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Chapter Twenty; Threats.

After dropping the Duke's dirty things down in the palace kitchen and laundry, Alanna hurried to her small room. As she was posing as a personal maid she had no chores to do around the palace as the other young girls did.  Being the Crown Prince's maid made her the envy of most of the female servants. Because she wasn't living, and more importantly, sleeping, in the servant's quarters rumours were flying. She had already heard two 'reliable' sources telling their friends that she was the Prince's lover. She had dismissed the notion entirely and left before she could be discovered.

Alanna pushed her door open with her hip, balancing a tray of food in one hand, the books she had stolen from Roger's rooms under the other arm. She turned to place the tray on her dresser and gasped as she caught sight of the state of her room.  The few belongings she had brought with her from the Dove were thrown about and broken where possible.  The blanket and sheets on the bed had been shredded. Her pillow had exploded, leaving feathers all over the devastation. The chest containing all her weapons and boy's clothing had been thrown against the wall, judging from the scrapes in the paint work, and when that hadn't worked, the lock had been hit repeatedly against the bedstead, causing one of the legs to snap and hold the bed at a crooked angle. Although the padlock was bent out of shape and dented, it was thankfully still intact. Alanna's secret was safe. There was no way that the wreckers of her room would have been able to keep secret that Prince Jonathon's maid had boys clothes, not his highness' either, and weapons locked in a trunk by her bed.

Grimly she set her tray down on the floor and began to clear the mess away. It wasn't until Alanna shut the door that she saw the message daubed across the wall in blue ink. She sank down on the floor, sitting on the rug, stained with the same colour. Emblazoned on the door and on the wall either side was the threat;

'You don't belong here. Leave before something worse happens.' Someone else had added, in red paint, with bold letters the word 'Whore' underneath.

Alanna sighed and got to her feet, there was no point brooding and she had the feeling that she would need to put a far stronger lock on her door, or she would be cleaning up a lot more messes like this over the next few weeks.

She set her weapons trunk upright at the foot of her bed. Then, calmly, she surveyed the rest of the damage done to the room. The blanket was beyond repair, the sheets she might be able to mend. The mirror was smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. Alanna bent and gathered the shards of glass that had fallen from the frame into her hand.

"Gods curse it!" Droplets of red began to flow between her fingers. The glass had cut her cleanly across her palm. She dropped the pieces and pressed her hand against a ribbon of bed linen. The bleeding soon stopped, and when she inspected it, the gash wasn't very deep. She threw the stained cloth aside and resumed cleaning her room. She used parts of her Gift to put the bedstead back into one piece and found her reserves lower than she would like. Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't fix. She knelt and, far more carefully this time, picked up the shards of broken mirror one by one. Alanna then wrapped them in another part of what used to be her blanket and left them on the scratched dresser. As she laboured to fit the table and stool back together, a knock sounded on the door. she stood, a leg and the seat of the stool still in her hands.

"Who is there?"

"Your master, maid." Alanna opened the door to see, as she expected, Jonathon and his friends. She gestured for them to come in.

"Goddess!" Gary whistled.

"Alanna, what happened in her?" Jon asked, staring at the ruin of her usually well ordered room.

"See for yourself. Shut the door." Alex did as she bid. They all exclaimed indignation at the message.

"Why would someone go through all the trouble to break in your room, wreck all your things and threaten you?" Raoul wondered. Alanna sighed and gave up on the seat she was still trying to mend, throwing it to the floor.  Alex picked it up and began idly trying to put the bits back together.

"You know as much as I do." She waved a hand at the message, "Someone doesn't want me here."

"Who?" Alex questioned. She only shrugged in reply.

"What are you going to do?" Gary wanted to know

"Nothing." Alanna turned to face him

"I should report this to the Chamberlain." She spun back around at the sound of Jon's quiet voice.

"No!"

"Alanna..."

"No!" She cut him off

"I have to, it is my duty to protect and defend my servants. Even those who only masquerade as my servants."

"Jonathon... we don't know who there are. We don't even have any suspicions.  I don't want any attention drawn to me if I can help it. This is too much attention for my taste.

"But..."

"No Jon. I am fine and I can clear this up by tonight. If you tell the Chamberlain they will just find another way to do it. They want me out of the palace. These stupid tricks," She gestured at the wall, "Wont make me do anything, except become more determined than ever to stay." She stepped closer to him, staring up forcefully into his eyes.

"Alanna..." Her firm look told him that she would not budge an inch. Her mind was made up and nothing could change it. "Fine. But if something like this happens again, let me know."

"I will." She promised, If anything happens that has anything to do with the plot to take the throne.

Jon sighed to himself and gave in, he knew Alanna would never turn to him or any of the others for help. She preferred to fight her own battles.

