CarlysleCoupReportingIn"So, where'd you go?" Miles asked as he led his brother and Lytham into the ballroom. "To see the Cardinal...." Edgar answered, suddenly recalling why they were back. He looked at Lytham and then back to Miles. "We have to see Lord Tremontaine." "Sure, he's in one of the conference rooms. I can show you!" Miles grinned. Lytham nodded. "He should probably know first." Lucien had commandeered a large meeting room at the hotel and had been in there for quite some time, issuing orders, some of them official and public, which meant writing out the edict and having it distributed, some of them immediate and face to face. The city -- his city -- was under seige; memories of the Bahlmis coup hovered in the back of his mind, memories of the destruction and despair that had riddled both sides, with ramifications that were felt even now. That time the players had been evident, their motives clear, but what was driving the current madness? And why hadn't he seen it coming? He had proven, all those years ago, that he was no traitor; would he instead go down in Aquilan history as a fool? Power was fleeting, of course, but he had worked and planned for so long and it had all started to come together... but now? Now he stood to lose everything, and the people of Aquila so much more. He could hear the roar of chaos outside the windows, out in the streets, and he grasped desperately within his own mind for the key to restoring peace and confidence to the city. How many deaths would there be that night? He already feared that there was one... Power had its price, too, he had always known that, but tonight the price was alarmingly heavy. He could not go to Lilly, could not be at his wife's side as she fought for her life. He did not even know where his children were... would he ever see them again? The unknown taunted him, trying to curdle into terror, but he fought against it. Knowledge, that was what he needed now more than anything. Dispatches and reports would come in slowly, and that was another real danger, that he would always be a beat behind events. Energized by his frustration, he opened the door and emerged into the hallway. "What is going on?" he asked those outside. "What do we know?" "The defenses are progressing well, my lord," said one of the Lasse guards posted outside. "At least--" Whatever else he was about to say was interrupted by the approach of a trio of young men. Two of them Lucien recognized as his cousin Honoria's sons, Edgar and Miles Bahlmis. Miles should be able to give him an update on the defenses. The third young man was no one he knew: tall and slim, and dressed in Badlands garb. Hadn't he been part of the entertainment? Miles was leading the way down the hall with Edgar and Lytham behind him when he saw Lord Tremontaine emerging from the conference room. "See, there he is! Told you I knew where he was." He gave a lopsided grin to Edgar, his voice sounding loud in the hall. Edgar gave Miles a warning look. Now was not the time for acting childish. "Lord Tremontaine," he said seriously, aware of all of the people in the halls who were looking their way due to Miles' rather loud exclamation. "We have just returned from the Cardinal's Palace." He tapped himself on his chest and then included Lytham in with a waving gesture, but not Miles. "Sir, we have word... That perhaps we should tell you in private?" Miles, not wanting to be out-shone, spoke up, "And I can give you an update on the status of that cannon that Warden and me..." "Warden and I..." Edgar corrected instinctively. Miles glared. "That we finished constructing. We ran one test... You may have heard it? Works great!" Lucien could not help but smile at the young man's exuberance. He recognized that such moments contained hope, real hope, that they could all survive this, and perhaps even find their way to something better. "I believe I did hear your test," he said. "I am glad of the success. Why don't you all come in here, and I can hear your news." He motioned for them to come into the meeting room, and indicated to one of the guards that the door should be secured... Lytham stepped into the meeting room at Lord Tremontaine's direction, casting a doubtful look at Miles. He wondered how the youngster would react to their news. Once the door was firmly closed behind them, the young actor turned toward Lucien and told him bluntly, "The Cardinal's been assassinated." Miles gaped and turned to look at Edgar. "Did you see him?" "I saw his body, yes, but not the assassination, if that's what you mean. We were too late to have done anything," Edgar sighed. Lucien's face turned ashen, but otherwise his reaction was measured. "How was this done? And do you have any idea how long before you arrived it was done? Who else knows?" The questions came out in a calm tone, not all run together, but not allowing an answer before he was done. "He was shot with a crossbow," Lytham answered. "Prior Robert said it was while they were hearing Prime. That would give us an approximate time anyway, but I know it wasn't too long before we got there, because the whole place was like a stirred anthill. I don't think the news will have got very far, though. None of the priests seemed to want to venture outside the grounds, after what happened." Lucien nodded sharply. "You have kept your heads," he said, "and I am glad of that. And glad that you are observant. As you may know, my... Lady Tremontaine was... attacked with a crossbow. Now, this is not an uncommon weapon, and we should not assume that the two are linked, yet it would be ridiculous not to at least consider that possibility." He sat down heavily and motioned for the others to do so as well. "So we