Meek - Chapter 80: Pym: Early Results

When Marchioness Pym stepped through the gates and saw the state of the compound, she didn’t allow her polite smile to falter. While the proportions of Lady Brazinka Savradar’s city home remained pleasing, the grounds had fallen into disrepair. The paths were overgrown and the woodwork unpainted. Moss grew on the tile roofs and at least half of the buildings looked abandoned.

Also, there were no servants to greet visitors.

Her brother Ty, on the other hand, hadn’t even started with a polite smile. He raised an arch eyebrow at Pym before sauntering along an unkempt path and saying, “Doubtful.”

“We’ll see,” she told him, even though she suspected he was right.

He meant that they wouldn’t find any clues to their father’s murder here. Still, she couldn’t leave a single avenue unchecked.

The day after the fire, she’d tasked Cousin Ugenia with investigating. Yet she’d been displeased with the spymaster’s lack of progress. Nothing made sense. No political adversary would’ve attacked in such a way. Whomever had engineered his assassination should’ve gained a great deal, considering the risk. But nobody benefitted enough to justify the danger they’d put themself in by turning Rockbridge into an enemy. By turning Pym into an enemy.

So she’d started following even the faintest of trails. Such as this report of ‘stolen treasure’ … that hadn’t actually been stolen. She’d found a letter from this woman, Lady Brazinka of the Office of the Stipend Geld, and after exhausting almost every other avenue of investigation, she’d come to Leotide City.

She’d considered meeting the woman in her office, but decided to surprise her at home instead. Take her off guard. The entire thing was suspicious. A letter, demanding payment for an agreement that had been forgotten for generations? And then–according to Cousin Ugenia–her father’s decision to send this Lady Brazinka on a wild good chase, to teach her a lesson?

Very dubious. Though almost certainly unrelated to the assassination. Still, while Pym agreed with Ty that the chance of her learning anything was doubtful, she refused to give up.

So she met with Lady Brazinka in her modest, comfortable sitting room. Unsurprisingly, the woman was a dull-witted functionary who told her nothing she didn’t know.

“I requested the payment,” Brazinka confirmed, “but your father, Angel praise his memory, explained that it had been stolen. He told me where to look. Sadly, we never did locate it.”

“Pity,” Pym said.

“So I wonder if perhaps you might replace the payment, Marchioness?”

Pym blinked, unable to believe that the cow-eyed woman had audacity to ask her to pay.

“Are you mad?” Ty blurted.

“Oh, no!” Brazinka said, tilting her head. “I’m not angry in the least, but I would be very pleased if you–”

“No,” Pym said, and turned on her heel.

She strode outside, turned the corner–and stopped short before knocking over a servant. A gardener, possibly, though given the state of the garden that struck her as unlikely. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with short hair and–she saw, in the instant before he ducked his head–green eyes.

Green eyes.

He murmured, “Pardon me, mir,” and slunk away.

Pym turned slowly and left the compound, with her brother and her guards and her mages. She didn’t see the gate, though. She didn’t see the street.

She saw a green-eyed, bearded man in rags, standing in a tunnel outside the troll warren.

When Pym returned six hours later, she brought the Leotide City guard. She didn’t need them, but she was trying to play politics now that she’d assumed her father’s title. And sure enough, she’d made some new connections by getting the provincial administration involved.

The city guards fanned out toward the servants’ quarters while she banged on the door of the compound’s primary building. When the chaperone appeared, Pym shoved through the doorway into the sparsely-furnished foyer.

“Oh, Marchioness!” Lady Brazinka said, bustling forward. “You’re back, and making such a noise.”

“I’m here to–”

Brazinka blinked past her, seeing the soldiers in her courtyard. “What on earth?”

“We’re here to arrest your servant,” Pym told her. “And bring him to justice in Rockbridge.”

“M-my servant?”

“The man.”

“What? Now? Here? But whatever for?”

“Treason, murder. How long has he worked for you?”

“No! Treason? He’s–he does odd jobs.”

“How long has he worked for you?”

“No, no, he’d can’t–”

“What’s his name?”

“He–he’s Meek.”

Pym took a steadying breath. “Probably gave you a false name anyway. How long? How long’s he been here?”

“Well, not very–a tenday or two. You’re mistaken, though. He’s not–he’d never … what do you think he did?”

“Assassinated my father.”

“The marquis? In Rockbridge? But he lives here.”

“I met him,” Pym said, ignoring the woman’s idiocy. “I vowed I’d never forget those eyes, and I didn’t. It’s him.”

“No, it can’t be.”

“It is. And if he is gone, I’ll have your head.”

“M-me? G-gone from where?”

“From his room. You wrote a letter to my father. This man killed him. And now he’s here, in your employ. That’s more than suggestive.”

“But … but what is he doing here? You don’t think …” Brazinka swayed slightly, and her chaperone steadied her. “Was I in danger?”

“I don’t care,” Pym said, and returned outside.

Her mages–Fluer and Cristonel–fell into place beside her. She crossed the courtyard, and saw that the soldiers had dragged the man from his room and now held his arms pinned behind him. He looked at Pym, then at Ty, then toward the open door behind her, as if hoping Brazinka would appear to save him.

