Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (47 page)

His eyes strayed over the view below him. From this window, he could see the city and its lights as it sloped down the hill towards the waters of the Vitala River. To his left beyond the castle gates, the enormous white dome of the Basilica sitting beside the famous beauty of the Guildehall.

Osbert.

Evasive, truculent, terrified and yet still evasive. Nash had not seen so much as a whisker of the man in the four weeks he’d been back at court. Perhaps he was trying to pretend Nash didn’t exist – or maybe he was afraid of being asked to do something.

Nash smiled, admiring his smooth reflection in the glass before him.

‘Master?’ Taymar stood at the door. ‘They’re here.’

‘Good.’ Nash turned in time to see DeMassey and Gilbert come into the room. They had both entered into a bargain with Nash without ever looking deeper into what was expected of them. Gilbert appeared to fulfil his responsibilities without hesitation. DeMassey, who followed every order to the letter, managed, however, to maintain an air of silent rebellion. Well, perhaps it was time to push a little and see what would happen now that Nash was close enough to watch him personally.

‘Any further word on young Andrew’s whereabouts?’ he began without preamble.

It was Gilbert who answered; his men who had ostensibly followed Andrew from the city. ‘I had scouts all along the route he usually takes from Marsay to Maitland. I don’t know where he is now, but I can tell you for certain he never made it home.’

‘Surely he wasn’t the victim of highway vagabonds?’ Nash asked this without inflection, surreptitiously watching for some reaction from DeMassey. There was none. Whatever his schemes, it was fairly certain Andrew Eachern was not a part of them.

‘His guards returned to Maitland unscathed and, as far as we can tell, without any alarm being raised. I can only assume that Andrew never intended to return straight home. Beyond that, I can’t tell you. I send people into Maitland and they last perhaps three days before they end up leaving again.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Nash said absently. DeMassey was paying attention, but saying nothing, which was unlike him. Nash continued, ‘So it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to suggest that the boy has gone to visit his mother?’

DeMassey did look up at that, frowning slightly. ‘I thought you weren’t going to touch him because of her. I thought you didn’t dare risk—’

‘That was before.’ Nash moved to the table and poured himself a fresh cup of wine. He enjoyed it so much more now that he was healed. He enjoyed
everything
so much more. ‘DeMassey, I want you to put twenty of your best people together. Go down to Maitland, surround the place from a safe distance and wait for the boy to return home. When he does, I want you to take him
alive.
I don’t mind who you kill in the process, but you make sure it looks like he’s perished in some tragic accident. If either the Ally or Kenrick are suspicious at all, I shall hold you personally and wholly responsible. Do I make myself perfectly clear?’

DeMassey’s expression was utterly unreadable, but he nodded, almost too quickly. ‘What do you plan to do with him?’

‘Andrew? Why?’

‘Can you use him to regenerate fully?’

There was something in DeMassey’s eyes that Nash couldn’t fathom, and it bothered him. ‘I doubt it – as far as any of us have been able to tell, he has not a whit of power in him. Unfortunate really, as he would have been perfect otherwise. No, I have entirely another purpose in mind.’

DeMassey blinked once, slowly. He was obviously calculating, but Nash could glean nothing more from the man. ‘Very well. I’ll leave in the morning.’

‘Tonight,’ he pressed.

Final acquiescence was long in coming, then DeMassey turned and walked out, Gilbert following closely behind.

Smiling, Nash turned back to his window and let his eyes drift once more to the Guildehall.

*

Osbert picked up another piece of paper from the pile beside him, scanned its contents and placed it on the fire with the others. He didn’t pause long enough to watch it crisp and burn, but continued working, eradicating, cleaning and removing anything and everything that Nash might somehow be able to use.

He’d done little else over the last few weeks. He’d barely left the building. Though tired from too many nights without sleep, too many days without fresh air or exercise, he couldn’t stop until he was done, shoring up whatever holes were left for Nash to sink his claws into.