must ask ourselves, who would want to harm both Lady Tremontaine and the Cardinal, and to what aim?" He had his own ideas, but wanted to hear theirs. "Nobody I want in charge of me, I know that much," Lytham said sourly, echoing his earlier thought at the priory. At Lucien's invitation he took a seat, glancing at Edgar and Miles as he did so. Lucien sighed. "Tempting though it might be, we can't afford a rush to judgment here. We do not know how the Cardinal was leaning, he had not been here long enough or, as far as I know, confided in anyone as to his intentions. If he had connections to any family or faction on Aquila, they are unknown..." He gave a wry, almost humorless smile. "Of course, if any of you know of such a connection, now would be the time to reveal it..." Edgar and Miles exchanged puzzled glances and then both seated themselves. Lytham looked surprised. "Well, we know the assassin was connected with the Carlysle insurgents. At least... that assassin we questioned earlier had been hired by them, and he was the one who told us the Cardinal'd been targeted." He frowned. "That should have been passed on to you already..." "Indeed it should have," Lucien said with a sharp frown. "I'm afraid, Sir," Edgar began, "We know as little as most and probably less than many, but I can tell you what that man in the stable said if you have not yet been informed. He indicated that he was one of several sent out to take down specific targets -- claimed he was hired by someone named Billie the Blood with the backing of unspecified nobles. I never heard the name Billie the Blood before, not that it would have been in any of the texts I studied." Edgar frowned and then continued, "But I can also tell you that on our way to check on the Papal Legate we managed to avoid some soldiers who were in Carlysle colors. Putting the two together, it isn't hard to see the larger picture." "A larger picture, most definitely. Each event tonight is part of that mosaic. But the full picture? I doubt that it has been revealed yet. It is the pieces that are calling the tune for the moment... somehow we must form a strategy that goes further than putting out each fire as it catches." Miles nodded. "And Miss Gabriella described soldiers, too, who were wearing the colors of Carlysle, though they didn't identify themselves as such. They took some of her family hostage, but she escaped to come back here for help." "That was the young lady with the sword?" Lytham put in. Miles nodded in confirmation and glanced at his brother's worried expression. "Miss Gabriella's family?" Edgar frowned, thinking of the lovely ladies he'd danced with earlier that evening, and especially one in a pale yellow gown. "Does that mean they are targetting all the heads of houses? Have guards been dispatched to help?" Lucien nodded. "They have been. Both to help as needed, and to gather any relevant information. But tell me, young Edgar... how would killing Lady Tremontaine advance such a plan? It did not draw me out, nor did it change my resolve. If anything, it has only strengthened it..." Edgar wasn't sure how exactly it all fit together, but obviously it must. Perhaps the attack hadn't been meant to draw Lord Tremontaine out, but was aimed at some other purpose, or perhaps she was merely a target of opportunity. But before he could answer, the conference was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. A tall, lanky man with a shock of sandy hair poked his head into the room. "Uh... Lord Tremontaine? Josh Salter sent me to give you this, fresh off the presses." In his ink-stained hands he held out a stiff sheet of paper. The hotel menu was on the front side, but Josh held true to his word and printed a special edition about the crisis on the other side. Under a banner headline of "Attack on Aquila" was a paragraph on the night's events with an etching of the shooting of Lilly, Lady Tremontaine and former Duchess. A secondary headline read "Scar Gill Under Siege" with a short article describing the landing of offworld troops in that remote town and how the townspeople were being held captive. Seemingly unrelated to the article was an etching of a naked young woman swimming across a raging river. Lytham glanced at the printed sheet, though he did not move to take it -- that was Lord Tremontaine's privilege. But he said to the reporter, "Yeah, well, tell Salter to stop the presses. We have a fresh headline for him. The Cardinal's been assassinated." "At the Cardinal's palace," Edgar nodded in confirmation. "Assassinated him right in the middle of Prime. The assassin escaped..." He didn't want to add that he'd probably escaped on one of the horses they'd so casually handed over to that "priest" they'd met in the garden. Lucien nodded as he took the proffered sheet. "These young men will be able to insure that you bring accurate information back to Mr. Salter," he said, a very slight emphasis on the word 'accurate'. His eyes scanned the lead articles, only briefly evaluating the etching of the lady in the water to see if it bore any relevance to actual events. "What we know," he said, standing up again. "The arrival of armed men in Carlysle colors. The seizure of Scar Gill, and perhaps other remote sites, by similar men. The attack on my wife. The assassination of the Cardinal, during Prime, using the same method, a crossbow. Chaos in the city. The likelihood of a coup attempt, either against the Regency, or as a preemptive strike favoring one candidate or another, or perhaps bypassing both." He looked at the others. "Have I neglected anything?" "Oh, yes, let's not forget poor Father Robert," Lytham recalled, his eyes angry. "One of the priests at the Cathedral, ninety