Chapter Eleven
THE UNFORESEEN EVENT
Owens and Lattamore woke Royo up next morning before the sun rose. As Royo stretched and looked out the tiny cell window, he noticed that the clear sky promised another bright summertime Kirkwell day. Royo declined their offer of breakfast because he did not want to vomit in front of the crowd he assumed would cheerfully attend his hanging. His preacher, Reverend Allen McCormick, arrived shortly thereafter to comfort him. Although Royo felt he had already made his peace with God, he listened patiently as McCormick nervously prayed for his salvation. When he finished, Lattamore and Owens escorted him out of the jail to the gallows on the town square. The crowd Royo suspected was already on hand to watch the spectacle. The mocking and ridicule Royo feared, though, failed to materialize. Instead, the throng seemed uneasy and downcast, as if doubts had infected its collective mentality now that the reality of the situation had presented itself.
Kargas was of course among the onlookers, though he was far more conductor than spectator. He sensed the crowd’s hesitant mood and beckoned Lattamore to hurry things along. Looking around, he was relieved by the overlord’s apparent absence and assumed it was another of Horace’s ineffectual protests. On the other hand, he was appalled to see Iona enter the town square in an ivory white sequenced dress with a plunging neckline. Her blonde hair was down, and she wore a diamond necklace. She looked every bit like the princess she was. She glided through the crowd liked a specter and secured a position right in front of the scaffolding. She was set apart not only by the morning light that illuminated her personage, but also by the space that those around her accorded her. The look she exchanged with Royo contradicted her assertion that the two had quarreled during their encounter at Anchor Hill Park. Kargas thought about directing one of Lattamore’s deputies to escort her off the village green, but decided that that would simply draw even more attention to her.
Lattamore walked Royo to the top of the scaffolding. In the past week, Lattamore had developed a grudging respect for the man. “Last chance, Mr. Czezarchek,” he said. “Admit your guilt and Mayor Juganhouse will commute your sentence and arrange for your escape.” He leaned into Royo’s face. “For God’s sake, take the deal, Mr. Czezarchek.”
Royo shook his head. “You’re asking me to lie. I won’t lie.” He ran his eyes over the crowd and spotted Iona immediately. She was standing ramrod straight with tears running down her face, looking majestic. She reminded him of an angel. When their eyes locked, Royo sensed her sadness and distress, and wished he could do something to make her feel better. He took great comfort in her presence, and reminded himself again that he would soon be with his wife and daughter in the next world. Even so, his legs began shaking so violently that he leaned on Lattamore for support. Lattamore cut off his train of thought by reading the verdict and sentence in a loud and booming voice. Everyone stopped talking and quiet settled over the multitude of spectators.
The children noticed the low rhythmic clomping before anyone else. One by one, they started pulling and fussing at their parents. People turned their heads, first singly, then in pairs, and finally everyone was craning their necks to look down the street leading from the village green to the docks. There, tramping up the road, marched a company of Rowowan soldiers, with Horace alongside struggling to keep up and keep in time.
Juganhouse glanced at Kargas, then hurried over to meet the column of soldiers as it approached the gallows. Several of the police officers placed their hands on their holsters. “Overlord!” bellowed Juganhouse. “What is the meaning of this? Why is the empire interfering in a local matter? This is not Rowowa’s business.”
A Rowowan captain ordered the soldiers to halt. Horace stopped too, gazed at the scene around him, and said to Juganhouse, “It’s the empire’s business now.” He turned to the officer and shouted, “Captain Mason, if any police officer touches his weapon, order your men to shoot him.”
The police officers looked at Juganhouse, who signaled for them to stand down. With that settled, Horace hollered, “Captain, release that prisoner!” The captain motioned to a sergeant, who directed several soldiers to ascend the scaffolding and retrieve Royo. After they did so, Horace pointed to the four council members and their spouses standing together behind Juganhouse. “Captain, detain these men and place them under guard in the barbershop over there. Don’t let anyone talk to them.”
Another squad roughly seized the protesting council members and hustled them off to the barbershop. As they did so, Horace pointed to the spouses left behind and said, “Now take these women down to the docks and hold them there.”
