The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit by Andrew Ashling Page B

king interrupted his thoughts, unwittingly freeing him from the torturous images, “You will understand that I can't go into particulars. For several reasons, none of which imply in the least that I distrust you. That said, it is extremely important that you keep us informed of the slightest change in the ambassador's habits, the faintest change in his demeanor. Literally everything can have its importance. We're playing for high stakes.”
    “The highest in fact. If this falls flat, I might even be reduced to begging my own son for asylum.”
    “I understand, Your Majesty. I could try, very subtly of course, to dig a little bit deeper. I could say I'm afraid for the future. That even us, lowly cook helps, fear that Your Majesty wouldn't be able to withstand an outright full attack by mighty Lorsanthia.”
    The king seemed to ponder his proposal. Landar waited patiently for him to make up his mind.
    6
At Fort Nira things had changed for him, very rapidly. The first
    inkling Landar got that he was out of the danger zone was when they gave him a big, luxurious room with all possible amenities.
    The first two days they left him alone and just took him out for his regular walk in a courtyard. Then a man, who had introduced himself as Dennick had paid him a visit.
    He had a face the color of parchment and his voice sounded as dry as the wind that scourged the landscape surrounding the imposing fort.
    “I, and His Majesty the king of course, have taken an interest in you, young man. We've looked at the reports and we went through your antecedents and, ahem, your recent exploits. We have some use for you.”
    He had replied that he was at the service of His Majesty and the kingdom. Anything he could do to help.
    “Anything?” Dennick had asked, raising his eyebrows. “Marvelous.
    We don't need much of you. Just your left little finger. We'll need to cut it off.”
    He had paled instantly and looked at the man with unbelief and horror in his eyes.
    “Come, come, Master Parmingh, you did say anything, didn't you?
    Let's be practical, a man can live very well without his left pinky. Certainly in your case. In fact the little finger is of little use in general, and in your case it's practically a bother. That is, for you, because it could be of great value to the kingdom. We'll gladly relieve you of the unsightly thing.”
    He had been struck dumb.
    6
“I suppose your penis and your asshole fall under the definition of
    ‘anything’. Good, good. Don't be afraid. We won't be cutting your member off, but we do expect you to put both parts in the service of the realm.”
    He had remained speechless. Dennick had explained that they needed to put some, what he called, mild pressure on his brother to be sure he did what was expected of him. They were going to send him his little brother's left little finger in a wooden box. Landar would have to write heart-wrenching letters — never fear, Dennick would compose them — that he would be tortured if Tomar didn't comply. The finger would drive the point home, the king's secretary remarked dryly.
    Dennick went on to explain that the ambassador and his entourage, like all other embassies, had followed the royal court to Nira. He visited the local taverns regularly, so it wouldn't be too difficult for Landar to reacquaint himself with Drevau Heemar in a non-suspicious, seemingly coincidental way. His cover story was the truth, as far as it went. He could, no, he had to tell the ambassador that the cruel king had callously ordered his finger cut off, merely to put some extra pressure on his brother Tomar, who served in the administration of the Northern Marches, to make him take up the role of a spy. He could vituperate against the evil monster that spied on his own sons because he didn't trust them. He could rage against His Majesty for having him made a cook's help in the royal kitchen, him, Master Landar Parmingh who was a gifted student and was meant to have a brilliant career in the