Taréz headed up to his father’s chambers, report in hand. He paused, eyebrows up a shade, when he discovered Gardric was there— Taréz would have expected him to have made the report the day before. “...evidence is a bit sketchy,” the king was saying.
“Of course, Sire. It would have been counter-productive to use torture techniques.” The prince stifled a chuckle as he entered the room. Sure— no sense in delaying the project by tying up the laborers. He stepped sideways to stand beside the door, choosing to just listen, rather than interrupt by making his presence known to Gardric.
“Indeed. Do you have a plan formulated?” asked the King.
“Quite simple, Sire. Replace all light Vle with dark counterparts.”
“Simple?! It would require finding artisans with skills matching those of the light Vle. You know we tend to work with different materials.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Do you have another plan in mind? Do you think there is a way to find light artisans whom we can trust?”
“That... would be difficult, Sire.” A surprisingly indirect response since all knew Gardic really meant a flat ‘no.’
“Well, thank you for this report. If I think I need you to take any action, I’ll let you know. Dismissed.”
“Very well, Sire.” He bowed, backed a few steps, and then turned to leave the room. “Your Highness! I was unaware of your presence.”
“Think nothing of it, but do give the spymaster my regards. You flatter his ability to train me.”
“Hmph! Lirok, flattered? Not in our lifetimes. By your leave?”
“Of course.”
Once he was gone, Fylen observed, “Determined, isn’t he? It’s a good thing his family isn’t on the throne. He’d have the whole light race eradicated in a dozen years.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. I know he wishes I’d order him to do it.”
“Maybe we need to start a new dynasty in command of the Army.”
“But he’s too good to lose. Do you know of anyone worthy?” Lajot asked Taréz.
“No.”
“Neither do I. Well, I assume you now have your report to present.”
“I do,” Taréz replied, handing over the parchment he carried. “May I ask what Gardric had to say?”
“Read for yourself.”
So Taréz did. It reported a number of surprising things, mostly involving the (alleged) association of some of the masons and carpenters with (alleged) radical groups of the east. Gardric had put together an elaborate picture of a plot to make a hole in the wall, enabling a strike force to move in, a force possibly composed of the light Vle masons and carpenters themselves. It depended upon certain of the (alleged) associates being in the right place at the right time; and despite their own testimony, Gardric had placed them just where their ‘skills’ were needed.
Interestingly, Taréz had heard some of the same light Vle’ names in association with labor and civil groups of the east, only he did not consider these a danger. There were indeed some coincidences in location or task at the time of the accident, but not nearly as many as Gardric alleged. However, he could not conclude that it was a conspiracy of sabotage, for he had not found enough evidence.
“You don’t seem to have made up your mind here,” Lajot observed.
“No, Father. What’s there is tantalizing, but every time I followed up a lead, it dried up and led nowhere. So, as much as I’d like to say there was no conspiracy, I can’t conclude there wasn’t one.”
“You know this doesn’t look good.”
“Father?”
“Well, I have a ranting report by Gardric that advises getting rid of every light Vle on the project, and your report can’t refute it. What can I do now? It would be much easier if you had given me a negative report.”
“I know, Father. I’m sorry.”
“No fault of yours. Thank you for your work.”
“Of course, Father.”
Later that same day, Taréz was in the Library, reading biographies of previous Gardrics. Were they all so paranoid? Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise from somewhere in the palace, and the room shook. A creak and a long screech followed from next door. His father’s voice bellowed a bone-chilling yell, and Taréz heard what could only be the chandelier landing on the table.
All this in the time it took for him to leap to the door the Library shared with the music chamber. His father, unhurt, stood at the far end, a pile of shattered crystal between them. Taréz took a breath, and calmed his nerves, even as his father did the opposite: The frozen face heated and contorted in rage.
“Yis!!” The monarch turned and marched outside, and Taréz prayed a little prayer for any innocent in the large Vle’s path. Then, he turned back and went through the library to follow his father, whose yelling for the Chamberlain could be heard throughout the palace. “Yis!!”
The chamberlain met them near the connection with the addition, embarrassment coloring his face. “Yes, Sire!”
“Report!”
“A miscalculation, Sire. We did not prepare adequately for the weight of the stone, and the ground shifted.” He paused. “You seem shaken, Sire. Is everything okay inside?”
“No,” Lajot answered tersely. “The Library chandelier just missed my head a moment after your ‘accident.’”
Now the red faded to leave the pale-faced Vle whiter than parchment.
“Sire! Are you hurt? This is more serious than—”
“No, I’m fine,” the King growled. “Still, it seems odd.”
Yis pursed his lips. “The plaster is quite old in the Library, Sire, probably the oldest in the building. It is likely to be loose.”
“Then why wasn’t it secured earlier?! Make sure this gets fixed as soon as possible, and I do not want another accident!”