Osbert had always been so sure, so confident that he was smarter, quicker, better prepared than anyone else around him – perhaps not a brilliant philosophical thinker, but certainly well versed in the realities of life and political understanding. He’d built a career in the Guilde, working his way from a lowly recruit to the very top of the tree by making the right friends, having the right contacts, paying enough spies to tell him what he needed to know and being able to provide the right service at exactly the moment it was needed. He was everything a Guildesman could and should be.

And that’s what he’d done when allying himself to Nash so many years ago. The young man had displayed certain talents, abilities, had developed a unique relationship with King Selar, had proved infinitely useful in so many ways – how in Serin’s name was Osbert to know the viper he was so unwittingly aiding?

Nash was going to kill him. It did nothing to aid his appetite, nothing to ease his sleep, nothing to stop the pacing
his body demanded when even hours of careful and useless planning failed to calm him. He was lost – but he would not allow the Guilde to fall with him.

He might have days, perhaps hours left, but he would not waste them, no matter the looks his staff gave him, nor the rumours which were flying – he’d started half of them himself, at Kenrick’s urging, following orders like a good Proctor …

The door opened behind him and he froze, his fingers involuntarily clenching on the paper he held. Nobody was to be admitted to his presence after dark.

Nobody.

‘Good evening, my lord Proctor.’

Bile rose in Osbert’s throat and he swallowed hard. He came to his feet and turned to find Nash standing before him, the door still open, his face whole and complete and entirely without conscience. ‘Nash.’

The man took another few steps into the room, looking about him at the furnishings, the changes that had occurred in his absence. ‘I take it Vaughn’s old study brought back too many bad memories. Still, this is a good choice. A better view, by far – and more room to move around in. Of course, it doesn’t have that little secret chamber hidden in the wall – or does it?’

His voice flat and devoid even of fear, Osbert could honestly reply, ‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘A pity. Still, it would have been a little too obvious, wouldn’t it?’

Osbert didn’t answer the question. He simply stood there, waiting for whatever came next.

Nash stopped before him, an absent glance taking in the papers and files, the layers of black ash that fell about the stone fireplace, the bits that had made it onto the brick hearth. ‘You don’t seem surprised to see me.’

‘Why should I be? You are, after all, a Guildesman, are you not?’

A faint laugh greeted that comment. Then Nash clasped his hands together before him. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the rumours I’ve heard.’

‘Which rumours? There are a number.’

‘So I’ve noticed. Some are, however, intriguing. Those concerning a prophecy in particular.’

Again Osbert refrained from replying. He had nothing of worth to contribute that would not result in his immediate death.

Nash continued, ‘Would you happen to know where they started from?’

‘I have no idea,’ Osbert lied fluently. He had spent hours practising when he should have been sleeping.

‘It’s just interesting, really,’ Nash went on, as though only mildly involved. ‘Do you recall those books I asked you to look for? The ones Vaughn had in his secret library in that hidden chamber? The books you assured me had been destroyed by your illustrious predecessor? Well, I believe we would have found information about such a prophecy inside them.’

Osbert caught a drift of courage, from somewhere. ‘I thought you said those books were merely history texts.’

Nash smiled as though he’d been found out for taking an extra slice of bread at supper. ‘Well, of course they are. History from the earliest days of the Guilde, running up until the eradication of the Cabal and the battle between the old Empire and the last sorcerers. So, yes, history texts without doubt.’

Though this was only what Osbert had suspected all along, it was another thing entirely for Nash to be so open in his admission. ‘But as you say, Vaughn destroyed them.’

‘No, as
you
say,’ Nash looked up, his face expressionless. ‘However, I am beginning to suspect that somebody here, within the Guilde, may have found a way of rescuing one or more of those books before Vaughn could burn them. I believe that’s where these rumours have begun. As a dutiful Guildesman, I feel I should warn you that such texts would be dangerous in the wrong hands. I suggest you’ - Osbert almost closed his eyes, knowing in his bones what was coming next. - ‘question your men, set up an enquiry. I don’t know about you, but I would be very interested in getting my hands
on such books – and of course, placing them into safekeeping. We wouldn’t want somebody like, say, the King, to find them, would we?’

