The Bait
Thames Palace was a den of evil.
That was the conclusion Bono had reached—escort knight to the Second Imperial Princess, Sienna Carlyle.
Serving as guard to the Emperor, or to his immediate blood, was the career every young knight in the Britannia Empire coveted. The military followed the First Imperial Princess, Victoria Carlyle. The scum followed the Second Imperial Princess, Sienna Carlyle. Bankers and men of business threw their weight behind the Third Imperial Princess, Anais Carlyle.
Of the three, Sienna alone was treated as the exception. Her infamy ran so thick that the taverns of the Imperial Capital served her name up with the drinks, something to chew over like a bar snack.
Even so, I thought the stories had to be exaggerated.
Once he was actually working inside Thames Palace, Bono learned they were not rumors at all. The palace staff labored in a permanent state of high tension, terrified of handing anyone a pretext, while the escort knights—Allan Madoff chief among them—had become attack dogs, dealing out violence well beyond anything the law allowed. Running a dogfighting pit and a loan company under other men's names was merely thrown in on top.
What tormented Bono most, though, was something else.
Even in this den, my own footing is precarious.
Remembering the humiliation of a few days past brought nothing but a wash of self-loathing. He had only gone to rebuke his classmate Allan Madoff—a friend since their Academy days—for the man's savage conduct. Watching, up close, the fall of a friend who as a cadet had done nothing but train in silence had been a hard thing to bear. So he had spoken out, stiff and upright, praying that his counsel might still reach whatever was left of Allan Madoff's worn-down conscience.
The intention had been good. Unfortunately, Sienna had been just outside the office. When she appeared without warning, the shock nearly dropped him to his knees.
I'd wanted to die, then.
There had been no direct persecution since, and the quiet only made him more uneasy. He had no idea when retaliation for talking behind her back would come, or in what form. An imperial princess had more than enough power for that.
Please—just don't touch my family.
If his father, a noncommissioned officer in the army, were made to suffer for it, or if his older brother, a low clerk at a trading house, were suddenly dismissed under outside pressure, Bono didn't think he could bear the guilt. His family, harmed because their son had conducted himself like a fool.
Should I beg Her Highness Sienna for leniency instead?
No. His conscience would not allow it. Let her see how cornered he was, and Sienna might bare that particular sadism of hers. Then what, exactly, was he supposed to do?
The worry was still turning when someone came looking for him.
"Um, Sir Knight?"
It was the attendant Allan had beaten so savagely the other day. A splint braced his leg, and a crutch held him barely upright. His face was in no better state—every front tooth gone. Pity made Bono click his tongue.
"What is it?"
"I've come to deliver an order from Her Highness the Princess. She says you are to procure... jimsonweed. It must not be left to anyone else. You are to purchase it yourself, Sir Knight."
"......"
"This is... well. It isn't work fit for a knight. I'm sorry."
"So it begins."
Bono muttered it, and a bitter taste settled over his tongue. Even so, one thing in the midst of it struck him as strange.
"Did you just say jimsonweed?"
"She said to carry it out in secret, and not to let anyone around you know."
Why jimsonweed, of all things?
That's a poisonous herb. For all intents and purposes.
It had a numbing effect, and the poor chewed it down when a toothache or a headache came on. Take enough of it, often enough, though, and it could kill you. Bono knew that much from the survival training he had received in the Academy's faculty of swordsmanship.
"Did Her Highness happen to say what it was to be used for?"
"I'm hardly in a position to ask her that. Only... no, never mind. Haha."
The attendant let the end of the sentence dissolve into an awkward laugh. His lips worked as if he meant to say something more, then he mumbled past it. Deeply suspicious.
What on earth does she mean to use it for?
Suspicion kept welling up in Bono's chest. A princess, sending a man on an errand for some weed—that alone was not normal. And now that he thought of it, Allan Madoff had sent herb-gatherers out to dig up some mushroom or other. He certainly had not secured it to eat, so there had to be a purpose. Bono had no proof, yet he could not shake the feeling that it was not unrelated to the jimsonweed.
"You ought to hurry. You know Her Highness's temper."
"Ah—yes!"
An order was an order, so he decided to obey for the moment. The errand only sharpened his suspicion. The place where he obtained the jimsonweed happened to be a dubious herb shop in the middle of the slums. However he looked at it, it did not seem a shop that sold anything good for the body.
Surely not. It can't be.
He wanted to deny it. Turn the matter over as he might, this was no ordinary assignment.
The one who had traded on the princess's name and sent Bono to buy jimsonweed was, of course, me.
By now he'll be desperate to know what that errand was for.
