from the focus of the Office of the Chamberlain.'
'The Guard?'
'Yes, Your Highness.'
'Why would you consider that the Guard would benefit from reporting directly to you?'
'Well,' Courtenay said, 'Your Highness has been so busy these last months, and I noticed that you spend quite some time on matters of security. I thought perhaps you might find that it released some valuable time for other work.'
Frederick was surprised at the request, and in truth he had not expected it. He felt a genuine affection for the Guard. Their loyalty to him as Emperor came primarily from the fact that their Commander reported directly to him and they regarded themselves as his men. Still, it was always possible for cultures to change with time. 'That may prove to be problematic in some ways, Lord Courtenay.' He tapped his fingers on the desk.
'You perceive issues, Your Highness?'
'Yes, I do. It is most unlikely that Martell will approve of such a change.' Frederick was not totally against the idea himself, but it occurred to him that it may be controversial within the ranks. 'Although of course, he will ultimately do as he is ordered.'
'Then perhaps I might work with the Commander to overcome any objections, Sire.' Courtenay looked across at Frederick and smiled.
Frederick noted the look on the man’s face and wondered if he could approach the problem from another direction. If he was to grant this request then he intended that the man should work a little for the reward. A trade for a trade, perhaps. 'Do you miss my father, Lord Courtenay?' he asked.
The Lord Chamberlain seemed to be caught off guard by the question, and fidgeted in his chair as he sat under the withering gaze of the Emperor. Eventually, he said, 'I do, Your Highness, yes.'
'In what way?' Frederick watched Courtenay’s face, trying to detect any indication that might help him glean further information to support whatever decision he chose to make.
Frederick was aware of the reputation he had developed of being a difficult man to please, but in truth he had always felt it was his duty to test people and to help them make the most of the opportunities they had been given. After all, his father had always said that strong people make a strong Empire.
'Sire? I'm not sure I understand.'
'In what way do you miss him, My Lord?'
Courtenay stared back at Frederick, and then said, 'I spent a lot of time with him towards the end, Sire. His illness lasted for many months, and we had many discussions during that time. In the end, as you well know, he had become frail and weak, but there was no taking away the strength and courage he displayed whilst he was well. Your father was a was a good man. I do miss him.'
Frederick appreciated that the Chamberlain had opened up to him to some degree but he had, after all, evaded the question, intentionally or otherwise. 'But in what way do you miss him?'
An awkward silence unfolded between the two men as Frederick waited for the answer.
'I walk a lonely path, Your Highness. I have no time for friends, or for family, and there is certainly no time for frivolity. My work is my life, and Your Highness and your family is my family. Although, I would say that your father was a great Emperor, most of all I would like to think that he thought of me as a great friend.'
Frederick thought he detected a hint of sadness in Courtenay’s face, but if it had been there, it did not remain so for long.
'I certainly thought of him as mine,' Courtenay added, wistfully. 'His illness was long and cruel for such as he. I watched him fade from a strong and vigorous man to a weak and feeble shadow of himself, until it became too much and he passed from this world. The apothecaries never did fully understand from what ailment he suffered, but at least they seemed able to ease his suffering at the end.'
Frederick remembered those days. They were hard, but in some ways he considered himself lucky that he was blessed with the time to realise what was to come, and to develop a semblance of the strength he would need when he, himself, was finally crowned. 'My Lord Courtenay, what makes you think that he would have handed control of the Imperial Guard to you?'
'He trusted me, Sire.' Courtenay smiled. 'He trusted me with his very life, and I liked him to the end. I liked him because of the faith he placed in me.'
Frederick leaned across the desk, and pondered the situation. It was a good answer, all in all. Perhaps it was a fair trade when all was said and done. 'Very well,' he said, after a moment’s consideration. 'Ask Master de Malyns to draft the decree and I will sign it. Think on the matter, and come back to me in a few days with a plan of how you expect to make this work. In particular, I want to know how you will handle the Commander.' He reached across the desk and took his pen from the inkwell. 'Let me know of any objections that you encounter and we shall see what needs to be done to circumvent them.'
Frederick noticed the smile that had spread across Courtenay's face. It was as if a child with a new toy stood before him, and he had never seen the like of it before in the man. 'Is there anything else?'
'No, Sire,' Courtenay said, springing up from his chair. He bowed a shallow bow in Frederick's direction and spun around, scooting out of the office.
For a moment, it crossed Frederick's mind that it was strange that the discussion with the man had been so short. It was usual for some meetings with the Lord Chamberlain to last for several hours, should the business of the day need it. He frowned, then shook his head, thinking no more of it as he returned to his writing.
16
The Twenty-Sixth Day of New Year,
Imperial Year 2332
The week was passing slowly and despite their best efforts, no new information of note had been uncovered by the men of the Watch. Winterburne sat in his chair, tapping the tip of his knife in a regular beat on the surface of his desk.
Outside his office window, night had fallen and the crowds of people had mostly gone back to their homes. The door to his office stood open and across the corridor he could see light leaking beneath the door of the Common Room. Momentarily, the passageway darkened as someone in the room moved in front of the source of light. His curiosity now aroused, he stood, striding across the room and at the same time sliding his knife into its sheath.
