“I showed up in front of Sir Pelican’s front gates a half of an hour before midnight. I would have made it a solid hour, but I had to introduce the intended messenger, a thirteen year old boy with a puffy face somewhere behind a pallet of acne, to the fine yet painful world of drinking. Light weight.
“Little did I know that, by switching places with the boy, I had saved his life.”
I put down my pool stick. Turning to the werewolves, I said, “Whoooo!” while wiggling my fingers.
Frost chuckled the hardest, but Treu just seemed annoyed. “Hey. Kid. Take your shot,” he said instead. I did, and missed a bounce shot into the left side pocket. Treu finally laughed, but probably for different reasons. I continued my tale.
“The night-watch guard, a portly man with a shaggy blonde mustache, labored down the ladder from his post. ‘Wacha’ ya don’ here?’ he croaked at me in a voice stripped from many years of smoking.
“‘I am to pick up a message from Sir Pelican tonight.’
“He gave me a long look of distrust. ‘Wai’ here jus’ one momen’,’ he said and shuffled away from my view. Fifteen minutes went by before he returned. ‘The Master said da’ you have a password for me.’
“‘The password is “apostate”.’
“The guard just glared at me. I made a shooing gesture with my hands. He grumbled, and disappeared for another quarter of an hour. It was just enough time to reflect on what I would do to the Acne Wonder if it turned out he lied about the password. I’ll kill him, I thought, if he hasn’t already choked on his own vomit.
“The night-watch huff and puffed his way back to the front gates for a final time and handed an envelope to me through the bars with a sour look on his face. I left without thanking him.
“I made a detour back into Philip the Fool’s carriage. Philip the Fool was disguised as a Count: complete with a fine black cloak, a hat, and a gentleman’s walking cane with a brass handle shaped as a roaring lion’s head. He had a thin moustache penciled on his face and leather dress gloves covering his hands.
“‘Nice look,’ I said and handed him the message. He broke the wax seal and started reading. ‘What does it say?’
“‘Shh’ was his only response as he kept reading. I gave up and looked out the carriage window, noting that the weather had turned into rain. When I heard him fold back up the letter, I posed my question again. ‘Apparently, Sir Pelican is a radical. A high brow radical, but a radical nevertheless,’ Philip the Fool told me while I was busy resealing the message with my own counterfeit wax seal. Philip the Fool continued, ‘For some deeded estate out in the country, Knight Di' Lando has agreed to chronicle the daily routine of the King.’
“‘Smells like an assassination. The letter says all that?’ I asked.
“‘In code, yes.’
“‘Code? Great. It is going to be awfully hard to use the communication as blackmail, then. Pelican is stupid to trust the Di’Lando with this plot. That is the problem with these armchair political types. They are great at trading veiled barbs in Parliament, but brain dead when it comes to any action. I give Pelican a year. By then, Di’Lando will milk everything he can get from the old man without getting his own innocence in the matter muddled. Anyway. Can we get anything out of this?’
“It was Philip the Fool’s turn to ponder at the rain from the carriage window. ‘Without a doubt.’
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