Alex Bledsoe - Dark Jenny

He smiled sadly, wearily at me. “Robert Kay, King Marcus’s seneschal.”

A seneschal, I knew, was an administrative second-in-command in charge of making sure the day-to-day affairs of state ran smoothly. “Tough job,” I said.

“Nah, not usually. But definitely today.”

I was about to mention the cuffs again when a sharp knock rang on the door. Kay opened it, and Harrigan, almost white with apprehension, crisply saluted. “Uh, excuse me, Sir Robert,” he said with a dubious glance at me. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s a problem.”

“Oh, good,” Kay muttered, and stepped outside to hear the report. He didn’t close the door all the way, which meant I was probably off the suspect list, but he also didn’t leave it open as an invitation to depart. When he returned, he was even grimmer. “We’ve got three problems now,” he said as he closed the door again. “First is the dead man, of course. Second, those damn courtiers expect to see your head on a pike by the gate before dawn. You’ve embarrassed Lord DeGrandis, and to them that’s far worse than any lowly knight’s murder.”

“What’s the third problem?”

Kay paced to the nearest shelves. “The rest of the Double Tarn knights. They don’t believe you had anything to do with it, at least. Most of them saw Sam fall before you were anywhere near him.”

“And that’s a problem why?”

He met my eyes and said, “Because they think it was Queen Jennifer.”

“Really? I thought everybody loved her.”

He shook his head. “Everybody loves Marc. They tolerate her.”

I recalled the beautiful, regal figure I’d seen and wondered if the kindness and consideration in her demeanor really had all been an act. It wasn’t unheard of for public and private faces to be completely at odds, but I hoped I’d learned enough to see through it. “Is she that bad?”

“Not at all. I’ve spent a fair bit of time with her, and she’s generally a decent person. She had her rough times at first, learning to rule while Marc was off fighting, but she made it through.” Kay shook his head. “Some lines, though, even the nicest people shouldn’t cross.”

I waited, but he offered no additional explanation. Finally I said, “You’re not going to take these off me, are you?”

“I’m deciding. You make a better culprit than the queen, at least for public consumption.”

“I can see that. But why would the queen even want to kill one of her own bodyguards? Especially at a banquet where everyone was watching?”

He gnawed his lip again before finally saying, “You broke professional silence for me, guess I can do the same for you. You ever heard of Elliot Spears?”

He was the best of the Double Tarn knights, legendary for both his battle skills and chiseled good looks. He wasn’t a native of Grand Bruan, but had come to the island to join Drake’s campaign back when the young king was first crowned and became, by all accounts, Drake’s closest friend. “Sure. Who hasn’t?”

“That’s true. He’s our best and bravest. And he’s the king’s best friend.” He fell silent and looked at the floor.

“But?” I prompted.

“Well, he hasn’t been around much since peace broke out. Most of the knights believe the reason is that Elliot and Jennifer were… well, jousting in private behind Marc’s back. Rumors that the queen made secret visits to his castle, and so on.”

“Ah. So is Spears here?”

“Elliot? Nah. He spends most of his time at his own place. They say it’s because the queen broke his heart when she wouldn’t leave Marc for him.” Kay scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “And that’s a kind of motive, I suppose. I mean, if Jennifer wanted to assert herself, remind the knights that she as well as Marc held the power of life or death over them…” Kay spread his hands in a shrug.

When he offered nothing else, I asked, “So am I free to go?” Again I held up my wrists.

Kay’s eyes narrowed. “You know… you seem to know a lot about this kind of thing. Motives, behavior, that stuff. As you can probably tell, I really don’t. I just kill people trying to kill me and train other people to do the same thing.”

I just looked at him.

He continued, “If you’re as smart as you act like you are, you ought to be able to smoke out the real killer before dinner gets cold.”

“So you think I’m innocent?”

He grinned, but only so a professional observer would notice it. “This is a small island; I went to school with Lady Astamore back when she was simply Fiona. Never met a sweeter soul. If she trusts you, that’s a pretty good reference for me.” Then the smile faded. “But of course, I’ve only got your word for it. So until I can verify it…”

He produced a key from a pocket. “I have a feeling you’re innocent. Of course, I also had a feeling that my wife would keep her figure. I was wrong about that.” He inserted the key not into the manacles, but into the flat disk between them. Instantly more chain unrolled, putting enough slack between the cuffs so that I could spread my arms wide. He locked the disk again, pocketed the key, and patted my cheek. “So until I’m more certain about you, those stay on.”

“I’ll keep my figure, I promise.”

He laughed. “I’m sure someone somewhere is pleased to know that.”

I looked down at my wrists. The weight of the chain and disk, which now hung past my knees, were not encouraging. “All right, then, let’s get to work. A murder goes stale faster than a wife’s good nature.”

“True words indeed,” Kay said, and opened the door.

I followed Kay back to the banquet hall. The disk in the middle of the manacle chain tapped my shins as I walked, so I held it in my left hand.

The Knights of the Double Tarn had sealed the room, allowing no one in or out without Kay’s permission. They’d used the graduating class of Nodlon Grange as the muscle for this, so the newly minted soldiers, anxious to impress these legendary veterans, stood at rigid attention before all the exits and made no eye contact with their muttering, frilly charges.

It occurred to me that creating a new generation of Double Tarn knights might be one of Marcus Drake’s few tactical errors. Train a man to do something, and he’ll find a reason to do it, especially if you’ve trained him to kill. Peace meant these new warriors had no battles to fight, so what would they do with their new skills?

The rich folks, hemmed in and unaccustomed to hearing the word no, milled about in little knots concentrated around the big central table. Oblivious to the idea that something else might be poisoned, they’d made a serious dent in the victuals and a good start on the bar. When I entered the room behind Kay, though, the conversations trailed off and every well-painted eye fell on me.

Sam Patrice lay where he’d fallen, and the odor from his poisoned body had grown stronger. Chairs from the big table formed a respectful circle around him so no one could disturb the body. Someone had draped a lavish tablecloth over him, and only his rigid hand protruded from beneath it. The blueish fingers still marked the shape of the lethal apple. Where the fabric rested on his face, a stain from the bloody spittle had already soaked through.

Kay bellowed, “Officers!” as soon as we came through the door. Seven knights quickly appeared and formed a double-tiered circle around us, a practiced move designed for both protection and to prevent eavesdropping during battle briefings.

“This man is Edward LaCrosse,” Kay said with a nod to me. “He’ll be assisting me. If he asks you a question or gives you an order, it’s the same as me doing it.”

“If he’s such an expert,” one asked, “why is he in cuffs?”