years old and blind. Apparently he got in the assassin's way while he was making his escape. Be sure to put that in," he told the reporter. "Indeed," Lucien said, frowning sharply. "And give him the dignity in death he bore in life, although the assassin did try to rob him of that." The reporter nodded as he tried to remember all the details. Still, he seemed to take that last order seriously. Suddenly, something occurred to Lucien. He looked at the sheet again, this time focusing on the etching of Lilly's fall. "Tell me... was this done from life?" The reporter's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He replied nervously, "I don't know for sure, Lord Tremontaine. You would have to ask Mr. Salter." Lucien nodded, still looking at the sheet. "All right, then. If you would go to Mr. Salter and tell him that I have important questions about this etching... that if he or the artist, if it is not he himself, would come here with haste, and answer those questions, they may well be doing Aquila a significant service... one that would be rewarded." "Yes, Lord Tremontaine," the reporter replied. He skittered out of the room, closing the door behind him. It was not long before he returned, accompanied by Josh Salter who seemed to have mislaid his jacket and acquired a great deal of ink on his shirt, his hands and his plump cheeks. But he was wearing the dazed but happy smile of an editor who knows he is hot on the trail of The Story. "Yes, Lord Tremontaine?" he said. "You wanted to see me?" "I did indeed, Mr. Salter." He drew the editor's attention to the etching of his wife's fall. "This etching... was it done by someone on the scene, or was it done to someone's description... or perhaps improvised?" "My best etcher," said Josh Salter proudly. "Well, after Fletcher of course. He was right there, on the scene, swimming across the river in his desperate determination to bring the news of this dastardly deed back to our ears." His lips silently formed the words again ... "desperate determination to bring the news of this dastardly deed" ... and then he glanced down at the paper as though to make sure that such a choice phrase had been recorded for immortality. Reassured, he looked up at Lucien and the others again and beamed with simple pride. Miles had pushed in to look at the paper when it had been delivered and couldn't help but ask, "She really naked?" As he looked to see if he could make out any real details, but of course it was only a drawing. Edgar surreptitiously elbowed his brother, and added, "I think Lord Tremontaine may mean the other graphic... Etching?" "Which one?" asked Josh. Salter's assistant leaned toward Miles and whispered, "Come by the offices when this all blows over, and I'll see if I can get you a special edition." He winked at the youngster. "Wake up, Salter!" Lytham exclaimed. "What Lord Tremontaine wants to know is if you had an etcher on the scene when Lady Tremontaine was shot." Edgar nodded, though he might have phrased it a bit more gently. He then saw the wink from the assistant and his brother's surprise and then widening grin and wondered what the man had whispered. Probably something about the other drawing and Miles' question. Lucien nodded. "Mr. Salter, I need to know if this etching -- the one of my wife's attack -- was done by a witness, and done from life, with no embellishments. There may be valuable information in this etching." He looked at it again, the angle of the bolt, the way Lilly's body fell, and particularly the other people on the scene, especially those closest to his wife. Looking up again, knowing that what he said next would greatly interest the newspaperman, he said, "You see, only a little while ago, the Cardinal was murdered, also by crossbow. And when I ask myself who would want to kill both that august churchman and my lovely and generous, but politically insignificant wife... I find many questions rise. And those questions may lead us far beyond one family tragedy, into the true agenda for what has happened tonight." Josh's eyes nearly started from his head, and he looked more appalled than anyone present (indeed, than perhaps, anyone on Aquila could remember seeing the plump editor of Aquila Awake! looking in his entire life). "Murdered?" he cried. "But ... but ... we have no more paper to print on!" "We will find you paper, Mr. Salter," Lucien said, with more than a trace of irony in his tone. "Indeed, shortage of paper is the least of our challenges tonight. But we must have this information. We must come closer to knowing exactly what it is we are facing..." "There are offices here," Lytham pointed out. "There'll be paper." "We've been reduced to menu cards already," said Josh dolefully. And then suddenly his eyes lit up. "The guest bedrooms! We can liberate the note paper! Excuse me -- I must lead a foraging party forthwith!" He indicated the young reporter. "Stay here and capture all the details!" he instructed. "Your first scoop!" And then he hurried away. Edgar gaped. "But... You didn't answer Lord Tremontaine's question! Was the... Etching... Of his wife done from real life or was it after the fact?" Lytham swung round on the young reporter. "Maybe you can tell us." But Josh had turned in the doorway. "Imaginative reconstruction!" he said proudly. "We found a volume of 'The Grassy Knoll and Other Theories: Who Really Killed Duke Atropos?' in the hotel library -- and that had the etching of the Duke's assassination in it. Fletcher, our chief etcher, used that as his basis. Jolly good job too, though I say it myself." And off he went. Although the reporter gave a relieved nod to Salter's explanation, his gangly frame was still crouched like a cornered