The outer Bailey of Greystone Barony was a hell-scape of fire and carnage. Crops and buildings were ablaze, and people dashed around trying to douse them.
The bodies of at least ten men were strewn about on the ground nearby. They were all barony guards. Dark tendrils of smoke emerged from their plate armor. It was as if someone had tried to start a fire inside, but it hadn’t quite caught. The metal was singed black in places, and the smell emanating from it was overpowering. Countess retched. Whatever killed these men had turned their armor into ovens, and they had been cooked inside.
The smoke was useful, though. It made good cover. Countess donned her cloak. Then, she made her way to the entrance of the inner Bailey without anyone noticing her. She stopped to look and listen. The doors to the Inner Bailey were open. The guards had no time to close them during the attack. There was no sign of activity around her, so she peeked inside.
Countess took several minutes to scan the area. Greystone Barony looked big from the outside, but inside, it was enormous. It was an amazing feat of engineering and architecture. Buildings and structures were packed in, the space optimized. But it never felt crowded.
The gardens of the inner Bailey were always beautiful and well-manicured, even in winter. It was late summer now, and everything was still in bloom. As Countess scanned the landscape, she saw vibrant flowers in full bloom. The air was filled with the scent of roses and jasmine, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
Countess took a deep breath, trying to ground herself. But as she continued to observe, the flowers flickered, their colors dimming and then disappearing entirely. The once lush garden became a barren, desolate landscape, devoid of life. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the barren scene persisted for a moment longer before the flowers reappeared, their colors more saturated than before.
She shook her head, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. “Is this real?” she whispered to herself, touching a nearby rose. It felt soft and real under her fingertips, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Her senses seemed unusually sharp today, almost too sharp. The sweet scent of the flowers returned, and the vibrant colors filled her vision once more. She hoped this wasn’t a sign of fatigue or the stress of the situation getting to her.
On a typical day, Countess would take her time and admire the flowers and statuary. She would try to get lost in the myriad nooks and crannies which hid secrets and delights. There were abundant plaques, all dedicated to the heroic deeds of intelligence agents. And there were giant, complex statues dedicated to famous battles. It was enough to make even the most jaded person emotional.
Beyond the gardens, to the left was the king's residence. It was a large cottage with several support buildings for staff, when the king visited. Behind that, was a large hospital and a well-appointed pub. She spent many nights there, drinking herself into oblivion.
On the right was the chapel, amphitheater, and great hall. Each could hold hundreds of people. Behind those, the mortuary and graveyard. There were also support buildings, small farms, herb gardens, and recreational parks. The Inner Bailey was a self-sustaining town inside one wall.
Countess slunk inside. She crossed the open space between the Inner Bailey wall and the gardens. Satisfied she wasn't detected, she moved through the gardens toward the Keep.
Greystone Barony’s keep was an enormous building complex. Constructed of large, interlocking black stones, the edifice was stark and imposing. Some even found it repulsive. Others were quite sure the place was haunted. The keep was later named Intelligence Headquarters. It was one of Yorke Kingdom’s first major construction projects. Hundreds of years old, it was filled to the brim with history, rare objects, and secret passages. On any given day, it was also packed with important people. And as Countess was always reminded, intelligence agents were not.
Countess zigzagged between shadows, making her way to the headquarters entrance. There were two abandoned goods carts at the right service door. The contents of the carts, produce, was almost all spilled out on the ground.
Several dead guards were on the ground in front of the headquarters entrance. And the twin front doors were wide-open. There were no lights on inside. Countess was quite concerned by this. The building had two types of lighting: gas and electric. The electric lights were new, experimental, and expensive. The gas lights were inexpensive, but more numerous. They were connected together via a complex pipe manifold. Both systems had sources deep underground. They were completely separate and had many redundancies. It would take a concerted effort by trained personnel to defeat both systems. Countess could do it, but only because she had special training.
Countess dashed up the short flight of stairs to the front doors. She stood off to the side and peeked in. No one was present, and there was no sound. She stepped in and winced when the sound of her footstep reverberated off the marble floor. Reaching into her waist pouch, she pulled out a pair of soft booties, then slipped them over her shoes. They provided a nice insulating barrier to the floor. Now she could move about with much less sound.
Countess slid her feet across the floor, like she was ice-skating. Gliding across the foyer, she built up speed. She twisted around, then slid backward, softly into the shadow of a column.
The entrance hall was a good representation of the fine decor of the building. Suits of armor, shields, ornate tapestries, and fancy oil paintings decorated the walls. Every table had a piece of the kingdom’s military history on top of it. And the room was filled with helmets, fancy boxes filled with colorful medals, and weapons.
