The duke and the count and Ghreni spent an hour having a high tea on Weatherfair’s eastern outside gallery, the one with a spectacular view of the city, talking about utterly inconsequential things. Ghreni could see this took some effort on the part of the count, because he clearly thought Ghreni had kidnapped, and intended to torture, his son. Then the three went into the duke’s private office to be alone while they talked about consequential things not relating to Ghreni kidnapping and intending to torture the count’s son, and that took another hour or so.
Then the duke signaled it was time to do the apology thing. Ghreni nodded, stood up, positioned himself between the count in his chair and the duke behind his desk. He took a deep breath that seemed to hint at the difficulty he was going to have saying the words that would follow. He then reached into his right interior jacket pocket, where he’d secreted a small bolt thrower, and shot the count with it, stunning him into unconsciousness.
“Ghreni, what the hell are you do—” the duke began, and then stopped because one of his lungs had a hole in it, put there by the small pistol that Ghreni had produced from his left interior jacket pocket and fired at him, after dropping the bolt thrower to the floor to free his hands for the new weapon. The duke barely had time to look at the entry wound and then back up at Ghreni in confusion before he died from the bullet Ghreni shot into his face. The bullet entered just below the duke’s right eye and then scored through his brain, settling, its velocity spent, into the rear interior of the duke’s skull.
Ghreni very quickly pulled out a handkerchief, rubbed his prints off the pistol, and placed it into the hand of the unconscious count. He made sure to get the count’s prints on the grip and trigger. Then he picked up the bolt thrower, rubbed it off as well, and got the duke’s prints on it, then let it drop to the floor where it naturally would have. He opened the drawer on the duke’s desk where it would be logical for the noble to have placed a bolt thrower for personal protection.
Then Ghreni ran for the door of the office and opened it just as the duke’s staff and security people, having heard the shots, reached the other side of it.
“They shot each other!” is all Ghreni said before the staff and security people barreled through the entrance. Ghreni collapsed by the door, feigning shock, and faked hyperventilating. It didn’t matter; no one was paying attention to him because there was the far more serious issue of a dead duke in the room.
Which was fine with Ghreni. He didn’t want anyone paying attention to him. He wanted all their attention on the duke and the count. He wanted everyone in the room to see the obvious: The count had pulled a small pistol, the duke had pulled the bolt thrower set to stun, and then someone shot first and everything went to hell, and now one was dead and the other was out like a light. The more others saw that—and by now the room was jammed with staff—the more that their eyes would allow their brains to believe the story Ghreni was going to tell.
“The duke had called me to apologize to the count,” Ghreni said to Sir Ontain Mount, some time later. The imperial bureaucrat had gotten involved because the assassination of a sitting duke by a sitting count was an imperial problem, even if it was the Duke of End, whom Sir Ontain had previously been content to let hang if the rebels ever got hold of him. The two of them were alone in the hospital morgue, with the body of the duke laid out on a slab before them.
“This would have been for kidnapping his son,” Mount said.
“Allegedly kidnapping,” Ghreni said. “And I did apologize, although not for kidnapping Marce Claremont, which I did not do. I apologized instead for having a heated conversation with the count’s son, from which this misunderstanding arose.”
“How did the count take it?”
Ghreni motioned to the mortuary slab. “He was not convinced.”
“Why didn’t the count shoot you, Lord Ghreni?”
“Sir?”
“You are the one he alleges kidnapped his son. You are the more logical target for his rage. And you were literally right in his sights.”
“The count thought I did it at the behest of the duke. At least that’s what he said before the shooting started.”
“And he thought that why?”
“Because the duke had sent me to see the count a few days earlier to try to convince the count to illegally divert imperial funds to him, in order to pay for weapons pirates had stolen and were ransoming. The count said no—as he should have—so naturally the count assumed the duke also assigned me to this alleged kidnapping to apply pressure.”
“But you did speak to the young Claremont on the duke’s account.”
“Yes.” Ghreni noted Mount’s apparent acceptance of his spin on the kidnapping, but obviously said nothing about it. “The duke was aware I didn’t approve of his plan to ‘borrow’ the funds, but I still asked because he was my duke.”
“Still odd he wouldn’t try for you as well.”
“Perhaps he planned to. But then there was the duke’s bolt thrower. I don’t think he was expecting the duke to have that.”
“No,” Mount agreed. “The head of the duke’s security detail was surprised by it, too. Said to me the duke didn’t generally like or carry weapons. He left that to his bodyguards.”
“The duke was probably being prudent. He knew the count was upset with him.”
“Yes, but where did he get the bolt thrower? His security people said they’d never seen it before.”
Ghreni allowed himself to look uncomfortable.
“Yes, Lord Ghreni?” Mount pressed.
“It’s mine and I lent it to him,” Ghreni said. “I bought it a while ago when things started getting bad with the rebellion.”
“You have your own security people.”
“I don’t have them with me all the time. The duke was aware I had it—I never carried it around him, for obvious reasons—so he asked me to bring it for the meeting. For his own safety.”
“He could have just had his security attend the meeting. Or have his people frisk the count when he arrived.”
“I think he thought either would just enrage the count more. The meeting was supposed to repair the wound between them. That’s why he chose to have the meeting at Weatherfair. A private residence rather than the public office. A friendly meeting, not a formal one.”
Mount looked back at the slab. “It appears the duke miscalculated.”
“What are you going to do about the Count of Claremont?” Ghreni asked.
“For now he’s upstairs in a private room with six of my marines around him. He’s still out of it. I don’t imagine when he wakes up he’ll tell me the same story you just did, will he?”
“I couldn’t say,” Ghreni said. “I know he’s still angry with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to suggest I was involved in some way. Other than lending the duke my bolt thrower, I mean. He wouldn’t know about that. Is there a recording from the office?”
Mount shook his head. “Security tells me the duke didn’t have any of that at Weatherfair. He called it his ‘place of refuge,’ whatever that means.”
Ghreni nodded, as if he didn’t know Weatherfair had no real security measures. “The next duke will know better,” he said.
“Whoever that is.” Mount motioned to the slab. “This one has no heirs and no close family, and the duke’s prenup with the duchess specifies she cannot inherit. Apparently there were trust issues there.”
“Isn’t there a protocol? As the emperox’s representative you’d have to approve whomever claimed the title, yes?”
“In the absence of a direct heir I’d be the one to appoint an acting duke, yes. My recommendation would still have to be approved by the emperox, of course. My first inclination would simply be to pass it along to the next-highest-ranking noble. Which in this case would be the Count of Claremont.”
“That wouldn’t be the best idea under the circumstances,” Ghreni said.
“No, it would not. There are a few other counts and barons who I would have found acceptable but some of them have fled the planet, and the others are either currently hiding or have allied themselves with the rebels, which makes them untenable. For now, anyway.”
“What if the rebel leader presents herself? Livy Onjsten, their general.”
Mount snorted. “I’m not going to appoint her just because the duke died and now she doesn’t have to overthrow him. They are still in rebellion. You don’t win a rebellion by default.”