Chapter 83: I know who sent the message (3)

I was out of breath.

“It's not Sam.” I got out between gasping for breath.

Kerrass winced. “I know we've said that and I'm on your side Freddie but it's not looking good. The messenger guy identified your brother as the man that wrote the message. He described him perfectly along with what he was wearing that day. There's a gap in your brother's schedule where he says that he was sleeping but there aren't any witnesses to that effect and he could easily have had the time to go and write the message.”

I nodded. “Where's my brother now?”

Kerrass gestured to the small collection of cells.

“The messenger too?”

Kerrass nodded.

“And Lord Voorhis?”

“Is currently questioning your brother.”

I stalked into the small group of rooms. The guards reacted badly, hands went to swords and people started shouting.

“Which one's the messenger in? What'sisname. George?”

“Freddie...” Kerrass waved off the guards.

“Which one,” I demanded.

Kerrass pointed and I threw the door open.

The man still had a very punchable face. He had a look that I had seen before. It was the look of a man who was beginning to think that the worst was past. That he would be ok. I still wanted to hurt him but I recognised him now as just being a pointless little jobsworth who thought he was more important than he actually was. If nothing else came of the whole affair then at least the messenger service would be completely revamped and his life would be forever changed.

But he would probably survive.

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He began to change his mind when he saw my face.

“Err?” He sputtered.

“The man you saw.” I began, trying to keep my voice calm and level. This was the question that could prove my brothers guilt or innocence. “The man who gave you the message. Did you see him write it?”

“Err... yes.”

“With your own two eyes.” I was beginning to feel more secure in my certainty now.

“Yes.” He was feeling more confident now.

“On this paper.” I still had the blue piece of paper from earlier with the message on and I waved it him.

“Yes.”

“Is this the same piece of paper that you gave him. The one with the message.”

“Yes. That's the duplicate message. He wrote both of them and I had to check the one against the other to make sure that there wasn't any deviation.” Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

“Lord Frederick, what's the meaning of this?” Lord Voorhis had emerged from somewhere but I ignored him.

“You didn't look away.” I went on with my questions. “You watched the man write both messages with your own eyes. He couldn't have switched papers at all, sleight of hand? a distraction? Nothing like that?”

“No. I watched very carefully.” The man seemed to take offence that I could question his competence.

“So just so we're clear.” I went on. It was vital that I get all of this right. “The man came in, paid you the sum of money required for the usage of the messenger service. You gave him the blue card for the decoy message and a separate piece of paper where the decoy message and the real message were written down, by him, in front of your eyes.”

“Yes. That's how it works.” He had squirmed a bit at the reminder that he had been charging money for the Empire's most secret messenger system.

“How long did it take this person to write the messages?”

“What?”

“Lord Frederick I'm not sure what bearing this has...”

“HOW LONG?” I bellowed at the unfortunate messenger.

“I don't know, a minute, maybe two.”

I looked again at the poem and the message on the piece of paper.

“Two minutes to do the poem twice and the message.”

“Yes.”

“Let's call it three minutes just to be on the safe side.” I felt light headed. My brother was innocent. That horrible doubt that had crept into my mind. That horrible, momentary doubt that had begun to even hint that my brother might be guilty evaporated.

I turned to Lord Voorhis. “Is my brother down the hall?”

“Yes, but....”

“Do you have a scribe with you?”

“Well yes, we need to keep this whole thing recorded.”

I swept past him. Kerrass pointed at the door I needed and I burst in the room. Sam was sat behind a table in his shirt sleeves. Obviously furious and bewildered his arms were manacled and chained to the table. Sure enough a scribe sat in the corner of the room.

“Freddie?” He tried to stand as I walked in but the chains kept him sat down.

For a moment my fury threatened to overpower me. “Hardly “house arrest” Lord Voorhis.” I hissed. “Take those off.” I pointed at the manacles.

“Lord Frederick. I have been tolerant of your abuses of power but those manacles are going to stay on until I am satisfied as to the innocence of your brother. Innocence which is becoming increasingly doubtful in the face of the evidence that is coming to light.”

“Lord Voorhis.” I managed, struggling to keep calm. “I understand that this is your job and I appreciate that. I am about to prove that my brother did not write these messages.”

“How?”

I saw that Kerrass had come into the room as well.

“For that, I need those manacles removing.” I said.

Lord Voorhis took a deep breath, presumably swallowing his own anger, before gesturing. A guard stepped forward and unlocked the bonds. While that was happening I went over to the scribe and stole an ink pot, a couple of quills and some parchment.

