Chapter 81: I know who sent the message

Kerrass likes to tease me about this.

I firmly believe myself to not really being a violent man. I just can't see it. Given the choice I would rather avoid violence wherever possible. That's not to say that there aren't some people in the world that could do with a fist to the face, but on the whole, I would rather avoid such people than to seek them out and do my best to knock their fucking teeth out.

But I'm not a violent man. I don't get a visceral thrill from violence. I don't enjoy it. I've had to force myself to get better at it because of the direction that life has taken me but I don't enjoy it. Nor do I have a talent for it and every step I have taken towards competence with weaponry has come at the cost of hours of patient instruction at the hands of a trained killer.

But Kerrass has a different view of me. He cites numerous examples of my near urgent need to commit violence. He giggles at various times when he can see that temptation cross my face. Namely the temptation to apply an idiot's face to any nearby hard surfaces. He ribs me about it all the time, asking me questions about my temper.

“Are you feeling violent Freddie?” He'll ask me suddenly out of the blue. “Do you want to crush skulls and jump up and down on people's faces again Freddie? Do you? Huh?”

His argument is this. Since our travels have begun he claims to have noticed a steady increasing what he calls my “violent side.” This is not helped by my own travel journals which cannot entirely be used as evidence in my favour. He keeps a list of the people that I want to, or have wanted to kill in the past and whenever I try to claim that I am not a violent man, he likes to produce this list and torment me with them.

The first is that knight. “William the Ram,” the murderer of poor old Tom the Troll. This is an odd one as his cruelty and arrogance had been focused and amplified by the girl that he was trying to court with those selfsame acts of barbarity. But even then, I wanted him to die, not her.

The next bloke that I wanted to give a good kick up the arse on the edge of a high cliff was that uppity merchant bastard that had come so close to provoking a violent scene at the end of my first season on the road with Kerrass. I can't remember his name now as I don't have my regular notes with me at the time of writing. But his arrogant sneering face occasionally jumps out at me when I am sat trying to get some work done or when I'm trying to put a face onto a training dummy.

There are various monsters of course but they tend to be of the kind of things that act according to their nature.

There was that utter bastard that had us wake up Ariadne for his own purposes. My thoughts regarding him have changed, in the year or so since he poisoned me to the point of death. On the one hand he made me so angry that I could barely speak but his actions have taken on a new slant in my mind and in my life since those times. Without him and his actions I would never have met Ariadne. Yes I spent a significant portion of time thinking up new and interesting ways to torture him to death but that was a more therapeutic exercise to keep my mind from the fact that my insides were turning to goo. Also there is the change that he, also, is dead and as such my hate of him, the former Duke/Count of Angral (It's complicated) is lessened.

Then there is Sir Robart de Radford. That prize bastard I would still cheerfully murder. When I was last at home I sent some more money out to the town criers of Novigrad and Oxenfurt to remind general passers by of how much of a cowardly idiot he is. Someday, when this is all over, I'm going to devote a certain amount of my time to hunting Sir Robart down and destroying him.

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After that though, there isn't anybody. Kerrass claims that this is a much larger number than I should have if I was going to claim that I'm not a violent man and maybe he's right. But the point is....The point is that there is a now a new name to add to the list.

That person is the stupid little gob-shite of a jobs-worth that ran the Imperial messenger service in Toussaint. I never learned his name but as I stood in the messengers office while Kerrass tried to get him to tell us some “confidential information,” I would cheerfully have strangled him. My hands were cramping with the effort of not wrapping themselves round his stupid, saggy chinned neck, working their way under his jowels and using my thumbs to get in and under his chins to close off his windpipe. I imagined his face going purple, then blue, his tongue protruding and flapping around while blood vessels in his eyes started to pop, as slowly but oh so sweetly, his life faded out beneath my grasp.

In my defence, this man had information. Crucial information that he steadfastly refused to give us.

Information that could lead us to whoever or whatever had taken my sister away from me and he was refusing to give it to us.

