The Miscreant (30 page)

***

Senior Agent Gregor Ward pinned Vivian in her chair with a glare as he barged into Dean Kelsey’s office.

The dean did not look up from his desk. “Garran Holt and Aniston Piccard failed their exam. I have made my decision, and it is final.”

“It is not final,” Gregor countered. “Garran and Aniston’s performance was exceptional, meeting and often exceeding all the standards you yourself set. Your decision to fail them is based entirely upon your dislike of Garran Holt. Your pettiness surprises even me, and I have known you for twenty years.”

“Pettiness? I’m blue! I soaked in a tub of vinegar last night until my liver pickled, and I’m still blue! He committed several crimes during the course of his exam including but not limited to assault and larceny.”

“You provoked him. You had no business setting yourself as his target and refusing to administer a fair and unbiased test even after he asked you to. You brought it upon yourself.”

“Do you know whom he enlisted for help?”

Gregor shook his head. “I do not.”

“Neither do I, but they made off with more than a thousand dinarins worth of silver that is likely already melted down and sold on the black market.”

“I thought you hired the caterers?”

“I did, but someone went to them with a letter bearing my seal and signature stating that this crew of thieves was part of the exam. Who do you think is responsible for the things they stole?”

“I’m guessing you.”

“That’s right, and you dare call me petty! My campus is rife with opium since Garran Holt arrived, and I think he killed my ficus and gave me root rot.”

Gregor arched an eyebrow and grinned. “He gave you root rot?”

“Not directly obviously!” Dean Kelsey sighed and pressed his blue-tinted hands flat on his desk. “I think he got to Vivian somehow, and she gave it to me. He slept with my wife!”

“Complains the man who got root rot from his secretary. I’m sure my sympathy is nearly as great as Marla’s. Unless you can prove Garran is involved in any criminal activity, he and Aniston not only passed, but they scored the highest marks of everyone who took it.”

“I am the dean! I run this program. I will get Remiel to see that Garran Holt is a menace and has no business attending this school.” He pulled out a folder, flipped it open, and jabbed a finger onto the top page. “Look at his mental evaluation. ‘Subject has a near-pathological disdain for authority, severe emotional imbalance, narcissistic tendencies, and abandonment issues.’ That is just the beginning. It goes on to describe someone best institutionalized, not made into an agent with the power to destabilize an entire government! I am a decorated agent just as you are, and I will get the king to see that I am right.”

“You are a glorified analyst, Philip. You have no idea what a real field agent does, the laws he has to break, and the sacrifices he has to make to complete a mission. Garran Holt understands that. It is in his blood. Is he borderline insane? Probably; a real field agent has to be at least a little crazy.”

“He is far more than just a little crazy, and I will petition Remiel for his dismissal.”

Gregor leaned onto Dean Kelsey’s desk and locked stares with him. “Let me save you the trouble and what little dignity you have left. Grievance denied.”

“You do not have the authority!”

“No, but Remiel does. He and I were both there last night. He found Garran’s performance remarkable, and he laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself on the ride home. I want you to understand where both the king and I stand in regards to Garran Holt. Barring concrete evidence of gross misconduct, he will graduate this program and join the ranks of the field agents. Do I make myself clear?”

The dean’s jaw clenched and his face burned red. “Why are you so adamant in seeing this psychotic miscreant become an agent?”

“You say you are every bit the agent I am, you tell me. It’s simple enough that even an elevated analyst like yourself should be able to figure it out.”   

“What are you talking about?”

“Who is the only other man I personally promoted to attend this course?”

“Victor Law and he is nearly as bad as Holt is. The only reason he made it to become an agent was because he is…no, he can’t be.”

Gregor smiled. “He is, and now you know why neither I nor Remiel will let him fail. As it was with Victor, Garran’s ability is a state secret. Do yourself a favor and the kingdom a service by letting Garran complete his education without interference. Do we have an understanding?”

Dean Kelsey swallowed and nodded. When Gregor left his office, he snatched Garran’s personnel record from his desk and hurled it across the room. He fought to control his breathing and regain his composure. Garran was wrong and so were Gregor and Remiel. The chef was beaten, but he was not dead. Maybe he could not simply squash the king’s pet rat, but he could teach him a painful lesson. He began picking up the papers strewn across the room and stared at Garran’s psychological evaluation. He could teach him a very painful lesson indeed.

He crossed the room, looked out into the foyer, and beckoned for Martin to come inside. Martin stood at rigid attention while Dean Kelsey sat at his desk and strummed his fingers.

“Have you discovered how Garran or his people managed to poison me?”

“I believe so, sir,” Martin answered. “I found the gloves Aniston was wearing, discarded just outside the exam hall. I detected the odor of what I think was tangren’s extract distilled to a purity that allowed it to be absorbed through the skin.”

“A contact poison. I should have suspected. What about the bathroom?”

“There was some recent plasterwork done in the room located behind the washroom. Garran apparently used the construction as an opportunity to create a secret door. How he managed to do so without the maintenance staff discovering it I do not know.”

“I suspect Mr. Holt made some friends amongst the groundskeepers during his months of punishment detail.”

“Would you like me to bring Toby in, sir?” Martin asked.

The dean thought but shook his head. “No, Toby is a simpleton. Even if he knew Garran was using him to bend the rules until the ends touched, I could hardly hold him responsible.”

“What are we going to do now?”

“Gregor is right about Holt having exceptional skills for an agent, but no one is that clever no matter how naturally adept they might be toward this sort of work. He simply did not have enough time to put so many different plans of action together without significant foreknowledge of his exam.”

