The study was deathly quiet as Kraisorn sat at his desk, idly spinning a heavy brass letter opener between his fingers. Bua stood opposite him, leaning over a map of the estate, while Phichai remained by the door, his hand never straying far from his belt.
"Captain Pravat is waiting in the antechamber," Phichai said. "He looks remarkably calm for a man who's sold your soul for a bag of southern silver."
Kraisorn didn't look up. "He's a professional, Phichai. Give him some credit. It takes a certain amount of backbone to look me in the eye while planning to slit my throat in my sleep. I almost admire it."
"Admire it after you've hanged him," Bua snapped, tapping a finger on the drawing of the summer villa. "If you send him here, he'll bring his best men. Twelve of them. All loyal to his purse, not your crown."
Kraisorn finally looked up, his gaze fixing on Bua. "And you're sure about the route? The forest path is narrow. If they change their minds and head for the main road, we'll look like right idiots sitting in the bushes."
"Pravat is greedy, not stupid," Bua said. "The forest path is the only way to move the gold without being seen by the city watch. He'll take it because he thinks he's being clever. He thinks he's outsmarting a madman."
"A madman," Kraisorn repeated, a thin smile touching his lips. "I do like that. It's such a versatile label. Phichai, bring him in. Let's see how well he lies."
The doors opened, and Captain Pravat stepped inside. He was a broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his nose and a chest full of medals Kraisorn had personally pinned there. He bowed deeply, his fist over his heart.
"My Lord Duke. You summoned me?"
"Ah, Pravat! My most reliable sword," Kraisorn said, his voice dripping with a warmth that made Bua's skin crawl. "Sit. Have a biscuit. Or don't. I've had a bit of a crisis, you see."
Pravat remained standing. "A crisis, Your Grace?"
"The Southerners," Kraisorn sighed, leaning back and rubbing his temples. "They're closer than I thought. I've decided to move the ducal treasury to the summer villa tonight. I can't trust the city walls to hold if they bring siege engines."
He watched Pravat closely. The Captain's eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—a tiny spark of predatory interest.
"A wise move, My Lord," Pravat said smoothly. "I shall assemble a full company to escort the wagons."
"No, no," Kraisorn waved a hand dismissively. "Too much noise. I want it done quietly. Just you and your twelve most trusted men. Move the gold through the forest track at midnight. I'll meet you at the villa with the keys."
Pravat bowed again, lower this time. "It shall be done as you command, My Lord. You can rely on us."
"I know I can, Pravat. I know I can," Kraisorn murmured.
As soon as the Captain exited the room, Kraisorn's expression went flat. He looked at the letter opener in his hand and then plunged it deep into the mahogany desk with a dull thud.
"He didn't even blink," Kraisorn said. "The treacherous bastard actually thanked me for the opportunity."
"Are we still doing the 'madman' bit, or are we going to kill them now?" Bua asked, crossing her arms.
"Oh, we're doing it," Kraisorn said, standing up and reaching for his heavy traveling coat. "Phichai, gather the real loyalists. The ones who don't have mothers I've paid to bury. We're going to the forest. I want to see Pravat's face when he realizes the 'gold' wagons are filled with nothing but pig iron and very angry guardsmen."
Bua followed him toward the door. "And what about me? Am I staying here to scrub the blood off the floor later?"
Kraisorn paused at the threshold and looked back at her. "Don't be ridiculous, rat. You're the one who found the list. You're coming with us. I want you to see the look on his face. It'll be much more entertaining than a book."
"I'd rather have the book," Bua muttered, but she followed him anyway.
The forest track was narrow, barely wide enough for the two wagons that creaked under the weight of the supposed treasury. Kraisorn sat in the shadows of a large banyan tree, his fingers playing with a silver coin. He had swapped his silk waistcoat for a dark tunic that didn't catch the moonlight.
"They're late," Kraisorn whispered, checked his pocket watch. "I do hate it when traitors are unpunctual. It shows a lack of respect for the craft."
Bua, crouched beside him, didn't look up from the dirt where she was sketching a rough map with a twig. "They aren't late. They're circling. Pravat isn't going to just stroll up to a wagon without checking if you've got a regiment tucked behind the bushes."
"Which I don't," Kraisorn noted. "I've only got Phichai and six lads with very bad tempers."
"Exactly," Bua said. "Shh. Listen."
The sound of hooves on soft earth drifted through the trees. A moment later, Captain Pravat emerged from the darkness, followed by his twelve men. They didn't look like guards; they looked like bandits. Their cloaks were drawn tight, and their swords were already unsheathed.
Pravat signaled for the wagons to stop. The drivers, who were actually Kraisorn's personal guards in disguise, pulled on the reins and sat perfectly still.
"Check the crates," Pravat barked.
Two of his men jumped onto the back of the lead wagon. They pried at the lid of a heavy wooden chest with a crowbar. It gave way with a sharp crack. Instead of the dull glint of gold, they found themselves staring at several sacks of heavy pig iron and a very short fuse.