I had taken my post, a little distance away from where Kerrass was trying to reason with the walking pus stain of humanity. I was leaning against the wall with my forehead letting the cool stone calm me as I listlessly kicked at the wall over and over again in an effort to both listen to what was being said and at the same time, trying not to get increasingly frantic with panic, fear and a terrible rage that threatened to boil over and drown everybody in the southern part of the continent in bile.

I was not handling the delay well.

Fortunately for me, Neither was Kerrass.

“Look,” he said, audibly trying to stay calm and patient, “Do you see this medallion? This one here? The one that looks like a hissing cat?”

“Yes sir I see that symbol.” The man smiled apologetically and patiently, as if the entire world was pressing down on him in particular, that it wasn't his fault and he was doing everything that he could do to help. But that the person in front of him was just too stupid to understand the many varied and complex things that meant that he simply couldn't do what was being requested of him.

“Also, while we're on the subject. Do you see this sword on my back? The long one that I spend hours each day cleaning and maintaining so that it's razor sharp and easily able to cut people in half?”

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The man behind the desk sighed his world weary sigh for what felt like the six hundred and forty ninth time.

“Right, do you know what these two things mean when they are carried around by a man with a vertical slitted iris in his eyes?”

Another sigh. I tried not to count how many times that meant that he had done that. “It means that you're a Witcher sir but....”

“Right. Now, do you know what the Witchers are to the Empress of Nilfgaard?”

Another sigh. “I am well aware that that makes you the personal bodyguards of her imperial majesty, but at the same time that doesn't give you the authority to read the private messages.”

“Well, funny you should mention that but do you see this piece of paper here?”

Another sigh. “Yes sir. You've shown it to me three times now. It's an Imperial Warrant sir.”

“Yes, it's an Imperial Warrant. A warrant that I had to run upstairs to get. I had to go to the Empress to get her to sign it. While she's busy signing all the other pieces of law which, by the way, includes the Imperial seal on the charter of the Imperial Messenger service.”

“Now I don't appreciate threats sir.”

“I don't care what you do and do not appreciate. After that I then had to get the warrant to be signed and counter sealed by the Imperial Secretary and Chief of Imperial Intelligence so that I have the ability to look at state secrets.”

Another sigh. “That's as maybe sir but none of those things allow you or the gentleman behind you to look through the private message records. Any of those people are more than welcome to come down here and look through the messages themselves but until they do, the safe stays closed.”

Kerrass took a deep breath. “You see that man behind me?”

Another fucking sigh. “Yes sir, I see him.”

“That man has lost his sister. I would warn you that if you make a joke about looking under the bed or behind the wardrobe for her, that I'm not sure that I would be able to hold him back from kicking your testicles out through your nose. We found some Messenger paper in the fireplace.”

“That would be a serious crime sir and the lady would have to be reported to...”

“The lady is missing. We just want to know what the message was so that we can help find the lady and rescue her, or bring her to justice, whichever is the right course.”

Another sigh. The man tried to take on a conciliatory tone. “I wish I could help you sir, I really do and if it was up to me then I would do so without a second thought but the rules are the rules and I am not authorised to break them.”

Kerrass groaned. “Who is authorised to break them?”

“The Empress, the Imperial Secretary and the Chief of Intelligence,” Kerrass and the messenger said at the same time. “You remember my warrant?” Kerrass went on. “The one signed by the three people that I've just mentioned giving us permission to do precisely that?”

“I'm sorry sir. They are the rules. Only the three people named can open the seals.”

“But they've said that I can look.”

“I only have your word for that sir.”

“And their signatures and their personal seals.”

“All of them could be forgeries.”

Kerrass put his head in his hands and tried again to appeal to reason. “You understand that the people you refer to have other things to do at the moment? Including the aforementioned signing of various things into law and hunt down possible conspirators against the Empire.”

“Yes sir which, I might suggest, renders this point a little moot. It clearly isn't that important as one of the other people that I've mentioned would be down here.”

