Chapter 15
I n preparation for this play, she had memorized pages of the Fultons’ reported earnings from the past five years. Given that she was well schooled in the Elvish and Calnoric method of record keeping, it was easy for Myth to flip through the dizzying numbers.
Shortly, she found what had to be the real recordsfor the past two years. Lord Julyan had chosen to follow cliché tradition and had written his private records in two books bound in black leather.
Such a surprise he didn’t go for red ink as well. But two years will do. With this, Arvel should be able to get permission from King Petyrr to search the house.
Myth’s fingers shook as she mixed up the logbooks and took his prepared pile of falsified records, as well as the lord’s private record books.
Carrying them so their pages faced out and their bindings were tucked against her waist, Myth made herself slowly walk to the door and nudge it all the way open.
“Oh my,” she said.
Wilford, Grygg, and Thad had played their roles beautifully.
Based on the shattered remains of an elven vase, a tipped over grandfather clock, and a crack in a large, ornate mirror, Wilford had completed his mission of breaking things to upset the staff. At the moment he was being bodily restrained by two footmen.
Grygg was standing near him, blustering as he shouted in the wrong direction, and Thad—as previously arranged—stood farther back, his face scrunched up.
“Who raised a racket?” Thad demanded as Myth came up from behind. “It’s been as silent as a church in here!” he bellowed.
“It’s okay, sir.” Myth patted his shoulder as she took the satchel from his limp fingers and carefully packed the books inside.
“It seems that we should leave.” She glanced at Wilford and Grygg and tried to make her forehead wrinkle with worry, but her skin was feeling a little numb as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.
Easy, easy , she told herself. We’ll get through this.
Myth took Thad gingerly by the hand and led him closer to Wilford, who was loudly complaining about being restrained, and Grygg, who was cackling. “Lord Julyan,” she called, “it appears that perhaps we should leave.”
“I must disagree,”Lord Julyan sneered, the wrinkles of his face tight with anger. “Your compatriots have wreaked havoc on my home. This is unacceptable!”
“We!” Wilford tried to draw himself up while still restrained. “Are His Majesty’s trusted aides. How dare you!” He tried to raise his walking stick—as if to poke the angry lord.
Myth jolted forward, almost toppling Thad, and grabbed the stick before he could get it too close to Lord Julyan. “I apologize, sir. They are brilliant, but it seems that removing them from their usual comforts in the palace has upset them.”
“Who’s upset?” Grygg demanded. “Not me! I can copy a thousand records right now!”
“You can’t see to copy them, you old fool!” Wilford laughed.
“Come, sirs, let us depart.” Myth tried to herd them toward the doors.
To continue the illusion, the trio protested—Grygg especially so, even though it took two footmen to frog march him out.
“I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Lord Julyan.” Myth bowed to Lord Julyan and prayed he would mistake her trembling hands as fear of his anger due to the so-called aides.
“They broke—”
“Yes, I can see there has been some damage.” Myth glanced at the shattered remnants of a vase and cringed. “I will tell His Royal Highness to send someone to settle the bill. It is only right.”
Lord Julyan’s fury abruptly left him, and his greed reared its ugly head instead. “It will be a weighty sum. The vase alone is worth thousands!” He speculatively rubbed his chin as he studied Myth.
Playing her role, Myth cringedand bowed again. “I understand—” She broke off as she rushed to help Wilford, who had lost his footing near the door and grabbed a glass clock for support.
Once she steadied him, she continued, “I assure you His Royal Highness will make things right. I took what logs you had separatedout—if His Royal Highness really does need the others, I’m sure he’ll send a request with the agent he dispatches to settle this—someone who will be more suited for the task, as it would seem by my failure that I am not.
” Her voice shook a little—not out of shame, but fear.
The leather satchel that dangled from her fingers seemed on fire, and she feared if she didn’t get out of there fast, he’d ask to see what she had taken.
“Nonsense,” Lord Julyan said. “It would be a pleasure to see you again.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” Myth bowed again as she tried to edge toward the open door where only Thad lingered.
How do I cut this short and get out of here?
Wilford saved the day with a loud shout, giving Myth the needed excuse to run to the door just in time to see the footmen helpfully stuff him inside the carriage.
Myth slipped out through the door and ran up to the carriage. She tossed the leather satchel inside, then murmured soothingly as she helped Grygg into the carriage. By the time Thad—with his tiny, shaking steps—reached them, Lord Julyan loitered in the doorway.
