need to stop that, for starters.' Winterburne smiled at Rampton, as he looked back at him across the stable partition, puzzled. 'My name is Richard, remember?'
Rampton pulled a face. 'I pray that by the time we reach the hills I don't have to think about it.' He finished readying the tack and patted his own mount on the cheek. 'I will try harder...Richard,' he said.
'Better,' Winterburne said. 'You're not entirely comfortable being around me, are you?'
'In truth, not yet, My Lord.' Rampton still looked at his task in hand, not raising his eyes, and then fell silent.
'I won't bite, you know.'
'I know.'
'So,' Winterburne said, 'I assume that Martell has given you detailed chapter and verse about keeping your eye on me throughout the length of this trip.'
Rampton raised his eyes at last and looked over at him. 'What makes you say that, Richard?'
Winterburne smiled. 'Well remembered,' he said, and then continued, 'because, he's a devious bastard, John, and I can't imagine him allowing one of his senior officers to leave on a secret mission with his greatest rival without pandering to his arrogance and thinking that he can still influence things.'
Rampton ignored the comment and continued adjusting his kit as it hung around his horse's rump.
'I'm right though, aren't I?' Winterburne asked.
Rampton nodded. 'It's true what he says, though.'
'And what's that?'
'You both really do hate each other with a passion.'
'We do,' Winterburne looked across the partition at Rampton, 'but that's the right and proper thing. It's what we do. Although, I did miss him when I was away.'
'Honestly?'
'Well, sort of.' Winterburne laughed. 'You know, like in the same way that you miss a headache after it's gone.'
Rampton joined in the laughter. 'I know what you mean.'
The stable door creaked as it opened slowly, and Winterburne turned to see a cloaked figure enter. As the man reached the booths in which they were working he lifted his hood.
'Good morning, gentlemen,' Frederick said.
Rampton bowed.
Frederick waved his hand, 'Don't worry about all that formal stuff, Lieutenant,' he said. 'you're not in the Palace, now.' He looked over at Winterburne. 'How goes the preparations?'
'Almost ready, I think, Sire.' Winterburne looked around him, tapping his saddle bags. 'Yes, I think so.'
'Splendid.' Frederick walked further into the stable and patted Winterburne's horse. 'I almost expected to see a farewell party hanging around, you know, to see you off and all that.'
'No, Sire, we said our goodbyes this morning.'
'I see.'
'With respect, Sire,' Winterburne said, 'you did not need to come. We do not need words of encouragement. We know the plan, and what is expected of us.'
'Of course you do,' Frederick replied, 'but you might want to listen to this, the both of you. Hopefully, you won't need this information, but you never know, it might save your lives.'
Winterburne and the Lieutenant both focussed on what Frederick was going to say next.
'As you would expect,' Frederick said, 'I have contacts in the Commonwealth, that much is no secret, I'm sure. But, until now, none except a few knew the names of any of them. Even most of them do not know the names of the others. For protection of the web, you understand.'
Winterburne nodded.
'There is one man, though, that is, for want of another word, the keystone of the whole construction. He acts for me in the Commonwealth and has my complete trust. I cannot think for one moment that you will need him, but if things do go wrong...well, you never know.'
'I understand, Sire,' Winterburne exchanged glances with Rampton.
'He is based in White Haven City, close to the Queen's ministries where he can keep a track of the major decisions coming out of the capital. But, even I cannot tell you where in the city his base is. It changes regularly. His name is Colen Marek.'
Winterburne was curious now. 'How would we recognise this man?'
Frederick smiled, and said, 'In many ways Marek is a normal man. There is nothing that stands out about him, particularly, and that is the way that he likes it. But, he has a code name, a personal joke between the two of us. I call him "The Black Dove". Don't ask how it came about, it's a long story, and we don't have time now. Maybe on another occasion, when you get back.' He looked across at the two men.
'That's an interesting name, Sire.' Winterburne frowned. 'I've never heard of such a bird. Black doves don't exist, do they?'
'Precisely,' Frederick said, 'very good,' he added, winking at Winterburne.
'Oh, I see,' he said.