It was that sentence that finally caused my patience to snap. I was up, hurdled the counter that this idiot was standing behind and landed almost on top of him to the point that I carried him off his feet and onto his back.

My knife was out of my boot almost as quick and I used it to tickle under his throat.

“Guards,” He called but I pushed the tip of the dagger up a bit further until it drew blood. Please don't think that he was in danger. He had several false chins which I would have had to force my dagger through before I could do him any kind of serious damage.

It had not been a good day. After we had discovered the piece of card that showed that Frannie had received a message before disappearing, we stormed down to the messenger's office who was shut for the coronation.

We hammered and shouted and generally caused a fuss until a guard came to see what all the fuss was about. In the end we managed to convey the urgency of our errand before we found out that the chief messenger was away at lunch. Kerrass stomped off to find the messenger while I ran off to keep the Empress up to date with our progress having received a message of our own that the Empress needed to know what was happening. Having made my report I ran back down to discover that Kerrass had been waiting, not very patiently, for the messenger's office to open. We got in, whereupon this gigantic fool was telling us that he couldn't possibly allow anyone to read the private messages of the service. After some argument, Kerrass found out that only the Empress, the Chief of Intelligence and the private Secretary could order the messages opened. Cue my running up the stairs again to get a warrant from the secretary to say I could read the messages. But the messenger still wouldn't let us in.

All the while, my sister was getting further and further away from us.

I ran downstairs to get Lord Voorhis to write and seal a warrant to say that we could read whatever the hell we damn well liked. Then, just to be sure, I ran back upstairs to ask the Empress to put something in writing. When I finally managed to return the chief messenger still refused to believe us and steadfastly refused to talk to us. Until, as I say, I lost my temper.

I heard some clanking behind me as some soldiers came into the room. But I also heard a rustle of paper and Kerrass saying “Imperial business,” quite calmly. I would later find out that he had held up the warrant and the sight of the Imperial seal did it's job and caused them all to back down.

“Now I want you to listen to me very carefully.” I thought that my voice sounded relatively calm considering everything that had happened. The man that was, by now, shivering and sweating with my knee on his chest didn't seem convinced by my relaxed tone however. “I want you to listen very carefully and understand something. I need you to take it in, process it and then understand what I'm telling you otherwise today is going to end very badly for you. Do you understand?”

His eyes widened and he jerked his head up and down. I moved my dagger so that he wasn't injuring himself as he nodded.

“Good. Do you know who I am?”

He nodded again.

“In which case you will understand my feelings on the matter. So here's what's going to happen next. Myself and my Witcher companion are going to ask you a few questions. Not very many at all, just a few short questions. When we're done you can feel free to register a complaint with the Office of the Chief of Intelligence, the Empress' secretary or indeed the Empress herself. You can call for my arrest or whatever you like. Do you understand?”

He whimpered.

“I asked you if you understand?” I raised my voice a little and gave him another little poke with my knife for emphasis.

“Yes, I understand,” he wailed.

“Very good. Now, I'm going to pass on the rules to you. They are simple rules as a whole but I'm confident that they are easy to understand. Here they are. As I say, we are going to ask a series of questions. You will answer them immediately and without hesitation. I won't penalise you if you are reaching for the information or for tripping over your words. However, I will penalise you if either of us begin to feel that you are keeping something from us. If you fail to answer the question, or if we think you are lying to us then you will be penalised. Do you understand? Just nod.”

He did so.

“There is only one penalty. That penalty is that I use this dagger to end your miserable, jumped up, self important little life. There will be no second chances. We are confident that the answers to our questions can be found in this place and that you can give them to us. Do you understand?”

He nodded. He looked as though he was about to burst into tears.

For a moment I felt like I was the bully, the stronger man preying on the weaker. For that moment I felt shame.

But then I remembered my sisters face, the fact that this mid-level bureaucrat stood in my way and that he has said that the disappearance of my sister wasn't important and my anger came flooding back. I remembered his smug face and his insistence at hiding behind clever words and rules and laws. But he wasn't going to answer any questions while I was kneeling on his chest.

