Novel 2. Royal Justice

— Your Majesty... I... — Armando managed to get up and simply clapped his palm on the steel rod on his belt. Octavia the Ninth nodded briefly:

— Stay close, Don.

However, the battle had already come to an end. Horns sang on all sides, shadows of riders flickered among the trees. The lagging part of the retinue arrived just in time to stamp the last of the assassins into the mud and snow. The three cavalrymen rode straight toward the queen. She met them with a commanding shout:

— Take a prisoner! At least one alive!

Turning to Armando again, she smiled weakly:

— I will certainly ask who you are and how you came to be here, but a little later, don. I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone for a while.

With a bloody sword in her hand, the black-haired girl went to the place where the thick of the battle had been recently, shouting commands in a voice that was not the least bit hoarse. As if she hadn't just fought three enemies at once. De Gorazzo swallowed, took a breath. He looked for Gotech, and was relieved to find him alive and well. The black-skinned giant was saying something to the horsemen around him, shaking his bailiff's staff....

...The two surrendered mercenaries were taken away in slings, the wounded were bandaged and laid near the hastily made fire, waiting for the healer. The young queen personally took care of the mare, who was lying with its legs broken by the explosion. Finally, the guards, whose numbers were growing by leaps and bounds, surrounded the recent battlefield in a tight ring. Octavia the Ninth, disheveled, covered in snow and earth, only just wiped the blood from her face, but paradoxically even more beautiful because of this, sank down tiredly on a folding chair given by a servant. She gestured to the two bailiffs to sit in the same chair. She rested her sword blade on the ground, folded her palms in thin black gloves on the hilt. Without ceremony, she asked:

— Tell me, gentlemen bailiffs. Who you are, what you're doing here and what you know about what happened.

— And you... you are not wounded, Your Majesty? — De Gorazzo was belatedly concerned. He still could not believe that everything had worked out — the assassination attempt had been foiled, they were alive and talking to the queen herself.

— Thank you for your concern, Don. — The girl with a shadow of a smile on her lips stretched with two fingers the gash in her jacket left by the assassin's spear. Metal gleamed. — I always wear chainmail under my clothes when I'm not wearing my armor. Now you may begin.

And Armando began. Gotech only nodded and occasionally added a terse clarification; de Horatso did most of the talking. He told it like it was. He had lied only a little, saying that they had bribed the baron to cover their true intentions, to return and raise the alarm. It seemed to him that a merry light flashed in Octavia's shrewd blue eyes as she listened to this part of the story, but Her Majesty did not interrupt Armando, nor did she express her disbelief aloud.

-...and here we are, before you, my Queen, — the young bailiff finished.

The queen was silent, stroking the "apple" on the hilt of her sword with her fingertips. She turned to one of her companions:

— Count de Eltaro, take a hundred mounted men and visit Baron de Montore. Bring him and his nephew to me, and take the rest of the castle dwellers into custody. Act quickly and suddenly, we don't need a siege.

— I obey, Your Majesty. — The Count made a short bow and ran to his horse.

— And you, noble dons... — the girl in black stood up, and the bailiffs also immediately rose to their feet. — ...you have done well. I am glad to know that among my bailiffs are so loyal, brave and skillful. It's a shame I only learned your names now. I need men I can rely on.

— We are servants of the crown, Your Majesty! — Armando exclaimed fervently, almost without acting. — It is our duty to serve you.

— That is what everyone says, Don, — the queen shook her head. — And many separate me and the crown... But today you have proved your loyalty by deed.

She unhooked from her belt a crooked hunting knife in a simple black sheath, decorated only with gold embossing, and handed it to de Gorazzo:

— This is but a token of my appreciation, Don Armando. May it remind you of today. And that I remember you too.

— Thank you, Your... — Armando realized that he seemed to be in love.

— I will thank you, Don Ardano, in another way. — Octavia turned to the black-skinned giant and looked him in the face from bottom to top. — As of today, you are Don de Ardano. I approve your personal nobility as inherited. I will order all the paperwork to be done as soon as I return to the palace. — She suddenly smiled a mischievous girlish smile, and Armando remembered that the queen was only nineteen. — Do your best not to let your lineage end with you, Don. I would have your descendants serve my grandchildren with the same zeal.