This done, Horace turned to the crowd. “Show’s over, folks! There will be no hanging, not today. Go home and enjoy your families.”
As the crowd melted away, Horace’s eyes fell on the starkly-dressed Iona. He watched her intently for a long moment as she retreated up the street to the beach house. Horace ordered the captain to stay on the green, then walked over to the barbershop. The council members were inside, sitting on the establishment’s various chairs and talking amongst themselves. Horace held up his hand before they could register their objections. He took a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have here a legal document reversing your guilty verdict on Mr. Czezarchek’s case. I want you all to sign it. I won’t have Allerian separatists operating under the assumption that they have some sort of bogus legal authority to assassinate him.”
Leonard Walker leaped to his feet. “You Rowowan son-of-a-bitch! I won’t sign anything.”
Horace pointed out the window toward the docks. “I have your wives under guard over there. If you don’t sign, I’ll charge them with sedition or treason or anything else I can think of and put them on the boat to the mainland. Once they get into the Rowowan judicial system it will take years to get them out, if ever. I can free them right now, but once they’re on the ship, there’s nothing I can do about it. The troops will leave in an hour or so. Make up your mind.”
After a long silence, Horace tried again, focusing his attention on Reverend Sellford. “You all know that Mr. Czezarchek didn’t kill anyone and that the trial was a sham that had nothing to do with delivering justice. All that I’m asking is that you do the right thing.” He turned to Walker. “And believe me, I will send your wives to a Rowowan prison camp.”
“Overlord,” said Sellford. “Let’s discuss this without involving our wives. They have nothing to do with this.”
Horace pointed at Sellford. “You know who else had nothing to do with any of this? Royo Czezarchek. And you know it.”
Horace left the room to let the councilmen discuss the matter in private. Although Walker initially insisted that they stand their ground, Sellford cut him off. “No, this was wrong from the start. I knew it at the time, and I feel even more strongly now. I won’t compound the error.” With that, he took out a pen and signed the document.
Walker was outraged. “You’re letting a Rowowan agent go free.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” responded another councilman as he affixed his signature to the document. “But I do know that my wife is more important than an alleged Rowowan spy operating on a remote island after the war.”
After the other councilman signed, everyone turned to Walker. “You need to sign it too,” said Sellford.
“Absolutely not,” Walker responded. “The overlord can go to hell.”
Sellford frowned. “You heard him, Leonard. He will send our wives to prison. Think of your family. No one is asking you to give up the fight against Rowowan occupation. We’re just asking you to right one particular wrong that has little to do with Rowowa.”
Walker hesitated for a minute before angrily scrawling his name on the document.
When Horace returned ten minutes later, Sellford handed him the document. Horace glanced at it and said, “You all can go collect your families down at the docks.”
Horace watched the councilmen shuffle down the street before he walked over to talk to a shellshocked Royo. He was still standing at the foot of the gallows where the soldiers had left him, looking around for someone to tell him where to go and what to do.
“Hello, Royo,” said Horace. “Long time no see.”
“Yes,” responded Royo, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.
Horace looked him in the eye. “You could have at least sent us a resignation letter. We thought you were dead.”
Royo ignored the comment. “Am I free to go?”
“No,” replied Horace. “You’re leaving the island with the soldiers.”
“What?” said Royo, snapping out of his stupor. “No, I have to get back to my bookstore.”
Horace shook his head. “If you stay here, someone will to kill you for any of a half dozen reasons, and I won’t have that on my conscience.” That was certainly true, but Horace also saw Royo as an unpredictably random element on the island whose very presence was likely to court trouble. Horace took some cash out of his pocket. “This is all the money I have, but it’s enough to get you on your way. I’ll sell off your bookstore and house and send the proceeds to an account I’ll set up for you today or tomorrow at the Imperial Bank in Emerald City. But you need to leave now.”
“No,” Royo repeated. “If I leave, everyone will think I killed Anna.”