“Of course, Sire!”
The King stormed away to his chamber. Taréz gave a look of concern for his friend and turned to go back to the library. Along the way, he met the Chief, who was accompanied by two of his men. They were dragging a light Vle by the arms, loudly complaining about mistreatment. “Sire!” said Gardric, and all came to smart attention.
“Gardric! What is the meaning of this?”
“This spy was discovered near my office. It is my belief that he was attempting to kill me.”
“Kill you?! Who in his right mind would try to kill you?”
“Sire, as you might imagine, I have many enemies among the light Vle.”
“You certainly haven’t made any friends among them. What evidence do you have that he is a spy, not a simple artisan?”
“He was carrying this, Sire.” Gardric held up a tool of some sort, a simple metal shaft with a wooden handle, and a pointed end. Taréz had only a foggy notion of what its purpose was. Something for leather?
“It’s just a leather awl!” complained the prisoner. “I’m the cobbler
whom the chamberlain commissioned to make the relief at the end of the second floor conference room! Please! Just ask him!”
“You can bet we will,” said Gardric. “Now, let’s go.”
“Hang on,” said the Prince. “What were you doing near his office?”
“I got lost—”
Gardric snorted. “Likely story. Your Highness, you cannot expect to get an honest answer—”
“Let him speak, Gardric!”
“Thank you, Your Highness! I was sent in to find His Majesty the King, or find a servant to find him. I simply got lost and was trying to find my way back—”
“See?” said the Chief. “I cannot accept that story.”
Taréz sighed. “Remand the suspect to my custody.”
“Yes, Your Highness. May I inquire as to what you intend.” The two guards released the Vle, who nervously stepped to away from them, gingerly attaching himself to the prince without violating the royal personal space.
“No. But if he leaves my side, I’ll give the order to have him killed on sight.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Dismissed.” To the artisan, he said, “Come. And don’t you dare relax yet.”
They went and found Yis again, surveying the damage. Nothing had been finished off yet, but any work they had to redo was expensive. “Yis.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Do you vouch for this Vle?”
“I do,” came the reply without hesitation.
“Very well. What was His Majesty needed for?”
“We were wondering if he preferred the Varmacian leather or the Baldian leather.”
“Baldian,” replied Taréz. “If he complains tell him it was my decision. And next time you send someone to find and ask something of my father, send someone who knows their way around.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Now, let’s allow His Majesty some peace today, shall we?” With that, he turned and walked away, not even listening to whatever Yis said in reply.
The Chief rushed into the royal chamber one afternoon of the next week, bowed quickly, and came to attention. “Sire!”
“Yes, Gardric,” replied the King, eyeing him with a little skepticism. Taréz wondered what little crisis was going on this time.
But it seemed more than a little crisis. “I just received word by pigeon that of our eastern mountain patrols have captured a Varmacian scouting troop on our side of the border!”
“What?! That’s impossible— they know that border very well! Your ancestors have taught them for centuries!”
“I know, Sire. It must mean they’re testing our response.”
“Testing our response... That would mean war plans are in the making.”
“That was my conclusion, Sire.”
“The ambassador made no threat of any sort.”
“Of course not, not if he truly wanted to test us.”
“Still, I should think he would have indicated some source of discontent.”
“Why should the light Vle need discontent as an excuse?”
Taréz couldn’t stay out of the conversation any longer. “Oh, be reasonable, Gardric! If they wanted war, they’d have something as an incentive, or reason, and that would prompt annoyance on the part of the ambassador!” He looked to his father to ask the necessary question.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake on the part of your scouts?”
Gardric stiffened. “Sire! My men are without fault!”
“But then, they didn’t have to arrest the scouts. We’re at peace.”
“Tsk, tsk, Taréz. What’s the first rule of border protection?”
“A nation’s reaction to border infractions reflect its willingness for war,” the prince recited. “So, enemies will always test a nation’s resolve in that manner. Said nation can do much to prevent a war it actually doesn’t want by reacting quickly and decisively to any border activity.’ But by the same token, since ‘any action taken can result in a war,’ we may have to back up that appearance of willingness thus created.”
“Exactly,“ replied Gardric, beaming. Taréz knew it was meant as praise, but he simply felt his argument had fallen on deaf ears.
The King clearned his throat. “Very well. I shall draft a letter to the ambassador myself. Have the chamberlain bring a pigeon.”
“Yes, Sire.” Gardric turned sharply and left the room.
“Gardric would never lie to me, Taréz.”
“His honor forbids it.”
“But I can’t believe the Varmacians would make a mistake like that. Now, I have to write to the ambassador and ask for his side of the story.”
“I don’t envy you, Father.”
“One of the hardest things to do is complain to a state official who is also your friend.”
Outside, light and dark Vle continued their work on the South Hall.
