The Historian’s Novel

Amelia thought her excursion with Grace was a perfect day if ever there was. Devoid of scheming or plans, even after lunch, they had allowed themselves to roam freely in search of the many entertainments the capital city did have in troves. From a street-side puppet show; which told a story of marionette monsters and men, to a beautiful green park hosting a troubadour’s act. Wherever they wandered, exciting sights seemed to be waiting.

Together, Amelia and Grace enjoyed themselves until the sun had turned amber. Amelia, never happier, Grace’s basket, somehow never managing to fill up.

“How’s your basket so empty?” Amelia had asked, during one of several stops for iced cream in a cone.

“It’s got a secret compartment,” Grace replied, raising a flap to show where she had stashed what they’d bought.

Amelia clasped her hands in delighted surprise, “I see,” she said, choosing not to call the princess out on her ruse. For Grace had left her to chase after four vendors by that point, giving her good reason to put two and two together and realise something wasn’t right.

It hadn’t taken Amelia long to pick out the knights in the crowd. No doubt placed there by her father, the men stood out like sore thumbs with the amount of shopping bags they carried; porters that they were for whenever Grace’s basket got a little too full. It had Amelia swinging both arms as she walked. Overjoyed as she was to know two of the most important people in her life were caring for her in their own unique ways.

An absolutely perfect day if ever there was… Almost. Since there remained one matter to deal with, and Amelia knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“You’ve got that look again,” Grace said as a fireworks display finished exploding with a pitter-patter of brightly sparkling lights high above them, “Want to share what’s on your mind? Or am I to assume we’re not going to visit the imposing building behind us.”

The building she referred to, was a pretentious thing surrounded by high brick walls. Lacking in windows, and painted a dark brown, the Velvetican kingdom’s merchant conglomerate office could be considered a stern mismatch for the city’s otherwise colorful set-up.

“It’s got a nice ambiance, although I’m not sure what you mean,” Amelia lied.

“Definitely,” Grace said with a waggle of her eyebrows, “Nice enough to sneak peeks at all day I reckon. Say, have we circled it three times or four?”

“Three,” Amelia answered, her memory one step ahead of the rest of her brain, which she mentally slapped. “I’m sorry, was it that easy to tell? I hope you didn’t get the impression I’ve become bored or anything like that.”

“Not at all,” Grace said, arching her back to stretch in a languorous movement, distracting Amelia who couldn’t help but notice the princess’s midriff,” Well, come on, what’s special about it? Or do I need to go up and ask?”

Placing a finger to her lips in thought, Amelia parceled what she knew thanks to The Historian’s Novel. “It’s owned by an alliance of merchants,” she said, “Guess I got a bit curious to see what the grounds looked like after having met Thompson. But it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to visit.”

Not with two guards who wore fanciful armor keeping watch outside a pair of spiked grey-silver gates. With swords at their side.

It was a mark of power; bearing arms out in public. A privilege granted by the various lords and ladies who supported the merchants. A sign any investment placed inside the tall, window-less building would be kept safe and sound. Well… Until Martel Managing destroyed the conglomerate’s reputation by committing a slaughter. Which, if Amelia’s fragmented memory of her conversation with Gregory Rutherford could be relied on would happen any day now.

An event Amelia now found herself resolved to do something about.

Regrettably, it did not look likely she would be able to get a lay of the land as had been her intention. Nor would she be able to talk with any of the local merchants to figure out the exact date Martel would strike using details from the Historian’s novel.

“Want to get closer?” Grace asked, having snuck behind Amelia to whisper the question.

A strange stirring excitement coursed past Amelia’s ears and throughout her body.

“I’m not sure they would let us,” she said, hoping the princess hadn’t noticed her shiver, “We haven’t got an appointment and… and… What are you doing?”

Grace, who had licked a finger which she raised above her head, gave Amelia a smile filled with mischief. “Checking the wind’s direction,” she answered, before the princess opened her parasol, gave it a twirl, and tossed it high into the air. Like magic, the parasol soared. Veering towards the merchant conglomerate’s walls where it fell after crossing.

“Child’s play,” Grace said, her arms proudly akimbo, “Now we’ve got an excuse,” she said, offering a hand to Amelia who finally realised what the princess had done.

Grace wanted to lie their way in.

It couldn’t possibly work, Amelia thought as she let herself be pulled all the way to the guards.

“Hello?” Grace called out to them, in a tone Amelia could only call sultry, “might I have a word with you please?”

“This is private property,” the taller guard said with barely a glance, “From here to the street. I apologize miss but unless you’ve got an appointment, we’re required to ask you to leave.”