“Ok Sam.” I said. “Here's what I want you to do.” I passed him the ink, quills and parchment. “Lay those out the way you want first as though we were in school.”

Sam looked at me oddly before arranging everything together. I lay down the original message next to him.

“I didn't write that.” He said looking it over. “It's a forgery.”

“I know Sam and I'm about to prove it. I need you to copy that out onto the blank parchment I've just given you. Then turn the parchment over and do it again. The two copies have to be identical. Do you understand?”

Sam snorted.

“I do, but that's impossible.”

“Just the content of the message. No spelling mistakes. The penmanship doesn't matter but it needs to be legible with no ink splatter or anything that might make the message illegible or contribute to someone's confusion.”

Sam stared at me for a moment as though I had gone mad, before shrugging and setting down to work.

After a while, Kerrass chuckled quietly.

A bit longer and people watching started to shift their weight in discomfort.

I nodded my satisfaction as Sam leant back after finishing the last line. He flexed his wrist a little bit as I looked over the work.

“How long did that take?” I asked the room?

“Twenty two minutes,” Kerrass answered, “give or take a few seconds.”

I nodded and took another piece of paper from the scribe.

“Ok Sam, your wrist ok?”

He nodded, still angry. “Freddie, what the fuck's going...”

“I'll hopefully be able to explain soon. But first more writing I'm afraid.”

I put the new paper in front of Sam as well as some spare quills.

“Now do the same thing again. You have two minutes.”

“Fuck off.”

“I'm serious Sammy. Get to it.”

Sam shrugged again and bent to work.

When he was done he pushed the paper over to me with an expression of disgust. The number of ink blots alone was impressive.

He had gone through three quills and I had had to refill his inkpot.

“I can read it.” I said to the room. “But I know my brothers hand. I challenge any of the rest of you to say, with certainty, that you can read every word and.... how long did that take Kerrass?”

“Six minutes, thirty two.”

I nodded in satisfaction. “My brother is being framed Lord Voorhis. I don't know who by, or why but I know that he didn't do it.”

Lord Voorhis took a deep breath.

“I think I can follow your reasoning Lord Frederick. But for the record please.”

“I can't explain everything.” I said. “I can't answer for why the messenger can describe my brother in detail but a disguise, make-up and others might explain it. Leaving aside the problems of a missing motive... The messenger says that the message, and the two copies of the poem were done in two minutes. I could write those things out, as could the scribe here I imagine. But that's our skill and talent. Sam's talents and skills are martial in nature.

“He spent years. Frustrating, heartbreaking years trying to teach me how to use a sword. Bruises and scars for both of us. But the opposite is also true. I spent years trying to teach him the finer points of poetry and calligraphy. I would flatter myself that I know his handwriting better than anyone alive and as you can see....” I held up the two pieces of writing that he had done. “There is a reason that my brother employs a scribe when he has to send a letter.”

I put them back down again. Sam was smiling ruefully.

“The original message was written too perfectly for Sam. He can do it when he puts his mind to it, but it's a matter of painstaking effort. If you look here, and here.” I pointed at some examples on his careful attempt.

“You can see jumps in his writing, jerks in the word formation where he realised he was going wrong. Proper writing flows like water. It's natural and easy, even when it's not the best quality. He was making the effort here and it took him far longer than the messenger himself says that it could have taken.

“As for Sam's attempt at speed writing? I don't like that messenger. I think he's a snob but I flatter him enough that there's no way he would have accepted that.” I gestured at the offending piece of paper.

“My final point is this.” I said, picking up the original message. “Even the most careful scribe, the most professional scholar in the world makes mistakes. They blot and spatter ink. If you look at our friend scribe's writing, I would bet that you can see some ink splatter somewhere, small and hard to spot though it might be.”

The room turned to look at the scribe. A man of about thirty who looked up from his paper when he realised that conversation had stopped.

“He's right,” he said. “In the trade, we make the joke that that's why they invented blotting paper and use sand for drying.”

“Again, if you look at the original message. There are no mistakes. None. No ink splatters, no blots.... It's perfect. The messenger says that it was done in front of him and he has no reason to lie. That speaks to me of much practice. Why would someone practice that?”

“A forgery.” Lord Voorhis nodded. “A frame job. A good one at that. Are you sure I can't offer you a job in the intelligence service?” He turned to Sam. “Apologies Lord Kalayn?”

Sam paused to take a deep breath. “I know that I'm supposed to say that there's no harm done and no hard feelings. But right now I just want to punch someone.”

Lord Voorhis shrugged. “Feel free if it would make you feel better. It wouldn't be the first time that someone has taken to hating me for doing my job.” He turned back to Kerrass and I. The Empress insisted on being kept up to date so I should go and do that. She gets tetchy when she's not kept in the loop.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“The truth. That we followed the wrong path and that now, we're nowhere.”

