Last Life

Book 5: Chapter 4

THE HEAVY, ENGRAVED DOORS that led into the fireplace hall burst open, and the Duke de Bauffremont appeared on the threshold. As always, he was peppy and full of energy, with a big, white-toothed smile on his rosy face. Judging by the horse smell that surged into the hall behind His Grace, the duke had just returned from a trip on horseback.

“Brandy!” He shouted loudly into the empty space around him; he didn’t slow down a bit as he walked, and didn’t appear to have any doubt that his order would be carried out immediately.

Upon seeing me frozen in a bow near the fireplace, Claude de Bauffremont exclaimed:

“And here’s our hero! Ladies and gentlemen! We’ve heard so much! Rumors of your victory, Monsieur, have rocked every high-society salon in Herouxville!”

“I am truly flattered,” I replied with another bow.

The duke’s invitation to so-called “second breakfast,” which normally consisted of tea and cookies in high-society houses, had been delivered the previous evening, right after my return from the “herbalist’s” shop.

Based on the duke’s request for brandy, it didn’t seem like he cared about what other noblemen normally consumed at second breakfast.

He didn’t even make it all the way to the fireplace before a quick and agile young lackey produced (almost as if by magic wand) a little circular table with a brown-glass decanted and two elegant, round, long-necked glasses on top of it. Removing the cork with perfect confidence, the lackey poured some of the dark amber-colored liquid neatly into the glasses, handed them to us, and immediately disappeared.

After plopping down into a wide, soft armchair and stretching his legs out happily toward the fireplace, the duke’s eyes closed a little as he took a sniff of the contents of his glass. I followed suit. I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur of brandy, exactly, but I couldn’t fail to appreciate the deep, rich aroma. A bottle like this couldn’t possibly be cheap.

After saluting me with his glass in silence, the duke took a small sip and let out a satisfied sigh.

“So, Monsieur,” de Bauffremont suddenly got straight to the heart of the matter. “Your rash action brought some serious unpleasantness crashing down onto my poor nephew.”

There was no hint of personal attack in his tone; he was merely stating a fact.

“Now Sharptooth has an excuse to involve himself in the confrontation for the throne,” he continued, again as though everything was perfectly fine.

If the duke was trying to throw me off with his frankness, it wasn’t working. But of course on the outside, I pretended that this was making me a little bit tense.

“Fear not, Monsieur,” the duke reassured me. “I understand you were only doing your duty. And so much the better, since so many royal strykers allowed themselves to forget it.”

“If I had an opportunity to do it all again, I would answer the call of duty just as before,” I said with a little bit of added emotion.

The duke just sighed and shook his head.

“You’re still too young, and yet you’re in a hurry to die. Mind you, I’m not judging you for that; I seem to recall that when I was your age, I felt the world was mine for the taking. It is bad, however, to hurry off to one’s death before settling one’s debts. People of honor should know better.”

“Your Grace — “

“Enough, already,” he waved for me to be silent. Despite his playing the role of the kind old mentor, there was nothing but ice in his eyes as he spoke. “I understand perfectly. Refusing a request from such a beauty as Princess Astrid does not come easily to most men. Such a woman is worth the risk of one’s life. Unless I’m mistaken, the konung’s daughter has been favorably inclined toward you as of late?”

The duke’s eyes narrowed into an expression of mockery.

“Her Highness was kind to me,” I shrugged.

“Kind?” The duke chortled. “You, young man, were merely a pawn, offered as a desperate sacrifice. I’m sure the princess herself was surprised when you survived. I hope she rewarded you generously. Because knowing my nephew and his feelings for a certain young lady of high societal standing, your victory in the tournament cannot have failed to upset his plans. I hear that Louis has distanced himself from you. Stupid boy... He never did have much of an eye for good people.”

I tried hard to make it look like everything the duke was a real revelation to me.

“I see that my words have made you think,” the duke chuckled. “Politics, young man, is unforgiving of amateurs and overconfident fools. See that you don’t forget it. Try to refrain from similar rashness in the future. Especially if you wish to remain a recipient of my patronage.”

