Twenty-Four

Gunpowder Treason and Plot

They met in her quarters that night as the waterclock turned quarter past eleven.

“You have it?”

Emalus nodded and pulled a scroll from beneath his cloak. He straightened it out and laid it on her bed. It was the Ward Table for the week ahead, it stated where each ward would be throughout the week, who their leaders were and whether their leaders had any special duties to perform. It hadn’t been any great trouble to get hold of a copy, the original always went straight to Lord Quathrobe and he sent a copy to the palace library. Gratia had sent Emalus to write it down, meanwhile she had been to the weaponsmith, who had been only too pleased to get the granddaughter of Mage Sharloss anything she desired for half the cost. 

She’d come away with a number of sturdy throwing knives, a beautifully crafted dagger and a quality short sword for her friend. Passing the baker’s on the way to the chemist’s, she managed to purchase a length of cheese wire which she coiled up and placed in her bag with a couple of handkerchiefs. She then bought a small bottle of laudanum and some powdered foxglove poison. The laudanum would only be used as a last resort as the smell made it a detectable cause of death; the foxglove on the other hand only served to induce a heart attack and was completely untraceable. 

Satisfied that she had everything she could possibly need for an assassination of sorts, she made her way to the stables and purchased a pair of sturdy colts that looked fit enough to chase the winds. She also invested in a new cloak which kept her face in complete shadow; no one would recognise her under it.

She lay her purchases on the sheets. “This is for you” she said, passing the sword to Emalus. “You know how to use it?”

“All footmen are trained, m’lady” His expression was grim but stronger now. She had given him the courage he needed and returned him to his senses. It was for real this time, not some childish pinch for a toy broken, but a man’s revenge for his murdered wife. He had eaten well and bathed, donned a new set of garments, deep-grey velvets with silver buckles. He’d even invested in some sturdier boots.

“Hmm, this is interesting.” The gypsy’s finger was poised over the forth day of the week.

“What?”

“Well, according to this, Demivolsh rides to a place named Korrin on Donnastaag, that’s three days from now. Where is this place?”

“Korrin? It’s a small town about a day-and-a-half to the west. Why does he go?”

“I don’t know, most likely to deliver something, wouldn’t you say?”

Emalus nodded grimly. “I’d say so, yes. But he shall have a hard time riding with his neck split.” He gave a cruel smile.

Sighing, Gratia turned to him. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“I am more suited to this job then one such as yourself. Murder is an ugly thing, m’lady. It may be easy to plan, but there are moral issues involved in its undertaking that a lady of your breeding couldn’t possibly be exposed to. I appreciate your help, but inevitably it is for me to carry out.”

“Moral issues?” Gratia studied him with a half-smile. “Oh, I neglected to tell you, I have no morals.” She gave a wide Cheshire grin.

“M’lday, please don’t joke of such matters.”

“I have a confession to make, my friend.” Emalus looked at her warily, she seemed somewhat different, confident...  “I am no lady of breeding. True, I am Shaloss’s daughter, but that was a truth that only came to my attention no more then three days past and I am still trying to come to terms with it myself.” Emalus looked stunned, as though he’d been hit full-on by a rock. “What’s more, I come from a continent far over the Capulan Sea, where I was being hanged for murder when my grandfather rescued me with his powers of magic. I am a thief by profession and have lived many years in the gutter with cut-throats and scum that would make what Demivolsh did to your wife look honourable. I think perhaps I am slightly better suited to this exercise.”

The room was so silent she began to wonder whether her friend was still breathing.

“Now, as I see it, he shall be riding out with his neck perfectly intact. Is it at all possible to ride to Korrin within a day?”

“N-no,” Emalus gave a throat-clearing cough and, for want of anything better to do, stared back down at the scroll – though he made sure to stand at such an angle that his back was to the wall and Gratia’s hands in full view. “No, not that I have heard of.”

“Then he shall have to take rest somewhere. In a tavern perhaps, or an inn.” Her subtle prompting wasn’t getting her far. “Well?”

“Oh, err, yes, yes... the Black Stork. It’s a tavern way out in the country, about two-thirds of the way there. It’s the only one for miles. He’ll have to stay there or else ride all night.”

“Is he likely to do that?”

“No, he likes his women and wine too much,” Emalus said bitterly.

Nodding, Gratia rolled up the scroll. “We ride there tomorrow”. He looked at her quizzically. “We must work out the lay of the place, have you been there before?”

Emalus shook his head. “No, not personally, but I have a friend who drives a coach that way once a fortnight. He could draw up a rough plan of the plan–”

“No! Don’t you understand? No one else must know, not even our horses. It’s amazing how quickly friends become informers when they see money in it for themselves.”

Emalus looked shocked at the prospect of someone informing on him, but didn’t argue back. It was obvious she knew what she was talking about and he was certain she must have had a lot of practise in the past.

Gratia hoped to god she knew what she was doing. She’d never done anything like this before. She’d heard talk of assassination plots at the thieves’ house, and she knew that some of the people who had sheltered there had murdered before, but at least they got money for their pains. What did she stand to gain from this? A noose? A guillotine? It didn’t bear thinking about. But something at the back of her mind was driving her to do this. Perhaps she did stand to gain something from it – justice for Gale’s death, or pardon for her own mistreatment?