He drank from a public fountain, leaning his head near the stream, fearing to take the water in his hands. The memory, the feeling, the touch, the smell of his teacher’s blood all were still there. After he filled his thirst, he rewashed his hands. And again. And again.

Stop it. Just go.

He went on, glued to the walls and their shadows, avoiding the street lights. Nobody was on the streets, not even the occasional drunkard, and that was eerie.

He felt himself, checking if his belt dagger and the small pocket blackjack were still there, at least the tenth check in less than an hour. It was an inadequate armament for the odds he was facing, but it was better than nothing.

Reaching the hills of Ohst Nor, the Upper City, he climbed the steps head-on, instead of taking the easier path, the sizeable serpentine road for horses and coaches. It was shorter this way. Panting, he stopped at the top, hand on the railing, taking in air and the view. Embracing the slow river, the neighborhoods of Ohst-Nuin, the Lower City. The labyrinth of narrow streets of the Port, the regular blocks of the Administration, the metal and glass pavilions of the University compound, the Markets and Stock Exchange, the Citadel…

Here and there, lights in the windows started to appear. The morning was approaching. Only the Citadel showed no light, a huge dark shape, darker than the sky above. Atop the central tower, another form profiled on the sky: the flag, hanging in the middle of the staff.

On his back, in the distance, he could hear music. The Allamain Philarmonic rehearsed before the roosters’ song, as usual. He recognized the melody, a symphonic arrangement of a tune whose author’s name had been lost millennia ago.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…

He shuddered and turned on his heels, entering the residential area with that blood smell haunting him again.

###

In stark contrast with the Lower City's agglomeration, the Upper one had very few constructions. Magnificent residential villas, stadiums, amphitheaters, and restaurants, all spaced between gardens, parks, fountains, children's playgrounds, sports courts, and a few lakes. While accessible to all, it was inhabited by the rich or the nobles. It was said that you could find trees in blossom here in every season, and it was true.

And the occasional corpse behind a bush too, thought the spy, thinking about the permanent quarrels among the noble houses.

The sun had begun to shine when he arrived at his destination. D’Ornia’s Embassy was almost in the middle of the plateau, surrounded by a few parks but having a small one of his own too. Although not very big, the Villa was very elegant, and he took a few minutes to examine it.

The front entrance is heavily guarded, as expected. Jumping the fence is a no go in daylight. Back entrance it is.

He turned his coat. It had two faces; the inside was now out, its color a deep blue, looking like a servant uniform. He arranged his hair, walked directly to the back door, and patted the old sleeping doorman on the shoulders.

“Hi, gramps. Where’s the kitchen? I’m new.”

“Huh?” jumped up the other. “Goodness, don’t wake up old folks like that; you almost gave me a heart attack! Just straight and last on the right.”

The kitchen was bustling with preparations. Coffee, omelet, tea, jam, toasts, cookies, everything fresh. A big lady in her fifties and two younger female help, all more or less plump, because the cooking business is not for the faint of heart.

“Good morning, my ladies! What a pleasure to start a new job in such a beautiful company!”

His face was radiating happiness and joy. He was not imitating a servant now; he was one. His ability to live his roles had advanced him quite high in the waiters' circles.

“Hey, newbie! Don’t my lady my girls, or I’ll pull off your ears!” warned the chef.

“Girls? What girls? Are some girls around?” he said earnestly, turning his head left and right. “They are children, not girls. You, my lady, are the object who occupies all my attention.”

He had opened his arms like he wanted to hug the chief-cook, and he received a kitchen-towel on his head. The girls giggled, but so did the big lady.

“Look, I don’t know who hired you, but make yourself useful!”

“Can I take up breakfast for the miss?”

It was a roll of dice. If the princesses had a friend here, chances were high that they had slept in the same apartment, staying late to gossip, as girls do. And the miss was an appropriate nickname for young ladies in the servants’ circles.

“Well, the Missy has guests. Are you able to carry three trays?”