“But my lady’s parasol has flown over your wall, can’t we retrieve it?” Grace asked, with an exaggerated pout, “It wouldn’t take long. Surely, for a person of rank an exception could be made?”

The mention of nobility caused the man’s brow to scrunch in concentration as he scrutinized them and tried to figure out precisely what sort of noble Amelia was.

Amelia held her breath. For she had no claim to a title. The glory of her family lay solely with her father. And while the princess might have taken to calling her a ‘lady’ in public, in truth, she ought to only be known as a ‘miss’.

Which meant due to having never corrected Grace in the past, they were now technically committing a crime. Making ready for the worst, Amelia’s mind panicked as the second guard, who had been staring at about a hand’s length below where Grace’s mouth was located, addressed his co-worker.

“Shouldn’t matter much, would it?” said he.

“I don’t like it,” replied the taller guard.

“Just be quick about it,” said the shorter guard with a wink towards Grace, which both relieved, and irritated Amelia greatly. Enduring in silence grew much harder when the princess gave the leering man something of a show as they passed, by bending her upper-body towards him in a thanks of a bow.

The moment they were past the gates and the guards were out of sight, Amelia grabbed Grace by the hand without knowing why. All she knew was that it felt like something important had almost been stolen.

“From now on you’re forbidden from seducing people on my behalf,” Amelia said, trying to sound serious about it.

“You noticed?” Grace laughed.

Amelia looked down and away. Frustrated the princess thought she was being silly over nothing. Although, to get them inside the conglomerate’s grounds without permission, where only a few gardeners toiled, sparing nary a glance away from their work… The princess’s methods were horribly effective, so Amelia chose to forgive Grace at least this one time.

Especially since it allowed her to find the exact location where Martel would infiltrate by.

Just as The Historian’s Novel foretold. Halfway around the building’s first corner, by a portion of wall where vines grew thick and tall up its length.

The perfect location for a thief to climb down. A satisfying discovery. Now all that remained was contacting Thompson to ask him for help in figuring out when best to run interference on Martel.

“Amelia,” Grace said, following Amelia’s gaze with her eyes, “If you wanted to stare at creeping objects, we could have stayed at the entrance.”

Amelia snorted. It wasn’t a good joke, but to her it was funny.

“I saw the vines poking over the top,” Amelia said, as an idea took root, “Didn’t you know? Merchants are known to offer rewards if security flaws in their buildings are brought to their attention.”

“Really?” Grace perked up. Amelia could practically see golden coins twinkling in her beautiful blue eyes.

Sticking out her tongue, Amelia said, “Nope,” then made a run for it.

“Hey!” Grace shouted, giving chase once she realised it had become her turn to be tricked.

“Don’t forget the parasol!” Amelia cackled, pointing to where it had landed, making it so by the time the princess caught up, they’d arrived back where they’d started; at the conglomerate’s entrance gates.

Where a convoy of merchants were now going through the process of checking identifications to get in.

“Who are these women? And why are they not wearing guest passes?” asked the man who sat upon the lead horse, after he’d taken a cursory glance at Amelia and Grace.

His words caused a few knights to step forward.

“Jessen, you’re… you’re back pretty early,” said the taller guard who hadn’t been keen on letting Amelia and Grace inside.

The shorter guard grabbed Grace’s wrist, pulling her forward for the merchant to see, “This girl said her lady’s parasol blew over the walls,” he said, “we told them they couldn’t come in, but it would appear they snuck by using the last group who came through… Shall I send them off?”

“Send them off, after trespassing? I should think not,” Jessen said, waving a hand towards his escort, “Apprehend them. They’ll be held until we’ve ensured everything is in order.”

Jessen’s presumed authority to hold anyone for questioning didn’t surprise Amelia. With nobility as backers, it wouldn’t surprise her to learn they had fully authorized holding cells in the conglomerate’s basement. But seeing Grace wince in pain as the guard’s grip tightened was making her see red.

For a brief instant, a crimson hue washed over Amelia’s vision, and a low pitch, foreign growl of a guttural warning made its way out from her throat. As if sensing a change in the air, the birds around them took flight all at once, heading for the city’s sky-line as if to escape. While the merchant’s struggled to calm down their horses who began frantically jerking against their reigns.

And Amelia watched it all happen, as if the world were inching forwards at a tortoise-like pace.

Despite not being able to move within the strange phenomenon which had descended, Amelia, feeling more confident and daring than ever before in her life, took full advantage, allowing her uninhibited mind to surge and begin sorting through each and every detail in The Historian’s novel for any information useful in helping the princess.

