Chapter 1339: The rat and the mice(2)

It was a pleasant room. It possessed none of the grand elegance or ostentatious decoration a true nobleman would demand, but it was cozy in the way only a small, well-kept space could be. The furniture was simple, sturdy oak, a modest table and a few chairs outfitted with plush red cushions that added a much-needed splash of warmth.

If Marcus had ever allowed himself the foolish luxury of dreaming about owning a home, he supposed this was exactly how he would want his kitchen or a room for settling guests to look. A cozy sanctuary for a quiet house, perhaps with a swarm of little brats waiting by the hearth for his return...

He caught himself and grimaced. No, I really can’t see it.

He was cursed to serve the King until his body finally failed him in the dirt. It wasn’t the sort of dream a free man would proudly boast of, perhaps, but it still bested the rot of being a slave by a spectacularly large margin.

Marcus turned around and accompanied the heavy door to its frame, closing it with a gentle, silent click. Through the paned glass, he took one last look at the pristine green grass of the courtyard before sealing them in.

"Our dear mistress matron must truly possess a heavy hand with her workers, and a thoroughly nasty temper to be certain," Marcus remarked, turning back to regard Sevar with a sharp, toothy grin. "I certainly do not envy the girls. I always harbored the foolish notion that servants in the employ of grand nobles had it good. I still think so, of course, but perhaps a sight less than before. Still, this is a beautiful space. Your personal office, is it?"

The older man licked his dry lips, his chest puffing out with a deep, shaky intake of air as he tried to summon a fraction of his lost authority. "Why are you here? And why are you dressed like a common scullery boy?"

"Does the linen fit me?" Marcus asked with a low chuckle, gesturing down to his sleeveless white tunic. "What did you think, Master Sevar? Just because I kept perfectly quiet for a few weeks, did you assume all your debts were forgotten? Did you suddenly forget your darling child? Your lovely woman?" He made a sharp, disappointed clicking sound with his tongue against his gums. "Then I suppose the leverage we held over your neck was not nearly as firm as we originally thought."

"What do you want?" Sevar growled, though the words lacked marrow. He grew visibly nervy, his posture growing awkward and uncomfortable the closer Marcus sauntered.

No doubt the bastard was running a rapid inventory of everything he stood to lose. Despite being entirely common-born, Sevar or his father, or granfather , he did not know nor care, whoever he was, he had climbed the palace ladder to become the master servant, a prestigious station only a single peg lower than the head butler himself. It was a position of real, tangible power. Men of all kinds, from the highest prince to the lowest peasant, were always staggeringly eager to collect power, but they were fiercely reluctant to part with even a grain of it.

"To collect a small portion of the debt you owe us, of course," Marcus whispered, stepping into the older man’s personal space. "We had this exact conversation already, did we not? On that dreadful, moonless night? Surely a man of your refinement remembers the scent of it? Just like an open grave, Sevar. That sort of stink is terribly hard to forget.Of course if you did we could send some fingers of your child or woman, to help freshen up your memory. DO we need to do so?"

"What... what do I need to do?"

Now isn’t this a step in the right direction?

"Nothing overly grand," Marcus replied smoothly. He grabbed the back of a wooden chair and pulled it out, letting the legs screech violently against the stone floor to shatter the silence. "You are the primary official responsible for accepting new palace employees, if my memory serves me well?"

Sevar nodded, a thick layer of suspicion hardening in his eyes, though a hazy confusion still lingered beneath the panic. Then, the master servant actually used that expensive brain of his and linked the pieces together. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing frantically.

Marcus’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. "Well then. I trust you know your specific bit?"

"That cannot be done!" Sevar gasped out with frantic haste, realizing a fraction too late that his tone was far too loud, far too desperate.

Marcus settled his gaze upon the man, a cold, unblinking glare that made the old bastard’s knees visibly wobble beneath his robes. "Cannot? Or will not?"