"It's a trap!" one of the men yelled.
"Spot on," Kraisorn shouted, stepping out from behind the tree.
He didn't wait for them to recover. He fired his flintlock, the lead ball catching the man with the crowbar square in the chest. As the soldier fell, Phichai and the other loyalists rose from the undergrowth, crossbows leveled.
"Pravat!" Kraisorn called out, his voice sounding genuinely delighted. "You're early! Or late. I've lost track, honestly. But do come over here and explain why you're breaking into my luggage. I'm dying to hear the excuse."
Pravat snarled, his horse rearing back. "You mad bastard! You've been playing us since the start!"
"Only since breakfast," Kraisorn replied, drawing his sword. "Bua found your little list. She's got a real eye for paperwork, that one. It's a shame, really. I liked your mother."
Pravat lunged, swinging his heavy broadsword at Kraisorn's head. The Duke stepped aside with a yawn, parrying the blow with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"You're clumsy, Pravat. Is that why you turned traitor? Because the pay was better for someone with such mediocre footwork?"
Bua watched from the shadows as Kraisorn danced around the Captain. He wasn't trying to end it quickly. He was poking, prodding, and making small, stinging cuts on Pravat's arms and legs. It was a dissection, not a duel.
"Finish him, you arrogant prick!" Bua shouted from the trees. "His men are regrouping!"
Kraisorn sighed, his blade catching the moonlight. "Always rushing me, Bua. Fine. If you insist."
In one swift motion, Kraisorn stepped inside Pravat's guard and drove his sword through the Captain's throat. There was no grand speech. Just a wet thud as the body hit the ground.
Kraisorn wiped his blade on Pravat's cloak and looked over at the remaining rebels, who were currently being pinned down by Phichai's crossbowmen.
"Right," Kraisorn said, straightening his collar. "Who's next? I've still got half a bottle of wine waiting for me back at the palace, and I'd rather not let it breathe for too long."
Would you like me to continue to the aftermath at the palace, or shall we see what Kraisorn does with
the surviving traitors?
Kraisorn stood over Pravat's remains, poking at a loose thread on his own sleeve. The remaining rebels had dropped their weapons the moment their captain hit the dirt. They were now kneeling in a row, hands behind their heads, as Phichai's men moved among them with heavy rope.
"Do stop whimpering," Kraisorn said, looking at a young soldier who was shaking uncontrollably. "It's unbecoming of a man who was just about to commit high treason. Have some dignity, for heaven's sake."
Bua stepped out from the trees, her hands tucked into her belt. She walked over to the open crate of pig iron and kicked it. "That went about as well as a lead balloon. You almost got your head taken off in the first pass."
"Nonsense," Kraisorn said, flicking a speck of dirt off his cuff. "I had everything under control. I was merely exploring the space. Phichai, what are we doing with this lot? I've half a mind to leave them for the wolves, but the wolves in these parts have very discerning palates."
"The cells are ready, My Lord," Phichai replied, tightening a knot on a prisoner's wrists. "Though I expect you'll want to have a proper chat with them before the sun is up."
"A chat? How optimistic of you," Kraisorn remarked. He turned to Bua, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, Bua? You were the one who suggested the trap. What's the verdict? Should I be merciful and give them a quick exit, or should I make an example of them?"
Bua looked at the row of kneeling men. Most were barely out of their teens, their faces pale and drawn. "Killing them all is a waste of good labor. You've lost half your palace guard tonight. If you execute the lot, you'll be opening your own doors for the next week."
Kraisorn hummed, tapping his chin. "A valid point. I do hate opening doors. It's so... manual."
He walked down the line of prisoners, the tip of his sword trailing in the dirt behind him. He stopped in front of the shaking boy.
"You," Kraisorn said. "If I let you live, will you promise not to try and murder me for at least a month? I find that three weeks is usually the limit for most people's gratitude."
"Yes, My Lord! Anything, My Lord!" the boy gasped.
Kraisorn sighed and looked at Bua. "You see? No backbone. It's disappointing. But fine. Phichai, keep the young ones. The others—the ones who actually signed the contract with the Southerners—take them to the back gardens. I've a new rosebush that needs mulching."
"Understood," Phichai said.
Kraisorn turned and began walking back toward his horse. "Come on then, Bua. We've managed to save the treasury, kill a traitor, and secure some cheap labor. I'd say that's a productive evening. I might even let you have a biscuit when we get back."
"I don't want a biscuit," Bua said, falling into step beside him. "I want a nap. And a pay rise."
"A pay rise?" Kraisorn laughed, the sound sharp and echoing. "You've been on the job for six hours and you're already unionising. You're a menace, rat. A complete and utter menace."
"You're the one who hired me," she reminded him as they reached the horses.
"So I did," Kraisorn said, swinging himself into the saddle. "Best mistake I've made all year."
Would you like me to move to the following morning, where the Duke deals with the political fallout of the
"missing" Captain?