A certain passage caught her notice. A paragraph that had taken the time to describe the many merchants and the varying positions they’d each held before Martel Managing had begun trimming their line of work.

“Jessen Enfaith, I would speak with you!” Amelia yelled as she uncovered his last name to draw his attention. Loud enough to cause the knights who were very much on edge to look back at Jessen for further direction.

“Do I know you?” Jessen asked, his expression now much more cautious.

Her heart violently thrumming from a sudden onset of exertion, Amelia gasped for air as whatever it was that held sway over her vanished all at once.

“No, we are strangers,” she said, managing not to stagger while speaking, and astonished to think she might have used magic for the first time in her life, “But if you do not give me a chance to talk, I will ensure you regret it.”

“We didn’t sneak in!” Grace said, before she stomped a heel down hard upon the foot of the guard who held her, causing him to let go and squeal in pain, “The wind might have taken my parasol, but it was they who let us in to retrieve it.”

Jessen, taking in the sight of a punctured steel boot, got down from his horse. “Then, you accuse our guards of lying? Who are you? Mages in training?”

The injured guard clutching his foot on the ground groaned, “She… She said the other’s a lady. I swear, they tried threatening us to let them inside!”

The guard’s admittance to Grace’s earlier claim caused Jessen to close both his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance at how complicated that might make things for him.

“Look, I’m busy.” Jessen said, addressing Amelia, “If you give me your family’s name — I’m assuming you’ve come to the capital to debut because I’ve never seen you before — I’ll have this sorted out later, how does that sound?”

But Amelia didn’t want to leave. She wanted justice for Grace. And it wouldn’t be by pointing out that even if they’d snuck in that just meant the guards were bad at their job. Nor would she use the Strightsworth knights who were no doubt lurking and ready to step in should things take a turn for the worst. For that would be abusing the care her father had shown in assigning them to guard her.

No, her solution would protect Grace at the expense of herself. As a responsible lady of the house ought.

“That would be ideal,” Amelia said, as she ‘accidentally’ dropped her mother’s ring.

The gold band rolled to a stop at Jessen’s feet.

“Oh, I’m such a kluts,” Amelia said, “Can you pick that up for me Jessen?”

The convoy’s escort of knights looked at her as if she were mad. As did the porters, and some of the merchants. But Jessen reacted differently. He practically fell to his knees in his haste to retrieve the ring bearing the Winchester’s family crest. Proving the worth of his salt by being aware the Duke of Winchester had only one grand-daughter. And that a certain Baron had come to the capital to meet with the King.

“Amelia Strightsworth…” Jessen said upon returning the ring, which resulted in a great number of people sucking in air through their teeth. “How can I apologize for the treatment of your servant.”

Not wanting to grandstand on merits that weren’t hers for too long, Amelia decided the time to make use of this random encounter had come. Even while knowing she would pay for it once her stunt reached her grandfather’s ears.

“Are you alright?” she asked Grace, making sure to check on how the princess was doing.

“I’m okay,” Grace answered quietly, with both shoulders slumped.

Her reaction disheartened Amelia. Grace might have schemed, but the fault lay with her master. Nevertheless, the play must go on, so with a bright smile she said, “Then I guess things are fine,” before speaking to Jessen. “But while you’re here, I’ve heard tell the port might soon be receiving new fabrics from across the Ocean, would you have any idea of when they might arrive?”

Stunned, although quick to recover, Jessen replied with an “Of course! Of course,” and called over a porter who brought him a ledger. “You must be referring to the shipment which came in with the Caneo envoy yesterday. Shall we head inside to discuss purchasing some?”

Amelia hummed, then hawed, as if invested in buying yet reserved at the thought, “It’s been a long day,” she said at length which caused Jessen to begin nervously wringing his hands.

But he proved his ability to adapt under duress with what he said next.

“It is quite late, isn’t it… Miss Strightsworth, would you allow me to call for a carriage? I’ll have a proper apology delivered for what has happened, as soon as I can. And I swear on my life, you’ll have the pick of the cargo as soon we’ve finished unloading the ships.

“Thank you, but we’re not far from our lodging,” Amelia said politely, before she asked Grace, “Does that sound alright?” which startled the princess, who had not expected the question.

“Then… Goodnight!” Amelia said to the crowd, before she led Grace away with a heart full of hope. Since now, thanks to Jessen’s answer, she knew when Martel would strike.

Though she couldn’t resist looking back over her shoulder to throw one last jab at the rude guard who had grabbed Grace, “But do try and find a way for your hires to be more polite. My father… he thinks those who aren’t, deserve to be eaten.”