I let him up whereupon he scooted over to the corner of his little office in the lower parts of the castle. I noticed that Kerrass had closed the door at the entranceway to the office and was leaning against it nonchalantly.

“Now,” I said, pulling over a chair and sitting on it before crossing my legs. “Let's have a chat.”

Kerrass had moved a table in front of the doors to barricade us in before walking round to perch on the counter.

“Why don't we start with your name?” he asked.

“Gregoire du Montagne” The terrified man answered.

“Very good. And you are the chief of the messenger service?”

“Yes.”

“So you have all the keys and things to all of these secret boxes?”

“I do.”

“Ok. So let's pretend that I know absolutely nothing about how the Imperial messenger system works. Explain it to us.”

The erstwhile postman Gregoire du Montagne shuffled into a more seated position and started to sweat.

“Uh, what do you want to know?”

Kerrass blew out his breath. “Lets say I want to send a personal message to, I don't know, Lady Merigold. What would happen?”

“Uh, well,” he licked his lips a little nervously. “That would depend on what kind of service you require?”

“What are the options?” Kerrass prompted. I thought he was being really patient considering.

“Well, there's the standard messaging service which is what most civilians use.”

“I see, what else is there?”

“Military post. That is reserved for use of the military only. Military dispatches are sent with our couriers in an effort to keep them secure and because our couriers tend to be more dependable. We don't know what's in them as they turn up already sealed so all we do is take them to where they are needed to go.”

“What else is there?”

“Well there's Imperial messages?”

“What are those?”

“Those are the messages that are used by heads of state and by their trusted....people.”

“You mean their trusted servants?”

He licked his lips before answering. “Yes.”

“How does that work?”

“Well there are two messages. The first is something that is written on paper. Often it;s a piece of nonsense rhyme or is a distraction for anyone who might discover the written message. But the real message is told to the messenger verbally. To be passed on directly as is.”

“Why is it done that way?” I asked, “Doesn't that mean that the contents of royal messengers is known tot he messenger service?”

“Yes but we would never pass those details on.”

“As I've recently been informed though. Everybody has a price. Everybody breaks sooner or later when you find their pressure points.”

“Well, that's true. In all honesty it's a trick we took from the Northerners that actually worked really well.”

“You mean the whole, Ass of Iron, Brain of Gold?” I asked.

The man winced. “We say it a little different from that but yes.”

Kerrass raised his eyebrows to me in question.

“What it was, was that royal messengers used to carry three sets of messengers. Sometimes more. They had a satchel for regular dispatches and then another set of messages, often sowed into the lining of his clothes or inside his saddle or similar. The idea was that the Imperial forces paid a considerable bounty for the capture of Royal messengers. They were almost never killed except by accident. Subverted, tortured, blackmailed. These things they often were, but killed? almost never.

“So they would be captured, their satchels would be confiscated and then the messenger would be put to the question. They had been trained to have layers of information, so that during questioning they could give up the unimportant pieces of information to protect themselves. The torturer or questioner would be able to hold up those pieces of information in an effort to tell their employers that progress was being made, but all the while, the real message was concealed in the messengers memory. Those brave men and women were trained to be able to pick up information instantly, keep it steady in their brain until the point of delivery and they could then forget it instantly upon delivery of the message. They tested it once, I saw a demonstration at the university where they hired a mage to come in and use their enchantments to compel the messenger to tell the truth and he couldn't remember a message that he had delivered that morning.”

“That's about the long and short of it. Our couriers have developed the same technique.”

“So if the Empress comes in here or sends her secretary or similar with a secret message?”

“There are two pieces of paper. The first we ask them to write on the famous blue card that we use. It's the same stuff that we use to convey our standard messages. Then the real message is written separately on any kind of paper. We once had a message written on the back of a sales receipt.”