‘No, of course not. I agree completely. We have many trades and professional skills documented within the Guilde libraries. It is our sacred duty to keep such knowledge from those who would abuse it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will start such an enquiry immediately.’

If Nash was surprised by Osbert’s acquiescence, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded, performed what could only be a mock bow and left, leaving the door open behind him.

As the seconds drifted by, Osbert’s body began to react, trembling until he could not hold himself still any longer. Turning swiftly, he strode to the window, tweaked the curtain enough to see the empty square below and the imposing castle gates.

Nash was walking through them, alone and unchallenged by the guards, walking without looking back. Osbert watched until Nash disappeared from sight, then went to his door, calling for a servant to bring Godfrey to him at once.

He had one ally left and it was time to put him to good use.

And with that one ally, came one single plan. No matter how desperate, he no longer had any choice.

*

Though the summons was abrupt and odd, Godfrey was nevertheless somewhat relieved to have an excuse to leave Brome’s sickroom after an entire day standing around watching the man ail further. Prayers were being said constantly, and four masses this day alone had been performed in the hope that a miracle would give them all a little more time. Godfrey himself could do nothing more than wait, and waiting alone was killing him.

He was escorted from the Bishop’s palace by four armed guards who stuck close to him, as though expecting an attack at any moment. This did nothing to still Godfrey’s sudden fears. He was brought into the Guildehall, then hustled up staircases, along passages and into areas that no non-Guildesman had ever seen. He had no time to stop and admire the fine
workmanship that emerged in every arched doorway, every cornice and panel. Instead, he was marched through an antechamber and into a long, wide study where Osbert waited for him, pacing impatiently, awaiting Godfrey’s arrival.

‘Leave us,’ Osbert waved at the guards. ‘Stand outside and let nobody else in.’

The guards bowed, silent in their obedience and then, with the solid click of the door behind, they were alone.

‘I’m sorry about this, Godfrey,’ Osbert began, almost hovering in the middle of the room, as though he wasn’t sure whether to offer Godfrey some wine to go with his apology, or a seat. ‘How is Brome?’

‘Dying, but hanging on. What is it? What’s happened?’

‘You once said that … that I should trust … trust in a man I don’t know.’

Godfrey’s eyes opened wide in surprise, though he didn’t say the name out loud. He’d never thought this would happen. He waited for Osbert to continue.

‘I assumed, rightly or wrongly, that you meant to hint that you had some means by which you could contact this … man. Was I wrong?’

‘I …’ This could be a trap and the risk wasn’t his to take. ‘What would you have me do if I could?’

Osbert’s eyes darted to him and then away. ‘I apologise. I don’t want to compromise whatever you’ve …
If
it were possible to send him a message, I would wish that you would … ask him to come here, to meet with me. I have something I … need to … discuss with him. Yes. I need to discuss something with him. If it were possible to get a message to him, urgently, that would be very beneficial to … to all of us.’

Though he had worked for ten and more years towards this very end, Godfrey had some trouble taking this sudden turn at face value. Nevertheless, Osbert’s agitation was genuine and deep. Godfrey had never seen him like this before and could only assume it had something to do with Nash – no other person had ever had this effect on Osbert.

Which didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap.

‘If he did come here,’ Godfrey had no choice but to ask, ‘would he be free to leave afterwards?’

‘What?’ Osbert looked up, disbelief plain on his pale face. ‘You think
I
would have the power to keep a man like that … Oh.’

As Osbert considered the deeper implications of his request, Godfrey moved closer. ‘If I could be sure this summons was not to deliver him into hands that would destroy him …’

Godfrey left the rest unsaid, not flinching when Osbert met his gaze steadily and without artifice.

‘I can only give you my word, my friend,’ Osbert whispered. ‘We are … on the same side, you and I. The rest you will have to take on faith.’

Godfrey smiled at that. It was all he needed to know they were finally speaking the same language. ‘Very well. I will do my best to explore the possibilities.’

‘How do you feel?’

Andrew looked up at the man saddling horses. ‘I feel fine.’