"Cannot! I swear to the gods, cannot!" Sevar whispered fiercely, a thick bead of sweat breaking free and running down the side of his balding head. "It cannot work! We will be caught before the week is out. I cannot simply place any stray I want inside the prince’s inner household."

Marcus studied the man, deliberately taking his time, letting the silence stretch until Sevar looked ready to faint. "Why not?"

"Every single applicant requires a formal letter of recommendation from a recognized lord," Sevar explained quickly, his hands twitching. "Either a trusted friend of the house or a noble. We do not pick desperate strays off the city streets.’’

That was strange, Marcus recalled the king to have done just that...but still he knew his king was odd.Especially when compared to the other blue-blooded freaks.

’’I may be the one who interviews them and accepts their names’’ the man continued on’’ but I must answer directly to the head butler and hand over the official documentation. I cannot simply falsify a lord’s seal!"

But we can, Marcus thought, holding back a laugh.

"A recommendation letter?" Marcus mused aloud. "You mean... something akin to this one?"

With a theatrical flourish, Marcus reached into the folds of his wool coat, pulled out a folded parchment, and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a soft, authoritative thwack.

Sevar stared down at the document long and hard, his eyes wide, as if he fully expected the parchment to sprout legs and sprint out the window. He swallowed back another wave of panic. "You cannot simply dump some melted red wax on a scrap of paper and expect it to pass muster. The head butler will meticulously check the heraldry against the registry, and—"

"Are you truly so daft that you cannot recognize the shape of the realm’s premier steel?" Marcus interrupted cheekily. He stepped forward and pressed a calloused finger directly against the hardened crimson wax. "It is the gauntlet of Thythilis, Master Sevar. I am entirely certain a man of your vast administrative experience isn’t so forgetful as to forget who they are. Nor who their grand lord is. I am sure the Princess of Sharjaan would gladly help you recall the name of her esteemed lord father if you require a reminder."

That caused the master servant to instantly narrow his gaze. Sevar snatched up the letter, bringing it mere inches from his nose, his eyes darting across the seal, desperately searching for any slight imperfection, any smudge of a fraudulent hand.

Try as you may, old man, you won’t find a single fault, Marcus thought triumphantly. Gods only knew what kind of master forger the King had poached from the capital’s dungeons to draft the script, but the bastard certainly knew how to earn his bread. Marcus made a mental note to thank Lucius; a perfect forgery made his infiltration a hell of a lot safer.

Sevar slowly drew the letter away from his face, his expression still gripped by a profound, trembling disbelief. He looked utterly unconvinced, yet entirely terrified to voice his doubts. "I... I do not possess the specific instruments here to verify the herald, nor the stroke of the quill, but the head butler... he will immediately notice the incongruences, wherever they are hidden.Especially someone as august as the princess’ lord father!"

We chose him exactly because I would be accepted with a quick stroke. Marcus thought, finding the whole ordeal tiredsome.

"No, he will not, for the simple fact that there aren’t any," Marcus smiled, lying through his teeth as easily and naturally as he breathed. "Who says this is a counterfeit, Sevar? It is a genuine article, bearing a genuine seal.Do you truly think us some, low handed agency?What some smugglers who are looking to hit it big, trying to play with big boots?We all have our fights and our clear instruments, and clear patrons to help us. You can choose whetever to drown alone, or stand with us...."

The realization hit Sevar. No doubt it did.

The old man’s breath caught in his throat as the full weight of Marcus’s words settled into his mind.

He must have been thinking something on the lines of: The Princess’s father... the grand Lord of Thythilis himself? How could a man of such nobility possibly lower himself to....or some shit like that. All that Marcus cared of was getting it done with.

Who knew perhaps that was the problem with him?He was far too useful?That maybe the reason why the king threw him from one mission to the other....should he start perhaps sullying his work?Maybe he would get an early retirement too.....one that did not entail an unrecognisable body floating in the canals.

Well, now wasn’t that a thought for later?