A Matter Of Delicacy

The Interrogation

     The morning after the attack on the Princess I was up bright and early, washing the last specks of blood off my cheeks and tying my hair back into a tight knot. As usual for a working occasion, I pulled on one of Papa's old shirts and stuffed the tails into the tight waistband of my riding trousers. The outfit left me looking slightly wild in the context of Montagu House, but suitably dangerous for the job I had assigned myself.
     The rest of the court was still asleep, it being only eight o'clock in the morning, so it was easy to sneak out of my room and towards the old wine cellar where the assassin had been kept overnight. When I had first been told this I was surprised that the house of the Princess of England had no holding cells but of course the guard had only given me a blank stare, 'well, this is London miss.'
     When I finally got there the two guards standing by the entrance looked a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. I waved a hand at them to move, and they nervously stepped aside.
The assassin's own face echoed that of his guards when he saw me, huddling back into the corner. His face and throat had bruised overnight and were now a vibrant mix of purple and black and green. I smiled to myself; Papa would have been proud.
     'Right, let's keep this quick, shall we? I have a dress fitting at eleven.' I grabbed an old wine barrel and pushed it in front of him to use as a stool.
     He stared at me out of the corner of his eye, like a cow who can see the butcher coming towards him, hammer in hand. After a moment's hesitation I put my sword down and rested my foot flat on the blade, to show him I wasn't about to seize it up and stab through his other hand.
     'Shall we start with your name?'
     The man stayed silent, as I had expected. I heard a shift behind me as a guard moved to his other foot. No doubt they'd been there for hours and were now desperate for some entertainment, no matter how unexpected or brutal. From the continued silence of the man in front of me, I was guessing I'd have to use force sooner or later but from the look of him the man was tired, cold and had lost a lot of blood. He was on the verge of cracking.
     'Come on, the sooner you start answering my questions, the sooner we can get to a doctor about that.' I pointed towards his hand, and he cringed away from me. Sighing, I crossed one leg over the other and relaxed slightly, 'fine. Leave the work to me. From your clothes I'm guessing you're in need of money. Was that it? Did someone hire you off the streets?'
     The man watched me like a trapped animal, out of the corner of his eye.
     'You barely fought back so I'll bet you haven't had much experience. A trained assassin would have immediately dropped to his knee and used his gun on me, especially as I was that close to you. But you didn't even reach for it. Why was that?'
     Again, silence.
     'But you had stealth enough to get into the Princess's room, one of the most well-guarded places in the country, without alerting anyone until you got to her bedside; that speaks of some training. But maybe it was in a different field. Thievery? Are you a thief? Did someone pick you up robbing the houses of the rich at night and set you on a different job?'
     The man's eyebrows and mouth twitched slightly, as if he was struggling not to react.
     I seized upon it, 'I'm right, aren't I? That's it, that's how they found you.' I smiled, pleased with myself. 'Alright, so a common thief is hired to break into the Princess of England's palace and attack her at night. But you made no effort to do that, and little to fight back once I'd arrived. So, what was your plan?' I stared him down as his face went through a range of emotions: fear, confusion, worry, anger, guilt. It was intriguing.
     But I didn't have the time or energy for this. Surging forward I snatched his injured wrist and squeezed. The man screamed, an ear-splitting cry that echoed around the thick stone walls of the wine cellar and out into the servant's halls. The guards behind me winced audibly and glanced away, uncomfortable at the sight of a woman doing their dirty work.
     'Alright alright!' The man screamed again and batted at my arm with his free hand. I let go and sat back, brushing some flyaway hairs out of my face and waiting for him to speak. He gasped a few times for air and huddled back into his corner, clutching his hand close to his chest. 'I'm not a thief.'
     Raising an eyebrow, I slowly leant down to reach for my sword.
     'I'm not!' The man shouted. I froze, mid-lean, and waited for him to continue.
     'I'm an acrobat. I work along the South Bank, street shows and that. You know, tightropes, free running, dances, so on. They spotted me because I was light on my feet. I climbed St Pauls with no one noticing and was down the other side in ten minutes, that's how they found me.'
'Who is they?' I sat back up, leaving my sword where it lay. An acrobat? That was a new one but would explain how he got in.
     'I don't know,' he held out a hand when I bent down to get my sword again, 'I don't, I swear! These two gents came up to me a week ago when I was doing a show by the Globe. They were wearing long fancy coats and had their hats pulled down low. Talked with proper uptown accents though and offered me half the cash on the spot.'
     'Did you catch their names?'
     'To be honest, Miss, they didn't look like they wanted to be asked. One of them didn't talk at all, he just handed over the money when the deal was done. The other one, he was a real charmer, told me he liked my work and was interested in 'new opportunities'.' The man started to sweat, 'I didn't want to do it, I swear I didn't, thought they looked sketchy like. But my wife's just had a baby and we're poor enough as it is. Acrobatics ain't much of a high earner.'
     'And they told you to assassinate the Princess?'
     His bushy eyebrows shot up, 'assassinate?! There was no mention of assassination, Miss, I swear.'
     'Nothing?' I sat back, 'then what were you told to do here?'
     'Just to get in. They had a map of the grounds and just told me to get into that specific room, didn't tell me whose it was. That's why I was looking at her, trying to work out who she was. I wouldn't ever kill anyone, Miss.'
     Frowning, I started chewing my lip and thinking hard. 'So they just told you to get in? Nothing more?'
     The man now hunched his shoulders, 'I had to get in, make a fuss, see what the reaction was and get out. Had to go and tell them what had happened. To be honest miss, from your reaction to me I'm guessing you were the actual target.'
     'Me?'
     He nodded, seemingly eager he could finally help, 'they wanted to know what happened when I got in. And, pardon me Miss, but it's not every day a young woman like yourself stabs a fella through the hand. If that wasn't what they were after then I'm stumped.'
     'And what did they tell you to do once you got out?'
     'I had to go and meet them at the North-eastern corner of St Paul's tomorrow evening.'
     There it was, all I needed. 'Can you tell me anything more about the men? Anything at all?'
     The man shrugged, 'one was tall, maybe six foot four. He had a thin face and big shoulders but didn't talk. Looked proper tough though, like he wouldn't think twice about beatin' you. He was blond I think. The other was shorter, with a squarer face and dark hair, thicker than the taller man's from what I could see under his hat. He was proper slick, all easy breezy charm.'
     I stood, nodding at the guards to take over again. 'Keep an eye on him, I might have more questions.'
     'What?!' The man looked stricken, 'but I helped! I told you everything! I wanna go home!'
     'And you can go home, I just want to be able to find you, should I need to.' Picking up my sword, I turned on my heel and left the cellar, leaving the man to the guards. He called after me once but I kept going, my mind full of St Paul's and tactics and possible enemies at every corner. Brandishing my sword, I strode down the corridors back towards my room to prepare.
     I had a mission.