Chapter 13

It was long, hard painful spring for Ben in many ways, as he was burning the candle off at both ends once more, trying to exercise, learn and study both the advanced arts of war and those of peace as well ... and not quite getting enough hours of rest in-between.

Every morning, including the two end-days of each week, Lord Ben was up at the crack of dawn, working with at first the newest trainees and then later with the more seasoned and experienced troopers. This enabled him to now able to work more often with Mathilde on a daily basis, which helped improve her skills. Even with expert instruction from the senior sergeants, it was clear that his young lady cousin didn’t quite inherit all of Ben’s aptitude for wielding as sword, but given enough time, and more than a few hard knocks, the girl was slowly improving all season long. She’d likely never mature into becoming a true swordmaster, but already she was an adequate battle-maiden, capable of leading a small group of riders against bandits, in Ben or Lady Lucie’s absence ... and that was quite enough for Baad’s current needs.

Afternoons were all equally busy. Three days a week, Ben was learning statecraft from the Justicar, often for long hours reading law books and helping to scribe state documents until dinnertime. The two other afternoons during the week, Ben attended a group music lesson in the castle, held by the Royal Gleeman or one of his journeymen. These were mostly elementary classes held for the improvement of the court ladies, but some male courtiers and minor lordlings commonly attended as well, so Ben’s presence was neither exceptional or notable. He learned quite a few new simple melodies and learned the proper basic fingering techniques for the harp, the flute, the lutar, and even sometimes practice on one of the court harpsicords.

Ruby the aspiring glee-woman took more advanced private lessons two additional evenings each week, with a further night devoted just for learning all of the physical arts of the professional entertainer, like dancing, juggling, pratfalls, and simple slight-of-hand. This included some detailed instruction in the arts of seduction, since (sadly) professional entertainers, and even guilded gleewomen, were expected to prostitute themselves and perform nightwork, after the musical entertainments were over.

Lastly, every weeknight before bed, Ben held an additional half-glass of musical practice, each and every night before sleep, as Ben went to his bunk in the officer’s quarters alone.

On Friday and Saturday nights, ‘Ruby’ appeared and frequently performed once again at the Fabuleux Beaux nightclub, now mastering the arts of the make-up table and the more advanced techniques of cross-dressing. These extra-long hours of musical and stage performance earned her official guild status now, other than probationary, with the Guild of Entertainers, and paying the one gold coin fee for that certificate gave Ruby a lasting satisfaction. She had made many friends there, both backstage and with regular audience members, but none of them guessed or knew that she was really Count Ben of Baad in disguise.

Late weekends, often after midnight, it would be Lady Lucie who would then frequent every den of ill-repute that her own growing circle of killers, thieves and rogues could acquaint her with. Lucie was casually probing the deeper depths of the underworld giving the appearance of looking for recent information on her more infamous sister, Marie, who was commonly believed by all to have escaped capture last summer and was residing now elsewhere, somewhere further away from the long reach of the High-King’s justice. The faint rumors of Marie’s capture (and death) last summer had been cunningly overshadowed by regular stories, public and privately placed by guardsmen and paid informers and rumormongers of her fresh recent crimes, so that she was believed still to be very much at large and evading justice. Lucie’s name, and her purported lineage, opened a great many of these underworld doors and the quantity of high-quality swag that she was fencing (the many cast-offs from Ben’s triage of castle baubles, fancy clothing and unwanted jewelry last fall) quickly provided her with suitable introductions to the top level of criminal fences. It had taken months, but at last Lucie had heard whispered the names of the senior-most villains who had fenced Marie’s loot, and ruled as king and queen of the capitol’s underworld. These were the ones that had arranged to bribe the High-King’s senior jailors and poison off all of the captured minor criminals and thieves, shutting their lips permanently. They were a husband-and-wife team, owners and operators of one of the largest gambling halls in the city; both careful and extremely dangerous people for a near stranger to get to know.

The Justicar still burned with the desire find these master-criminals and publicly cut-off their heads in the castle courtyard ... perhaps even without the necessity for a proper public trial first. He wasn’t a prideful man, particularly, but neither had he enjoyed being made a fool of! There was just one, small, minor complication for the Justicar to sort out first.

“I’ve got a very valued associate of mine, Lady Lucie, already infiltrating their organization from the bottom up to near the top and she’s ready to very privately name all of the names ... but there is one name, quite near the top, that does present her with a difficulty, and perhaps even an unfortunate royal conflict of interest. Maybe even a pair of them, now that I think about it more.” Ben reported to the Justicar early one Friday afternoon.