“I will remember your words, Your Grace,” I bowed.

The duke nodded approvingly, then replied:

“I very much hope that such is the case. Now, though, I’d like to hear more about the particulars of your mission. Did you carry out my assignment?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” From there, I proceeded to tell him everything I knew about the expedition to the Svartvald.

True, there were a few details I kept up my sleeve to end the story with a bang, because I could see that so far, nothing seemed to be surprising the duke at all. Apparently the lutine had gotten a whole lot of information for him already. But I knew for certain that at least one of the aces I had up my sleeve would bring a smile to the duke’s face. Even the omnipresent lutine couldn’t possibly have learned all the news I had access to. Unless of course the lutine had somehow managed to burrow her way into my nisse’s mind.

During a stop on our trip south, I happened to be talking to Itta one evening and during the course of our conversation, I showed her the “trophies” I had received from Astrid’s storehouse, and specifically the little statuette of the fox. Immediately upon seeing it, she informed me that magic radiating out from the artifact was that of the mysterious aurings, the immensely powerful sorcerers who drove the ancient ice demon out of this world. True, neither of us could really figure out anything else about the statuette or its potential application.

But that wasn’t the really big news anyway, because during the course of our conversation, Itta mentioned that she overheard something about a massive ebb in a conversation between two strykers camped nearby.

I asked her to repeat the conversation verbatim, and to my great surprise I realized that there had never been any expedition to the Svartvald Shadow at all. Or more specifically, there was an expedition, but the unit of strykers that Konung Sharptooth sent didn’t even have to cross the Barrier.

All the immense wealth they brought back to Fjordgrad was found in the zone of an ebb which occurred on a territory the size of a small county, which (as if its size weren’t enough) had spent more than thirty years under the Shadow. It was frightening even to imagine the quantity of wealth that must still be there. Shadow beasts, Shadow-altered natural resources and magical plants... Whoever could lay hands on those lands would become one of the most powerful people in Mainland.

Bjorn Sharptooth understood that. But he also understood that without the support of all the northern clans, that piece of the pie would be far more than he could ever hope to digest. With that background, the theory about the konung being in league with the priests was beginning to look quite plausible. The konung needed a united Northland.

It seemed like the north was witnessing the embryonic stages of what could one day be a massively powerful state. That is, if Sharptooth managed to amass the strength to turn his plan into reality, and if the northerners could be prevented from squabbling with one another.

There was no point trying to conceal any of this information from the duke. Every ruler in Mainland would know about the huge ebb in the Svartvald soon enough anyway.

When I finished, the duke sighed, and then answered in a disappointed tone:

“Well, young man... You completed the assignment with distinction, but alas — you haven’t told me anything new. I already knew everything you just reported to me. But fear not — your reward will still be forthcoming.”

He was about to pick up a little bell off his end table, but I stopped him:

“Your Grace, I daresay that besides the promised reward, I’ve also earned an additional bonus in this assignment.”

The duke’s left eyebrow rose. Most likely, his iron gaze was intended to make me feel like a worm, who was insolent enough to have dared to demand something. I realized that as I spoke, I was risking conflict with one of the most powerful people in all Vestonia before I was ready for such a thing.

After all, if Carl III died, and de Bauffremont managed to get his eldest nephew onto the throne, the master of the palace would become the regent and de facto ruler of the kingdom. But I also understood perfectly well that after the deaths of his strykers on the frontier, the duke had a real staffing problem, and as such (provided I treaded very, very carefully) I could afford to be a little bit bold with him. Especially since I really did have something to offer him.

“I decidedly do not understand, chevalier,” said the duke coldly. “What sort of bonus could possibly be in order? And more importantly, what aspect of your performance warrants my further encouragement?”

“Your feline assistant certainly did a difficult job, and did it well, but nonetheless I’m confident that she hasn’t managed to dig up everything about the expedition to the Svartvald. But I have. After all, there’s a good reason I spent so much time ingratiating myself with Princess Astrid. And it’s this information, and of course my own stubbornness, which lead me to request a small bonus.”

