Ransom took it as the threat it was. He extended his hand and offered the tube to the Espion chief. From the glint of light on metal, Ransom saw Bodkin had a dagger tucked in his other hand.
“Thank you for being reasonable. What have you brought?” He slid his dagger into his belt and twisted the cap off the case. As he shook out the rolled parchment, Ransom glanced at the other Espion. All of them were armed. He listened keenly for the sound of anyone outside, the night watch. What would Bodkin do if he cried out?
Bodkin motioned for the man holding the lantern to bring the light closer to the unfurled parchment. His dark brows beetled closer as he began to read the deconeus’s words. The furrows deepened, and his lips pursed with disgust.
“This won’t do,” Bodkin said. “This won’t do at all.”
“There is another copy at the sanctuary,” Ransom said. “But it means nothing if the king doesn’t stamp it with his seal. I’m bringing him options as he commanded me.”
“You’re a sliver under his skin,” Bodkin said with a sneer. “This is an abomination.”
“It is the only way the kingdom can survive,” Ransom said.
“I don’t think so. The king has two hundred thousand livres. I advised him to flee to Gotz in Brugia. He can live comfortably enough in Callait. Let the dukes squabble and bleed each other for a season. He was listening to me. Until you returned.”
“You are suggesting he flee the realm during this crisis?”
“Why not? As long as he wears the hollow crown, it doesn’t matter where he rules from.”
“And you presume he’d be safer in Callait?”
“Of course. We need time to get our own poisoner. I think he would be very safe. I’m sorry, Lord Ransom, but this won’t do.” He rolled up the parchment again, shaking his head.
The sound of boots came down the hall. One of the Espion hissed in warning. The man with the crossbow looked nervously at Bodkin, but his weapon was still aimed at Ransom’s chest.
Bodkin pursed his lips and put a finger to them, a signal they all understood.
Ransom gripped a fist around the blankets, feeling sweat trickle down his back. He glanced at his sword again. The only thing that stayed his hand was the memory of the Fountain’s whisper—This is the river that King Gervase was sent into. It is where your body will join his.
The guard’s bootfalls passed by the door and continued down the hall.
“You were wise not to shout,” Bodkin said, giving Ransom an approving look. “I’d rather not kill you, but I’m willing to. In fact, your death would make my plan the better option.”
“What is your intention, then?” Ransom said.
Bodkin withdrew a little vial. Ransom’s stomach shriveled when he saw it. “You are going to get very sick. Delirious even. I’ll return and tell the king you’ve been poisoned. By the time you revive, we’ll be on our way to Brugia.”
The time to act was upon him. Would his reflexes be quick enough?
“Hold him down,” Bodkin ordered curtly.
Three of the Espion lunged at him. As soon as they blocked the sight of the crossbow, he fought back. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed the first man by the collar and threw him into the wall. The other two collided with him, both of them very strong and very heavy. He reached for his scabbard as it toppled to the floor, but missed, and suddenly the weight of more men slammed into him.
Ransom used his forehead to smash the nose of one of his assailants and heard a bark of pain. He tried to punch, but one of the Espion managed to capture his arm with both hands, and soon he was pinned on the bed. Anger raged inside him.
“Quickly, quickly,” Bodkin said, coming closer with the vial. “Force his mouth open.”
Ransom clenched his teeth shut and strained against the weight of his attackers. Fingers prodded his mouth and squeezed his cheeks to part his lips. He kept his jaw closed and continued to struggle.
Bodkin loomed over him, his eyes livid with eagerness. Suddenly he knew. This was the man who’d persuaded the king to murder the Occitanian hostages, to remove all obstacles to his succession plans. There was no sympathy in him, only concern for his own greedy ends. If Ransom could have bitten him, he would have. Bodkin unstoppered the vial and began to reach through the mess of limbs to bring it to Ransom’s mouth.
A heavy weight struck the door, startling everyone. The lock held. The Espion master glared, but he persisted in pushing the vial to Ransom’s lips. A sickly-sweet-smelling ichor began to dribble out.
The crossbow twanged.
Bodkin roared in pain. The vial fell from his fingers as he arched his back. The men who were restraining Ransom looked bewildered. The man with the crossbow lowered it and rushed to the door to unbolt it. When it opened, Guivret charged in with a sword in hand, along with three other knights.
Bodkin continued to writhe and howl. One of the Espion tried to rush for the trapdoor, but one of the knights stopped him at sword point.
“Unhand him now!” shouted Guivret.
The other Espion backed away, but the one holding the crossbow was standing next to Guivret, a satisfied smirk on his mouth. When Ransom turned his head, he finally registered that Bodkin was the one who’d been shot.
In the arse.
The Espion chief trembled in pain, groaning loudly as he gasped air in and out. Sweat streaked down his brow, and his eyes glittered with fear.
Ransom came off his bed and grabbed his fallen sword, then strapped the scabbard around his waist.
“Your timing . . .” he said to Guivret, shaking his head.
“What shall we do with these blackguards?” Guivret aimed the point of his sword at Bodkin’s back.
“Take them to the dungeon, under guard. And get a barber to remove his new tail.”
The Espion were ushered from the room, Bodkin moaning as two of his men helped him move. There was blood on the floor, but not a copious amount. The vial lay there as well, its contents leaking out. Ransom took it and stared at it a moment.
The Espion who had held the crossbow on him was still there, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Thank you,” Ransom told the man.
“Thank Cecily as well,” he said. “When Bodkin was in a hurry to leave Averanche, she suspected treachery. I warned some of your knights about the plan.”
Guivret nodded to him. “For that, we are grateful.” He turned back to Ransom. “What are you going to do with Bodkin? You could execute him, you know.”
“I’m going to bring him back to Averanche to face the king’s justice,” Ransom said. “It won’t be a comfortable ride, but he’ll manage the pain somehow.”
“Oh, it’ll hurt,” Guivret promised. “A great deal.”
Ransom examined the vial again. “Where did he get this, I wonder?”
The Espion who had saved him shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s been in contact with Pisan to make arrangements for Cecily to go there. Twenty thousand livres. A hefty sum.”
Perhaps they’d given the concoction to him as a boon, a message of goodwill. Or had he gotten it from Alix?
He sighed. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep the rest of the night.”
“Come to the great hall,” Guivret said. “Rest among those who are loyal to you.”