. He was making another enemy tonight, that much was obvious.

Ronsarde cleared his throat and began to describe the events of the past few days, beginning with his investigation of Octave.

Listening to him, Nicholas was pointedly reminded of the current difficulties of his situation. Even his delight at Fallier's discomfort was dampened.

He had told Madeline that Donatien was dead, but perhaps he hadn't quite believed it himself until now.

The Inspector's quiet voice as he told their story was working on Nicholas's nerves like salt on raw flesh. It has to be this way, he told himself. To get this sorcerer, he would have to have help. He was running out of resources and time and more importantly, they had him dead to rights. There was no other choice.When he looked back he realized the Queen's eyes were on him, that she had read his reaction as plainly as if he had spoken aloud. Her gaze flicked away as if she was ashamed to be caught watching him.

Ronsarde told them all they had discovered so far, his deductions and Nicholas's, their individual and shared discoveries, making it sound as though Nicholas had been working under Ronsarde's auspices from the very beginning. He left out anything that might hint at less than legal activities on Nicholas's part..

The Inspector was making it sound as if he had known Nicholas all his life and that was, in a way, true, just not in the way Ronsarde was implying. You should be grateful, he thought, instead of standing here simmering with resentment. Sebastion Ronsarde, Inspector of the Prefecture, sworn to the Crown, was standing here lying like a market whore to save him. And he was telling those lies to the Queen, who was sitting there blinking solemnly and probably all too aware she wasn't hearing more than half the real story, but trusting Ronsarde anyway.

As the Inspector finished, Giarde and the Queen were looking at Albier. He coughed and said, "I had heard some part of this before-"

"And believed none of it-" Ronsarde interrupted.

"You had no proof," Albier said heatedly, "only outrageous speculations!"

"I assume the destruction and death yesterday is proof enough?" Ronsarde's voice was icy, for one moment revealing the bitterness he must have felt at his warnings going unheeded.

"Of course." Albier gestured to Giarde. "But even the great Inspector can give us no clue as to this person's whereabouts."

This was too much for Nicholas's abraded nerves. He interrupted, "There is, in fact, one clue."

That got everyone's attention, including Ronsarde, who stared at him, frowning. Nicholas said, "Doctor Octave, before he was killed by his associate, said that the sorcerer was hiding in a 'palace on the river.' "

"There are a number of deserted or unused Great Houses along the river or on the islands," Albier muttered.

"And they will be searched," Giarde said. He looked at the Court Sorcerer, who said, "I will put my apprentices at the disposal of Lord Albier."

The Queen said suddenly, "You're dismissed."

Albier looked startled, almost offended, and actually looked at Giarde for confirmation, but Fallier bowed and turned at once to go, crossing the parquet floor to the doors.

It must have finally dawned on Albier that there were undercurrents of which he was unaware. He bowed to the Queen and to Giarde said, "I'll make you aware of any progress." With another dark glance at Ronsarde, he followed Fallier out.

As the doors closed behind them Ronsarde shook his head. "I don't like to say it, but in light of what brought us here I find I do not entirely trust Fallier."