The duke stared into my face for a moment, apparently trying to drill a hole through my head with his eyes; then, suddenly, the tension abruptly dissipated, and he replied in a sarcastic tone:

“You certainly don’t lack self-confidence, chevalier. But you’re in luck, because that’s precisely the kind of operator I require. One who can take initiative and achieve results, but who doesn’t neglect their own interests in doing so. I understand such people. I know what to expect from you. But you in turn must understand that you’re playing with fire, and that mistakes will not be tolerated. With that in mind — what sort of bonus are you interested in?”

“A service,” I replied laconically, and then added: “Promise me that at some point in the future, you’ll do me a service, which I’ll request of you when the time comes. Just one. I promise it won’t be anything that would besmirch a man of the great Duke de Bauffremont’s standing. And of course, it won’t be anything that could harm you or your interests in any way.”

The duke rubbed his chin as he thought; then his eyes narrowed and he snickered:

“My lutine is right — you certainly are a fox. Cunning and insolent. Very well... I agree. But I warn you: if your news turns out to be worthless, and this has been no more than a waste of my time, you should forget about being in my good graces. Now speak. I’ve spent a great deal of time on you already.”

“What do you know about the huge ebb? You know — the one that freed up a territory the size of a small country, which was covered by the Shadow for thirty years?”

I noticed the duke’s facial features grow sharper, and a fire of excitement burst into life in his eyes. Inside, I couldn’t resist a laugh. So I managed to get a step ahead of the lutine after all.

* * *

I got back home before lunch. A footman was waiting at the door to take my cloak and tricornered hat, and so was Bertrand, who was holding a small silver tray in his hands. This was the way he always brought me my correspondence.

“What is it?” I asked Bertrand as I nodded down at the three carefully-folded envelopes.

“A letter from your aunt, Her Grace the Duchess du Bellay,” he began listing off. “A letter from Thomas Gilbert, and a message from the Marchioness de Gondy.

I froze for a second and glanced down at the tray.

“But...” I trailed off as I picked up the envelopes.

Blanca de Gondy... Hm... Be careful what you wish for, I guess. I have to give the Duke de Bauffremont’s intelligence team their due. After our conversation, and my deferred reward, I wanted to get out of that palace as quickly as I could, but one of his footmen stopped me and asked me to return.

The duke was waiting for me in the same fireplace hall, but this time his lutine was with him, staring me up and down with slightly insane eyes. It seemed that as soon as I stepped out, Tikka must have rushed in with some new information for the duke.

As soon as Claude de Bauffremont saw me coming back, he said (once again speaking as appropriate for one addressing a nobleman in high society):

“Monsieur, as I mentioned, your victory has brought you popularity in the highest circles of Herouxville society. You haven’t sensed this yet, but I assure you — very soon, you will begin to receive invitations to receptions at the most illustrious of houses. I’ve just learned that you’ve piqued interest at the home of the Duke de Gondy. I heartily encourage you to attend this reception. And then, of course, to share your observations with me. You’ve already shown an aptitude for collecting and analyzing useful information. Naturally, your services will not go uncompensated...”

He nodded to the lutine, who handed me a bag with five small pearls inside.

“I hope this will suffice?” The duke inquired.

“Most certainly,” I replied; then, with a bow, I turned to leave once again.

As it turned out, the duke had decided that he’d found himself another spy. Well, I thought — why not let him think that? I definitely hadn’t missed the portentous look the lutine gave me when she was walking me out. It occurred to me that she would probably want to introduce me to her real master soon.

Upon opening Blanca de Gondy’s letter, a wave of pleasantly floral magical perfume washed across my face. Judging by the concentration, it couldn’t have been cheap.

The Marchioness wrote that she would be happy to see me at her father’s upcoming reception. His Highness Prince Heinrich would be in attendance as well.

Setting aside the pleasantly-aromatic sheet of paper, I opened the small envelope from the Duchess du Bellay.

My “caring aunt” hadn’t sent her “dear nephew” so much as a line of text the entire time I’d been up north, but somehow she saw fit to remind me of her existence in the most forceful terms; basically, she was reproaching me for insufficient displays of deference toward her.