— So they will, Your Majesty... — Gotech hesitated and, seeing that the queen was about to leave, blurted out: — May I ask for help in a personal matter?

— Yes, Don?

— You see, there is a girl who... — the big man continued, and de Gorazzo covered his face with the palm of his hand, not knowing whether to burn with shame or just be happy for his friend. Armando had no doubt that the queen would fulfill the giant's request.....

* * *

— So there's no idea what this thing was doing before it burned up? — Armando chuckled, rubbing his chin.

— Moreover, Don, I don't even have any idea what this thing was made of, — the forensic mage shook his head. — Even a metal of unknown nature, much less any other material...

On the table in front of the crown officials, boxes of various sizes were laid out in a row-one could hold the contents of a swag bag, while the others could barely hold a bar of soap. The boxes were blackened by the fire, and their metal frames were covered with a strange, hardened sweat, like wax.

— A servant at the Castel de Montore heard Don Mario de Luigi refer to these boxes as 'radio stations' in a conversation with the baron, — Armando remarked.

— Which gives us nothing," the magician sighed. — The meaning of the word is unknown to me or my colleagues at the University. The archivist is looking for it in books, but I'm willing to bet he won't find anything.

— You can't ask the Baron and de Luigi to explain, — de Gorazzo grimaced.

No one could explain how the conspiring baron's castle had learned of the failed ambush, but the fact remained. When Queen Octavia's detachment arrived at the Montore estate, Baron Calisto was hanging in a noose from the ceiling of his room. And the outhouse in which his "nephew" dwelt was aflame. De Luigi himself as in water vanished — even the castle servants could not remember when he left the castle. However, the fire was extinguished quite quickly, and in the room of the baron's "nephew" soldiers of the Queen found a lot of things of unknown purpose, made of unknown materials. Some of them had suffered more from the fire, some less — but all of them did not show a single bit of magic. So the strange items were taken to the cellars of the Hall of Justice, where anyone who wished could try to unravel their mystery.

— Are the other clues here too? — Armando asked.

— In two steel containers by that wall. — The forensic magician pointed a finger at the gray metal doors embedded in the stone. — I and the guard have the key. Would you like to see it?

— Not today, maester. Later.

Leaving the mage to work on the charred wreckage, the bailiff stepped out into the corridor, half-dark, damp, and cold, as a corridor in an old dungeon should be. De Gorazzo noted, however, that the air in the catacombs was even more dank than usual. He carefully closed the door behind him, turned around... and almost nose to nose with a complete stranger standing in the middle of the corridor. The girl, the same age as Donna Vittoria, looked more like Queen Octavia — tall, well-built, black-haired. Except that her hair was cut short, framing a beautiful swarthy face. The girl was dressed in a blue uniform with white embroidery, soft brown boots up to mid-thigh, and light silver armor — a cuirass with shoulder pads, gauntlets with elbow cuffs. For a good half a minute the bailiff and the stranger stared at each other silently. Finally, Armando realized with horror that the girl's figure was shining through — he could vaguely distinguish the masonry behind her back. Noticing how the bailiff's eyes widened with fright, the swarthy stranger smiled guiltily, retreated a step — and with her the dampness and cold retreated. The underground corridor became distinctly warmer. The girl put her palm to her chest, tilted her head slightly, as if apologizing, and... began to melt into the air. In a couple of seconds she turned into a black shadow with blurred outlines. Only the yellow lynx eyes burned with two golden lights where her face had been. Then they disappeared, too.

Armando was alone. His first encounter with a real ghost had ended in a surprisingly peaceful manner.

— I'll go home later, — de Gorazzo said through a spasm in his throat. — Now to Vittoria's. Urgently.

The royal bailiff headed for the exit from the dungeons almost at a run, glancing over his shoulder....

Part Two. Coming from Outside

Chapter 5

He didn't want to get out of the warm bed, but the circumstances were stronger than Armando's desires — he and Vittoria had drunk a lot of wine that evening. The young bailiff struggled for a while, gazing at the intricate steppe patterns on the silk canopy over the bed, but finally gave in. Pulling back the fine coverlet, he slowly lowered his feet to the floor. Feeling the pile of carpet beneath his feet, he looked around. Vittoria, who was wrapped up in the bedspread, did not seem to be awake. Don got up, quietly pulled on his pants and shirt, put on his shoes, and unlocked the door. The bedroom in the capital mansion of the red-haired Donna had never been locked from the inside before — Armando remembered that for sure. Apparently, the girl had put a brass bolt on it just for him. It warmed his soul, and it worked, too — de Gorazzo felt much calmer behind locked doors.