It took us a short while to get Sam settled down. He was very angry but at the same time a little grateful. I had been the person that put the finger on him by identifying the handwriting as his but I was also the man who figured out that he was being framed. That clash of being scared, angry and grateful along with worry over Francesca and the cold furious longing for someone to hit had left him feeling dopey and restless. I left him at the practice yards where he took a practice sword to a couple of defenceless training dummies that didn't survive the contact.

By that time the Empress had vanished off into one of the numerous balls that were being thrown in her honour. Instead, Kerrass, Lord Voorhis and I gathered in her office to exchange notes and see where we stood. I remember that Kerrass kept checking on me. The same way that he would check a bomb that hadn't gone off or an alchemical solution that hadn't done what it was supposed to.

I was tired. I felt echoey. I was having flashes and after images of things that I was looking at superimposed themselves on my vision. I was full of the same nervous energy that had afflicted Sammy. My left leg kept jiggling, beating out a nervous rhythm on the floor that must have been aggravating. But I didn't know what to do next.

The office had been turned into the headquarters of Lord Voorhis' investigation. He had a small group of men there sat at an increased number of tables going through Francesca's things. The Empress' desk and dress-makers apparatus had been removed and had been replaced with my sisters luggage that was being gone through with the proverbial fine toothed comb.

At two desks were a pair of oldish men that were introduced as the “Baker boys.” The term “boys” was pushing it as both men were well into their sixties with huge foreheads that seemed to climb out of thin curtains of hair. They both had small magnifying glasses that were perched on the ends of their noses and they were going through my sisters correspondence which was vast. I have a tendency to think of myself as having quite a large list of correspondents that I write to on a regular basis and whenever I return home I always find a thick sheaf of letters waiting for me. But my number of letters was made insignificant next to the vast number of letters that my sister had received. And those were just the ones that she had brought with her and had received in the meantime. The two men read each letter over and over again, trying to identify codes or if any of the letters might give out some kind of clue as to who would wish harm on my sister. As it turns out there were quite a few people who wouldn't take “The Empress has forbidden me to accept suitors” as a proper and acceptable answer to expressions of affection.

In one corner, a thin forbidding looking woman and another woman of much more generous figure were going through Francesca's cosmetics looking for poisons or potions. Another pair of men were going through her clothes, carefully picking apart stitching to see if there was anything hidden in any kind of secret compartment, whether by Francesca or by someone else.

I noticed that all three sets of investigators wore thick, leather gloves. At the same time, nearby there was a table, on which stood a series of bottles containing various hues of liquids. Kerrass saw me looking and identified them as poison antidotes. Lord Voorhis had then told me a harrowing story about the mysterious death of a lady at court. Upon investigating the death, one of Lord Voorhis' men had forgotten to wear gloves while examining one of the pieces of jewellery, fallen ill and died.

I found the thought incredibly depressing.

It seemed that it was indeed blood that was on the stone that Kerrass had found. That and it was indeed my sister's blood. Some Sorceress had provided the information although I didn't know who. I felt tired and frustrated, turning the facts over in my mind over and over again but I couldn't see a way through.

Lord Voorhis was sat in a chair, arms folded and legs stretched out. He looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep. Kerrass was leaning against the wall pulling at his lip and I watched the other bits of activity in the room without really seeing any of it.

“Right,” Lord Voorhis said suddenly. “Let's go through this again.”

Kerrass sighed and nodded. I didn't move.

“We know that Lady Francesca had retired for the evening.”

“We do,” Kerrass answered.

“We know that she entered her rooms because it was seen by many people, including the Empress who was on the way to her own rooms.”

“Then, at some point shortly after that, a messenger came with the blue card and the private message. The card was written in Lord Kalayn's handwriting which means that, as her brother, Lady Francesca would trust the message.”

“She then left the room...”

“Hang on Kerrass hang on. I have some thoughts about this....” Lord Voorhis got up and brought over a piece of slate and some chalk that he scribbled on. Some kind of shorthand that I didn't recognise. “Would your sister recognise your brother's handwriting quickly? Was it easily familiar to her?” he asked me.

I shook myself from my stupor. “No reason why not. Francesca wrote to all of us on a fairly regular basis, or at least to Emma, Mark and I that I know of. No reason that Sammy would be left off the list.”

“Mmm.” Lord Voorhis turned to the baker boys. “Many letters from lord Kalayn?”