Why order him, specifically, to procure jimsonweed in secret—and what was it meant to be used for? His head would be splitting as he tried to work it out. I had no need of jimsonweed, naturally. I only wanted to feed his suspicion. The aim, obviously, was to steer Bono and throw bait at my rivals.
The suspicion was planted. Now it was time to urge him on in person.
"Bono. I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't know Her Highness would walk in like that."
I went up to him on the training ground and put on an awkward air. Those eyes met me at once, full of venom, glaring as if I had done him some injustice. He really does hate me. That was why I had chosen him in the first place.
"What good is an apology now!"
"I know. An apology that's only words is useless."
"......"
"Then how about this? Do me one small favor, and I'll petition Her Highness to forgive you. She may not listen to anyone else, but she does lend an ear to my advice. You know that."
At that, Bono hesitated. Contempt for Sienna aside, he did not seem eager to throw away the title of a princess's escort knight so easily.
"...And what is this small favor?"
"You know about Her Majesty the Empress's homesickness, I trust."
"Of course."
"Her Highness Sienna worries constantly over Her Majesty's condition. You know how tenderhearted she is."
"That's... no."
"She searched high and low, and lately she seems to have found a good medicine. I believe she means to present it to Her Majesty as a gift."
Bono was keeping his expression in order, after a fashion, which only made the crack more obvious. By now he would be thinking of the jimsonweed, and of that mushroom with no name. The faint tremor in his gaze told me he had already decided, in his own mind, what this medicine for the Empress really was. I gave nothing away and coaxed him along.
"Bono. When Her Highness Sienna goes to present the medicine to the Empress, I'd like you to attend her. It ought to be my duty, but... you know what my reputation is like."
"Why me, of all people? It's not as if you and I are the only escort knights."
"Our other colleagues are just as reviled. But you haven't been at Thames Palace long, and your record is respectable enough. You're perfect for a ceremonial escort."
"......"
"It'll be a good opportunity for you."
I pressed him as I said it, and hauled the corners of my mouth up into something clumsy. Even to my eyes, Allan Madoff's face was the sort that dripped killing intent; a smile from it could never put anyone at ease. If anything, it would only make a man wonder why the bastard was smiling, and feed his unease.
Bono, who had been silent, shook his head at last.
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to refuse, Allan."
"You're refusing? Don't regret it. It's a good opportunity."
"I'm grateful you meant to look out for me. But I really don't have any experience with court ceremony."
The strain of hiding what he truly thought was written all over him. Guessing what was running through Bono's head was not difficult at all.
Surely they wouldn't feed a poisonous herb to the Empress. Or maybe it isn't outright murder—maybe they're after something that wastes her slowly. And if even that isn't enough, are they trying to pin the whole of it on me?
"It doesn't have to be you, I suppose. In any case... never mind."
I let the words trail off on purpose and left. When I glanced back, Bono was still rooted where he stood, staring into empty air.
Cornered, he had only one card left.
He'll inform.
Public order in the Empire belonged to the military police. But Bono was no fool, so he would not take it to them. He knew what came of accusing a princess without clear proof. He would carry the report to the Third Princess, still enrolled at the Academy, or to her faction.
He probably thinks that's the righteous thing to do.
I was right. The guards of Thames Palace, whom I had already charged with watching Bono, came running to me.
"Sir Bono has just left the palace in a great hurry!"
An escort knight who was supposed to remain at the princess's side at all times, departing without so much as a report. The guard said he had pressed him to the last about his destination.
"And?"
"He said he was going to the Academy. I asked his business, but he ignored me and left in a rush."
The person Bono was hurrying off to meet could only be the Third Princess, Anais, enrolled at the Academy—the heroine and patron who pushed the protagonist up the road to success. At first she had approached on ability alone, meaning to recruit him; then, as her wits dulled, the obsession began. Unlike Sienna, whose character was a wreck, she had a reputation for an even temper. She was still a member of that brutal imperial house, all the same. She was not the sort to let an easy chance to be rid of her elder half-sister slip past her.
Now it was our turn to move.
"Your Highness. The preparations are complete."
I went to Sienna's office and made the report. She was twirling a lock of silver hair around one finger, looking through some ledger—the books of a loan company she ran with a ruined noble propped up as the front. One of the petty streams of money she kept turning over. She shut the ledger the moment she saw me, which told me she cared less for the figures than for the stage I had prepared. A show of filial piety is more amusing than a ledger, I'll grant her that.
"Anais is fairly cunning, too. She won't just believe it."
"It's all right. Bono will be convinced we're truly using poison."
I was a little sorry to have used him as bait, but in exchange I meant to preserve Bono's life. Left alone, he would throw himself at Sienna and die. This was better.
Now it was time to go and be filial.