The thing is, the court necromancer didn't have a domestic servants. Live ones. Vittoria made servants for herself from well embalmed dead animals. In addition, the two-story mansion served as the red-haired donna's personal laboratory, and many fruits of her experiments freely roamed the rooms, hiding under the furniture, crawling along the curtains. The necromancer simply paid no attention to them — unlike her guests. It was the night visit of a certain dead animal to the bedroom six months ago that had led to Armando's ignominious flight from the mansion. At the time, the bailiff thought he would never be able to look Vittoria in the eye again — but here he was again, and it was as if nothing had happened. Perhaps after rescuing Queen Octavia from assassins, the young official had become braver. Just a little. But this newfound courage was enough for him to admit to himself that Vittoria was more than just another infatuation, and he loved her more than he feared her. And the necromancer showed enviable nobility, forgiving Armando after a small but turbulent repentance.

De Gorazzo opened the casement and peered gingerly into the corridor. It was well past midnight, the wall lamps were out, and the ghostly moonlight streamed in through the windows at the ends of the passage. At one window the bailiff noticed a heavy shadow. Looking closely, he realized that it was Luca, the bald orangutan acting as butler in Vittoria's house. The dead ape, covered in gray wrinkled skin, sat on the floor, head tilted back, empty eyes staring upward. To the moon, perhaps. Armando swallowed. What was that thing doing? Necromancer pets are basically just puppets. They have no thoughts or desires of their own. Unless the mage controls them directly, they can only follow a set of commands laid down by their creator. The more skillful a necromancer is, the more complex things his creations can do. So why is the dead orangutan staring longingly out the window? What command is it obeying from its mistress? "It's guarding," Armando decided to himself. — There are no bars on the windows. Although with such a servant Vittoria can not worry about thieves".

The dead butler did not react to the creak of the door or the footsteps behind him. As de Gorazzo crept past, the orangutan continued to gaze at the moon. In the hallway of the first floor, where Armando had entered, a small, nameless monkey, with the remnants of black fur on its back, was winding the wall clock. Something else was fiddling with the crystal chandelier in the ceiling. The darkness made it hard to see what was running around, jingling the crystal, but Armando didn't really want to. Don hurriedly dashed to the right door and closed it from the inside, glad that the mansion was connected to the plumbing of the ancient imperial times. The trickling of water in the stone trough distracted him from the sounds coming from the hall.

On the way back, the bailiff whistled a cheerful song under his breath. He felt better. "The Clock Monkey" and the creature on the chandelier ignored the guest, and the necromancer's other creations were out of sight, so that the fear had receded a little. Armando headed for the cozy little bedroom, where the floor was covered with a fluffy carpet, the door was securely locked from the inside, a night-light smoldered on the table, and the most wonderful girl in the world sniffled quietly under the covers. Hurrying up the stairs, de Gorazzo was so engrossed in thoughts of Vittoria that a sharp sound behind him almost fell. The bailiff's heart sank and a chill ran down his spine, but the sound was repeated, and Armando realized that it was only a doorbell. Though... a doorbell ringing in a necromancer's house deep in the night?

The monkey hurriedly slammed the clock door shut, jumped to the floor, and ran past Armando to wake her mistress. The thing on the chandelier, with one last clink of crystal, ran up to the ceiling beams and disappeared behind one of them. De Gorazzo hesitated, approached the door, over which the bell continued to ring, and asked in a menacing voice:

— Who are the demons carrying there?

— It's me, Armando. Open up, — came a deep bass from behind the oak door.

— Gotech? Here! — de Gorazzo pulled back two iron latches and hesitated before the third lock. It was a bony animal's paw, attached to the door at one end. Powerful clawed fingers clutched a ring embedded in the doorjamb. Remembering how Vittoria had done it, Armando stroked the paw and bounced back just in case. The paw unclenched its fingers, the sash swung open, and Don Gotech de Ardano stepped into the hallway, catching his bald head on the headboard.