Horace took out of his pocket the document the councilmen had just signed and slapped it on Royo’s chest. “Nope, the council just changed its mind. You’re in the clear. I’ll file it with the clerk today or tomorrow, but you still need to leave.”
Horace snatched the document back after Royo read it and escorted him down to the docks. The councilmen had already retrieved their wives and left. Captain Mason was hurrying his soldiers back onto the transport that had brought them over from Rahway on the mainland. After saying a quick goodbye to Royo, Horace talked with Mason. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
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“You’re welcome,” Mason replied. “By the way, do you know why General Mancusso ordered the rest of our battalion to Rahway?”
“What?” Horace exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Mason continued. “Seems like a waste of resources to bring five hundred men to such a remote place.”
“When is it supposed to arrive?” asked Horace.
“This afternoon, I think.”
Horace thanked Mason again and told him to make sure Royo reached the mainland safely. After he watched the transport pull away from the wharf and head across the bay to Rahway, he hurried back to his hotel room.
While Horace hustled back to his hotel, Kargas, Juganhouse, and Lattamore met in Juganhouse’s city hall office. By then Kargas had learned not only that the council had reversed its verdict, but also that Royo was leaving the island without pledging to keep his knowledge about the royal twins secret. Lattamore began the conversation by damning the councilmen for their pusillanimity. Kargas, though, was more forgiving. Although he was unmarried, he knew that most men would never willingly sacrifice their wives for something as abstract as the kingdom. Assuming, of course, that they loved their wives. He remained grateful that he had never felt any sexual attraction to anyone.
"What do we do now?” asked Lattamore.
“Well,” responded Kargas, “first of all, I want to know how the overlord managed to summon a company of Rowowan soldiers here at the last minute without us knowing about it. I assume he did not use the telegraph or the post office. He did not leave the island, did he?”
“No, he didn’t do any of that,” said Lattamore. “Maybe he contacted that Rowowan agent supposedly on the island.”
“I thought Royo was the Rowowan agent,” said Juganhouse. “He’s been in jail.”
Kargas shrugged. “Maybe Royo isn’t the spy.”
Juganhouse scratched his chin. “Who has the overlord talked to in the last week?”
“Are you serious?” Lattamore exclaimed. “He talks to everyone.” He reached for a notebook containing a daily record of Horace’s actions. “Last week he visited Pat Cobb’s livery, Simon Cossum’s general goods store, Aaron Stevenson’s engraving shop, the sewage treatment facility, and Roger Thomas’s carpentry. Then there are the people he chats up at bars, restaurants, at the hotel, on the streets, at city council meetings, and so forth.”
“So it could be anyone,” said Juganhouse.
“Well, yes and no,” said Lattamore. “That’s just it. Almost everyone he talks to is well-known to this community. In fact, most of them are lifelong Kirkwellians. Everyone he has interacted with has checked out.”
“Okay,” said Juganhouse. “Has he done anything odd lately?”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Lattamore. “He took a yodeling lesson from Frank Overman. He bought a lockpicking kit. He went kiteflying at Sparrow’s Point….”
“Wait,” interrupted Kargas. “He went kiteflying?”
“Yes.”
Kargas thought for a second. “Can you see the kite from the mainland?”
“No,” said Lattamore. “Rahway is five miles away.”
Kargas shook his head. “I mean from the Heath. From Fillipin.”
“Well, sure.”
Kargas smirked. “Seems like a good way to summon help, via a prearranged signal.”
“He doesn’t seem smart enough,” said Juganhouse. “Besides, how could he know it would be windy enough?”
“It’s always windy there,” responded Lattamore.
Kargas slammed his hand down on the table. “Of course! Don’t you get it? He is the agent. He is not some down-and-out major; he is the Rowowan spy.” Lattamore and Juganhouse looked at each other. “Think about it,” Kargas cried. “What better way to infiltrate the town? He has been hiding in plain sight.”
Juganhouse squinted hard. “But you saw his personnel file.”
“No,” Kargas responded. “My contact saw a summary of his personnel file. Who is to say that it is legitimate?”
“I’ll be damned,” said Lattamore.
Juganhouse nodded. “It does make sense. Or, I should say, it makes more sense than anything else.”
