Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 10

Vestonia. The Outskirts of Herouxville

Eagle Island. Sunstone Palace

CARL III GREETED HIS COURT ASTROLOGER Arnauld de Garnier in Sunstone Palace, which His Majesty had won as a trophy from his hated uncle, the Duke de Harcourt, who fell under the mistaken belief the Vestonian crown rightfully belonged to him. Now his uncle and most of his supporters were worm food, and their holdings belonged to the triumphant king.

In a small room set aside for personal audiences burned a hot fire, illuminating the master of the palace, who was seated in a large armchair with a brocade canopy.

The king was dressed in a freeform garment made of black velvet embroidered with a plant motif with a slot in the front and fur covering. His wide fingers were decked out with rings, golden scabbards on his belt decorated with gemstones, a curved dagger hanging — a gift from Kubilay Khan, delivered by an ambassador from the Great Khanate. The king’s head meanwhile was crowned with a thin golden band, used for non-festive occasions.

As always, at the right foot of his master, head turned to one side and digging in his nose, sat Kiko. And in the corner, where the light didn’t shine, stood Marcel de Gaben, Shadow of the King.

Kiko upheld his promise to put a word in for the king’s main bodyguard. His Majesty’s anger then was replaced by mercy and now he looked on de Gaben with less hostility after blaming him for so long for failing to protect Prince Bastien.

“So then, Monsieur Garnier,” the king came languidly. “What have the stars shared with you?”

Carl never believed in all the fairy tales about constellations and wandering stars. He considered Garnier and his ilk nothing more than grifters and charlatans. Although among them were also some who sincerely believed in what they did. But Arnauld de Garnier was not among them. The rail-thin old man who had recently turned seventy-two was a toady of Carl III and, beyond the king, composed horoscopes for all members of Vestonian elite society.

Carl’s eyes happened upon the jester seated at his feet for a moment. Hm… Once, a very long time ago, Kiko had advised him to take care of the old grifter. And Carl listened to his little friend. It proved to be the right move. Arnauld de Garnier had made an excellent tool for influencing his subjects. The clients of the main royal astrologer had no idea who was really making their horoscopes.

“Your Majesty,” despite his advanced age, the royal astrologer could still bow with significant ease.

The king snorted to himself. He saw a report that Arnauld hadn’t spared a copper on healers and magic potions. He simply had a painful weakness for members of the fairer sex.

“The Black Dragon constellation is gaining power,” Arnauld continued speaking.

“And what does that mean?” Carl asked, laughing.

“It means you shall prevail, Your Majesty!” the old astrologer announced triumphantly. “Alfonso the Fifth, who was born in the Year of the Red Dog, is certain to lose this war!”

“I trust you’ve shared your observations with your clients?” the king asked.

“Of course, Your Majesty!” the astrologer answered quickly. The king’s tone seemed to Arnault to be well-meaning, but the old man had known Carl a long time. He saw that the king was unhappy with something. Otherwise, why would he have summoned him urgently from the capital out here, to Eagle Island? Furthermore, Carl III himself didn’t believe in astrology or all this fortune telling.

“All my clients’ horoscopes are composed in such a way that it’s hard to doubt the star signs the sky reveals to us,” Arnauld de Garnier quickly continued, meanwhile watching with horror as the king’s face started to slowly change.

Carl III raised a hand, ordering Arnauld to stop speaking and the royal astrologer cut off his hurried speech mid-word.

“Listen, Monsieur Garnier,” the king began, his voice making the gaunt body of the astrologer give a shiver. “As far as I remember, many years ago, I was told to give you the exclusive right to practice astrology in my kingdom. As far as I know, you have improved your position since then. A barony in the south, a three-story home on Change Square, a manor on Yellow Island — and that’s disregarding the huge observatory in Silver Tower on Owl Hill. You’ve amassed an army of scholars. I know perfectly well how much you charge for your seal to newly minted astrologers, giving them the right to ply their horoscopes throughout Vestonia. And this is the thanks you give me?”

In fact, the monopoly brought in decent money to the royal coffers, but the king said nothing about that.

Arnauld de Garnier, his whole body shivering, went down on one knee, squeezing his thin, frail arms to his chest, and started to snivel:

“Your Majesty, I… I… I am your loyal slave… In body and soul I belong to you. I am immeasurably grateful to you for the blessings you have showered upon me! Tell me, Your Majesty, what have I done to incur your wrath?”

Carl nodded and Kiko, still digging in his nose, strutted from foot to foot like a monkey, walking over to the kneeling astrologer.

Carl had a hard time holding back a smile. What a ratbag! These were his jester tricks. The king could see right through him. Kiko was trying to soothe his master’s anger so the old Arnauld wouldn’t have a heart attack. But the little rascal was right. The death of the elder royal astrologer before a campaign would be taken as a bad omen.

Taking a scratch of paper folded several times, the jester extended it to the old man, who had tears of fright in his eyes.