“Let me guess,” the Justicar heavily sighed, “that one name is Prince Hubert. Our dedicated playboy prince with a fondness for taking his sport at some of the very lowest gutter dives in the city, is publicly intimate with your chief villains, the very best bosom pals most likely.”

“Got it in one,” Ben smiled. “Not much gets past you these days, or has the rogue prince’s innumerable indiscretions become more noticeable as of late. At least one of the numerous street broadsheet printers has been following his cavorting and debauching with unusual interest ... and accuracy, lately. Not to mention that the prince is often to be found most evenings at the most disreputable gaming houses that can be found, one of which also happens to be the home lair of our prime suspects.”

“All of the above lately,” he admitted, “and I assume the other, lessor royal issue is that Prince Carl would almost certainly like to be there, in on the final kill, so to speak. I understand, and unfortunately agree.”

“I’m sure he would,” Ben agreed, “and if he can arrive by tomorrow night, we can let him deal with his older brother and sort out the stickier political ramifications, otherwise it may have to wait another full week. The leaders of this guild of thieves meets there at midnight on Saturdays, and this would allow us, given enough armored guards on the street, the chance to sweep up all of them at once.”

It would, they both agreed, but unfortunately Prince Carl was late returning with his southern expeditionary regiment and didn’t arrive back at the castle until late Sunday. It was the loss of a full week that was especially tragic.

“It’s a good solid plan,” the tardy prince agreed, “and I heartily approve all of it ... except for one minor detail. My brother, Prince Hubert has been extremely indiscrete and undoubtedly has casually told his friends a great many secrets that none of us would wish revealed in a public hearing or trial. The broadsheets already print openly about his friendships with extremely unsuitable people and if there is to be any hope of placing him on the throne, to replace our ailing father and our increasingly reluctant Crown Prince, then he will need to somehow emerge from this dark mess with a least a minimal coating of whitewash.”

That will take quite a lot of whitewash,” the Justicar muttered, and Ben didn’t disagree in the least bit. As he’d seen at the nightclub, putting lipstick onto a grossly fat crossdresser was never going to turn him into a believably attractive lady.

“I will talk to him in private,” Carl decided, “and carefully explain the situation to him and when the raid is conducted, we’ll let him be publicly seen assisting our guards. He can then sit ride me, inside one of the royal coaches ‘assisting’ the guards, and in the end at least some of the mud he’d be smeared with via close association with these villains can be wiped off. Perhaps we can even hint around the court afterwards that the prince had been aiding the ongoing investigation into Marie de Mont’s whereabouts, gathering vital information for us. You have told me repeatedly Ben, that it is essential that Marie’s demise must remain a closely held state secret, that your operations in the north to hold the peace, or at least prevent outright open full warfare, depend upon this. Someone then in the court will be certain to repeat that creative version of events to the broadsheets, perhaps even rehabilitating some of his low reputation.”

Neither Ben or the Justicar thought much of this notion, but Prince Carl was the prince, so in the end everyone agreed to handle this affair exactly as he preferred it ... and in the end it all came to disaster.

The raid all went off as planned, with Prince Carl leading a full company of soldiers surrounding and seizing everyone on the premises right at the stroke of midnight ... and capturing nothing but a meager netful of gamblers, whores and perhaps some very minor underlings. There was no difficulty finding a few mouths willing to talk, and sensing the meagerness of the catch, Prince Carl himself interrogated most of the captives personally, and was told in every instance that ‘the big bosses had been warned before the raid’, leaving virtually none of the senior thieves’ guild management left to be found, anywhere in the city ... or much in the way of documents and hard evidence behind concerning their activities. We now knew all of the important names ... but each and every one had skedaddled several hours previously.

Like for Marie de Mont, things in the capitol had at last become too hot for them to do business as usual, and all of the bosses had already left town ... and not without their years of acquired loot. The minor fish that had been netted or found in the days following were largely too insignificant to be worth a hasty execution, and mostly were bunged into the dungeons for long-term safe-keeping to give future testimony, in the event later that their bosses could ever be pried out their dark hiding places in the years to come. The rest of the mundane lot received the customary thieves’ brand and were whipped out of the city into exile ... but at least perhaps without their own smaller stashes of loot.

