Chương 6

Three days had passed since the deposition. Nessa, Elara's maid, sent ahead to prepare her academy residence, had just woken her up. The younger girl had already pulled one curtain open and was working on the second. Elara scarcely had the chance to rub the sleep fully from her eyes when Nessa began her prattling.

The words swam in Elara's mind for a moment before she shook her thoughts into coherence and realised the other girl was explaining that the woman who managed the west laundry had a nephew in the registry. Though it seemed said nephew was apparently useless for anything more interesting than knowing who had failed to return a borrowed key.

"And the laundress says he drinks," Nessa added, a smidge scandalous.

"Only small beer, but in the morning." Accustomed to the behaviour, Elara simply yawned in response. The Academy had supplied a bed, a washstand, a breakfast table and three chairs. All were serviceable. The linens had the same grey border as those in every student chamber, and the pale stone walls had been scrubbed free of any marks left by the previous occupant. Someone had allotted the room a number. That number appeared on the door, the key and the inventory sheet folded beneath the water jug.

"Why," Elara asked, "do we care about the registry nephew again?" Nessa glanced over her shoulder. She had pinned her dark hair up loosely, and one side was already coming free.

"We don't. I thought you might like to know."

"Ah." That answer appeared to satisfy her. Nessa finished with the curtain, crossed to the washstand and poured warm water into the basin. By the time Elara sat up, the maid had moved on to a kitchen porter who had been caught giving the better breakfast rolls to students he considered pretty. It was all quite useful, in its way. Nessa had been in Asterhall for less than a fortnight and had somehow acquired the names, complaints and family concerns of half the people employed within three courtyards.

Though, as Elara had gotten used to by now, she seemed to collect them without any consideration for rank, which made sieving out what was important a bit of a hassle. Typically, a scullery maid's quarrel received the same attention as a proctor's indiscretion, provided either had happened recently enough. Elara washed, dressed and had her hair pinned while Nessa talked.

The gown laid out for her was dark blue, plain enough for the Academy and formal enough that no one could accuse House Vey of sending its daughter unprepared. Nessa fastened the last cuff, then rubbed at a faint crease near Elara's elbow with her thumb.

"It will fall out once you've worn it."

"Then it has already ceased to be a concern."

"You say that now." Nessa gave the sleeve one final, dissatisfied stroke. Elara allowed it. In the privacy of the chamber, there was no need to remind her maid that creases had never altered the course of a morning. Breakfast arrived on a covered tray: oat porridge, a boiled egg, one of the inferior rolls and a small pot of tea. Nessa took the second chair without asking. She tore the roll in half, put the larger piece on Elara's plate and continued with the important news.

Lord Renard Vey, one of Elara's brothers, had apparently written to an acquaintance in Asterhall concerning a horse.

"What sort of horse?" Nessa paused.

"A brown one."

"Compelling."

"It was expensive." That was more likely to interest Renard. Elara remembered him mainly by height. At family dinners he had occupied a distant portion of the table, spoken to their father when addressed and rarely looked as far down as Elara's place. Once, when she had been twelve, he had held a door for her. She had thanked him. He had looked briefly puzzled, as though not recognising her. She would later learn in the following week that he hadn't.

"His groom says he means to race it," Nessa said.

"Then I wish the horse well." Nessa hid her mouth behind her cup. Then she tactlessly decided to bring up Seraphine, one of Elara's sisters, and the second of her siblings currently in attendance at the academy alongside Renard. Gently, Elara steered the conversation to other matters before the unflattering comments Seraphine apparently had made about her could ruin the porridge.

That brought them to the assistant cook's engagement, the uncertain ownership of a green shawl and a prolonged dispute over whether a student from the eastern dormitory kept feeding someone else's cat. Nessa gave each matter what she considered its proper weight, which was none at all. Elara listened, ate and occasionally asked a question when the account threatened to become unreasonable. It was a quiet, ordinary morning. For a little while, the day required only that she finish her egg before it cooled.

Then a key turned in the outer lock. Nessa stopped with the teapot in her hand. Mirelle entered, removed her gloves and closed the door behind her. The hem of her travelling dress carried a damp grey line from the courtyard, and a few strands of silver-brown hair had escaped beneath her hat. She placed a leather folder on the breakfast table without disturbing any of the dishes.

"Nessa," Mirelle said as she took in the table. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Mistress Saye?"

"Why are you eating from my lady's breakfast?"

"Uhm—""I asked her to join me," Elara lied.

"I didn't think I could finish it on my own." Mirelle removed her gloves, sighing.

"Of course," she said, seeing clearly past the deceit. The mistress took off her hat. Nessa rose at once to hang it beside the door, though she made a face while Mirelle's back was turned.

"And Nessa," Mirelle said. The face disappeared.

"Yes, Mistress Saye?"

"The cups." Tea had been poured into two. A third waited upside down on the tray. Nessa righted it, filled it and placed it before Mirelle with the subdued care of a child returning a borrowed ornament.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." A third chair had come from the room across the corridor and had a split cane seat. Nessa fetched it without being asked. Mirelle sat. The correction ended there. It generally did. Nessa had spent years receiving them and had developed a strong ability to diffuse the mistress's annoyance when it arose. Elara pushed the honey pot towards Mirelle.

"Dorr?"

"And two of the investigators." Mirelle opened the folder. Its contents had been copied into the Academy's preferred format, with numbered findings and short notes entered beneath each. There were spaces for countersignatures at the bottom. One remained empty. Cal Rook's identity had been confirmed. He had worked as a freelance mercenary under that name for several years, and neither Asterhall nor the neighbouring jurisdictions held a warrant for him.

