9. N
Haldeen let out an exasperated breath. His papers had been moved!
He had suspected it the first night, when things in his tower office had been shifted from where he had thought he had placed them.
Things had been chaotic, so he hadn’t been entirely certain.
The second time he’d been focused on the Probe.
It had gone overdue, then turned up hours late, carrying only scrap metal, which proved worthless for answering any of his questions.
He’d been focused on that, and not fully paying attention to what he had been doing.
He was almost certain then that things had been moved out of place, but in his distraction, he hadn’t been completely sure.
This time though, the untidiness had struck his courtyard office, where he knew every scrap.
Every document, book, and ledger, all in its proper place and organized to suit his work.
This time, the Probe had completed its mission, and he’d returned to document its activities.
He instantly saw that things were not as they left them.
Granted it was near dawn, and he was quite tired, but he certainly knew the contents of his desk … and things were out of place.
Who would dare … and what would they expect to gain?
His estate workers knew better to steal or trespass, and he could, with a word, ruin their ability to earn their ration …
or even have them turned out of the city to take their chances with the Predators.
He considered spies from the other Lords, but expected they would be better at rifling his things.
He thought first of Triana as his main suspect.
Still, suspecting was different than knowing, and while it cost him nothing to accuse her, it might mean that if he were wrong, the actual culprit would be tipped off. Better the indirect approach.
He rang the servants’ bell, once, twice, and roused the steward, hours before the time that Haldeen usually called for him. The elf responded quickly enough. “My lord?” he asked. Haldeen noted the sleep-crusted eyes and hasty dressing.
“Send for the Overseer.” He paused. “I need Ildrian at once.”
The servant bowed his way out.
Haldeen rubbed his tired eyes. The night had been long and worrying. He had the growing sense that the Probe had gotten lucky the first time, retrieving Triana, but was of much less value than he had first thought. After its initial success, it had delivered … junk.
At least nothing has eaten it. He paused for a moment, then went back over that. There was something important there. He could sense it, but couldn’t break it down. Fatigue fogged his brain, and he still held a full calendar for the day. Best to put that thought away for now.
Ildrian appeared within a few minutes, and before Haldeen had really sorted out what he wanted to ask. The Overseer, Master of the Belowstairs, whom Haldeen had hired, and did his best to forget about, appeared in crisp dress and freshly shaved.
“My lord?” Ildrian asked, with the inborn caution of a servant whose master has done something unexpected.
Haldeen tried for flippancy. “Have any of your lambs been out of bed the last few nights?”
Ildrian took a long time to answer, assuming an expression that gave as little away as possible, at least until he saw which way the wind was blowing. “How do you mean, my lord?”
Haldeen saw the games, and shook his head, in no mood to fence with the Overseer. “Someone has been in my office.”
The Overseer clearly hadn’t expected that. “Who would dare?”
Haldeen laughed humorlessly, little more than a grunt. “Triana.” Then, to keep up appearances. “The refugee I’m fostering.”
The Overseer furrowed his brows. “The tall one with a face like a horse? Assigned to the ‘guest’ quarters?”
“The same,” Haldeen answered. The Overseer replied with a carefully neutral expression and head bow. “That whole wing has magic sensors, my lord.,” said the Overseer. “I will check to see if they have detected any ambient magic. Except … ” he trailed off.
Haldeen swore sulphurously. “Except every damned magic alarm on the south side of the city has been either failing or alerting every night this week, which would include hers.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Ildrian, a worried expression on his face.
“We still don’t know why it’s happening. I’ve checked with the other estates. It’s not just us. I think it’s affecting everything south of the old Butcher’s Market. Something is really disrupting magical flows … pulling a lot in and draining us dry. Even the mage-lights are fading” He stopped,
and looked at Haldeen carefully.
“There are … umm … rumors that this is some kind of attack, and a new way those things are striking against us.”
Haldeen feigned a worried expression. “Keep at it. Try to find the source, especially if it’s affecting the shield-wall. Keep reaching out to your counterparts. I know the effect may be too general to nail down, but keep trying.”
The Overseer nodded his head vigorously, as though Haldeen had dropped golden gems of wisdom.
Haldeen knew the instructions would keep him busy.