Countess took a moment to recall her years of experience in this building. She knew its secrets, the hidden doors, and the peep-holes. She had spent countless hours exploring every nook and cranny, learning its layout like the back of her hand. Her thoughts wandered to the times she had used these passages to evade detection or to gather intelligence unnoticed.
A side door opened. Two staff members, a man and a woman, entered holding lit candles in front of them.
“I think they’re gone now!” whispered the man. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Like you protected me when I almost fell over the railing?” Countess could tell that the woman was being silly and flirtatious.
“We were kissing at the time,” said the man. Then he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. “And I did catch you before you fell.”
“Clumsiest catch I’ve ever seen in my life,” said the woman. She giggled and pushed him away.
“Hey,” he said. “I think there are more candles and supplies in this cabinet.”
The man walked a few steps, then stepped on something.
“Wha—” The man hunched over to look at what he was standing on. There was a loud click and whoosh. A large clump of black goo shot up onto the man’s face, then exploded. The now headless body fell to its knees, then slumped over onto its side.
The woman let out an ear-piercing scream, then turned to run. She tripped over something, then fell onto the floor, silent and motionless.
Countess slid over to the woman. She saw a large arrow shaft sticking out of her head, and a pool of dark liquid expanding around her head.
“Shit,” Countess said under her breath. “The bastards left traps.”
Intelligence headquarters was legendary for its secret passages. Hidden doors and little peep-holes to observe people without them knowing were plentiful. For those who knew they existed, it was a constant game to find new ones. Or, to use them in creative ways to blow the minds of the uninitiated. The higher-ups discouraged their use. Some even gave out reprimands to those they caught. To their mind, these things were hidden and secret for a reason. Countess had been caught once. She was forced to write passages from the Employee Handbook over and over. She remembered it well. “Chapter 2, Employee Conduct. Clandestine infrastructure within the Intelligence Headquarters building is for official business only. It should only be used where diplomacy fails, or in dire situations, to subvert an enemy.”
Countess was sure she was operating within the guidelines of official policy now. And after working in the building for twenty years, she was confident she knew most of its secrets. Countess had to get to the Baron’s office, which was on the third floor. She slid over to the large entrance hall fireplace, where she removed and stored her booties. Stepping onto the hearth, she ducked her head under the lintel. A small, vertical lever was hidden there. Once actuated, a panel inside the fireplace slid aside. It revealed a metal ladder leading upward.
Countess began climbing, and the faux panel reseated itself, leaving her in darkness. She climbed back down and fished out the beta light from her waist pouch. The light was considered a mission-critical item, and she would tend to agree. It was issued by “the techies,” men in a small, creepy office beside the quartermaster. They preferred the company of cool gadgets to other human beings.
The light was a small vial of glowing liquid. She always carried it with her. It was a constant companion for her other waist pouch necessities—things like her blade, lock picks, and compass. There were other things she always packed in her pouch, but they were less critical; like a pencil, small pad of paper, and implements to start a fire.
The beta light emitted a constant glow that lasted many years. Eventually, they grew too dim to be useful, but her current one was still going strong. She didn’t know exactly how it worked, and didn’t much care, as long as it did its job. The light tube was seated inside a small, black rubber housing, allowing it to be held in the hand or mouth. She chose the latter, as her hands were going to be occupied.
Countess climbed the ladder and paused at the second floor. This level was administrative offices, libraries, and housekeeping. She didn’t need anything here, so she kept climbing. Reaching the third floor, she found and actuated another lever. This one opened a panel into a small broom closet.
Countess dismounted the ladder, put her beta light away, and went to the door to peek out. Nothing. There was no sound and the entire area seemed abandoned.
She left the closet and moved down a hallway, staying crouched and making as little sound as possible. The hallway ended in a large open area.
Most considered the first floor to be quite fancy. But the third floor was grandiose. This was the realm of Baron Greystone. Not quite the opulence of the royal palace at Mohonk Castle, but it was every inch, built to impress. To start, the ceilings were several feet higher than on lower levels. The effect made you feel smaller, less significant. And every wall was ornate. They were either dark wood paneling or filled with treasures. Rare weapons or exquisite oil paintings hung from them. The paintings all featured some kind of pompous dignitary or high-ranking military officer.
The area even smelled extravagant. The scent was complex and exotic. It was part wood polishing cream and part potpourri. Bowls filled with the stuff were on every table in sight. Inside were aromatic herbs, spices, and oils gathered from the Barony gardens.
