The Queen's Poisoner
Page 85
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“Why the devil I should risk my life saving you two,” the Espion muttered darkly as he marched. “Reckless. Careless. Stupid little urchins. I thought you were a water sprite, girl, but you’re clearly not! A water sprite wouldn’t have almost got herself drowned. How did you even know about this place? It was walled off for a reason!”
Owen ignored the man’s rant and stared at the water. It was draining past Mancini’s knees now. Soon the treasure would be seen. He would prove to them it was real.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mancini dropped Owen like a heavy sack before turning around and sitting on the steps, breathing roughly. “Too much work. This is too much. Goodness, children are always trying to kill themselves for naught. Why I should bother saving you is beyond me. We’re all wet and drippy now. Ugh!”
Evie rushed over to Owen and wrapped him in a tight hug. “How did you? How did you save us? What were you holding on to? It was like you had a boat anchor!”
“It was the treasure,” Owen gasped, wiping water from his face. He stared down at the draining cistern. The water had drained even lower than the steps.
“Treasure?” Mancini said eagerly, looking at the water.
There was nothing. Owen stepped off the stairs and searched the spot where they had originally landed. The cistern hole was above them. He kicked at the waters, splashing them, and saw nothing on the shimmering floor. Nothing.
“His wits are addled,” Mancini said, still chuffing for breath.
Owen turned and looked at Evie pleadingly. “I saw it!” he insisted. “I felt it.”
She stared at him, her face wilting. Then she rushed over and hugged him again and started to cry.
I think Ratcliffe intends to murder the boy just as the princes were murdered. When the two brats ran off, I felt uneasy about them, so I hastened to follow. They had apparently discovered the way to the palace cistern. Ratcliffe found me observing them, and when I told him what was going on, a strange gleam came to his eye and he hurried away. That made me even more uneasy, so I tried to call the children back, but they couldn’t hear me. Shortly after, I heard screaming and broke down the door. The cistern waters were being drained into the river. I saved the children, dragging both of their soggy carcasses out of that pit. It took an hour to catch my breath afterward. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it happened not long after Ratcliffe left me. And he meant, I think, to put the blame of their deaths on me. Well, two can throw the dice in a game of chance.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Cistern
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cursing
The entire palace was in an uproar when it was discovered that John Tunmore had escaped his cell. A search of the castle had been conducted throughout the night, and it was impossible for Owen to sleep amidst the torchlight and the racket of marching boots. His room was searched for the fugitive not once, but twice. He dared not visit Ankarette that night, for even the spy tunnels were being thoroughly searched.
The king was in such a rage that everyone was on tenterhooks. Owen and Evie were both feeling the aftereffects of the deadly peril from the previous day, and it was the first time Owen had ever known Evie to be quiet and soft-spoken. The two children stayed near each other during breakfast as the king ranted and raved, filling the air with blistering curses about the incompetence of his trusted servants, who stared at the king with open shock.
“And what have you learned thus far?” the king demanded hotly, his cheeks flushed, his nostrils white with anger. He hadn’t been shaved that morning, as he usually was, and his dark hair was untidy beneath his black felt hat.
Ratcliffe looked almost desperate. “From what I understand, Your Grace, he walked out of his cell on your orders.”
The king’s visage grew even fiercer. “And why, by the bloody Fountain, would I command his release, Dickon? Your people had him in the tower. Obviously one of them let him go!”
“That’s not true!” Ratcliffe said. “There was a paper given to the guard with your seal on it. A note written in your own hand, as they said, demanding the release of the prisoner, explaining that he was on a secret embassy from you and his capture was all part of the ploy. My lord,” he said, his voice lowering. “I have four men who swear they read this note!”
“Then where is it, Ratcliffe? Show it to me!”
A crumpled frown preceded the response. “It was thrown into the fire. But four men—!”
“I don’t care if a dozen men all swore they saw pigs fly!” the king thundered. “I did not order his release. My signet ring is on my hand, as you can see, and I assure you, Dickon, that I ordered no such thing! Why do I bother having an Espion if you bungle everything? This palace is riddled with rat holes. Tunnels and scratching claws. I detest it. And I’ve learned from Berwick that the cistern went dry and we’ll be hauling water from the river for days to refill it since the rains haven’t started.” He wiped sweat from his face, his mouth twisted into a brooding scowl. “Why am I surrounded by such ineptitude? Is there no man who can be true to his king?”