It was what he hoped for. Lighting does not strike as fast as he arranged coffee, tea, milk, jam and butter, toasts, cups, napkins, plates, teaspoons, knives, and forks on three separate trays. He took two in his palms and one on the inside of his elbow, then executed a three-turn pirouette on the toes of his right foot, without spilling a drop.

All the ladies were speechless, awed, jaws wide opened.

“Goodness! This is something I didn’t see in years! For a second, it was like my old friend, Il Magnifico, appeared before my eyes!”

“I was trained in his school, my lady. But let’s not let the coffee get cold; where should I go?”

“The second floor. Then the first door on the right, it’s just above us.”

He nodded and hurried. The stairs were in front of the kitchen, and in less than twenty seconds, he had reached the door. He could hear some voices and noises; the voices sounded clear as crystal, and the noises were a pillow fight. He knocked with the tip of his left shoe.

“Come in!” said a voice.

He entered. On a large bed, three young girls in night-gowns looked at him curiously. Two had deep auburn hair, and one was a blonde. That one, he knew, was not the princess, but the Missy.

“Put the trays on the coffee table,” asked the host.

He obeyed, then turned back toward them and kneeled on one knee, with a hand and his eyes on the floor and the other hand to his heart. It was a cheesy salute, like in the dramas, but it was all he could think about.

“My lieges, I bring bad news.”

Suddenly, silence, the giggles had stopped. Feeling something interesting was going to be said, the host left the bed and went to the couch, taking a cup of coffee. He didn’t speak again until one of the princesses asked.

“Speak up!”

He had tears in his eyes. All the memories of the night were weighing on his shoulders: the King, the Professor, his childhood memories. The blood…

“I’m not a waiter,” he began.

“Goodness, aren’t men always stating the obvious!” mumbled the blond girl.

“I’m a spy. My name is Istaìnn Quevedo. I was on duty last night, in the Ministry, and accidentally got wind of a plot. The King… - oh, goodness, it’s so hard to say - …he’s gone, someone staged an accident at sea. They started to kill witnesses and potential opposition; my teacher was assassinated less than an hour ago. The Council had been hypnotized with some toxic letters, they bought the Royal Guards, and declared an unknown general as Regent. They’ll come for you soon, either to kill or capture you. We must fly.”

Because no answer came, he raised his eyes. A part of him expected what the books said it was to be expected. In the books, princesses were supposed to enter hysteria, call for guards, refuse any useful idea, and in general, make the life of their rescuer a living hell. But the twos were real princesses, educated in science by their mother, in politics by their father, and countless private teachers. They could feel the truth in his words.

And as the morning light bathed their silhouettes, making their nightgowns transparent, he almost choked. When he had last saw them, they were two kitten faces in a blanket. Now, the feline features had remained, but their beauty was that of young lionesses ready to devour the hearts of their admirers. The curly hair of Heyra was cut at shoulder height, the straight hair of Feyra caressed her hips. Added to that, the deep amber and green oblique eyes, the full lips who liked to smirk when upset, on Heyra, and sneer, on Feyra, the slightly curved nose with a bit of fuller tip, their spotless skin, their bodies of medium height, fit, but with a lot of shapely shapes… their exquisiteness could have choked a hundred years old blind hermit too.

Goodness, they are perfect! Perfect! Don’t look there, I said: don’t look! Oh, my goodness!

Sitting on the bed on their knees, hand in hand, tears flowing, the girls didn’t notice the effect they had on him or didn’t care.

“Who’s they?” asked the Ambassador’s daughter. “And why should my friends run? This is d’Ornian territory; we are safe here.”

“I don’t know who’s behind the plot, some of the nobles for sure, but I saw a stranger too; a foreign power must be involved. And we should run because we don’t know who to trust yet. The coup was brutal and fast, they’ll eventually find out where they are, and no place cannot be infiltrated. I got here in two minutes, no one asked me even my name, and I have a dagger on me. Next time, in hours, or a day or two, the infiltrator will not be a friend.”

“Why don’t we ask dad for advice while you freshen up?” suggested the host. “Come, Quevedo. I’ll make the introductions.”

He raised, bowed his head to the princesses, and followed the blonde girl.