As he reached the other side of the hallway, he pushed open the door. Cromwell was sitting at the large farmhouse table and he was slicing a slab of bread from a loaf to go with the cheese that already lay on his pewter plate. A similar grey metal mug was placed next to it together with a glass jug, full of liquid. Cromwell looked up from his cutting.
'Ah, Milo,' Winterburne said, pointing at the Lieutenant, 'I need to do some thinking so I'm going out on patrol.'
'I would have thought that you would be off home by now, Sir.' Cromwell placed the knife down on the tabletop.
'Not yet.' Winterburne shook his head and tapped his finger on the side of his head. 'Too much bouncing around in here. You didn't have anything planned did you?'
'Well, actually,' Cromwell said, 'I did plan on seeing my fiancée and then—'
'Splendid!' Winterburne interrupted. 'Be quick with that cheese and we'll go as soon as you've finished.'
Cromwell's head sagged to his chest and he pushed the plate away from him. 'It's alright, Sir,' he said, 'I've sort of lost my appetite all of a sudden.'
'So, come on then. Let's not dawdle.'
Cromwell rose from the bench and pushed it away behind him with his legs. He collected his jacket from the hook on the back of the door and the pair made their way into the corridor, down to the front doors. 'Where did you want to go, Captain?'
Winterburne pushed his way through the main doors and stepped out onto the porch, looking left and right. After a moment's thought, he pointed down West Street. 'That way,' he said, and they turned left, in the direction of the harbour. At this time of the evening it would be mostly empty. 'In any event,' he added, 'I don't need an excuse to visit the harbour.
As they set off Cromwell looked over at him. 'What's on your mind, Sir?' he asked.
Win
terburne continued to stare in front of him. Thoughts tumbled around inside his head, still trying to sort themselves into some kind of order. 'What I'm struggling with,' he said, 'is why anyone would kill this girl.' When he found himself in this frame of mind all he needed was to bounce thoughts of of someone, and over the time he had known Cromwell, the man had turned out to be the ideal foil.
'It could have been a robbery, Sir?'
Winterburne remained silent, allowing the idea to mature in his mind. 'That's not likely,' he answered. 'Well, not unless assassins are suddenly changing their main sources of income. No, I've always thought that improbable. In any event, from what we know about the Lovell girl, she was hardly worth robbing, was she?'
'A contract, then?'
'Why on earth would someone put out a contract on a serving wench?' Winterburne shook his head. 'How could someone of her status possibly collect any enemies that would want her dead so much that they would pay for it. Even the Arch Chancellor seemed surprised. It was as if he was shocked that one of his members might have stooped so low.'
'It strikes me, Sir, that these people can't have any scruples or else they would be in a different line of work entirely.'
Winterburne frowned. 'You know,' he said, 'as much as I don't like them, it does seems a bit far fetched that there was a contract on the table for her.'
'Maybe,' Cromwell said, 'she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
'What on earth does that mean?' Winterburne knew that Cromwell was just throwing out ideas and had probably not even thought about the deeper implications of what he had suggested. At the very least, though, it was worth probing further.
'Well, maybe she was somewhere she shouldn't have been?'
Winterburne stopped. He looked at Cromwell, wagging his finger at him. 'You know, that's the most interesting idea of the lot,' he said. 'But she lived in the North Quarter, why would that be the wrong place?'
'Well, we know she worked at the Palace, Sir. Maybe she was followed,' Cromwell paused, and then his face brightened, 'or maybe she was chased?'
'From where? The Palace?' Winterburne was not convinced. 'The only thing going on at the Palace that night was the Governors council.' Winterburne looked at Cromwell, his eyes widening. 'Hmm,' he said. The thoughts were starting to flow through his mind, now. 'Are we really saying, Milo, that she heard a Governor speak of something that meant, ultimately, she had to die?' Winterburne frowned as he thought about what he had just said.
'It was just a thought, Sir.'
'Something still doesn't quite add up with that,' Winterburne said. 'But nonetheless we should get statements from them all tomorrow.'
'Yes, Sir,' Cromwell replied, 'I'll get on it first thing in the morning.'
They continued walking but it seemed that the ideas had dried up for no more came. An awkward silence developed between the two of them and Winterburne looked over at his Lieutenant, seeing that he was peering up ahead, into the darkness.
'Don't make it too obvious, Sir,' Cromwell said, 'but have you noticed that man over there?'
A figure moved about in the shadows, opposite the market, and now that Winterburne's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness he was able to pick him out without too much difficulty. The man wore a dark cloak and as they both watched him he slid into one of the alleyways between the buildings that ran north.
'I don't believe it.' Winterburne sighed. 'It's not enough that we have to put up with a Guild of the perishers, but then we find one of them skulking about as plain as as you like.'
'You don't think that could be our man do you, Sir?'
'I don't know, but I think we should try to find out.' Winterburne thought quickly. 'You go around the docks and head north and try to cut him off. I'll follow him through the alleys.'
'Yes, Sir,' Cromwell replied, trotting