The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [61]
"Yes, sire."
"Where do you suppose this Geddarm fellow was heading after he left the city, and where do you suppose he is now?"
The captain was prepared with an answer.
"The felon pinpointed his encounter with the alleged Geddarm as taking place on a remote road that I am not unfamiliar with."
"Oh?" the High Blade said, an eyebrow raised in evidence of peaked interest.
"It's the road to the Retreat," Rickman explained, "and as much as I was able to extract through our various means of persuasion, it was roughly within a few hours of when Wattrous and Jembahb were supposed to be there. I fear that this Geddarm fellow is the reason for their inability to find the bloodstained wand that would have implicated our friends from the east."
"The fools," Selfaril hissed. "The bleeding incompetents."
"Before he died, Jembahb mentioned that he thought the Retreat was haunted. Something about strange noises and such. Obviously this Geddarm fellow was in hiding and managed to trick the two half-wits. I fear that we have underestimated this clever travel writer."
"Do you believe him to be a Harper agent?"
"Perhaps, sire," Rickman answered. "Cyric knows they would love to have an agent in your city."
"You have already mentioned that Jembahb is no longer a risk, due to his incompetence. What about Wattrous?"
"An assassin has been dispatched," Rickman replied. "A reliable one, one of my best. Stiles should have Wattrous… removed by the end of the week. Our spies have already tracked him to Hillsfar where he is seeking an appointment. The only one he will receive is with our discreet executioner."
"Good," Selfaril said with a tone of demanding finality. The High Blade stroked his neatly-trimmed goatee in deep thought, then continued his inquisition.
"Were you able to get anything else out of James the felon?" he demanded.
"No sire," Rickman apologized. "I'm afraid that he lacked the constitution to survive our thorough cross-examination. Ironically, his body was disposed of at the same time as the late Jembahb."
"So we still don't know who the third conspirator is?"
"No, sire," Rickman replied. "I concur that Geddarm and Passepout are obviously in league with each other. The third fellow's identity is still a mystery."
"It would be just my luck for it to turn out to be my brother, back from the grave." The High Blade allowed himself a cruel laugh at his own absurd conjecture.
"Would you like to suggest a course of action, sire?" Rickman inquired.
"I want this Geddarm and Passepout brought into custody, but I don't want them killed until I know their whole plan. Understood?"
"Of course, sire."
"I need to know what they know about your men's visit to the Retreat, my brother, my wife, and anything else that might endanger the security of Mulmaster."
"Of course, sire."
The High Blade shifted in his throne and readjusted the sash of the silken robe that covered his dressing gown and protected him from the draughts of the Tower of the Wyvern. It was getting late and his bride awaited. As with all of the nights they shared together, it was an occasion that he looked upon in mixed proportions comprised of lust, self-loathing, fiendish delight, and suicidal bedevilment.
Readjusting his sash one more time, and without looking up at the captain of the Hawks, whom he regarded as the only person in the entire city that he fully trusted, he said, "You may go. The she-devil awaits."
"Permission to speak frankly, once again, sire," Rickman asked, adding, "just for a moment?"
The High Blade answered without looking up.
"Yes?"
"I sincerely wish that I could remove the threat that exists for as long as you are married to that witch."
Selfaril looked up at his right-hand man, and said, "I appreciate your concern. She will no doubt try another ploy to subjugate me, but it will take time. At the present time we have the theoretical upper hand. In spite of the bungling of those below you, we are no worse off than we were before. At the very least we have foiled their plan, and removed a rival to my