His record consisted of minor disputes, unpaid levies and one failed attempt to conceal taxable income. Nessa made a quiet sound of disapproval. Elara looked at her.

"The tax?"

"The man."

"He remains the same man he was yesterday."

"Yes. But I'd have preferred him in chains." Mirelle folded her gloves together beside the folder.

"He is in custody, Nessa." Nessa didn't respond, pouting. Clearly, she thought that wasn't enough.

"You may also recall that his actions prevented Lady Elara from being delivered to the people who wanted to abduct her."

"I do recall it. I'm grateful he killed the others." Nessa lifted the teapot again.

"He should still stay in chains." Mirelle regarded her for a moment, then accepted the distinction with a sigh.

"The investigators have reached much the same practical conclusion." The rest of the report Mirelle had received was delivered without ceremony. Rook and the other mercenaries had previously taken ordinary contracts: merchant escorts, dungeon clearances and work where the employer needed armed men more than trusted ones. The road company originally approved for Elara's journey had been legitimate. Its contract had been replaced after the proper seals were applied, placing Rook's group on the coach instead.

"So they were selected because they were convenient?" Elara asked.

"That is Dorr's view. Available, competent and unconnected to anyone important." Each man had been promised two hundred and fifty gold pieces. Fifty had been paid in advance. Nessa forgot to pour. Elara had known the purse was large. Hearing the total made it vulgar. More than a year's earnings offered to men accustomed to guarding wool carts and clearing vermin from old cellars.

Based on Elara's admittably limited understanding of grassroots economics, that was more than enough to purchase land, stock it, and avoid another winter contract.

"They would have killed them," Elara mused. Mirelle nodded.

"The investigators consider that likely. Once Elara disappeared, the Academy would examine every individual attached to her journey. Three hired swords carrying new wealth would have been simple to find. It was simply tidier for the masterminds behind the whole scheme to simply eliminate the loose ends."

"…Did Rook know?" Elara asked, after a moment of silence.

"There is no evidence that any of them did." The answer left his decision where it had been before. He had accepted the money, taken his place on the coach and changed course before reaching the tollhouse. His statement had survived every check the Academy could make. That made the blank space at its centre harder to dismiss. If he had not been aware of the possible betrayal, why then did he turn on his colleagues? Mirelle continued her report.

Apparently, the investigators had been able to trace the advance payment Cal and the others received to a countinghouse in Concord. By the time they arrived, however, the account books were being carried into a furnace by a clerk supposedly under magical compulsion. Still, enough remained to show transactions passing through merchants who also maintained business ties with House Serrat. Elara picked up her cup. House Serrat disputed Vey tolls through the western mountain pass.

Their agents bought grain, iron, timber and credit from hundreds of merchants. Any one of those merchants could truthfully say that the connection was commercial. Several could provide ledgers to prove it.

"Circumstantial," she said.

"Assistant Registrar Dorr said much the same." Before Elara could respond, a knock came at the door. All three women looked towards it. Nessa set down the pot and answered. A uniformed attendant waited in the corridor with a letter on a wooden receipt board. Nessa took the letter and shut the door. The attendant's steps receded towards the stairs.

"It seems to be for you, my lady", Nessa said. The envelope was thick cream paper. Red wax covered the folded point, impressed with the Vey arms. The seal was clean. No cord had been added, and the edges showed no mark from a knife or steaming. Elara held out her hand. The letter was heavier than it needed to be. She knew the paper used by her father's correspondence office. She knew the narrow margin allowed on the first page, the dark ink and the dry, even hand of his senior secretary.

The address followed household form. Lady Elara Vey, seventh daughter of Lord Casmir Vey, presently resident at the Academy in Asterhall. Nessa returned to her chair. Mirelle remained still, one hand resting on the closed folder. The room had resumed its proper arrangement: bed made, wash water cooling, dishes gathered within the edge of the tray. Elara turned the envelope over. Her thumb rested on the seal. Its impression matched the signet fitted into the blue velvet of the casket in her document case.

The same wings, the same divided shield, the same shallow flaw beside the lower edge where the old signet had been struck years ago. She slid a breakfast knife beneath the fold. The wax cracked across the shield. A small piece broke free and landed beside her plate. Elara placed the knife down, unfolded the paper and read. The opening lines concerned her safety and the regrettable failure of the arrangements made for her journey. House Vey had taken appropriate steps.

A replacement escort, properly constituted and carrying the necessary household authority, would arrive at the Academy the following morning. Her eyes moved to the next paragraph. She was directed to withdraw from admission. The sentence occupied two lines. No explanation followed. Her papers were to remain unentered, her residence surrendered, and all Academy claims upon her person declined before the arrival of the escort. Below that came the custody order.

At dawn, Elara was to present herself at the south gate and place herself under the authority of the household officer named in the escort's credentials. Mirelle and Nessa were to accompany her. Any objection raised by the Academy was to be referred to House Vey's legal office. The final line instructed her to comply without delay. Elara read it again. Breakfast remained on the table. A skin had formed across the untouched tea in Mirelle's cup. Nessa's half of the roll sat on her plate with one bite missing.

No one spoke. Elara folded the letter along its existing crease. The broken piece of wax had caught in a smear of honey beside her spoon. She picked it free, set it with the rest of the seal and passed the order to Mirelle.