“Stick to the point if you please,” The tone of the conversation was getting a little too friendly for my taste.

“But the scrap paper would go into a safe which we keep under guard for the period of two weeks before they get destroyed.”

“Why two weeks. Surely you would want to destroy them immediately?”

“For verification sir. In the highly unlikely event of a message going astray or going wrong, we keep the original message in an effort of verification.”

“An example please.”

“Well sir, our standard example is that a general orders a captain to attack a hill. That's all that's in the message. We take the message dutifully and from the generals perspective there is only one hill because he's set his command post halfway up a hill himself. But the captain who has a different perspective on the battlefield says that he can see several hills of various sizes. But he knows that indecision is death on the battlefield. He doesn't have time to send a message back to ask for clarification. He attacks the hill that he thinks is the one that needs attacking and as a result the battle goes poorly. The general insists that he ordered one thing. The Captain insists that he receives another and as a result the blame inevitably falls on the messenger. Then the messenger produces the original message and it turns out to be a lack of proper thought to the messages.”

“I see. So, just to be clear. You keep records of all the messages sent.”

“We do.”

“Good, along with their intended recipient.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. And the sender?”

“The sender often writes the message themselves and signs the card.”

“What if they don't?”

The man started to sweat. “It was decided that it's none of our business sir.”

“I see. Who has access to which tier of messages.”

“Anyone can pay a fee to have a letter or a message delivered. The military service is reserved for the military itself. The final tier is reserved for royalty itself.”

“But only for royalty.”

“Yes sir.” He was sweating.

“Really?” Kerrass had seen it too.

“Yes sir.”

Kerrass shrugged. “Ah well Freddie. You warned him I suppose. Time to make with the throat slitting I think.”

“I thought of jamming it through his eye to be honest.”

The man started to blubber in protest.

“Ah well, there's always a danger that you'll get the dagger stuck in the man's eye-socket.”

“Sometimes we let other people use it.” The man all but shouted.

“For a suitable fee I suspect.”

The man had the good grace to blush furiously.

“You have to understand that there are certain cases where discretion is also an important part of the security of the Empire.”

“Really?” Kerrass seemed un-convinced.

“Oh yes. The Gentlemen of office have needs after all.”

“Do they now?” I wondered. “I can't help but notice that you don't talk at all about the women of office.”

“Yes...well.”

“Anyhow,” I snapped, attempting to steer the topic of conversation back towards what was going on with my sister. “So someone comes to you with a suitable monetary donation to the postal service. He informs you of the utmost need for discretion and then what.”

“He writes down two messages. The first message will be carried on the blue card to it's intended target.”

“And the other message?”

“The other message is also written down for our records.”

“So then, when you have found a messenger. The messenger takes the blue carded message, whilst also learning the other.”

“Yes. Then while delivering the blue card they also pass on the verbal message.”

“I see. So, now we come to the heart of the matter. The messages that were delivered to my sister. Lady Francesca von Coulthard.”

“Yes sir?”

“You still have the messages on record?”

He squirmed a bit before nodding.

“Excellent. Then you will be able to open the box that contains those same messages.”

You could see him, almost feel him screwing up his courage in an effort to refuse us. I drew my dagger again and started to examine the edge, testing it with my thumb. He took a key from a pouch that he kept at his belt and opened a rather ornate box, inlaid with a blue fabric.

“When was the message sent?” He asked.

“I suspect that you know which message I'm speaking of already.”

He paused as I said that.

A horrible suspicion stole across my mind then. “You know, don't you you bastard. You know...” Kerrass took a moment to interpose himself between us.”

“Two messages,” The man said. “The blue card was taken and kept by the recipient which is not unusual in these cases.”

“Cases like what.”

“Like this.” He passed a piece of paper over to Kerrass who read it before sighing and passed the paper over to me.

I had a shock even before I read the message.