Owen ignored the man’s rant and stared at the water. It was draining past Mancini’s knees now. Soon the treasure would be seen. He would prove to them it was real.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mancini dropped Owen like a heavy sack before turning around and sitting on the steps, breathing roughly. “Too much work. This is too much. Goodness, children are always trying to kill themselves for naught. Why I should bother saving you is beyond me. We’re all wet and drippy now. Ugh!”
Evie rushed over to Owen and wrapped him in a tight hug. “How did you? How did you save us? What were you holding on to? It was like you had a boat anchor!”
“It was the treasure,” Owen gasped, wiping water from his face. He stared down at the draining cistern. The water had drained even lower than the steps.
“Treasure?” Mancini said eagerly, looking at the water.
There was nothing. Owen stepped off the stairs and searched the spot where they had originally landed. The cistern hole was above them. He kicked at the waters, splashing them, and saw nothing on the shimmering floor. Nothing.
“His wits are addled,” Mancini said, still chuffing for breath.
Owen turned and looked at Evie pleadingly. “I saw it!” he insisted. “I felt it.”
She stared at him, her face wilting. Then she rushed over and hugged him again and started to cry.
I think Ratcliffe intends to murder the boy just as the princes were murdered. When the two brats ran off, I felt uneasy about them, so I hastened to follow. They had apparently discovered the way to the palace cistern. Ratcliffe found me observing them, and when I told him what was going on, a strange gleam came to his eye and he hurried away. That made me even more uneasy, so I tried to call the children back, but they couldn’t hear me. Shortly after, I heard screaming and broke down the door. The cistern waters were being drained into the river. I saved the children, dragging both of their soggy carcasses out of that pit. It took an hour to catch my breath afterward. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it happened not long after Ratcliffe left me. And he meant, I think, to put the blame of their deaths on me. Well, two can throw the dice in a game of chance.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Cistern
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cursing
The entire palace was in an uproar when it was discovered that John Tunmore had escaped his cell. A search of the castle had been conducted throughout the night, and it was impossible for Owen to sleep amidst the torchlight and the racket of marching boots. His room was searched for the fugitive not once, but twice. He dared not visit Ankarette that night, for even the spy tunnels were being thoroughly searched.
The king was in such a rage that everyone was on tenterhooks. Owen and Evie were both feeling the aftereffects of the deadly peril from the previous day, and it was the first time Owen had ever known Evie to be quiet and soft-spoken. The two children stayed near each other during breakfast as the king ranted and raved, filling the air with blistering curses about the incompetence of his trusted servants, who stared at the king with open shock.
“And what have you learned thus far?” the king demanded hotly, his cheeks flushed, his nostrils white with anger. He hadn’t been shaved that morning, as he usually was, and his dark hair was untidy beneath his black felt hat.
Ratcliffe looked almost desperate. “From what I understand, Your Grace, he walked out of his cell on your orders.”
The king’s visage grew even fiercer. “And why, by the bloody Fountain, would I command his release, Dickon? Your people had him in the tower. Obviously one of them let him go!”
“That’s not true!” Ratcliffe said. “There was a paper given to the guard with your seal on it. A note written in your own hand, as they said, demanding the release of the prisoner, explaining that he was on a secret embassy from you and his capture was all part of the ploy. My lord,” he said, his voice lowering. “I have four men who swear they read this note!”
“Then where is it, Ratcliffe? Show it to me!”
A crumpled frown preceded the response. “It was thrown into the fire. But four men—!”
“I don’t care if a dozen men all swore they saw pigs fly!” the king thundered. “I did not order his release. My signet ring is on my hand, as you can see, and I assure you, Dickon, that I ordered no such thing! Why do I bother having an Espion if you bungle everything? This palace is riddled with rat holes. Tunnels and scratching claws. I detest it. And I’ve learned from Berwick that the cistern went dry and we’ll be hauling water from the river for days to refill it since the rains haven’t started.” He wiped sweat from his face, his mouth twisted into a brooding scowl. “Why am I surrounded by such ineptitude? Is there no man who can be true to his king?”