“You’ve only been here a relatively short time, Ildrian, but I’ve appreciated your zeal and skill at managing the downstairs functions. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that …”
along with your utter lack of imagination, he concluded silently.
Ildrian bobbed his head, pleased at his master’s compliments. “As for Triana,” he asked Haldeen. “Put a guard on her? See if she gets out?”
Haldeen considered a moment. “Perhaps a way to kill two birds at once, Overseer. With the mage-lights going out” …
at the same time the sensors get swamped, which is how she knows.
He cursed to himself again, then continued.
“Damn it. We need to set up roving patrols, and yes, put a guard on her door. I want her where she is supposed to be and no questions about it. While you are at it, change the locks on her doors. And toss her room. Look for hairpins, straight wires. Anything she can bend or flex to pick a lock.”
Ildrian frowned. “Of course, my lord,” Ildrian said in a flat tone. Haldeen knew that to be a servant’s rebuke for being told his job.
A gemstone on his desk began to pulse softly, in time with his heartbeat.
And that would be the king. Haldeen, already bone weary, felt a headache coming on.
“Advise me when it’s done.” He picked up a random piece of paper to pretend to scan, indicating that the discussion was over. And yes, it’s out of place too.
He felt deeply violated by her combing through his desk, enough to order the ransacking of her room. He recognized it for what it was … petty revenge, but it made him feel better.
The gem continued to pulse. The king had many virtues, but patience was not one of them.
He set aside the document, picked up the gem, and crossed quickly to the secret door that concealed his inner office.
He raised the gem to where it flared and unsealed the hidden entrance, The small room contained little more than the rare and precious Farspeaker, a small desk and chair,
and bookshelves filled with the notes and volumes of Gate lore that he needed to keep his equally precious title and prerogatives.
He slid the gem into the ’Speaker, and it sprang to life at once. The King’s face, badly distorted, sprang into existence about a foot from his own head.
“Haldeen, don’t waste my time pretending you aren’t the reason half the city is in a panic.”
Haldeen felt a sharp spike of fear. He worked to keep his face neutral while trying to frame a denial.
“At least you have the good sense to charge up your Gate while everyone is asleep.”
he glanced away. “Five times in seven days. I’m assuming you have results to report.”
Haldeen exhaled heavily. His head might not be on the block, at least for the moment.
He toyed with spinning a tale, then gave it up as a bad job, as he had no idea what the king knew, and what he didn’t.
Lacking any better option, he decided to tell a highly diluted version of the truth.
“A qualified success, my lord. I have managed to establish a solid connection about half the time, and the charging of the World Gate remotely is becoming fairly reliable.”
Haldeen left off, trying to sift how much more truth to add.
He needed to report enough progress in order to be left alone to proceed, but not so much that he would no longer be essential.
“I have succeeded in sending through a Probe of my own design … a … sort of walking thing, but in its latest iterations, it has returned only junk.”
The king’s expression lit up. “Iterations. Returns. That is good news.” Haldeen groaned inwardly. Too much truth. He tried to strangle the king’s enthusiasm. “Very hit or miss, my king. Still having problems keeping the Gates connected, and no success yet on returning a living creature.”
“Really? What about the girl … Trey’ana?” the king replied. “Who has, I presume, been transferred to my custody?”
Haldeen did his best not to wince. “Ummm, about that … a sickness. Recovering now.”
The king’s face grew angry, his eyes flashing even in the distorted Farspeaker field.
“Gatekeeper, I’ve looked the other way on this in the hope I’d get faster progress by not jogging your elbow. But, I’ve kept very close tabs. So, I’ve known about your little pet almost from the time you caught her. Now, I want what’s in her head. So, you are on notice, Gatekeeper.
Transfer her at once.”
Haldeen could see the king grinding his teeth.
“You get one warning, Haldeen. Drag your feet and this will begin to look like defiance. In case it’s not clear, or in case you misheard me, I will say it plainly so there will be no misunderstanding. Send the Trey-ana girl over to me, puking into a bucket if you have to, but send her over. Now.”
The king made a slashing gesture with his hand, and the Farspeaker field went blank.
The fear and anxiety roiling his belly had burned away the fatigue, at least for the moment.
Haldeen had never considered openly defying the king, and the thought of doing so now made him nauseous.
Whomever had Triana had her knowledge … the knowledge of another world.