His hands shivering, the royal astrologer hurriedly unfolded the paper and started to read what was written on it. Bit by bit, his eyes went wider, a look of horror coming over them. Arnauld was just about to fall into a coma. He looked up at the king and started to quickly babble out:

“Your Majesty! It isn’t me… It’s… It’s an Atalian scheme… It’s…”

“I thought so at first, too,” the king interrupted his grumbling. “And I was partially right. But then I ordered my people to check up on the stamp beneath the horoscope. Recognize it?”

Arnauld again stared at the sheet, though had been aware of who had composed this heresy for a long time. The old man was just trying to run out the clock.

“I will help you, monsieur,” the king continued. To Garnier, it sounded like he was putting another nail into his astrologer’s coffin. “This stamp belongs to a certain Jean-Paul Boucheron. Remember him? Actually, what am I talking about? Of course you do. He was your top student, and his stamp was issued by you. And personally at that. Or at the very least, that was what he told the investigators.”

Upon mention of the enforcers, Arnauld de Garnier shuddered with his whole body. The chief royal astrologer, a man who could make commoners remove their caps in respect in public, and who young mothers felt compelled to hide their children from and cross their fingers in protective signs when he walked by, felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest from the horror that had seized his entire being.

If Arnauld hadn’t drank a crimson potion that morning after breakfast, as he was told to do every two days by Maître Dugary, one of the top capital city healers, he’d probably already have been dead from heart failure. De Garnier was certain magic had saved him. Honestly though, he wasn’t certain if that was for the best. It probably would have been easier to give his soul to the gods quickly and relatively painlessly right now that spend any time in a torture chamber.

“So then, monsieur,” the king continued. “I cannot wait to hear why a student of my main astrologer has published a horoscope which predicts that I will soon meet my end. I expect an explanation.”

“Your Majesty,” Arnauld began in a raspy voice. “Jean-Paul Boucheron was indeed one of my best students.”

“And what exactly made him so special, given he gained the attention of the very royal astrologer?” the king asked glumly.

“He had a fantastic gift for convincing,” Arnauld replied. “I am old, Your Majesty. And I had to see to it that someone would be ready to continue my cause and serve you in good faith as I have done, Your Majesty. I was preparing Boucheron for the role and in a few years was planning to present him to you. He passed all exams with distinction. The horoscopes he composed were very detailed and convincing. But then the young man suffered a misfortune. His entire family perished in a fire which, as you remember, took place over a year ago in the crafters’ quarter. From that moment, Boucheron changed.”

“To put it simply, he went mad,” Kiko laughed.

“Indeed he did,” Arnauld nodded rapidly. “That was why I placed him in a shelter for the mentally ill under the auspices of the Temple of the Forefather.”

“And then, a few months later, these strange papers started to appear on the streets of the capital…” the jester came. “With the utterly foolish ravings of a madman.”

“Only your pupil started talking nonsense before you locked him up in the shelter,” the king objected. “I am aware that he composed several horoscopes. For me, my sons, and my grandsons. And you neglected to share them with me. You took pity on the young man, but our foes seized on his misfortune. He meanwhile gave up the ghost on the rack.”

“I…” Arnauld came in a raspy voice.

“Where are the horoscopes?!” the king raised his voice.

“I burned them… They were the ravings of a lunatic… And I showed them to no one…”

“But still my horoscope leaked onto the streets of Herouxville!” Carl threw out angrily.

“I don’t know how it happened…” the old man muttered.

“But we do know, it just doesn’t matter…” the king muttered and sat back in his chair.

For some time, silence hung in the hall.

“By the way,” Carl came unexpectedly. “What was the comet he was talking about? I believe he called it Foxtail. That fool was claiming that the appearance of the comet will bring drastic changes to the entire royal family. Why don’t I know about it?”

Arnauld lit up somewhat because the topic had turned to his professional expertise. Beyond that, the king’s tone of voice changed slightly. For the first time in the last few minutes, the old man felt hope that the storm might pass him by.

“Your Majesty, you already know about it,” he came hurriedly. “It is also known as the Great Fire Dragon. It appeared in the sky over a year ago and disappeared a few weeks later. It is shown in your horoscope as a symbol of your victory over your enemies.”

“Ah, there it is,” Carl frowned. “Then where did this Foxtail name come from?”

“The ravings of a madman,” the astrologer plaintively replied and shrugged. “Who constantly claimed the truth was revealed to him by some deity.”

The king again considered it for a time, then came back from his thoughts and glanced at the old man, who was still kneeling.

“Stand, Monsieur Garnier,” Carl came. “This time, I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” the old astrologer exclaimed, and tears of joy streamed down his sunken cheeks.

“Yes,” the king muttered thoughtfully and stared at the astrologer. “But what do we do about the damage your student did to our government?”

“Bring him to me, Your Majesty!” Arnauld de Garnier exclaimed, immediately aware of what the king was getting at. “Tomorrow at noon, I will give a speech on Memory Square rebuking the heresy that madman wrote.”

“You think that will help?” the king encouraged.

“Then I’ll write a missive and beneath that missive will be signatures from all the most respected astrologers in our kingdom.”

“What if it has signatures from your foreign colleagues?” the king asked innocently.

