The man straightened just the tiniest bit.
“What’s the design? Looks like one of the newer fashions out of Parna.”
It was just an educated guess, since everything seemed to come from Parna these days. But the messenger regarded him with new consideration. “That’s right.”
Flick smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Taylon of Forge.”
“Robert,” said the messenger. No city, no house. Still being careful.
The door opened, and Flick saw Kyra come in and sit at a back table. He averted his eyes and launched into an elaborate story about getting cheated by a trader over a fake silver brooch. Robert’s lips curled slightly as the story progressed—the messenger didn’t have a high opinion of Flick’s eye for goods—but Flick knew he had him. Robert was listening intently, and he’d forgotten all about his earlier attempts to stay aloof.
Flick patted Robert on the shoulder. “I’ll wager someone like you wouldn’t be fooled by such a simple trick.” The pat was a little rougher than it needed to be, and Robert scowled at Flick’s drunken clumsiness. As the messenger pulled away, Flick undid the clasp on Robert’s bag, looking out the window as he did so. “You’ve far to travel today?”
Robert followed Flick’s gaze. They always did, if he led confidently. “Not too far,” the messenger said, oblivious to the fact that Flick had just lifted a piece of parchment from his purse.
Flick tucked the parchment up his sleeve and continued to chatter on. Someone brushed past him—Kyra’s scratchy wig tickled the back of his neck. Her fingers skimmed his palm, and he let the parchment drop into her hand.
He spoke to the man a while longer and then pushed back from the table. “Pity that ale never stays with us very long,” he said with an embarrassed grin. He made a show of asking for the privy before he went out the door.
Flick found Kyra and Tristam crouched in the alley behind a stack of crates. Kyra had already opened the parchment, and Flick noticed with pride that she’d managed to keep half the seal intact, though the other half had broken into pieces.
“Find anything?” he asked, bending down to join them.
Tristam handed him the opened note. The message inside was written in neat, elegant script.
All our soldiers are in position and ready for the forest offensive, though the Council is volatile and our plans are far from secure. I need more funds to gain the cooperation of Palace scribes, as well as key members of the defense forces. The more of our own that we have within the Palace, the safer our position will be.
“That’s Willem’s handwriting,” said Tristam.
Flick read it over one more time, then returned it to Tristam. “Certainly seems underhanded, but what’s it mean? Care to enlighten us on the ways of the court?”
Tristam rubbed his temples. “Willem’s trying to ensure the success of the Demon Rider offensive—that’s clear enough. And looks like he’s using bribes to do it. The Council members look to the scribes and army leaders for advice. If Willem controls what they hear, he controls what they think.”
Seemed a roundabout way of pulling strings, but Flick supposed everything in the Palace was roundabout. “Who do you think is providing this coin?”
“Hard to tell. My best guess would be some of the minor families outside the city. They’d have the most to gain from an offensive against the Demon Riders.”
They were silent for a moment, then Kyra spoke. “If the Council’s decision to attack the Demon Riders was influenced by bribery, would that be enough reason to stop the offensive?”