The blue message was long and flowery so I won't try to recount it here. It was a romantic message in the form of a poem. It was in the style of a man wishing for permission to simply adore the recipient of the message. It was not badly written all things considered, the penmanship was superb, and I suspected that there were some things hidden in the message. If I had more time or more freedom to do as I wished I might be able to decipher some kind of hidden meaning in the depths of the poem. One or two clumsy phrases here and there that struck me as too artfully clumsy to be entirely believed. This poem had been carefully crafted, even despite it's pretence at a man writing quickly with a heart longing. But I wasn't really reading it.

The secret message was much shorter.

“I have learned something vital to the survival of your patron. Meet me on the bridge below the waterfall.” I read aloud. I bounced to my feet, folded up the paper and placed it carefully in a pouch. “We must be off.” I declared. “You,” I said pointing with the dagger at the postmaster. “You will wait here. There are further questions need to be asked of you and I think that you will count yourself lucky if it is anyone other than me that comes to ask you these questions.”

He spluttered a bit but I left no time for retort and had already turned to leave.

Kerrass must have stayed a little while but I soon heard his footsteps running to catch me up.

“Freddie?”

Not now Kerrass. I ignored him but my pace increased.

We sped out of the palace and jogged gently through the gardens.

“Lord Frederick?” A couple of voices cried out, “Any news of your sister?”

“A hint Lord Frederick and I will be forever in your debt.”

“Smile Freddie. Look pleased. These people think it's a game.”

I waved at the nobleman who had called, but jogged on.

“Freddie what the fuck?”

“I know who sent the message. But it's impossible.”

“Freddie?”

I ran on.

“Goddess dammit Freddie but if you ever complain about me keeping my thinking from you on a hunt again I'm going to slap you silly.”

We ran, down through the paths that descended towards the harbour. I don't know what I expected to find there. My sister was missing for well over half a day and this path was often travelled so there was no way that she would still be here. But the need to stand in the place that she must have gone burned in me. Even if she had done something else? I felt sure that there was a clue of some kind there.

We got there and looked around, disturbing a young couple, obviously crazily in love with each other. They were looking into the stream and I got the impression that they were looking for something. I shooed them on and started looking around.

Kerrass joined me, jumping down to the bed of the stream, rooting around amongst the rocks and plants. Contrary to my expectation though, we found something almost immediately. Kerrass stopped for a while and took a deep breath. I had seen this before and watched as he took a deep breath before turning his nose towards a bush. He carefully dropped down and gently parted the branches of one of the bushed. Fishing in the bush he produced a rock. It still glistened a little with drying blood.

“That is not a good sign.” he commented. I heard a whooshing in my ears and then next thing I was having water splashed in my face.

“Kerrass. It was my brothers writing. It was Sam's handwriting.... But that's....”

“Impossible. I know....”

“Flame Kerrass what the hell is happening?”

“I don't know Freddie. Come on.”

He helped me to my feet and helped me up the path towards the palace.

He kept the rock in his hand.

It took us some time to gather everyone. We were shown straight into the Empress' office where she was still frantically signing various documents while, at the same time, going through the various stages of being dressed for the various balls that she was going to be attending over the course of the evening and the night.

She seemed to be throwing away one law in three as she found some fault in the writing or found that some scribe or another had inserted their own little clauses or sub-clauses into the laws that she was signing.

Apparently only throwing away one in three was considered a good success rate for a new Emperor in office.

By the time we got there she was back to wearing a dress but if anything her temper was getting worse.

“Find out who wrote this?” she demanded waving it under the nose of her poor, much put upon private secretary. “Find out who wrote this and enquire who is paying them more. Me, or the Duke of Cantre. If it's the Duke of Cantre then the scribe can fucking well find employment with him. If it's me then we are paying them far too much and they can be kicked out the door, onto their arse where they can wallow in their own shite for all I care.”

“Yes, Imperial Majesty.”

“I don't know, do they think that because I'm a girl and because I'm young that I won't notice that they're trying to squeeze these things past me in an effort to get one over on me?”