“Several.” Said one of the two men. “The longer ones are not written in Lord Kalayn's handwriting which would emphasise Lord Kalayn's lack of affinity for the written word.”

“But enough so that she would recognise his writing?”

“Well I can.” Said one of the two men. “So I would have thought that she could. We only have what letters she received here though, we're expecting more to come from the Royal palace.”

“Ok,” Lord Voorhis waved them back to their work. “Ok, so lets assume that she knew her brother's handwriting. Did she know his handwriting enough to recognise that the writing was a forgery?”

“Impossible to say. I saw it, but I read that message over and over again. As well as knowing Sam's handwriting so intimately from when we were younger. By the time Frannie and he would have been writing to each other...?” I shrugged. “Sam's writing would have settled into his “adult hand” by then which means that his writing style would have been identifiable by her and, presumably by others.”

“Right,” Lord Voorhis leaned forwards. “Who else would have access to Lord Kalayn's writing? By which I mean. Who would have access enough to be able to write something in his style and practice what was written enough to make it happen? To get the forgery right?”

“I don't know.” I thought for a while. “Surprisingly few actually.” I said after a moment. “Unless Sammy has changed his tastes drastically, he hates writing. So much so that he avoids it wherever possible. I remember him saying once that when he was knighted and had to take on the training of a squire, he demanded that the squire be able to write as he, meaning Sam, could teach the lad everything else except proper penmanship. Even Sam admits that his own handwriting is almost childishly round and written as if by a spider with wooden legs.”

“So it would need to be someone with access to Lord Kalayn's written confidential orders.”

“Yes. Sam's lengthier correspondence is obviously not in his handwriting. He hires a scribe to do that.”

Lord Voorhis rang a bell so that a page was summoned. “Find Lord Kalayn's squire. He is to be questioned as to Lord Kalayn's papers, who had access to them? when would Lord Kalayn write something himself and when would he get the squire or a scribe to write it? Why? What were the differences? Where did his own writing go? To Whom? And What for?”

I was making to get to my feet but Lord Voorhis waved me back to my seat.

“It is sometimes a mistake to rush off after the latest theory as that prevents further thinking from happening? We have flunkies. Let them do their job.”

“I hate doing nothing.” I grumbled.

“The perils of command.” Kerrass said as he pulled over a chair. “What's next?”

“Ok so,” Lord Voorhis stared at his slate. “Writing. The messenger-colonel...who will soon be out of a job by the way, identified Lord Kalayn easily.”

“Disguise?” Kerrass asked. “Disguise or magical disguise?”

“He seemed pretty convinced that it really was Lord Kalayn. Enough so that it lead to Lord Kalayn's arrest. The flaw of the forgery being too good is so slight that it actually proves that it was a forgery.”

“A paid actor?” I wondered. “A paid stooge or the actual kidnapper?”

“Impossible to say.” Lord Voorhis said. “I'm investigating the magical possibility. Or rather Lady Eilhart is, on the Empress' insistence.”

I shuddered. “That woman unnerves me. So...what next?”

Lord Voorhis pulled at his lip. “Lady Francesca has a number of enemies that we know about. But why was Lord Kalayn targeted as a scapegoat?”

I shrugged. “Sam and I are close when we get together, but our interests are so different that we don't talk together that much. He could have any number of enemies though. He's a soldier after all and a newly landed Lord which might have upset someone. But isn't it a bit more complicated to frame Sam for my sister's disappearance?”

“That's valid,” Kerrass said. “Unless it's a vendetta against the family. Framing Samuel is a lot less risky than risking the Empress' wrath with kidnapping one of her closer companions.”

“Right.” Lord Voorhis stared at his slate again.

“Was anything seen last night around the bridge.”

“The bridge around where she was presumably attacked?”

“I have minions finding out.”

I nodded.

“This bit's tough Freddie.” Kerrass leant forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “We've got the weight of the Empire behind us,”

“I know Kerrass but I really want to punch something.”

Kerrass smiled sympathetically.

We sat, the three of us together. I still wasn't sure how I felt about Lord Voorhis, but there was no doubt that he was doing his job and searching diligently.

I don't know when it happened. It was late though. It was dark outside though. Partying sounds came from outside on the balcony. I found myself getting more and more angry at that. So many people partying when my sister was missing and I was here, absolutely nowhere and straining for inspiration to strike from a clear sky while, in the meantime, it absolutely failed to.

I remembered blowing my breath through my mouth but the door opened.

“Sorry Lord Voorhis but I thought you needed to know this.”

The door swung wide to admit Sir Thomas, the sixteen year old guard was still in his armour and still looking fresh as a daisy. It wasn't him that I was looking at though. What he had in his hand was another young lad of maybe fourteen who was wearing a burnished golden breastplate with a shine on it so impressive that I could literally see my face in it.

