02.48: Accident

“I will send you a list of candidates, Your Majesty,” Godmar said, his tone as dry as old parchment.

Laira bowed, deeper than etiquette required.

“Thank you, Cardinal.”

As she walked out of the castle’s church, the sunlight almost blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut. The warmth was a welcome balm. Her shoulders loosened in relief, as she exhaled slowly.

One problem tackled. Onto the next one.

“Where to next?” she asked the old man standing next to her.

“You wished to inspect the new building,” Ragenwald replied from her side. “Then you have the meeting with the local vassals.”

She gave him a side eye. “Aren’t you a little too old to be playing aide?”

“My nephew is sick with fever, Majesty. I would not trust your schedule to just anyone.”

Rolling her eyes, she began walking towards the new building, her entourage in tow.

A workshop for Jack.

And more being built close to the old fort.

All this expense better be worth it.

The smell of freshly coated timber reached them as they approached the building. It was a low but long structure. A skirt of stone wall, as tall as a man, surrounded it.

A thin man, well-dressed for a commoner, stood next to the gate. The guild representative bowed deeply to her.

“The building is ready, Your Majesty. All according to the plans, including the... weaker walls.”

The craftsmen had looked at her as if questioning her sanity when she had shown them Jack’s plans, but acceded under her gaze.

Laira couldn’t tell them the reason.

Those walls were supposed to blow out in case the fuel that Jack’s new weapons used went off.

The man opened the door of the dark building and went inside. Then the groan of a wood creaking echoed as the indoors brightened.

The two knights, Sir Arnulf and Brandolf, stepped inside first, hands on hilts.

Finding no threat inside, Arnulf gave her a nod.

She stepped inside. Dust drifted lazily in the beams of light. The air was cool but heavy with the strong smell of resin, and oddly, broth.

The guild man pointed to ropes hanging by the wall.

“They open and close the shutters on the roof to let light inside. There’s also brackets for torches,” he said, as he struck flint. The torches flared to life and he fixed them on the brackets attached high up on the walls.

A spark of irritation flickered.

Too high for her.

Laira walked in further to stand underneath a beam of light.

Ragenwald followed.

It was just empty space at the moment, shelves waiting to be filled, but it represented much more.

Change.

Once Jack and Hrodric were back, Nanon would have its first set of warriors armed and ready to face any threat to her realm, big or small.

She would have one more person to share her burdens… and she would be married.

Her cheeks tinted rose as the night before Jack’s departure asserted itself.

If only he and Reshma would hurry up.

“Your Majesty!”

A shout cut through her reminiscence.

Someone was shouting from outside. Urgent.

“Get out of there!”

She moved to look through the door, but her guards were faster.

She squinted her eyes at the blinding white outdoors.

Two men were running towards her, panic clear on their faces. The two members of Military Police she had knighted recently.

The Royal Guards stepped up to stop the younger of the two knights, who was outpacing his older and larger peer.

“Let him approach,” she said sharply.

Suddenly, there was a groan from the building. Wood under tension.

Laira looked up.

Nothing.

Then, the beam above them slid with a jolt.

Something slick glistened where wood met wood.

A drop of it fell.

She was moving before she knew it.

But, she was far from the door and her stride was too short. Her voluminous skirt wouldn’t let her run anyway.

She wasn’t going to make it.

The younger knight stopped in front of her.

To her surprise, he grabbed her by the arm roughly, as his other hand found her behind.

Then, he threw her with all his strength.

Her stomach lurched as she flew through the door, eyes wide in surprise.

Air left her lungs as she hit the ground hard, arms scraping raw against stone.

Her eardrums almost burst as a crack like thunder splitting wood echoed.

The ground shuddered beneath her, as timber screamed overhead.

Air punched out of the doorway in a wave of dust and debris.

Her world was nothing but the ringing in her ears.

Then, she rolled onto her side, coughing as dust filled her throat.

Her hands stung, red and raw, but she forced herself up and turned her head around.

The building had collapsed.

The roof had folded into itself.

The air was thick with dust, obscuring everything.

“Fuck!”

The man next to her shouted.

“Are you hurt, Your Majesty?” he asked, helping her up.

She blinked, focusing slowly.

It was the older knight. His face pale beneath the dust.

“No,” she rasped.

“Korrin!” he shouted at the wreckage.

Laira looked at it for a few heartbeats, her mind frozen.

Then, she snapped herself out.

“We can’t do it alone. It will take dozens of men to get to them.”

Nodding, he turned around and ran towards the castle.

She remained there, silently praying the others were alive.

The side walls had blown outward, just as designed.

A spike of anger rose in her mind.

Towards Jack.

If those walls had supported the roof, maybe it wouldn’t have collapsed entirely.

No.

The building was supposed to stand without them. Those beams should not have moved.

