Chapter Two

The courier scurried nervously through the large, cavernous halls resplendent with tapestries and art. Decorated predominately with reds and golds, splashes of blue and green caught his eyes, breaking the monotony. Tall sculptures of warriors in the throes of battle dotted the halls here and there, as if standing guard over the lord of the manor and his treasures. The courier's footsteps echoed eerily around him, spurring him on further to his destination.

He came to a halt before two guards standing in front of giant, oaken doors. Eyes flitting about nervously, the courier stammered, "I-I have a message for his lordship."

The guard on his right stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment before finally opening the door. Mumbling his thanks, the courier entered the room.

The room was a large study, lavishly decorated with priceless books and more sculptures. A fire crackled in an enormous brick fireplace, casting a warm glow in the dimly lit room. The courier's eyes traveled from the fire to a sculpture of a tall man in a regal pose, his gaze forever captured in a look of haughty disdain, as if disgusted that someone so lowly as the courier should deign to enter his domain.

A slight movement on the other side of the room drew the courier's attention to another imposing figure. Eyes alighting on the current lord of the manor, the courier dropped to his knees and bowed low.

"Your lordship," he greeted.

The lord approached the courier, pausing just before him. The courier heard the lord's silken robes rustle inches from his head and tensed.

"Jeremiah," the lord's deep voice rumbled softly in the room. "What news have you brought me?"

"M-My lord, I have heard something that will bring you the power and riches you so rightly deserve," Jeremiah stammered breathlessly.

"Oh?" the lord said. "Is it the reason you broke cover and came racing here without so much as a 'by your leave'?"

Jeremiah reddened, curling a little more into himself. "I . . . I took every precaution, my lord. I knew it was important for you to know."

"Very well, then," the lord replied. "I'll hear what you have to say, but I'll be the one to decide if it was worth the risk."

"Yes, my lord," Jeremiah answered. "I've heard tell that the House of Gale possesses untold wealth. Wonderful treasures. A mere handful would turn even the most destitute peasant into a king."

"It has long been known how wealthy the House of Gale is," the lord said dismissively. "It is also well known that their vaults are heavily guarded and protected by enchantments, and that only blood relatives may access it. If this is all the information you have for me-."

"There's a key, my lord!" Jeremiah blurted out. "You can get the treasure! The queen's high advisor, Lord Ambrose!"

"A ransom?" the lord asked.

"Even better, my lord." Jeremiah risked a glance up at the man standing before him. "Ambrose himself holds the key to the O.Z.'s treasure! The queen said so herself! If you were to have access to Ambrose, you could take the O.Z.'s wealth for yourself."

The lord studied the courier for a long moment. Uncomfortable, Jeremiah dropped his head again and waited.

"You are certain of your information?" the lord finally said.

Jeremiah looked up again. "I'd stake my life on it, my lord."

A menacing spark flickered in the lord's eyes. "You already have. You will bring Ambrose to me. Do not blow your cover. Failure means your life. Go."

Jeremiah bowed low, climbed to his feet, and hurried from the room.

"I'm going to kill him."

Jeb rolled his eyes. "Dad, it's been two days. You've been saying that every fifteen minutes since you took the bet."

Cain glared at his son as they strode through the hall. "Well, this time I mean it. It's bad enough that he can't keep a regular guard, but to lose the night shift? If this keeps up, I'm going to have to handcuff him to me and move into his suite!"

Jeb smirked. "He'd be out of the cuffs five minutes after you fell asleep."

Cain shook his head. "How can such a likeable guy be such a pain in the-."

"Good morning, Mr. Cain." Ahamo appeared from around the next corner, smiling broadly. He nodded to Jeb. "And Mr. Cain. How are you both this morning?"

"Homicidal," Jeb answered with a grin, bowing with his father.

Cain elbowed his son. "Fine, your majesty."

Ahamo waved a hand. "Please, Ahamo will be fine. I haven't been so formally addressed in a long time, and before that I was just a regular guy. Er . . . might I ask why you feel quite so murderous this early in the day?"

"Ambrose," Jeb supplied helpfully, ignoring the dirty look his father shot him.

Ahamo chuckled. "You're a brave man, Mr. Cain. Ambrose can be quite creative when he puts his mind to it. I personally try to remain on his good side."

"Yes, well, I tend to live dangerously," Cain replied.

Ahamo nodded. "Just don't be fooled. Ambrose will try your patience and push all of your buttons, but guys like him are rare breeds. When you're feeling particularly violent, take a step back and look at the larger picture. If he's driving you away, there's a reason for it."

Cain filed Ahamo's advice into the back of his mind. "I'll agree on the rare breed, but I'd have to add a 'thank the gods' to that. Guys like Ambrose would make me go bald."