“Does this change anything?” asked Lattamore.
“Yes,” Kargas responded. “Did you see the princess? She was hard to miss, and I noticed the overlord looking at her. He must have guessed her identity.”
“If that was the case,” Juganhouse said, “wouldn’t the overlord have just ordered the troops to arrest her today?”
“No,” Kargas said. “He will investigate first. Plan things out.”
“So…” said Juganhouse.
Kargas grimaced. “We need to kill him.”
“What?” yelled Juganhouse.
“Look,” Kargas said, “I strongly suspect that he recognized Iona. He will not move against her until he can confirm his suspicions. That gives us a window of opportunity to deal with him once and for all.”
“But we don’t know that for sure,” said Juganhouse. “And even if we do…remove him, that won’t solve the problem. What’s to prevent Royo from divulging his information to Rowowan authorities? He might be doing so right now, for all we know.”
Kargas shook his head emphatically. “No, I saw the look Royo and the princess exchanged. I do not know what transpired between them, but he will not turn her in. And even if he did, he would be one in a hundred people who every day claim to have seen the royals. Unless he has the overlord to back him up, no one will believe him anytime soon.”
“You don’t wait until the snake bites to kill it,” interjected Lattamore.
Juganhouse took a deep breath. “Let’s think this through. First of all, how do you propose we kill a Rowowan overlord without drastic repercussions?”
Kargas had a ready answer. “Poison. He always eats breakfast and dinner at the hotel. We will poison his tea. We will use a fast-acting poison followed by a quick funeral with a rigged autopsy.” Kargas pointed at Juganhouse. “Then you can send word of his death and condolences to the Rowowan Interior Ministry…along with a polite request for a new overlord as soon as possible. Knowing the Rowowans, the letter will get lost in the bureaucratic shuffle and it will be months before another overlord arrives.”
Lattamore nodded. “I’ll take care of the details.”
Juganhouse still was not sure. “I don’t like this. It’s too risky.”
“Better safe than sorry,” retorted Lattamore.
Juganhouse took a deep breath. “Adviser, may I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“Is the overlord really a threat to the twins, or to your pride for what he did today?”
Kargas remained silent for a minute before getting out of his chair, signaling an end to the meeting. “Advisers do not have pride, Mayor Juganhouse.” He pointed at Lattamore. “Find some widow’s brew.”
Lattamore acted with his usual efficiency by procuring the fast-acting, tasteless, and odorless poison within an hour. However, Kargas knew that getting the poison was not as difficult as administering it. Mrs. Wendig, the proprietress at the eponymous Wendig Hotel, was the obvious person to do so. When Kargas and Lattamore walked over to talk with her, they found a plump woman fussing at her maids. Kargas prided himself on his ability to judge and manipulate – he preferred the term “motivate” – people. A few minutes of conversation not only revealed that the overlord invariably drank tea with his meals, but also that Mrs. Wendig possessed a desire to please, a subservience to authority, and an intense dislike of Rowowans for killing her brother in the war. On the other hand, she had grown fond of the overlord partly because he was so solicitous of her and partly because he provided a reliable revenue stream. Despite the risk, Kargas played his trump card by introducing himself as a royal adviser. Because advisers had an almost mythical status among the Allerian people, Mrs. Wendig’s deference instantly went up a notch. Kargas carefully explained that the overlord had become a threat to Allerian authority on Kirkwell. That being the case, he needed her to place the powder in the overlord’s tea at dinner that evening. Neither he nor Mrs. Wendig uttered the word “poison,” but she knew exactly what he meant. She did not like it, but this was her chance to contribute to the war – one that, as Juganhouse pointed out later, had been over for more than a year.
Kargas and Lattamore went their separate ways after their discussion with Mrs. Wendig. Although Kargas cultivated an image of certainty, he was not positive that poisoning the overlord was the right thing to do. He had concluded, however, that Horace was a far more dangerous man than he initially appeared. He remained unsure of the extent of the overlord’s power, but, having miscalculated once, he was not about to wait to find out.