Myth gave him one last bow as a footman helped Thad into the carriage.
Lord Julyan merely watched, so Myth jumped into the carriage, her shirt and jacket sticking to her back from her sweat.
“How rude!” Wilford declared as the footman shut the door. “Back in my day, no one would treat their elders with such contempt!”
He kept it up until the carriage rocked into motion, and they pulled away from the Fultons’ town house.
Myth released the breath she had been holding and collapsed against the bench seat, a strangled gasp escaping her. “Well done, everyone.”
Thad flicked his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.“Did you get anything good?”
“Yes.” Myth grinned. “I got Lord Julyan’s personal record books for the past two years.”
Wilford whistled. “Nice work!”
“You might have missed your calling as an investigation agent,” Grygg agreed.
“Not hardly—my heart almost stopped in the middle of it. I can’t wait until we get back and I pass those off.” She nodded at the leather bag.
“Indeed.” Wilford used his walking stick to rap the top of the carriage. “Phelps,” Wilford shouted. “Pick up the pace!”
The sway of the carriage went from a gentle rock to a fast tip, and the clattering of the horses’ shod hooves filled the air with such noise it was hard to hear.
But Myth closed her eyes and relaxed as if it was the most serene of settings.
Now Arvel can bring the Fultons to justice.
* * *
Despite the afternoon being…eventful, Myth chose not to retire early, but to stay up and work with Arvel as he pored over the record books she’d brought.
They labored in the royal dining hall—the same one the royal families of Lessa and Calnor broke their fast in.
It was the one spot they could work in without being interrupted—because Lord Julyan had figured out what happened, and not an hour after Myth, Thad, Wilford, and Grygg returned, he had started sending requests to meet with Arvel, complaints that Myth had taken the wrong records, and demands that he let them see what she had retrieved.
But while the Fulton family leader could send notices to Arvel in his study, even he couldn’t insist a servant venture into the wing that was solely for the royal family and bother Arvel. As such, the dining room had become an unofficial study.
Myth straightened up from the record book she was copying. Even though Arvel grumbled, she insisted she could only do Elvish copy work; she wasn’t going to risk his investigation because Lord Julyan made a fuss that she was still just an apprentice.
It was dark outside, but the dining hall was pleasantly lit with elven lanterns.
Fruit and a few other treats were left on silver trays, littering the big table—which was almost covered from end to end with paper.
Arvel sat at the center of the table, his head bent as he studied Lord Julyan’s personal logs and made notations on the side.
Myth muffled a yawn with her fist and slightly shook her head, trying to shake her mind awake.
“You can go, if you like,” Arvel offered. “Arion said he’d leave a squad on standby to take you to the Translators’ Circle and guard the place all night.”
“You already told me I could leave earlier in the night,” Myth reminded him. “And my answer remains the same. As long as you work, so shall I.”
Arvel dropped his quill and rotated his wrist, making it crack. “Thank you, Myth. It makes me happy that you’re here.”
Myth peered around the dining room. “It would be lonely to work here alone.”
They were the only two in the dining room—although Myth knew that two squads of Honor Guards stood outside the room’s entrance and the servants’ door, and three more squads stood watch outside the windows.
Furthermore, several Honor Guards were already in position by her room in the Translators’ Circle—or so she had been told. She hadn’t returned to her room, yet, to confirm it.
It seemed Sir Arion and Prince Benjimir weren’t allowing any room for mishaps that night.
It’s sobering to admit, but it’s another reason why I don’t regret staying up with Arvel. It’s fairly likely Lord Julyan will attempt some sort of retribution—although once King Petyrr sanctions a search of the Fulton house I imagine he’ll have greater worries than me.
“Yes, but working alone is not what I was referring to.”
Myth swung her eyes back to him so fast her whole body almost toppled over.
Is it Him? Has the Prince of Seduction arrived? It sounds like something He would say.
She studied Arvel and relaxed. His grin was lopsided, but it possessed too much good humor, and his eyes didn’t smolder, but sparkledinstead.
It’s just Arvel saying kind things—as usual.
The thought brought an odd pang to Myth’s heart—which was ridiculous. She didn’t like the Prince of Seduction—she couldn’t handlehim! And it was good Arvel said kind things to others—it meant he would be a kind ruler.