Movement ahead forced Countess to stop and take cover. It was one of the pagans. She watched him for several minutes. He was patrolling an area between two large meeting rooms. The floor on this level was covered by fancy carpet, so she didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing her footsteps.
Countess hid in a nook beside a display case. The case contained older and larger versions of the tools she used to do her work. Many were impressed by them, but they didn’t have to do Countess’s work. If they did, they would laugh as she did when she saw them. Her predecessors were out of their minds to carry around such clumsy things!
Countess made a careful approach toward the pagan. He was scruffy, unshaven, thin, and of average height. His clothes were rags, like sewn-together burlap sacks. But to his advantage, they were a mixture of dark, matte, and natural colors. They blended in well with the environment.
In the corner of her eye, Countess saw something out of place. It was a shadow on the floor near the wall where there shouldn’t be one. She moved her head around, trying to resolve some more details of the thing, but it didn’t work. She had to get closer. She crept toward the thing and stopped. It was one of the pagan traps. An almost invisible strand connected it to a table leg on the other side of the room. It was a trip wire.
Countess reached into her waist pouch and pulled out a small cutting tool. It had dark-red rubber handles, and she usually used it for electrical wires. But it would do quite well for this job. She held the line firmly with one hand, then clipped the thread, slowly releasing the tension. The device made an almost imperceptible click. It was now disabled. She exhaled slowly and smiled.
Countess then turned her attention to the pagan. She waited for him to stop near the far extent of his patrol, then sneaked into the closer office. When he walked by, he was mumbling something incoherent to himself.
Dagger drawn, Countess sprang out at him, then pulled him back into the office with her. She covered his mouth with one hand, and with the other, jabbed him twice in the neck with the point of her dagger. Most civilized folks would get the idea when Countess lay the flat of her blade against their necks. Pagans always needed a little more encouragement.
“Don’t make a sound,” she said, “or this goes across your throat.”
“Oh, uhhh--” he said. Countess cut him off with a savage squeeze.
“I said quiet!” she whispered.
“Ok! Ok!” he whispered. “What do you want?”
“Information.”
“Fine!”
Countess gagged. The man smelled awful. He had a kind of fishy, rotten earth smell. It was the smell of the swamps where they lived. And beneath that, Countess noticed a sweet and sour odor. It was the berry-flavored moonshine they made (and illegally sold).
“I don’t know much,” he said. “We were told to meet here. Three of us. Paid a whole month’s work in advance. All we have to do is secure the top floor of this building. And at dawn, we disappear.”
“Who paid you?”
“Don’t know.”
“How can you not know who hired you?” said Countess. She was getting angry.
“We all got letters. Didn’t see anyone. It was strange. We all talked about how strange it was.”
“And you always do jobs for people who just send you letters?”
“I may have left out the part where they said they’d kill our families if we refused.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Countess put away her dagger and drew out her blackjack.
“I just have one more question,” she said. Then she knocked him out.
Countess found another trap. It was one of the step-on, explosive kind that had killed the staff man. She thought of a plan for the trap. But using it would make noise, so she’d only have a short amount of time to pull the plan off. Countess found a broom and used it to slide the trap across the floor. She placed it out in front of a column where the second pagan was patrolling.
Countess hid behind the column and waited for the pagan to pass.
“Pst,” said Countess.
“What the…” said the man. He took two steps toward Countess, then his foot landed on the trap.
He looked down.
“Shit!”
Countess covered her ears. The explosion was loud and sounded messy. As expected, the last pagan ran in her direction. Countess moved sideways in the shadows and waited.
When the pagan ran past, she jumped on his back and clubbed him hard on the head with her blackjack. He didn’t go down, but he was dazed. She got him into a chokehold and squeezed as hard as she could. He tried to slap at her, but it wasn’t effective. He was down and out in less than thirty seconds. She moved back into the shadows and waited for more pagans to arrive. None did.
Countess stood, smiling, sweating, and out of breath. She felt great. Her retirement was too comfortable, and she missed this.
Countess continued toward the Baron’s office. She passed the bodies of several more guards and staff and had to disarm another tripwire.
The Baron’s office was actually a suite of offices and conference rooms that took up one third of the top floor. The opposite side was the Baron’s domicile, and the War Room was in the middle of the two. The War Room was a large space with long tables, where people with long titles discussed large things. Countess had never been in there, and never wanted to be. She avoided the pretentious place.
Countess arrived at the door to the Baron’s office. She was amused to discover that it had a fancy new plaque. It read: Baron Thadeus Greystone, Minister, Yorke Kingdom Intelligence.
She said to herself, “Well, aren’t we proud?”