“I don't know, Imperial Majesty. May I suggest however that that question is better devoted to a time when you've already decided which pieces of the law you want to keep and which one's you don't.”

The Empress grumbled a bit before signing another piece of paper.

Lord Voorhis was summoned and arrived with little ceremony, slipping in via the back door. The Empress was still attended by her dressmakers and a couple of Witchers. I recognised Gaetan although I hadn't been introduced to the other man.

The Empress finished her latest signature before waving off the next piece of paper. She looked up at Kerrass and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“It's not good Majesty.”

The Empress sighed heavily. “You'd better tell me.”

“Lady Francesca was lured out of the palace in the course of the night by a message carried by the Imperial messenger service. Here is a copy of the letter. As well as the private message that was written underneath. We didn't finish the questioning though as we were trying to stay with the trail.”

The Empress nodded as she handed the paper on to Lord Voorhis.

“We went to the only place that we could think of that was covered by “The Bridge under the Waterfall” where we found this.” Kerrass placed the rock on the desk.

The Empress' face went pale and rigid, as though she was suddenly wearing a mask of her own face.

“Is that Francesca's blood?” she asked.

“I'm as confident as I can be. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

The Empress nodded.

“So the train of events is that a message was carried to Francesca in the night. She read it, trusted it enough to investigate alone. Why would she do that?”

“Because, according to Lord Frederick. The Handwriting is similar to that of Lord Samuel's writing.”

Lord Vorhis looked at me. I had slumped into the nearest chair and was letting Kerrass do most of the talking. “Similar Lord Frederick?”

“No.” I said. “It is so close to my brothers handwriting that I would swear that it was his handwriting except that it can't be him.”

“Why do you say that?” The Empress asked

I opened my mouth to speak but Lord Voorhis interrupted me. “Regardless, I'm going to put Lord Samuel Kalayn under arrest while we track down his movements over the last couple of days as well as the movements of his squire and the couple of men-at-arms that he has kept.”

“That's as maybe but it can't be Sam because...”

“We'll get to that Lord Frederick,” Lord Voorhis was scribbling a note that was taken off him by a page. “But what else needs to happen?”

“I would say that we need to properly interrogate the Postmaster of the Imperial messenger service.” Kerrass said. “I would even go so far as to say that the entire system needs to be rethought.”

“Why do you say that?” Lord Voorhis seemed to bridle a bit at that accusation. I would later find out that the Imperial messenger service was Lord Voorhis' personal brainchild.

“Because it would seem that the “Imperial” messenger service has become the messenger service of anyone who can pay for it.” Kerrass said. He went on to describe what we had found about how anyone who paid enough for the “most discrete service” could get the same level of service as the Imperial service. “But,” Kerrass went on, “he can probably be questioned in an effort to find out who it was that actually dropped off the message as well as things like, was the message written in his presence? and...”

“Yes Thank you Master Kerrass. I have some ideas as to what questions need to be asked.” Lord Voorhis snapped.

Kerrass just smiled a little. The Empress ignored them both.

“I want to know why it can't possibly be your brother.” She told me. It wasn't a question.

“Because Sam could no more kill Francesca than I could. What you've got to understand about it is that...” I took a breath in an effort to calm my own mind. I was stuttering around a lump in my throat as well as being torn between a desire to scream, to shout as well as to burst into tears. “What you have to remember is that... Francesca was the culmination of all of us. We all loved her beyond reasoning. She was smarter than me, better with numbers than Emma, more physically gifted than Sammy and kinder than Mark. She became the Princess to all of us. Everyone loved her. Even Edmund loved her despite his obvious faults and warped way of looking at it. She was the culmination of all of our thoughts and prayers. Goddess, we weren't jealous of her. We were proud of her. Everything that she has, she deserves the lot. It wasn't as a result of luck, it was the result of hard work. She was everything to us. Everything to all of us.”

There was something else that was niggling at me. I had seen the note and I knew whose writing it was. But at the same time I also knew that it wasn't Sam that had done this. It was a hunch I suppose.