The open door slammed shut from within.

Pym couldn’t imagine that Brazinka was involved in an assassination plot. Still, she’d investigate. Not yet, though. Plenty of time for that once she dragged the man to Rockbridge and made him spill his secrets.

She eyed him. He kept his gaze down and his shoulders hunched, but she didn’t like that he stood taller than her, so she punched him in the stomach.

He buckled.

“You killed my father,” she said.

“No,” he breathed.

“And you will tell me why.”

Eli hunched in the cage. He was locked in a prison cart again, though this one was smaller than the last. Not much bigger than a coffin. Thick wooden walls, with a small window for light and air and occasional food.

He could’ve run, of course. The moment he’d seen the glint of recognition in Pym’s eyes, he could’ve run. Vale, he probably could’ve killed them all, if he got a drop on the two mages.

But what would’ve happened to Brazinka if Pym decided they were in league together? Or if Leotide City decided Brazinka was responsible for the massacre? What would’ve happened to her plan? The only plan that anyone had to fight the Celestials?

And what would’ve happened to Nanny and the maids?

So against the advice of Lara and Brazinka, he’d decided not to take that risk.

Instead, he’d decided to take a different one.

As the cage jostled around him, he meditated.

Marchioness Pym trotted on her roan beside the prison cart that the Leotide City guards had provided. She didn’t like the silence within. She didn’t like that the man wasn’t speaking–or pleading, or whimpering.

He’d stabbed her father. She didn’t know how he’d pretended death, or how he’d escaped the Keep, but she knew he’d stabbed her father. And she knew that he’d played some part in burning him alive.

She couldn’t even look at a fire anymore, not without thinking of her father’s final, terrible moments.

She eyed the cage. She wanted the man to suffer for what he’d done. She wanted that. She’d insist upon that. But also … the thought made her ill. That sort of premeditated brutality sickened her. She couldn’t be soft, though; she wouldn’t be soft.

Her mother and brother had stepped aside to give her the title, because they knew she would do what was necessary. And she would. Yet in the privacy of her own mind, she could admit that the thought made her sick. She just wanted the man to admit what they both knew. To spare himself–and her–all the ugliness. In the end, he’d talk. That was inevitable. Why insist on bloodshed and horror?

She sighed and clicked for her mount to trot ahead to join Ty.

At least it would be over soon.

Then she could finally lay her father to rest, and focus on what mattered most. Honoring his legacy. Ensuring that Rockbridge became the acknowledged power in Leotide Province. Protecting her people from rivals … and from angelbrood.

Her selenologists expected an outbreak soon. And while they were often wrong, it was her duty to be prepared.

After too many days on the road–and a long delay when two of the cart’s wheels cracked for no reason–Pym crossed into Rockbridge at the head of her small caravan. She took a deep, cleansing breath. She knew the scent of this chill mountain air and the shape of that horizon. The familiar sights and sounds rooted her and relaxed her.

“Me too,” Ty said.

“It’s home,” she said.

“If you’d like …” He paused, which was unlike him. “If you want, I’ll handle the interrogation.”

“No.”

He knew she did want that; of course he knew. The two of them had always known each other’s minds. Which meant that Ty also must’ve known that she wouldn’t delegate it to him. She couldn’t. Overseeing brutality would cut him deeper than it cut her. For all of his playacting, he was the more sensitive of them.

They rode together for a time, then he said, “We can’t afford a wounded Marchioness. Especially now, with the other nobles testing your strength. And with the Three Moons due. Better for this to weaken me than for it to weaken you.”

She didn’t answer. Because if she spoke, she might choke up. Ever since they’d been children, Ty had too-often acted supercilious, sarcastic, unserious. Except when it mattered most. When it mattered most, he’d never failed her.

The ride through the city that evening took longer than she liked. She needed to slow to smile and wave at the people lining the street, welcoming her home. She knew–because her father had told her–how important that was, but she longed to fall into bed.

Instead, she smiled. She waved. She kept her spine straight and rode through the outer gates of the Keep.

“What of the prisoner, Marchioness?” the captain of her guard asked, as they entered the bailey through the inner gate.

“Put him in a cell. In the Keep itself. And call for Treli Trestan.”

“Yesmir,” the captain said.

She handed her reins to the stablegirl, strode inside toward her chambers … then spent two hours with her chancellor, poring over paperwork, before finally allowing herself to sleep.

The next morning, she joined Ty for breakfast on her balcony, as was their custom when the weather permitted. She looked over the city–her city–while they worried at the grain storage issue. Until, to her surprise, Cousin Ugenia joined them.

The older woman acted as fluttery as always, until the servants departed. Then she dropped the act and said, “I accompanied Treli to the first interrogation with the pris—”

“Glad to hear that,” Ty drawled, because he enjoyed interrupting Ugenia. “Nice that you’re doing your job now, after you failed to find him. Did he say who hired him?”

“I suppose it’s too early to expect results?” Pym asked.

“Treli is dead,” Ugenia said.