The Crown Conspiracy

The lawyer caught sight of his movement and gave him a curious look. Braga dismissed his concern with a slight wave of his hand. He left the court, forcing himself to walk slowly and calmly. The moment he passed out through the chamber doors, and out of sight of the crowd, he trotted through the castle halls, his cape whipping behind him. In his fist, he held on to the note, crushing it.

It wasn’t possible, he thought, it couldn’t be! Hearing footfalls approaching rapidly from behind, he stopped and spun, drawing his sword.

“Is there a problem, Braga?” Archibald Ballentyne inquired. He held his hands up defensively before the point of the archduke’s blade. Braga silently threw the crumpled note at him and resumed his march toward the dungeon.

“It’s those thieves, those damned thieves,” the Earl of Chadwick called out as he ran after Braga. “They’re demons! Magicians! Evil mages! They are like smoke, appearing and disappearing at will.”

Archibald caught up with Braga and they descended the stairs to the detention block where the door guard dodged aside just in time to avoid the archduke. After trying the door and finding it locked, Braga hammered on it. The warden promptly left his desk and brought his keys for the red-faced archduke.

“My lord, I—”

“Open the cell to the prisoners Wylin’s men just brought in. Do it now!”

“Yes, my lord.” Fumbling with his great ring of keys, the warden moved quickly to the cell hall. Two castle guards stood watch to either side of a door and promptly stepped aside at his approach.

“Have you two been here since the prisoners were brought in?” Braga asked the guards.

“Aye, my lord,” the guard on the left replied. “Captain Wylin ordered us to stand guard and to allow absolutely no admittance to anyone except him or you.”

“Very good,” he said. Then, to the warden, he added, “Open it.”

The warden unlocked the door and entered the cell. Inside, Braga saw two men chained to the wall, stripped to their waist with gags in their mouths. They were not the same men he saw the night of the king’s murder.

“Remove the gags,” Braga ordered the warden. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“M-m-my name’s Bendent, your lordship, I’m just a street sweeper from Dock Street—honest—we weren’t doing nothing wrong!”

“What were you two doing in the sewers under this castle?”

“Hunting rats, sir,” the other one said.

“Rats?”

“Yes, sir, honest, we was. We was told there was a big event here in the castle this morning and the castle kitchen was complaining about rats climbing up from the sewers. ’Cause of the cold, you see, sir. We was told we’d get paid a silver tenet for every rat we done killed and brought out—only…”

“Only what?”

“Only we never seen no rats, your lordship.”

“Before we found any, we were knocked out by soldiers and brought here.”

“See? What did I tell you?” Archibald told Braga. “They took her already. They stole her right from under your nose just like they took my letters!”

“They couldn’t have. There’s no way to get up to Arista’s tower. It is too high, and it can’t be climbed.”

“I’m telling you, Braga, these men are skilled. They scaled my Gray Tower well enough, and it is one of the tallest there is.”

“Trust me, Archibald. Arista’s tower can’t be climbed.”

“But they did it,” Ballentyne insisted. “I didn’t think it was possible when they did it to me either, not until I opened the safe and my prize was gone. Now your prize is gone, and what will you do with that crowd out there when you have no princess to burn!”

“It’s just not possible,” Braga repeated, pushing Ballentyne out of his way. “You two,” he said to the guards still standing outside the cell as he walked out, “come with me and bring one of those gags. It’s time the princess came down for her court appearance!”

Braga led them through the castle and up six flights of stairs to the residence level. The hallway here was empty. All of the servants were gathered with the others, listening to the proceedings of the trial.

They passed the royal chapel and continued up the hallway to the next door. “Magnus!” Braga shouted, throwing the door open. Inside a dwarf with a braided brown beard and a broad flat nose lay on a bed. He was dressed in a blue leather vest, large black boots, and a bright orange puffed sleeved shirt that made his arms appear huge.

“Is it time?” the dwarf asked. Hopping off the bed, he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“Is there any chance someone could have gotten up in her tower and stolen Arista out of there?” Braga asked urgently.

“None whatsoever,” the dwarf said with a tone of total confidence. Braga looked back and forth between Ballentyne and the dwarf, scowling.