Page 22 of The King's Man 4

Wine is poured, drunk deeply, and getting the chance, I secretly knock some back too. Quin turns from the commander to an empty cup, and pauses. He gives me a small rub to my back, and tips more wine into the cup.

“Take your pick,” the commander says. “Any woman you like. On me.”

Quin laughs. “This one here’s tired. Let’s dismiss her. I like the harpist.”

He ushers me off his lap and my stomach gives a strange, uncomfortable lurch as Sparkles rises from her perch and sashays towards him.

“Go on, off you go,” he says when I don’t move.

I stop my staring, hurriedly curtesy, and escape. The doors shut behind me with a resounding click. I sag against the wall. Muffled giggles vibrate at my back, and I flee downstairs.

I make a feeble attempt to keep my mind on track and search for Eparchess Juliana, but my gaze keeps travelling back towards the staircase...

My women helpers from earlier find me in a flurry of skirts and once more I’m led into the changing room. They pluck me free of skirts and wipe off my makeup, and soon I’m staring at a more recognisable reflection of myself. Albeit one with an unfamiliar set to the mouth.

“What’s the matter, deary? You look disheartened.”

I bolt to my feet, then before a row of widened eyes, ease back into my seat with a tinny laugh. “Disheartened. Ha. Where’s my cloak?”

A woman at the neighbouring seat puffs a spray of perfume and my senses sharpen. I waft the air towards my nose, breathing in. “Amorous spores?”

Painted lips curl brightly and she nods. “Just a hint.”

I leap off the chair and peck her cheek to the delight of all in the room. “Brilliant.” Someone tosses my cloak over my back on my way out.

When I’m striding along the main square, I take out the handkerchief and check. Amorous spores. Definitely an ingredient.

I stall at the sight of freshly glued posters in the town square—one has a drawing of my face.Wanted for questioning.Inform the constabulary.I lower my hood over my eyes and hurry to the inn.

Sequestered in Quin’s room, I take out my grandfather’s books—which Quin insisted were brought here—and leaf through them for the page on amorous spores...

Should not be combined with nebularia, aquamantis, thundergrass, verdantia, or lunabloom. The result will be toxic.

I frown. Thundergrassisan element of the poison. But if it’s so toxic, why did only the redcloaks and the nannan die, while the rest of the refugees were only sick? Could the dosages have been different? Nannan was already frail, her liver was weak. Perhaps she wasn’t able to filter even a small amount, and that’s why it killed her?

I read over all the known ingredients of the poison and take notes. The interactions of the various plants change theirproperties dramatically.Lethally.According to my notes, even the smallest amount should be enough to down a horse.

I shiver. Could it be that amorous spores and venom have been combined with a type of bramble or root? Something that would act like a bubble around the poison, making it seep out slowly. But if that’s the case...

The chamber’s door creaks open and Quin steps inside with the snick of his cane. He stops halfway across the room, his eyes having already read me. “What is it?”

I rise from my books, trembling.

Quin grinds the end of his cane into the floor; my soldad, tied to his belt, swings like a ticking clock.

It spurs me into harried speech. “They didn’t get lucky. The poison is releasing slowly. They’ll all die.”

“Is there a way to prove this?”

“Gelidroot feeds off a dead body. After four days, the veins in a body become visible. If the person has consumed any, the veins will be green.”

“The grandmother is still in the constabulary.”

I shake my head. “We don’t have time to wait until she gets to the right stage of putrefaction. We must find out how long the refugees have, and start working on the antidote.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m convinced these cases are connected. The redcloaks sweated the same poison onto the grass. So...”

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