animal. "We needed something, for those that can't read," he offered. Slowly, cautiously, he straightened up to his regular height and gathered up the courage to ask a question. "Sirs, would you have any paper that I could borrow?" Lucien's face had shifted during the editor's final sally, as if hope had drained from it completely. But he drew himself up and said, "Yes, yes, there is sufficient paper..." He motioned to a cabinet in the corner of the room. Then, ignoring the reporter he said, "We are back where we started. Containing that which we do not understand. My private concerns will be as nothing to what this city... this land... may suffer if we do not find a way to an answer, and a solution." "My lord," Lytham spoke up, his earlier reluctance overcome by Lucien's discouragement, "we saw the Cardinal's assassin. That is, he was in disguise, but looking back on it I'm pretty sure it must have been him. I got a good look at him at the time, and I think I'd know him again." The reporter's head swiveled away from the cabinet. "Did you?" he asked eagerly. "Could you describe him? Enough for an etcher to use? We have to add that to the story." He nodded with excitement, looking over to Miles, encouraging him to agree. Miles shrugged. "I wasn't there...." He looked at Lytham and then his brother. "Enough for an etcher? I think so," Lytham hedged. "I mean, I could give you a general height and build, what he was wearing, like that. How about you?" he asked Edgar. Edgar frowned. "Maybe. It was rather dark, but I think I might be able to remember his face enough to describe it. He was rather clean cut, now that I think about it, and young, compared to the other monks...." The reporter grinned excitedly. What a scoop! "I'll go get the etcher." He rushed to the door, then stopped suddenly. What if the witnesses left while he was searching out the etcher? He frowned and looked over at Edgar and Lytham. "Promise you'll stay here until I get back?" Lytham shrugged. "I'm in no big rush to get back to Hangover Square." Edgar looked at Miles and frowned. "I really should get my brother to the Palazzo to meet up with the rest of the family, but I guess I can wait a little longer..." The reporter nodded encouragingly. "Just a little. I promise." The people in the office could hear his footsteps running down the hall in long, lanky strides. The reporter held true to his word. It was not long at all before the reporter poked his head back into the room. He seemed relieved to find the eyewitnesses still there. "Oh, good. You're still here. This is one of our staff etchers, Mr. Patterson." The reporter waved at the stout, balding man who had followed him into the room. The etcher nodded at them both, a swipe of his hand wiping crumbs from his walrus mustache. "So Scarpelli says you need a picture of someone?" the etcher asked as he sat down and pulled a sketch pad out of his bag. "Well, yes. He may have assassinated the Cardinal," Edgar stated. He tried to picture the young man in his head, but already the features were fading. "All I can really remember was he seemed young, but... His eyes weren't... If you know what I mean?" "He was a bit taller than me," supplied Lytham, who was a slim five-foot-ten, "dark hair and eyes. Hard to tell color at night, and he was wearing robes. A long stride... very fit, I'd say. Spoke with a Badlands accent... especially after I suggested it," he recalled wryly. Then, with a frown of concentration, he added, "...but he didn't have a Badlands complexion, any more than I do." The etcher's eyebrows shot up at the news about the Cardinal, but he didn't comment, listening to the descriptions closely. His pencil started tracing lightly and rapidly over the paper. Edgar glanced over the etcher's shoulder and frowned. "No, his eyes were... Wider apart I think? And not so large. Right. That's better." The etcher nodded and darkened the approved lines. "So do you think he was from the city?" Patterson suggested. Before either could answer, there was another knock at the door. A young man in red and green livery entered the room. "Is there an Edgar or Miles Bahlmis in here?" he asked. Lytham jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the two Bahlmis brothers and went on to answer Patterson's question. "I couldn't say where he was from, but I'd lay odds it wasn't the Badlands. At least, not recently." The etcher frowned and nodded. Edgar looked up, a bit startled to hear his name as he'd been concentrating on the drawing and hadn't really noticed the tap on the door. Miles came around to meet the liveried man who seemed closer to his own age. Not paying much attention to his manner of dress, he nodded and replied in a conversational tone, "Yes, sure. I'm Miles and that's my brother Edgar. I don't think we've met?" "No, sir," was the reply. Miles could see that this young man was not much older than himself. "I am employed by House Acciaio. I am to deliver this message to Edgar." He held out a piece of paper to the older brother, folded and sealed with a basic seal. The handwriting looked familiar. Inside was a brief note -- For Edgar Bahlmis, Ed, It's been 2 hours since Mom, Aunt Iolanthe, cousin Gianina and I arrived at the Palazzo. Dad was supposed to ride in the second carriage, following us but he hasn't come yet. I wanted to go back into the city to look for him -- but Mom and Aunt Iolanthe didn't want to let me go alone. Please, give me a sign as soon as you find Dad. I'm really starting to worry that something bad happened to him. Hugs, Holly P.S: Mom is worrying about you and Miles, too. For your sake Ed, I hope the brat is with you. The messenger waited with his arms folded behind his back. |