Some meager success might have been claimed yet from this disappointment, if Prince Hubert hadn’t been found afterwards dead, alone inside the royal coach, his pair of guards outside had both been quickly killed at close range by a hooded trio armed with crossbows, then three quarrels had been fired into the prince from the doorway, probably killing him with the first bolt alone, before the assassins made their escape into the night.

It didn’t take too much further investigation to discover that the prince’s junior valet had been sent out with an urgent message into the city, after Prince Carl had taken his older brother into his confidence, warning his friends a full three hours before the raid ... and perhaps his accomplices in other crimes. Prince Hubert’s finances had never been particularly solvent, and even a cursory investigation afterward revealed that the prince’s spending far exceeded his royal allowance. No one afterwards could establish with any satisfaction, any legal, non-criminal means for the wastrel prince’s extra substantial private income. As the prince’s messenger, the young valet, could never be again located either, it was likely that most of the prince’s secrets had died with him.

“What a family I have!” Prince Carl sadly laughed some days later in private to Ben, and after a great many cups of wine, “My father can’t even decide what color of hose to put on most mornings, my eldest brother wants to become a living saint wearing a hair-shirt and flogging himself in penance for the unpardonable sin of just living, and my other older brother was in league with criminals and murderers! They’re going to put my ass upon that throne some day and then they’ll really be hell to pay. Let’s grab a couple of horses and just ride south, Ben. As far away as we need to go and just as fast as we can ... maybe sign on with some mercenary band on the far side of the Inner Sea, or take to the highway. Perhaps Marie and Lucie de Mont have a hitherto unknown older brother, now taken to the life of the highway as well? What say you?”

“My prince,” Ben earnestly replied, “I would follow you to the very ends of the world itself!” And he was entirely serious ... but in the morning the good prince was once again sober and the needs of Duty once again consumed all of his thoughts, but it was obvious thereafter that he long afterwards regrated his decision to remain.

Publicly to keep face, Prince Hubert was given something of a hero’s funeral, the broadsheets all stating that the unlucky prince had featured actively in the criminal raid and suffered a tragic accident as a result of his civic duties. Privately, between Prince Carl, the Justicar, Lord Ben and just a few other well-trusted senior officers, it was quickly assumed that the criminals had just silenced yet another dangerous mouth that was extremely likely to wag.

To be certain, organized crime in Kaisburg had taken a huge step backwards, and perhaps even two, but soon afterwards crime and violence began to steadily rose all summer as the small baby fish left over all realized that the big ocean of vice was now all theirs to swim in thereafter. Lots of murders, gang violence and further assassinations occurred and by the end of the summer, by the time Ben prepared to return home, it was pretty obvious who the new bosses were and that the underworld would be back to full business as usually by next spring.

So much potential for justice wasted ... but Lady Lucie would have to attend to those fresh problems, and getting a toe-hold inside the door of the secret assassin’s guild next year. The rest of this summer Ben was out on maneuvers with Prince Carl and the entire household cavalry, first commanding a full squadron of eighty horsemen and then a trio of them, about the same number as of a battalion of foot, while he acted also as an aide to the regimental commander.

Ben enjoyed the work and little missed the numerous diversions of the big city, as by then Ruby (and Lady Lucie) had quite accomplished everything that they had hoped to achieve. He was quite ready to return to Baad by the end of the summer, but he did have one last task to accomplish first.

On the third day after the start of autumn, Ben rode alone up to the gate of a vast high-walled complex, about as remote in the SW mountains in a heavily forested area as one could get. Here was where the Fairy Godmothers and Enchantresses lived, quite far apart from the capitol and most of the affairs of men. It had taken Ben nearly a full week to ride here and he’d had to send Mathilde back home without him, but with the company of his newly hired now-retired arms-sergeant Johann ... and his new consort, the also now retired battle-maiden Helene, who had been one of the senior palace guards. The trio had been provided with ample coins to make the journey home back north, allowing for meals and rest stops at inns, rather than camping rough, as they done on the hasty trip south in the early spring.

“It’s alright, Count Ben said with a smile to the rather formidable pair of sword-maidens that guarded the entrance, “I’ve got a letter of permission from Prince Carl himself to petition the Sisterhood on his behalf, endorsed as well by the Justicar too.” The rather fierce gals at the gate didn’t much care, and his petition was reluctantly taken and given to a runner to carry back to the main temple area, undoubted for the eyes of whatever senior Enchantress was then currently on duty to either approve for an audience, or have the guardian sword-maidens give him a good thrashing for his impertinence. The wait was nearly interminable.