“Your Majesty, you are wise and penetrating as ever!” the happy Arnauld de Garnier exclaimed. He had already realized that the storm had passed him by and today he would be sleeping in his own bed, not in the dungeon on a damp bedroll filled with rotten straw.

“And that’s not all,” the king stopped his praise and looked over at Kiko. “The actions of one of your kind nearly led you to ruin. I am now not speaking of you only, but about your colleagues as well. Who knows what kind of mysteries could be revealed in the future and, more importantly, who might get another revelation from some unknown god? After all, we don’t want to throw my kingdom back into chaos all because of some loony vision, right?”

“Of course not, Your Majesty!” de Garnier confirmed hotly. He was already aware of where this was leading. The king was not about to let him off so easily. Arnauld prepared himself to hear how much Boucheron’s slip-up was going to cost him and his friends.

“I’m glad you agree,” Carl smiled for the first time that night. “And so, I give you and your colleagues permission to support our glorious campaign against the Atalians. It will be a way for you and your astrologer friends to remain above suspicion. Beyond that, everyone will see that your support means you have complete confidence in our victory.”

“In what way will our support be expressed?” Arnauld inquired.

“Any day now, we will be conducting negotiations with the grand master of the Red Axes mercenary guild,” the king started. “They are prepared to field three hundred riders and a thousand infantry against the Atalians. We have already brought down the price a good deal.”

Arnauld de Garnier gulped loudly. For a moment, he thought it would be much easier to just die of a heart attack. But he quickly drove off those thoughts. After all, the king had given a clear indication that all his colleagues should take part in this affair.

“Your Majesty,” Arnauld de Garnier tilted his head. “I thank you for giving us this chance to support the campaign.”

“Good,” the king replied, rubbing his hands together mentally. Gabriel Delacroix, Grandmaster of the Red Axes had taken advantage of circumstances to ask for more money. Now that burden would fall on these scoundrels. They would have to shake out their piggy bank. “Then go, monsieur. I will not keep you any longer.”

When the door closed behind the royal astrologer, Carl nodded at the place where he had been kneeling just a minute earlier and asked:

“Did he crap himself?”

“Oddly, no, Your Majesty,” Kiko replied, then added: “But I’d swear on my hood the price of horoscopes and soothsaying is about to go through the roof.”

“And good thing,” Carl nodded. “More silver for the treasury. Beyond that, the old villain will now be carefully checking all would-be astrologers before giving them a stamp. That bog has been festering for ages. High time someone cleaned it out.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Kiko said, tilting his head.

“What about the dead Atalians?” the king asked.

Marcel de Gaben came into the light.

“We have established that they were the remnants of the group that attacked Her Highness,” he stated.

“Do you know who killed them?” the king asked.

“No,” de Gaben replied. “But we assume that it was done by a single person, most likely someone gifted. Either a close friend or client of the apartment’s occupant. And another thing…”

Marcel de Gaben fell silent for a moment, a look of doubt plastered on his face.

“Speak,” the king ordered.

“Well Your Majesty, after looking over the bodies, I concluded that I had seen a similar style of fighting before,” the King’s Shadow replied.

“By whom?” Carl asked briefly.

“The Atalians slain by Her Highness’ mysterious savior had very similar wounds,” Marcel de Gaben replied. The words “mysterious savior” he said with a slight wince. Not a day went by that he didn’t hear from Princess Adèle about her “mysterious savior.”

The king sat back in his chair and stared at his closest confidants.

“One time might be happenstance,” he said. “Two is a pattern. So he must be connected to the Atalians somehow.”

“But he clearly doesn’t have friendly feelings for them,” Kiko chuckled. “Otherwise, why would he be cutting them down like rabbits all the time?”

“Find him for me,” Carl came coldly.

Marcel de Gaben bowed and left the room.

For some time, the king and his jester sat in silence, each thinking about different things. Then Carl asked:

“What is the news from Vintervald?”

Kiko could tell from the king’s tone that he shouldn’t beat around the bush.

“Earlier reports have been confirmed: Princess Astrid is truly madly in love with Louis.”

“I’m still surprised,” Carl snorted. “How could someone like her fall in love with someone like him? But that’s good for us. What else?”

“Everything else is the same,” Kiko responded. “Bjørn Sharptooth is still in no hurry to start the Trial. Some people still haven’t arrived yet. By the way, our little rogue has really stepped up.”

“Who now?” Carl asked in surprise.

“Remember the chevalier, the de Gramont bastard?” the jester smiled wide. “Well, he went north with Louis’ embassy.”

“Clever bastard,” the king answered with a smile. “He’ll make it far if they don’t take him out first. I was told he embarrassed my Heinrich at a ball hosted by the Duchess du Bellay. By the way, do you remember how gorgeous she used to be? A flower on the outside, but a heart of stone.”

Carl’s eyes glimmered dreamily. For a little while, they discussed the king’s former conquests on the amorous front, then Carl suddenly asked pensively:

“What do you think? Why did the madman Boucheron call that comet the Foxtail?”