The breast plate was made to fit which must have been astonishingly expensive. The lad was beautiful, blonde hair that fell down in curls to his starched collar. Greaves and bracers made from the same metal, edged in ornate scroll work. Bright blue eyes shone out from ridiculously long eye-lashes. If I didn't know better I would have been sure that he was wearing eye-liner. I hated the kid on sight. He was just the sort of lad that had gotten all the attention from the girls and the tutors when I was young

The effect was rather spoiled by the fact that Sir Thomas steered the young man, rather expertly, through the door by virtue of a twisted ear.

“This young man,” Sir Thomas continued, apparently without effort despite the struggling youth. “said something interesting when we were briefing the guard about Lady Francesca going missing.” Thomas used the smallest movements of his hand but the younger man squealed in protest. “Tell the nice men what you told me.” He let go, so that the younger man collapsed in a heap at Thomas' feet.

“I'll have your head for this,” yelled the purple faced younger man. “Don't you know who I am? I'm an important man and I...”

“Yes,” said Sir Thomas without change in his tone. “You mentioned that, and in case you needed reminding. I still don't care. I was talking about the other thing that you said.”

“I'll call you out sir. I'll see you at dawn.”

“Sir Thomas,” Lord Voorhis said dourly.

“Don't worry sir. I think it's worth inflicting this on you.”

The younger man had succeeded in working his gauntlet off his hand and threw it in Sir Thomas' face. Sir Thomas blinked, took a step backwards and stared at the younger man in surprise as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Then he moved.

Which was when I found out why Sir Thomas was part of the Imperial guard so young.

He moved forward, caught the younger man's hand in one hand, singled out a finger and twisted. The younger man fell to his knees but Thomas wasn't done twisting yet. He steered the young squire until he was facing my astonished face.

Thomas spat blood from the split lip.

“You see that man there,” he snarled, his mouth inches from the golden boys ear. “That pale man, the one that isn't wearing a sword on his back. The one that isn't the head of the Empire's intelligence service that can have the information tortured out of you. The thin, scholarly one? He's the reason I don't take you down to the practice yard and kick you in the face repeatedly until your eyeballs pop out and your cheek-bones shatter. This is a real war shit-eyes. It's his sister that was who you referred to as “another whore.” The reason I don't take your challenge is because he has first claim. I've seen him practice. Him and his spear would kill you in three moves. If you're on a good day.”

Thomas let go. I was in shock at the sudden intrusion of violence.

“Well, maybe I'll treat myself.” Said Sir Thomas and kicked the young man in the balls. The boy squealed and Thomas hauled him up by the hair and slapped him across the face. He was blubbering.

“You make me sick,” Sir Thomas said.

“Sir Thomas, what in the name of...”

Sir Thomas was still snarling with rage. “This piece of filth. This, piss stain on the face of the office of knight-hood.” He walked over to the small table where there was a jug of wine and water. He poured a liberal amount into a cup which he drank quickly before spitting again. Then he picked up the jug of water. “He wandered through the guard room as I briefed the men on Lady Francesca's disappearance. He stopped, listened for a while and said. “So Laughing Jack has taken another whore has he?”

Sir Thomas poured the jug of water over the blubbering child in gold.

“I hauled him out of there before the men lynched him. Now,” He hauled the boy up to his feet again. “Stand up straight, arms down where they should be. ATTENTION!!”

The bellow would have done any drill-Sergeant proud.

I was too busy reeling though.

“Over the last few months....” The boy stammered. “Several women have been abducted. Young, pretty, dark haired. They've nearly always turned out to be prostitutes or have been sleeping around. The victim is knocked unconscious and taken off somewhere where she gets raped, strangled and starved to death. When he's finished with her he carves a smile into her face and dumps her. The peasants.” the boy actually sneered when he said peasants. “claim to have heard a man's laughter whenever a girl goes missing. Then again when the body is found, strung up by her ankles.”

I had staggered, missed my chair and fallen to the ground.

“The peasants call the killer “Laughing Jack”,” the boy went on but I wasn't listening. I was looking up at a horrified Kerrass and I saw that he had made the same connection that I had.

“You know this, “Laughing Jack”?” Lord Voorhis asked the two of us.

“Amber's Crossing.” said Sir Thomas. “I'm a fan. I read your work. This is the connection.”

“Jack,” I said....My voice broke. “This is my fault. I brought him...”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Lord Voorhis asked me.

But Kerrass was too busy catching me as I fainted and started screaming.