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At the end of the cooling season, the hours of daylight shortened, and our training sessions ended with the setting sun. In the semidarkness of twilight I headed to the baths, moving with care to accommodate my bruised ribs. Janco, that annoying jackrabbit, had gotten through my defenses with his speedy little jabs.
As I approached the entrance to the baths, a large shadow detached from the stone wall. Alarmed, I stepped back into a fighting stance. Fear, excitement and doubt raced through my body. Would I need to defend myself? Could I do it? Should I run?
Margg’s ample shape coalesced out of the shadows, and I relaxed a bit.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Are you running another errand for your master like a good doggie?”
“Better than being a rat caught in a trap.”
I brushed past her. Exchanging insults, while enjoyable, was a waste of my time.
“Would the rat like some cheese?” she asked.
I turned. “What?”
“Cheese. Money. Gold. I bet you’re the kind of rat that would do anything for a piece of cheese.”
19
“WHAT WOULD I HAVE TO DO to get a piece of cheese?” I asked. I knew it! Margg was the one leaking information about me, and now she wanted to use me. Finally, some evidence.
“I have a source that pays well for information. It’s the perfect setup for a little rat,” Margg said.
“What kind of information?”
“Anything you might overhear while you’re scurrying around the Commander’s office or Valek’s apartment. My contact pays on a sliding scale; the juicier the news, the bigger the chunk of cheese.”
“How does it work?” My mind raced. Right now it was her word against mine. I needed proof I could show Valek. To be able to finger both Margg and her source would be a sweet treat.
“You give me the information,” she said, “and I pass it along. I collect the money, and give it to you, minus a fifteen percent fee.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that you’d stick to fifteen percent cut of a total I’d be unaware of?”
She shrugged. “It’s either that or nothing. I’d think that a half-starved rat like you would pounce on any morsel, no matter how small.” Margg began to walk away.
“What if we went to your source together?” I suggested. “Then you’d still receive your fee.”
She stopped. Uncertainty creased her fleshy face. “I’ll have to check.” She disappeared down the hallway.
I lingered outside the baths for a while, considering the possibility of following Margg around for a couple of days, but dismissed the idea. If her contact didn’t like my suggestion, I’d scamper to Margg with my tail between my legs, begging for another chance. She’d enjoy that! Then I’d follow her. Revealing her as a traitor to Valek would be a pleasure.
My conversation with Margg had used up my bath time, so I headed to the Commander’s office. When I arrived, Sammy, Rand’s kitchen boy, hovered outside the closed door holding a tray of food. I could hear a muffled angry voice inside.
“What’s going on?” I asked Sammy.
“They’re arguing,” he said.
“Who?”
“The Commander and Valek.”
I took the tray of cooling food from Sammy. No reason we both had to be there. “Get going. I’m sure Rand needs you.”
Sammy smiled his relief and sprinted through the throne room. I’d seen the kitchen during dinnertime. Servers and cooks swarmed like bees with Rand directing the chaos. Barking orders, he controlled his kitchen staff like the queen bee of the hive.
Knowing the Commander disliked cold food, I stood close to his door, waiting for a break in the conversation. From my new position I could hear Valek clearly.
“Whatever possessed you to change your successor?” Valek demanded.
The Commander’s soft reply passed through the wooden door as an indecipherable murmur.
“In the fifteen years I’ve known you, you’ve never reversed a decision.” Valek’s tone became more reasonable. “This isn’t a ploy to discover your successor. I just want to know why you changed your mind. Why now?”
The response wasn’t to Valek’s liking. With a sarcastic jab in his voice, he said, “Always, Sir.”
Valek jerked the door open. I stumbled into the office.
He wore a glacial expression. Only his eyes showed his fury. They were pools of molten lava beneath an icy crust. “Yelena, where the hell have you been? The Commander’s waiting for his dinner.” Not expecting an answer, Valek strode briskly through the throne room. Advisers and soldiers melted from his path.
Valek’s anger seemed extreme. Everyone in Ixia knew that one of the eight Generals had been chosen as the Commander’s successor. In the typical paranoid custom of the Commander’s ruling, the name of the selected General was kept secret. Each General held an envelope that contained a piece of a puzzle. When the Commander died, they would assemble the puzzle to reveal an encrypted message. A key would be required to decipher the note. A key only Valek held. The chosen General would then have the complete support of the military and the Commander’s staff.
The theory behind the puzzle was that secrecy would prevent someone from staging a rebellion in support of the chosen heir, since the heir was unknown. The added risk that the inheritor might be even worse than the Commander was another deterrent. As far as I could see, a change in the chosen General probably wouldn’t affect day-to-day life in Ixia. We didn’t know who had been originally selected, so the switch would have no bearing until the Commander died.
I approached Commander Ambrose’s desk. He read his reports, unaffected by Valek’s rage. I performed a quick taste of his dinner; he thanked me for the food then ignored me.
On my way back to the baths, I wondered if the information I had just overheard would fetch a decent price from Margg’s contact. I quenched my curiosity; I had no desire to commit treason for money. I just wanted to get out of my present situation alive. And knowing Valek, I had no doubt that he would discover any clandestine meetings with Margg. For that reason alone, I had to prove that, no matter what Margg believed, I was not a spy. Just the mental vision of Valek’s burning eyes focused on me sent a hot bolt of fear through me.
A long soak in the bath eased my sore ribs. As it was still early in the evening, I thought it prudent to avoid Valek for a while. I stopped in the kitchen for a late dinner. After helping myself to the leftover roast meat and a hunk of bread, I carried my plate to where Rand worked. He had an array of bowls, pots and ingredients messily spread out on his table. Dark smudges rimmed his bloodshot eyes, and his brown hair stuck straight out where he had run his wet hands through it.
I found a stool and a clean corner on Rand’s table and ate my dinner.
“Did the Commander send you?” Rand asked.
“No. Why?”
“I finally received the Criollo recipe from Ving two days ago. I thought the Commander might be wondering about it.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me.”
Two large shipments of Criollo, sans the recipe, had arrived for the Commander since Brazell had left the castle. Each time, the Commander had responded with a “thank you” and another request for the formula. As the quantity received had been plentiful, the Commander had given Rand some Criollo to play with. Rand hadn’t disappointed. He had melted it, mixed it into hot drinks, invented new desserts, chipped it and remolded it into flowers and other edible decorations for cakes and pies.
I watched Rand stir a mahogany-colored batter with tight agitated movements. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“Horrible. I have repeatedly followed this recipe, and all I’ve gotten is this awful-tasting mud.” Rand banged the spoon on the bowl’s edge to knock off the pasty residue. “It won’t even solidify.” He handed me a sheet of once-white paper smeared with brown stains and flour. “Maybe you can see what I’m doing wrong.”
I studied the list of ingredients. It looked like a normal recipe, but I