Ahamo gave Cain a secretive smile. "You might be surprised."

"I doubt I could handle another surprise," Cain replied. "I don't suppose a guy like you could tell a guy like me where I can find a guy like Ambrose?"

Ahamo's smile widened. "As a matter of fact, I'm headed that way right now. Would you like to join me?"

"Er . . . sure." Cain and Jeb turned and began to walk with Ahamo back the way they had come. Cain cleared his throat. "If you don't mind my asking, how do you know where Ambrose is?"

"It's eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning," Ahamo replied easily.

Cain waited for more, exchanging a confused look for a helpless shrug from Jeb. "And?" he prompted.

Ahamo paused in front of a pair of doors that Cain recognized as leading to the palace kitchens. He fixed both Cains with a suddenly serious look.

"What I'm about the show you is a secret," the consort stated. "I discovered it by accident and was sworn to secrecy. Not even my wife and daughters know about this. Before we go in, you must swear to me that what you learn here goes no further than the kitchen walls. Can you do that?"

Still confused and more than a little curious, both Cains nodded. Ahamo studied them for another moment, then knocked on the kitchen doors four times. After a pause, he knocked twice, paused again, then knocked three times. A couple minutes passed, then Cain heard four more knocks answer. Ahamo knocked once. The sound of locks sliding back sounded, and the door opened.

Intrigued, Cain and Jeb followed Ahamo into the kitchen. One of the servants who Cain had only ever seen in passing shut and locked the door behind them.

"What do you think's going on?" Jeb whispered.

Cain shook his head, trailing after Ahamo past appliances and cookware. "I have no idea. I'm just wondering how Ambrose is involved."

The trio halted abruptly. Cain looked over Ahamo's shoulder, icy blue eyes landing on a familiar figure. Ambrose's slender frame was standing at a large counter, surrounded by at least thirty children and several adults.

"Who are those kids?" Jeb whispered.

"The children of the palace servants," Ahamo whispered back.

Cain watched as Ambrose tossed some ingredients into a bowl and mixed them together. He could see the advisor's mouth move; could hear the soft drone of Ambrose's voice. Realization hit him the same time Ahamo's words reached his ears.

"Every Wednesday morning, Ambrose teaches the children how to make a dish," the consort whispered. "When he's done, the children get a share of whatever he makes. As I understand it, it started with Ambrose sneaking down here to fix himself a snack. He was caught by the head chef's son, who is actually right there." Ahamo pointed to a young man around Jeb's age, who was watching the show and smiling. "As time passed, Jon brought more and more friends until it became a secret tradition. To my knowledge, only the kitchen staff, the children, and now us are aware of it."

Ambrose scooped globs of whatever he was making into baking pans. He rubbed his nose absently, sending a smear of flour across his cheek. Several children giggled at the sight.

"And that's it!" the advisor exclaimed. "Who wants one?"

A chorus of 'me!'s and raised hands answered him. Grinning broadly, brown eyes sparkling, Ambrose placed the pans in one oven and removed more from a second. Using a spatula, he scooped several of what look like cookies onto a plate and passed it to Jon.

"Careful!" he called as the children swarmed the head chef's son. "They're still hot!"

Ahamo patted Cain on the shoulder. "I need to get going; I'm meeting Liv in ten minutes. I'll see you later."

"Thank you," Cain told him.

"I have to go, too," Jeb told his father. "My shift starts in ten minutes." A mischievous glimmer shone in his eyes. "Should I wish you luck, or him?"

Cain lightly smacked the back of Jeb's head. "Get outta here before I trade details with you," he growled playfully.

Jeb saluted, grinning broadly, and hurried after Ahamo.

Cain moved forward, wading through children and parents. Pausing at one counter, Cain spied Ambrose's abandoned topcoat. Picking it up, he slung it over his arm and approached Ambrose.

The advisor was speaking quietly with one of the cooks, but as Cain moved closer, he glanced up.

"Cain!" Ambrose exclaimed in surprise. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

Cain raised an eyebrow. "You're here."

When no more explanation was forthcoming, Ambrose shook his head. "And?"

Cain tossed the topcoat at Ambrose, causing the scientist to fumble to catch it. "And I'm your personal guard. It's my job to be wherever you are. I thought you were a genius?"

Ambrose straightened and favored Cain with a dirty look. "You know, all of my other personal guards kept their distance and treated me with respect."

"Yeah?" Cain asked. "All your other personal guards also quit after a couple weeks. I'm going with a different approach."

Ambrose shrugged into his topcoat, leaving it unbuttoned. "How very scientific of you," he muttered, running a hand through unruly brown curls.

