By the time Grim had arranged for the cart and pony, and brought them around to the yard, Isla appeared at the stable. “I want your driver to watch for someone waving a red rag down there at the manor gate,” she said, pointing in the direction she meant. “I’m expecting someone to come from the Emperor, but I’m not supposed to be expecting him. So I’m leaving a lookout. He’ll be standing out of sight of the Gate, but within sight of your driver. When you see the rag, send the cart and driver. Pick someone who can do a good job of pretending to be surprised to see someone at the Gate.”

“Oh, aye, milady,” Grim said, nodding. “I see where you’re a-going with this. We’ll have a nice little story. He’ll say he’s going to cut his errand short, on account of the Emperor’s messenger is more important than some small task, and bring him back here.”

“Perfect,” said Isla, and quirked her finger at Delia, who followed her back into the manor.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon, so they had plenty of time to arrange a tasty little feast of heavily salted snacks. And for the drink, Isla herself went down into the cellar and brought back a bottle of distilled spirits, far more potent than even the strongest beer or wine.

The sun was about two fingers above the horizon when the pony-cart came clattering back with its burden of Imperial messenger and satchels. One was the usual light messenger-case, but the other was nearly the size of a rucksack, and very heavy indeed. But Grim’s chosen driver was a lot stronger than he looked, and heaved the latter out of the back of the cart with such ease it looked as if it could be no heavier than a book or two. Without asking or commenting, he took it into the manor, while Isla thanked the messenger for coming, accepted the receipt for the tribute-horses, then exclaimed, with deep sympathy, “But you must have had quite a journey, bringing those account books with you as well! I am so sorry you were burdened with them! Let me offer you some refreshment before you go—and I’ll have the cart take you back once you have rested.”

Oh, clever, Delia thought. It was true that account books frequently traveled between the manor and the Capital; the Emperor took nothing for granted, and often made checks on Kordas’s honesty. Or rather, the Imperial Exchequer did. Usually those did not come and go by Imperial messenger—but once in a very great while, within recent memory in fact, they had. So now the messenger had the thought lodged in his skull that the Duke of Valdemar had been singled out by the Exchequer, that he had cursed heavy account books, and the messenger was well rid of them.