Further on, she informed me that she desired to see me at her home no later than the end of the week. And then she warned that my presence was obligatory, since there would be something like a family council, at which my long-term fate would be decided.

I snickered. Far too little, far too late. I was a long way from being some kind of nameless bastard who’d just crawled his way back from exile.

In the last envelope, there was a letter from Thomas Gilbert, which also contained an invitation to lunch. Very tactfully, the wine magnate reminded me that I owed him a visit, and that his daughter Betty would be boundlessly happy to see me in their capital-city mansion. Ah, yes, I thought... Betty will be happiest of all.

Laying the letters aside, I thought for a moment; if de Bauffremont was right, there would be a lot more invitations like these coming my way. I would just need to find the time for them all.

Suddenly, a knock at the door tore me out of my contemplation.

“Come in,” I said, and Marc Ducos immediately appeared at the threshold.

I immediately noted his paleness and worried expression. Both were quite uncharacteristic for my normally calm and collected butler.

“Your Worship,” Marc began, voice slightly trembling, as he closed the door behind him.

“I’m listening,” I said encouragingly. I was sitting on the edge of my desk with my arms folded across my chest.

Marc was scrupulously avoiding eye contact with me, alternately going pale and breaking out in red spots. Fidgeting with his hands and seemingly unable to stand still, he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“Come on, Marc,” I said, a little softer this time. “Something wrong with the castle?”

This made the butler jump and shake his head furiously.

“Everything in the castle is in order, Your Worship,” he answered. “But...”

Finally, he made up his mind and took a little bag out from behind his belt with a trembling hand. It fit the description of the one the nisse had mentioned.

As if reading my mind, a heavy portrait behind Marc slid a few inches to the side in total silence; a little raccoon head poked out from behind it and nodded vigorously.

“What’s this, Marc?” I asked.

My question made the butler jump once again, and he dropped the bag. His voice was still shaking as he spilled the beans.

Basically, a few days before, when Marc Ducos was in some relatively-deserted alley somewhere in the city, a young woman accompanied by two burly goons approached him and — initially — asked politely whether he’d be interested in a mutually-beneficial agreement that would see him occasionally providing information on what Chevalier Renard was up to. Who he talked to, and about what. Who came to see him at his home. Basically, any and all information about me and my circle.

When Marc refused to help them, the intimidation and threats began; the little group informed him that they came from the secret chancery. She promised that if he failed to cooperate, she’d find him a nice warm spot in the Herouxville Catacombs.

I don’t think I need to mention the magical effect that mentioning Herouxville’s underground tended to have on simple, non-gifted people. That was where Lucas Devers almost rotted away while still alive. I recalled how, when Jacques and Gunnar went down to find him, even the jailers themselves didn’t want to go look for the guy right away. It was a scary place.

In the end, Marc was scared to death, so they stuffed the silver into his hands and let him go. It took Marc two days to recover from the shock, but then he made his decision. Which brought him to where he stood in front of me, completely in my power. And there was a lot of hope in his eyes.

“Marc.” I walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You made the right choice. Remember this, though: I never abandon my people. As long as you’re loyal to me, you don’t have anything to fear. You’re under my protection. And those people aren’t your problem anymore. Believe me, they’re going to regret their actions very, very soon.”

Tears were rolling down Marc’s ghostly cheeks. He tried to fall to his knees, but I held him up.

“Here,” said Marc, holding the bag out to me with shaking hands.

I smiled and shook my head.

“That’s your money, Marc. Consider it compensation from the secret chancery for emotional distress.”

The butler smiled weakly and stuffed the bag back behind his belt.

“What would you say to earning a little more money?” I asked with a wry smile. “I’m sure the secret chancery has plenty to offer.”

Marc looked at me in shock.

“I don’t understand, Your Worship...”

“It’s quite simple, Marc,” I answered. “You’ll tell them what they want to hear. Although admittedly, I’ll be making a few minor alterations to the information you provide.”