The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Seventy-Nine

"What do you make of that then?" said the Chancellor. "A royal carriage. But no royal daughter."

The clerk nodded. "Yes, my lord. I said it wasn't right. The princess wasn't coming from Hoxleigh. There was no way she could arrive here in her own carriage."

The breeze brushed his long robe against his body. "But she's here? You're quite sure of that?"

The clerk found himself looking around, as if he might spot a princess perching on the stone steps or playing hoops around the courtyard. He caught himself, and rubbed the back of his neck so that it didn't get any ideas. "She was very specific. The cart was approaching the citadel, heading down The Avenue towards the square."

"I see no cart."

The clerk resisted the urge to turn around to look for himself. "No, my lord. I mean, yes. That is, it doesn't not appear to be here."

"Find it."

"Find it?" said the clerk, gasping. That thing could be anywhere. The citadel stretched over two hundred yards from eastern tower to west wing. The Avenue, the long road which led to Citadel Square, had any number of twisting streets and hidden walks coming off it. It would take hours to even search a half-dozen of them, with no guarantee that it was even close by. And, without putting too fine a point on it, it was dark and he'd heard there were things going on out in the capital. Things which probably would get in the way of his plans to continue living.

"Is there a problem?"

For one delirious moment, the clerk debated whether he'd survive longer on the streets than telling the Lord Chancellor that he had a problem. The clerk peeked up at the Chancellor, but the great lord's stern face soon had him looking back down at the ground. The streets, definitely. By some considerable margin.

"No problem," said the clerk. "It's just..." He tried lifting his eyes again, and this time was rewarded. "There's someone coming," he said with relief.

A footman came running down the steps, the heels of his shoes clicking on the stone.

"Lord Chancellor," he said, coming to a halt beside them and offering a smart bow. His buttons gleamed and every crease of his livery was slick and freshly starched. The clerk cringed, wishing he had put on a clean shirt that morning. "There is a party upstairs, claiming to have the princess with them."

"Excellent," said the Chancellor. "Where are they now?"

"I bade them wait in the throne room, and came to fetch you directly."

"You left them unattended?"

The clerk hissed between his teeth at the sharp edge to the Chancellor's voice, but the footman did not lose his composure. "No, my lord. I informed the guards of their presence and left the Steward to tend to their needs. I thought him best placed, in the eventually that..." The words trailed away tactfully.

"That it really is the princess," finished the Chancellor.

"Yes, my Lord."

The Chancellor nodded. "Good man."

The footman bowed again and dropped in line behind the Chancellor as he headed back inside. The clerk dawdled for a moment, wondering what to do. He supposed he should go back to the eastern tower and see to his charge. But the footman turned and clicked his fingers as if he were calling a dog to heel and jerked his head towards the Chancellor. The clerk stared for a moment before grasping his meaning, and then started, running forward to try and catch up.

"Thanks," he whispered.

The footman shook his head and touched his finger to his lips. Right, no talking. That was probably for the best as the Chancellor was off at a clip and once again he found himself struggling to keep up. The footman glided along like a ship in full sail, with only a slight parting of the lips giving any indication that he was having trouble with the pace.