'If you need him, and you are ever near White Haven, though Lord alone knows why you might be, then ask for Marek. He likes an ale or two, so I'm sure he must use some of the local hostelries in and around the city. Other than that, I think you're on your own, I'm afraid.'
Winterburne nodded. 'If that is all, Sire. I think we should be leaving.'
Frederick stepped across to Winterburne and shook his hand. 'Good luck, Thomas.' He repeated the action with Rampton. 'Good luck, John,' he said.
Winterburne took the reins of his horse and led it from its stable across the barn and out into the sunlight. He slipped his foot into the stirrup and clambered up onto his ride, as Rampton followed close behind.
Winterburne led the way, steering his mount down the path that led from the Garrison stables to the East Road, both men silent as they made they way, neither looking back towards where, he felt sure, the Emperor would be watching them leave. As they drew level with the Garrison Headquarters building, he looked up towards the first floor, a habit that he had come to develop on passing. The dark figure of Martell stood at the window to his office, looking down at the road and the two men as they passed by below.
'Does the Commander know where we are going?' he asked.
Rampton followed Winterburne's gaze up to the office. 'No,' he replied. 'As far as he is concerned I've just been seconded for a mission.'
'I bet he hates that. The not knowing, I mean.'
'He knows it's important,' Rampton said. 'But he has no idea what it is.'
As Winterburne watched, Martell stood to attention and saluted.
Winterburne looked at Rampton and said, 'I didn't expect that.'
Moments later, when he looked back towards the window, the man had gone.
They turned left into East Street, Winterburne watching the people walking towards them down the road, fresh from entering the city.
'It's the same every day,' he said. 'People follow the same routines, the same patterns of behaviour. I expect most of these people are heading for the market.'
'They have no idea what's going on, do they?'
Winterburne shook his head. 'Most people don't care either. As long as they're not in front of their own nose then the problems of other people might as well not exist.
'I suppose that's true,' Rampton replied. 'They never seem to look up from their own lives, or think about the bigger picture.'
'And they won't. Not until it touches them,' Winterburne said. 'They carry on, leaving the important decisions to other people and hoping that they don't have to take responsibility for themselves.'
'I suppose I was like that until yesterday,' Rampton said, 'before the Emperor summoned me to his office. I just followed my daily routine. The same thing, day in, day out; the polishing, the cleaning, the marching.'
'And that reminds me.' Winterburne said, laughing. 'What is it with you people and the polishing? Why do you think it makes you better soldiers?'
'It's what we do,' Rampton replied. 'We're just taking care of our kit.'
'No, you're not,' Winterburne said. 'There's keeping something clean, and then there's what you do. It's just not normal.'
Rampton chuckled. 'It's not, is it? Not when you really think about it. Still I suppose I won't need to worry about it where we're going.'
'I wouldn't
think so.' Winterburne smiled.
He was still smiling about the thought of all the pointless polishing as the two men passed through the East Gate, without a word between them, and left the city for the plains beyond.
25
The Seventh Day of Hi-summer,
Imperial Year 2332
Winterburne had been closely watching the dark foreboding shapes of the Brunswick Hills grow steadily larger on the horizon for a couple of days now, and as the morning pushed on towards midday they loomed above him and Rampton, tall and imposing. They were certainly higher than he had imagined them to be, and somehow, the knowledge that the target of their mission could be hiding somewhere within them made them feel even more ominous than they might otherwise have been. A heavy grey mist hung above the peaks as the legendary drizzle cloud that often dumped its rain for many days at a time seemed to be beckoning them onwards, taunting them.
'We should reach the foothills by late this afternoon,' he said.
Rampton looked up, following Winterburne's gaze to the horizon.
'If we can find somewhere up there to stake the horses, and some larger rocks to offer shelter before the light fails, then this would have been a good day's travel.'
Winterburne glanced down at his water-skins, tied around the pommel of his saddle. They were full, he knew, so they should be good for a few days, at least.
'I'm glad that we never stopped long in Westleigh,' he said. 'The comfort of a feather bed would have been too much of a distraction and I might not have wanted to leave.'
'Neither would I,' Rampton said, 'but instead of a feather bed, you'll need to make do with a heather bed.' He grinned.
'That's a poor joke, my friend.'
'It's the