This was not an accident.

Curious men began flooding in to investigate the crash.

They just stood there, slack jawed and eyes wide.

“You four, pull that beam away,” she snapped, pointing. “You, clear the entrance!”

The orders snapped them out of shock as they surged forward.

Wood groaned as men strained to lift the heavy weight.

Brenn arrived running, with two more Royal Guards and a dozen others in tow.

She stood rooted to the spot as men began shifting the wreckage, piece by piece.

A glint within it caught her eye.

Ignoring men’s pleas, she stepped closer.

Metal polished to a mirror finish.

A cuirass. Caved in as if it were parchment.

Sir Brandolf’s bloody face appeared next to it.

He was dead.

Men carefully pulled his body out, laying it on the ground next to her.

Anger blossomed in her as she looked at the ashen face.

She remained there, jaw clenched, as men resumed their work.

“Your Majesty, your hands.”

Her physician was there.

“The wounds should be cleaned.”

“Later.”

“It would be best—”

He froze under her glare.

They found the young knight next. His head was soaked in blood, one of his legs twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Korrin!” Brenn cried out, kneeling beside him.

He put his ear next to the young knight’s mouth.

“He’s alive!” he shouted, voice hoarse.

Men quickly removed the wreckage covering the rest of his unconscious body and laid him next to her.

“Do everything in your power to save his life,” she told the physician.

He nodded.

A muffled voice came from the wreckage.

“Someone’s alive!”

The rescuers scrambled to remove the rubble with renewed strength.

Then Sir Arnulf’s face emerged. Caked in dust and bloodied, but conscious.

He tried to raise his head as they set him down next to her.

“Stay down, Sir Arnulf,” Laira said, voice cold.

He obeyed.

They found the bodies of the guild man and Ragenwald.

Both dead.

She went on her knees to touch her old mentor’s face.

It was cold.

Tears arrived unbidden into Laira’s eyes as they roamed his face. It looked peaceful.

The man her father had trusted and relied upon for decades.

Who had taught her everything she knew about statecraft.

Then betrayed her, thinking he could control the two hostile Dukes himself.

Loyal fool.

Grief and rage warred within, making her tremble.

Wiping her tears away, she stood up.

Grief could wait. Power could not.

“Laira, are you alright?”

Duke Schwan was there, face ashen.

“No, uncle, I am not.”

The rest of the day blurred into a haze.

She remembered listening to Brenn’s version of events of how they found out she was in danger.

A whimsical investigation of a drunk’s sudden change of fortune, which led to the discovery of a dead carpenter.

A carpenter who had been given a fortune, then killed, to seal his tongue forever.

A carpenter who had worked on this very building.

The building that would have killed her, had the two knights not followed their curiosity.

Assassination disguised as an accident.

She canceled her meetings for the day. Making important decisions in her current state would be foolish.

She did have the presence of mind to immediately send a “request” to the local vassals and the guild elders to remain in the city.

The men from carpenters’ guild came to investigate. They went through the wreckage under the Royal Guards’ watchful eyes.

Afterwards, they stood in front of her, heads hung low.

“There are signs of sabotage, Your Majesty,” the oldest of them spoke up.

“Explain.”

“The joints were deliberately weakened. The glue was holding it all together.”

“How did it fail?”

“It seems to have been tempered with, to make it sensitive to temperature. Was a torch placed on the bracket when you entered the building?”

“Yes.”

“That must be it. The heat rising from the torch must have softened the glue. It was enough to make the beam slip under load.”

“Why did your inspector not catch it?”

Silence for a moment.

“I-- I inspected it myself, Your Majesty,” another spoke up, voice trembling.

“The brackets were installed at chest height back then. We found them placed much higher in the wreckage.”

Closer to the joint.

Laira recalled finding it odd they were placed so high.

Sabotage. And very subtle.

She dismissed them with a flick of her hand as they stammered apologies for the tenth time.

They were tools.

She needed to find who had used them.

As the golden light of the yawning sun cast slanted rays in the throne room, the head of the City Guard and his subordinates knelt in front of her.

“Lord Commander,” she said from the throne, voice imperious, “if I don’t find all my local vassals and the guild elders in the city tomorrow, I will hold you personally responsible.”

The Commander swallowed and nodded, sweat glistening on his forehead, despite the lack of heat.

As he retreated, Sir Brenn entered the hall, drenched in sweat.

His answer was already etched on his face.

“No one?” she asked as he knelt in front of her.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said, barely above a whisper. “We searched the entire city for anyone who had worked on the building, but failed to find any.”

She let out a long sigh.

This wasn’t the work of a low-ranked noble, but someone with a lot of resources.

Stormhaven or Grauberg?

Or did the offer of amnesty have the opposite effect?

Had the corrupt nobles already banded together?