Martin smiled. “He’s cheating!”

“Yes, but he has done a good job of concealing it. If I can prove he cheated his way through the program, not even Gregor can convince Remiel to swear him in as an agent after I expose him as a fraud.”

“Do you want me to watch him and find out how he is getting the test information?”

Dean Kelsey’s eyes flicked to his bookcase. “I think I know where he got them.”

“Excellent, sir, we can have him bounced out of here by the end of the next semester.”

“No, not yet. I want him to think he made it before I crush him. The fall is much more painful when you push them off the top.”

***

Three rabbits and a pair of grouse roasted over the campfire, the dripping fat hissing and creating tiny flare-ups. Baron Rastus Mandel, his two sons Gordon and Pierce, and four servants had been enjoying their hunting outing these past three days but had thus far failed to kill their prize.

The stag they had been chasing was a crafty fellow with antlers that spread out like the limbs of an old oak tree. Rastus wanted his magnificent head stuffed and mounted over his fireplace, and this year he was determined to get it. There was much laughter and cajoling, most of it directed at Gordon.

“Bah, the damn wind shifted again!” Pierce declared and sidled to the far side of the fire, laughing.

His father and their servants renewed their mirth and left Gordon sitting apart, glaring into the flames that burned as hot as the anger on his cheeks.

“Maybe we should dunk him in the creek again!” Rastus suggested boisterously.

“It’s not funny anymore!” Gordon snapped. “It wasn’t funny when I got sprayed, and it isn’t funny now.”

“When you shoot a skunk and get sprayed, it’s pretty damn funny,” Pierce argued.

“I thought it was a rabbit!”

“I understand. I hear this forest is thick with those fat, black and white rabbits with tails as big as their bodies.”

“To hell with all of you.” Gordon jumped to his feet and stormed off.

“Careful not to piss on a skunk,” Rastus called out. “You know they take offense mighty easily.”

Gordon tried to block the gales of laughter echoing through the trees. It had been like this all his life. Pierce was the favorite son: tall, handsome, a good hunter, and natural leader. Everyone thought Gordon was just the foolish little brother eclipsed by his older sibling’s shadow. One day, he would show them. He had big plans for the future. Perhaps not plans, but certainly grand ideas. He just needed to figure out a way to make them happen. Unfortunately, strategy, planning, and intelligent ideas were not amongst his limited talents.

A strong hand clasped his shoulder and made him jump. He tried to turn, but the unbreakable grip pinned him in place.

“Relax, Gordon. I’m a friend.”

“Dammit, you made me piss on my boot. Who are you?” Gordon asked as he tried to get his racing heartbeat under control.

“My name is Dragoslav.”

“If you came here to laugh at me too, you should go join everyone else around the fire.”

“I’m not here to laugh at you. In fact, if you do what I say, no one will ever laugh at you again.”

Gordon buttoned himself up and turned when the man relaxed his hold. “What are you talking about?”

“How would you like to be king?”

“What?”

“It is a simple question that requires very little thought for any ambitious man. I thought you were such a man. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I should ask your brother. It would be easier to put him on the throne anyway.”

“No, wait! Of course I want to be king, but I’m far removed from succession.”

“Not so far anymore. Haven’t you heard about the unfortunate events that have befallen some of your relatives these last couple of years?”

Gordon had heard of course but, like most things that did not interest him, he had paid little attention. Was it possible this man was responsible for their deaths? Was he going to kill him now? No, he had said something about wanting him to become king.

“Even so, my father and brother are both ahead of me. Besides, no one respects me. How can anyone be a king without the people’s respect?”

“That is why I am here. First, we get you closer to the throne.”

Gordon blinked rapidly as his brain tried to understand what the man was saying. “How do we do that? My father is still very healthy, and my brother hasn’t been sick a day in his life. I suppose he could fall off his horse, but he is an excellent rider, like everything else he does. Waiting around for something like that to happen does not seem like a good plan.”

Dragoslav sighed. He had been told that the boy was not very bright, but he had not expected him to be a borderline simpleton. “We do not wait for an accident. Real men take action and make things happen.”

“Oh…oh!” Gordon’s eyes went wide as he understood what Dragoslav was saying. “There are still others with equal claim and are liked more than I am.”

“My friends can fix that.”

“How?”

“Once you show true commitment to our cause, they will make you a full member of The Guild. Your business will boom, and you will become wealthy, influential, and earn the respect of your peers. All you have to do is commit to our plan, and you will become the next king.”

Gordon nodded his head. “What do I have to do?”

“You have to kill your father.”

“I thought you would do the killing!”

“No, it has to be you. My associates need to be confident that you are committed and cannot back out. The only way to do this is to get blood on your hands.”

“Why me?”

“Because my associates see something in you. They see ambition and someone who knows what they want in life. They know all you need is an opportunity to achieve the greatness you deserve.”

What The Guild saw was a young man whose ambition vastly exceeded his capabilities and whose lack of intelligence made him easy to manipulate. Gordon thought he was entitled to the best things in life without having to do anything to deserve them, and this was precisely what they were promising him.

“I…I wouldn’t even know how.”

Dragoslav whistled over his shoulder. Gordon tried to pierce the darkness to see who made the approaching footsteps but did not recognize the man until he was within arm’s reach.

“Dolph, you’re in on this?”

The servant ducked his head. “I am now.”

“You have been with my father for almost your entire life.”

“Aye, and it’s about time I raised my family’s station. I get a good heap of gold, and The Guild accepts my brother as a member. A servant to any man, even one as decent as your father, is still a servant, and I want better for my sons and nephews.”