Jon chose that moment to approach. "I'll have the next batch ready for you when you leave, Ambrose."

Ambrose smiled with wide abandon. "Excellent, Jon! Will you be accompanying me today?"

Jon shook his head. "Mother wants me to help in the kitchens today."

"She's giving you more responsibility?" Ambrose asked. "How wonderful! Well, perhaps you can go next week."

As Jon moved away, Cain cleared his throat. "And where are we going?"

Ambrose's smile dimmed slightly. "I am going to wash up. No matter the recipe, some of it always seems to find its way onto me. What are your plans for today?"

"That depends," Cain answered.

Ambrose maneuvered around Cain and headed for the door. "On?"

Cain kept pace with Ambrose easily. "Do we really need to go over my role as your personal guard again?"

"Only if you insist on this ridiculous arrangement," Ambrose shot back easily. He turned a corner and began to ascend an ornate staircase.

"The queen doesn't seem to think it's ridiculous," Cain stated.

"Given time, she'll realize she's wasting valuable resources on me," Ambrose assured Cain. He paused in front of his suite's door, one hand on the door handle. Brown eyes sought out blue. "You can wait here."

"Not very hospitable of you," Cain said.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. "I'm just going to shower and change. That's all. How much trouble can I get into?"

Cain lifted an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Cain!"

Both men turned at the call and watched as DG came storming down the hall, trailed by four guards. Three of the guards had blank expressions, but the smirk on Jeb's face didn't bode well for the conversation DG was intending to have.

Ambrose patted Cain on the shoulder. "I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

"Coward," Cain muttered as Ambrose slipped into his suite. Drawing himself to full height, he met DG's angry blue eyes fearlessly.

"Something I can do for you, Princess?" he asked.

DG came to a halt inches from Cain, eyes blazing. "We need to talk about these babysitters you assigned," she fumed, jerking a thumb back over her shoulder.

Cain sighed heavily.

Ambrose peered down the hallway from an empty broom closet some distance away from his suite. Though DG's timing had been perfect, and the secret tunnel out of his rooms were convenient, Ambrose knew Cain wouldn't be distracted for very long.

Finding the coast clear, Ambrose slipped into the hall and silently moved back toward the kitchens. He made sure to check for Cain before turning corners; it wouldn't do to go through the hard work of escaping from Cain to be caught by the man now.

Ambrose quickly walked past the staircase that led up to his suite, barely taking notice of the silence that had fallen above. His mind was intent on his destination as it drew nearer.

He move gracefully through the hall, silently congratulating himself on a job well done as he reached a hand for the door handle to the kitchen.

"'Bout time, Headcase. What kept you?"

Ambrose jumped and spun around, his face white. Cain emerged from around another corner, arms crossed. On the floor near his feet was a covered basket Ambrose recognized as belonging to Jon's mother.

"C-Cain!" Ambrose squeaked in a decidedly undignified way. "Wh-What . . . how . . .?"

Cain leaned against the wall. "What am I doing here, or how did I know you'd be here?"

Ambrose nodded dumbly.

"Simple." Cain picked up the basket at his feet and, moving forward, thrust it into Ambrose's hands. "It's my job. Oh, and Glitch? You might want to get someone to check the structural integrity o the secret passage out of your suite. It could do with some repair."

Ambrose gave Cain a dumbfounded look. "You . . . you know about that?"

"It's my job," Cain repeated. He examined Ambrose's attire; worn trousers and shoes, an old button down shirt with sleeves rolled past his elbows to reveal a familiar red and black striped shirt underneath. "Heading out?"

"I-I . . . no . . . I mean yes," Ambrose stammered. "Or, I was, but I can't."

"Why not?" Cain asked.

"They're expecting me," Ambrose stated. "I can't just show up with you. They'll think , , , they'll know. . . ."

"Know what?" Cain pressed.

Ambrose's gaze dropped to the basket in his hands. "Cain, please. This is something I have to do alone. I can't show up with a bodyguard. I can't."

Cain heard the plea in Ambrose's voice and eased his tone. "How about showing up with a friend?"

Ambrose looked up at him.

Cain took a step closer. "You know I can't let you just run off without a guard."

"You could," Ambrose countered under his breath.

"But I won't," Cain stated. "It's your call, Glitch. I can go as your friend and help you do whatever it is you need to do, or you can ditch me and I'll find you anyway and be your embarrassing bodyguard. What'll it be?"

Ambrose's shoulders slumped, defeated. "All right, Cain, you win. Just do me a favor?"

"What's that?" Cain asked.

"Try not to be so . . . you," Ambrose replied.

Cain let out a huff of laughter. "We'll see."

end chapter two