His anger toward the overlord increased when he saw the abandoned scaffolding as he crossed the town square. Suddenly he heard someone call out his name: “Mr. Kargas.”
Kargas stopped and saw the overlord sitting on a bench with an open book on his lap. “Mr. Kargas, do you have a moment?”
Kargas hesitated. He did not like Horace, and was squeamish about having a discussion with a man whose death he had just arranged. Besides, even though Kargas had seen plenty of wounded men, Horace’s scarred face and eyepatch bothered him. At the same time, he recognized an opportunity to acquire information. “What can I do for you, Major Oxenstera?”
Horace closed his book. “Have you ever heard of the Office of Advisers?”
Kargas felt his adrenaline kick in. “Of course I have.”
Horace smiled. “I’ve read that the Office of Advisers contains Alleria’s best and brightest people. They’re experts in politics, geography, history, economics, strategy, and so forth. In fact, they are as a group probably the smartest people in the world.”
Kargas stared at Horace and remained quiet.
“The thing about advisers,” Horace continued, “is that they’re trained in isolation. They’re not really part of the society they purport to serve. They’re just different from everyone else. They walk differently – straight, always two steps behind and to the right of the person they’re advising. They never cut corners. They talk differently – they rarely use contractions. They even sit differently. Like they have a ramrod instead of a spine. Indeed, if you study them long enough, you can pick them out of a crowd the minute you enter a room – or the city council chambers.”
Kargas’s heartrate increased dramatically. He felt a sudden urge to kick Horace. However, he kept cool and smiled. “You sound more like a Rowowan agent than a supply officer.”
Horace smiled back. “I’m glad we understand one another.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “And since we understand each other, I’m going to do you a favor by laying all my cards on the table.”
Kargas tensed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“I know who you are, Adviser Kargas, and I know why you’re here. I know that they are here.”
Kargas felt his world shrink dramatically until it was just him and the overlord. He wondered if he should try to kill him right here and now. If so, how would he do it?
Before Kargas could decide, Horace started talking again. “As you undoubtedly know, there is no one Rowowan intelligence agency. That would be too simple and commonsensical. There are instead more than a dozen that compete and fight with each other as much as they competed and fought with Alleria. They disagree over everything from turf to policy. Now, one of their biggest arguments is over the royal twins. Some agencies want them hunted down, arrested, tried, and executed. Others just want them dead. Still others, though, believe that capturing or killing the royals wouldn’t serve the empire’s purposes. Doing so would turn them into symbols of resistance or, worse yet, martyrs. They would be white elephants. These agencies want them exiled from Alleria.”
Horace stopped and scratched at his empty socket through his eyepatch. “I miss my eye,” he said. Then he returned to business. “Fortunately for you, I happen to work for one of the agencies that wants the royals exiled.”
Horace stopped to let all his information sink in. When Kargas did not respond, he pushed on. “However, I learned this morning that another agency, one with less benign intentions toward your royals, has somehow discovered their presence on Kirkwell. Those soldiers who were here today will soon return with reinforcements to apprehend them. I don’t mean in a few days, I mean within the next twelve to twenty-four hours. So you need to activate whatever plan you have for this contingency and get them off the island at once.”
Horace waited a few more seconds for Kargas to respond. “Where’s that adviser charm I heard all about?” he asked. “I’m going to spend the night sightseeing on the other side of the island, so I won’t be around to get in anyone’s way. Again, though, you need to move now.”
As Horace got up and walked away, Kargas suddenly called out to him, “Major Oxenstera! Do not drink tea at the hotel. I arranged with Mrs. Wendig to poison you.”
Horace turned around. “What? Really?” Kargas nodded. “Unbelievable,” said Horace. “Well, thanks for the warning, Mr. Kargas. Good luck.”
Horace started walking away. After he had taken a few steps, though, he turned around again and hollered at Kargas. “Oh, Mr. Kargas! Surely you know that Mr. Czezarchek did not kill that girl. Just as you surely know that your prince is a murderer. And surely you understand that you have a moral obligation to do something about his activities.”
When Kargas failed to answer, Horace headed back to his hotel.