Femke laughed. ‘I’ll take my chances outside, thanks.’
‘The King only wants to talk with you,’ the guard insisted. ‘Please come down from the wall. I promise I’ll escort you personally to his audience chamber.’
‘And I suppose you will then escort me from the audience chamber to your dungeon as well? I don’t think so,’ Femke added sarcastically. ‘I’ve been framed for
murder. I’m not about to stay around to see this scenario through to its logical conclusion. Give your King my regards. Tell him I intend to find out who killed the Baron. When I have that
information then I’ll come and talk to him.’
‘Don’t do it, Ambassador,’ the guard warned in a ‘Don’t push me’ singsong tone.
Femke ignored him. Lowering herself down the other side of the wall until she was hanging by her fingertips, she let go. Despite landing lightly and allowing her body to collapse, converting her
inertia into a rolling motion, the shock of hitting a stone pavement rattled through her body. More pain coursed from head to toe, but Femke knew there was no time to nurse her wounds.
Hobbling away, she could feel the trickle of blood running down her leg into her low-cut boot as she scouted the nearby streets for hide-outs. She could not remain in the open for long. The
Royal Guards would soon be out in large numbers and would purge the upper city streets in quick time. One thing in her favour was the guards did not know she was hurt, so they would expect her to
run much further than she intended.
There were fewer streets in the vicinity of the Palace in comparison with the lower reaches of Mantor, but Femke’s instincts told her the guards would expect her to run like a frightened
rabbit. They would not search the upper city with any great care. Eventually Femke wanted to blend into the masses in the lower city, but for now she would happily settle for a hidey-hole in which
to evade the initial searchers.
There were few residences to choose from, as they were all large and widely spaced. The houses were set in enormous gardens, which could work to her advantage. The deserted streets helped. And
so far Femke had not seen a soul, which meant no one to tell of her passing.
It was strange to think that the lower city would be busy now. Stallholders would already be hawking their wares on the flea markets that abounded on the streets, shouting and waving to attract
attention to their stalls. Upper city life progressed at a more sedate pace. The residents who lived nearest the Palace had secure incomes or family fortunes that did not depend on rushing around
to make ends meet. The busiest time of day here was evening, when the rich gathered to entertain one another with parties and other social gatherings. Mornings were for recovering and clearing up,
but this did not mean the rich were ignorant of what was happening around them. Femke knew that care was needed wherever she went in this city.
Breaking into a house would be fraught with more danger. Normally Femke would stake out a house for some time, preferably days, before breaking in. Patterns of behaviour of the occupants were
vital information if she were to get in and out undetected, but there was no time for such preparation now. The only option left was to hide in an outbuilding. A stable or a workshop, a shed or a
summerhouse – any would do, providing it offered a quick, easy, effective place to hide.
By instinct, Femke paused and looked around. Something prickled at her senses like watching eyes, and though she judged it to be her body’s senses working at a hyper-active rate, still
intuition sparked the feeling that more danger lurked nearby.
Whatever had triggered the sensation, Femke dismissed it for now. All danger was relative. Her priority was to stay ahead of the Royal Guards and, hobbling as she was, this would not be easy.
Anything else would have to be dealt with on the run. Risks were inevitable; this was but the first of
‘The King only wants to talk with you,’ the guard insisted. ‘Please come down from the wall. I promise I’ll escort you personally to his audience chamber.’
‘And I suppose you will then escort me from the audience chamber to your dungeon as well? I don’t think so,’ Femke added sarcastically. ‘I’ve been framed for
murder. I’m not about to stay around to see this scenario through to its logical conclusion. Give your King my regards. Tell him I intend to find out who killed the Baron. When I have that
information then I’ll come and talk to him.’
‘Don’t do it, Ambassador,’ the guard warned in a ‘Don’t push me’ singsong tone.
Femke ignored him. Lowering herself down the other side of the wall until she was hanging by her fingertips, she let go. Despite landing lightly and allowing her body to collapse, converting her
inertia into a rolling motion, the shock of hitting a stone pavement rattled through her body. More pain coursed from head to toe, but Femke knew there was no time to nurse her wounds.
Hobbling away, she could feel the trickle of blood running down her leg into her low-cut boot as she scouted the nearby streets for hide-outs. She could not remain in the open for long. The
Royal Guards would soon be out in large numbers and would purge the upper city streets in quick time. One thing in her favour was the guards did not know she was hurt, so they would expect her to
run much further than she intended.
There were fewer streets in the vicinity of the Palace in comparison with the lower reaches of Mantor, but Femke’s instincts told her the guards would expect her to run like a frightened
rabbit. They would not search the upper city with any great care. Eventually Femke wanted to blend into the masses in the lower city, but for now she would happily settle for a hidey-hole in which
to evade the initial searchers.
There were few residences to choose from, as they were all large and widely spaced. The houses were set in enormous gardens, which could work to her advantage. The deserted streets helped. And
so far Femke had not seen a soul, which meant no one to tell of her passing.
It was strange to think that the lower city would be busy now. Stallholders would already be hawking their wares on the flea markets that abounded on the streets, shouting and waving to attract
attention to their stalls. Upper city life progressed at a more sedate pace. The residents who lived nearest the Palace had secure incomes or family fortunes that did not depend on rushing around
to make ends meet. The busiest time of day here was evening, when the rich gathered to entertain one another with parties and other social gatherings. Mornings were for recovering and clearing up,
but this did not mean the rich were ignorant of what was happening around them. Femke knew that care was needed wherever she went in this city.
Breaking into a house would be fraught with more danger. Normally Femke would stake out a house for some time, preferably days, before breaking in. Patterns of behaviour of the occupants were
vital information if she were to get in and out undetected, but there was no time for such preparation now. The only option left was to hide in an outbuilding. A stable or a workshop, a shed or a
summerhouse – any would do, providing it offered a quick, easy, effective place to hide.
By instinct, Femke paused and looked around. Something prickled at her senses like watching eyes, and though she judged it to be her body’s senses working at a hyper-active rate, still
intuition sparked the feeling that more danger lurked nearby.
Whatever had triggered the sensation, Femke dismissed it for now. All danger was relative. Her priority was to stay ahead of the Royal Guards and, hobbling as she was, this would not be easy.
Anything else would have to be dealt with on the run. Risks were inevitable; this was but the first of
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