Gary, Alex and Raoul, sensing the silent power struggle that went on underneath the spoken debate, wisely kept quiet.

When Alanna took the stool back from Alex and began struggling with it again, Gary bent down and began trying to repair the table. Jon and Alex attempted to salvage the bed, while Raoul endeavoured to scrub the message from the door and wall.

It wasn't until the midday bell rang that they stopped working. By this time, Alanna's quarters were looking normal again. The knights left, promising to bring her food back later that afternoon as the remains of her lunch -stew- were cold and congealing.

Alanna stood slowly from her seat on the floor. She grimaced as she felt the blood rushing back into her legs. Suddenly she caught sight of the leather bound books that she  had taken from the Duke's rooms, lying on the floor, half hidden under the pile of cloths that were her bedclothes. Alanna pulled them out and went to sit on Jon's window seat. She locked the door, then sat again, pulling her skirt up and leaning back against the frame. She lifted the first book onto one of her crossed legs and slowly opened the cover of a large black book, the one she had spotted first. It was filled with scrawled, hastily written notes.

It seemed that Roger was trying to research an ancient spell. He had been making notes from the archaic scrolls that were held in the palace vault libraries. Alanna could not read the strange languages and runes that littered the pages, so she put that book aside and began reading another. This seemed to be a journal. She read it avidly, the detail of his planning and the violence of his thoughts shocking her. His fury and hatred seemed to manifest in his writing, often making it large and blacker than the other text around it. Alanna and George had began to suspect someone was beginning to rebel against the King and his rule some time ago. They had, after Alanna had cured Jonathon of the Sweating Sickness, than discovered that there were only three sorcerers in the Eastern Lands who were strong enough to brew the Sickness and send it to those they wished to fall ill. Duke Roger's name was among them.

Recently George had learned that not all of the assassins sent after him, Alanna and Jon had been Selket's men. Some had talked, after a little... persuasion on his part, and told him that they had been given their orders by a man from the palace, thin with dark hair, bushy eyebrows and grey eyes.  Only now did Alanna make the firm connection between Roger and her would-be killers. The man who had paid them was Balern, Duke Roger's manservant.

Alanna had heard about, and seen, a lot of horrible and wicked deeds in her life. She had seen people murder and betray their own friends and kin for power. She had seen girls and wives abused by those they should have been able to trust; fathers, husbands. But the Duke's rage and sadistic plans sickened her, as hardened as she was by the horrors she had witnesses. But the diary told her plenty about why he did what he did. It also laid out, although shakily in places, what his plans were for taking over and ruling Tortall.

He had a back up plan if the first one did not succeed. Or if the second failed as well. Alanna had already defeated part of his first plan; the Sweating Sickness. He had planned to kill Jon with that plague and then the King and Queen in turn and so get the throne. Roger had brewed the Sickness in Carthak, with help from a fellow mage, who he then had cast into the prisons of Emperor Ozorne, as a traitor.

When that had failed he decided to take a more direct approach, returning to Corus so he could ensure his plans were carried out perfectly, in person. In the diary he made a few vague references to Queen Lianne's poor health. He appeared to take pride in that, although why Alanna could not discover.

She read on as the sun began to lower from its peak, exchanging one book for another as she finished them. When she had finally read all the books, Alanna set them down on her lap and leaned back, resting her head against the hard wood, and exhaled. She now had enough proof against Roger to condemn him in anyone's eyes. But it was still not enough to prevent what he wanted to do. He was a strong enough sorcerer to send spells from his prison cell to anywhere in the country. Also, if he had any spells on the King and Queen, or even on Jonathon, it would be dangerous to confront the mage until they could remove the enchantments, or at least knew what they were.

She would have to be patient and wait, although patience was in no way one of her strongest qualities, she knew when it was sometimes necessary. But for the moment she would need to find someone who would be able to translate the runes and foreign languages in the first book she had looked at. If they knew what kind of spell Roger was planning to use, the palace mages and those Rogues who were Gifted could work the counter spell. She would also have to get a mage to lay a protection and cloaking spell upon the books to hide them, the Duke would certainly try and find them. Or at least to destroy any evidence against him once he realised that his journals were gone.

A bell sounded through the walls of the castle, reverberating deeply through the stone. Alanna jumped, that was the signal for the last lesson of the day. She swore at herself, she had wasted  too much time. Roger should be returning to his chambers in under an hour, he ought to be teaching the Gifted squires now. She must get the books safe before then. Alanna threw a cloth over each book and, as quickly as she was able, changed into riding gear. She scribbled a note and placed it on the desk where the men were sure to see it when they returned, and, hugging the journals to her chest, she sped through the corridors. She did not even bother to saddle Moonlight when she reached the stables. She just bridled the mare, talking quietly to her while she did so, then leapt on her back, and together, the girl and horse galloped towards the Dancing Dove.