Ven shook his head. “The harbormaster is extremely busy,” he said. “An Inspection is scheduled when the shipbuilder thinks the vessel is ready. The harbormaster only hears about it after the Inspection is done, and then he signs off on it so the new owner can take possession.”
“And the new owner of the ship that sank—that was Mr. Witherspoon?” the king asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king smiled. He selected a last puzzle piece, a white one, and fit it into the picture, completing it.
“Witherspoon was in on the attack, I’d wager,” he said.
Ven’s mouth dropped open. “How can that be?” he asked. “What possible reason would he have to have his own ship stolen?”
Vandemere sat back in his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach.
“If it hadn’t passed the Inspection, he hadn’t paid for it yet, am I right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king’s smile grew broader, as if he were enjoying a particularly rich dessert. “And Witherspoon told you they had already begun loading goods onto the ship, even though he knew that might cause a problem with the Inspection?”
Ven thought back to that morning in the office. “Yes, he did,” he said.
“So those barrels of explosives, which you said were bolted into place, were put there by Witherspoon—not forgotten by your brothers when they were making the ship,” the king said. “They were full; if they had been used in the manufacturing process, they would have been partially empty.”
Ven’s head felt like it was about to explode. “You’re right,” he said, his mind teetering wildly. He remembered what Whiting had said to him that day in the dungeon, about Fire Pirates needing support, and getting it from people in the sea trade, like sea captains.
And ship owners.
“Witherspoon must have made a deal with the pirates,” the king said. He ran a hand over the completed puzzle. “He must be one of the people who supply them with the ingredients to make their fire. I’d bet that he had an arrangement with them—they were to attack the ship, burn the sails, kill the crew, then take it and sell it—or perhaps they just paid Witherspoon for it to use themselves. Witherspoon would not have to pay your father for it, since it never passed Inspection. So he made money on the deal, and your father lost his ship, his son, and maybe even his business. That’s an evil man, to be sure.”
Ven’s face flushed red with anger. “I have to go home,” he said before he thought better of it. “I can’t stay here—I have to go home and deal with Mr. Witherspoon. When I get done with him—”
“You could be a very old man,” the Vizier said dryly. “You seem to have forgotten that you are under arrest, and about to stand trial for thievery and possibly murder. You won’t be going anywhere for a long while, young man.”
The king exhaled and looked over at the constable, who nodded. He gathered up the puzzle pieces, along with the ones he didn’t use, and put them back in the box, put the lid back on, shook it around a little, and emptied it onto the table again.
“Let’s see if we can’t resolve this case now,” he said. “What is this boy accused of stealing?”
“Mr. Whiting’s ring,” said Evan Knapp. “And Mr. Whiting also states that a man may have been lost over the side of the Serelinda—”
“He’s mistaken,” said the king. His voice had a hard edge to it that made everyone in the room straighten up a bit. “Oliver Snodgrass would have mentioned something like that in his report. He noted nothing like that, so Mr. Whiting is undoubtedly mistaken. The ship’s captain has a better knowledge of who’s aboard and who’s not than a passenger would. I rule that charge false.” He gestured to the Vizier, who thought for a moment, then nodded.
Evan Knapp bowed. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he said. “And what of the charge of stealing? The ring that Mr. Whiting described was found in the boy’s room at the Crossroads Inn.”
The king thought for a moment, then began moving the glass puzzle pieces around again. The room was quiet as he started to form another picture, smaller this time.
“How would Ven have known Mr. Whiting had such a ring?” he asked, examining a red piece of glass.
“Mr. Whiting claims Ven saw it on his hand every day while the two of them were on the Serelinda.”
“Do you have the ring, Constable?” the king asked.
Evan Knapp nodded and fished the ring out of his pocket. He set it on the table, then bowed and moved away again. The copper gleamed in the light of the lanterns.
King Vandemere took the ring and examined it carefully. Then he returned to the picture he was building in glass, mostly from orange and yellow pieces. Finally he looked up, after glancing at the report from Captain Snodgrass.
“The Serelinda picked up passengers in Northland six weeks ago,” he said. “That was where Mr. Whiting got on board, according to this report.”
“I believe that is correct, Your Majesty,” said the constable.
The king fitted a single blue piece into the puzzle, then looked up.
“Well, this ring is made of unvarnished copper,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “Copper changes color in salt air. If it had been worn on someone’s hand in the salty sea air for six weeks, it would have started to turn blue by now. And yet it is as shiny and orange-brown as the day it was made. Now, how do you suppose that could be, Constable?”
Evan Knapp was silent.
“Perhaps that’s because it was just made a few days ago,” said Ven excitedly. “Or maybe a few weeks or years ago, even, but certainly it could not have been worn at sea for that long without changing.”
The king’s smile grew hard again.
“Right. So all I can imagine is that Mr. Whiting is seriously mistaken about the ring, because to accuse someone falsely is a very great crime, one that I am certain he would not want to be found guilty of. What do you say, Constable?”
Evan Knapp looked relieved. “I’d say that there is no need to pursue this matter any further,” he said.
“Good. Then you may go,” said the king. “Make certain Mr. Polypheme is taken care of and returned to the Crossroads Inn. And release his friends from the town jail as well.” The constable bowed.
King Vandemere turned to Ven. “Thank you for coming to clear up these issues,” he said pleasantly. “It’s an honor to meet someone who has the favor of an albatross. Best of luck to you.” He picked up the puzzle pieces and returned them to the wooden box. “I suggest you find out how that ring got in your room.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ven said as the constable began to usher him toward the door. “But before I go, I believe you owe me something.”
The room fell suddenly silent.
Ominously silent.
20
The Trade of Tales
“INSOLENT BRAT,” GALLIARD, THE VIZIER, HISSED. “HOW DARE you speak to the king like that?”
* * *
I could almost feel the musty walls of the dungeon closing around me again.
I’ve got to learn to keep things from slipping out of my mouth. I’d been doing so well, but as the charges were dismissed, I got too excited and just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
I really must learn how to do that someday.
* * *
The young king, rather than appearing offended, looked at Ven with a spark of interest in his eyes.
“What is it I owe you, Ven?” he asked, waving at the Vizier to be silent.
Ven tried to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed and tried again.
“Among the Nain, when someone shares the story of his life, it is, er, customary for the other person to return the favor—to trade tales, so to speak. I’m sorry if I was rude, Your Majesty. I’ve never been anywhere near a king before, much less spoken to one. I seem to have left all my manners in the dungeon.”
The king looked intently at him for a moment. Then he turned to the Vizier and the constable.
“Constable Knap
p, please go release Mr. Polypheme’s friends. Galliard, will you please step outside into the hall?” he asked.
“I’d advise against it, sire,” protested the Vizier. His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles whiter than Matilda’s newly sewn sails.
“Of course you would,” the king said. “If I need you, I know where to find you.”
The Vizier snorted out his breath loudly through his hooked nose, then stormed out of the room, followed by the constable.
King Vandemere waited until the door was closed, then pointed to a chair at the table.
“Please sit down,” he said. Then he got up and walked slowly past several of the tables until he came to one which held a small wooden cube the size of an apple. He returned to the table, turning the wooden box over in his hands. He twisted the box in the middle, and out sprang several slats of wood, which opened the box into many odd layers at strange angles.
For a long time the king sat quietly, twisting the box into many different shapes. Finally Ven’s curiosity swelled, drowning his embarrassment.
“If I may be so bold, what is your story, Your Majesty?”
The young king smiled. “That’s a short question with a long answer,” he said, continuing to twist the box’s parts. “And hardly a fair trade of tales. You only told me the story of your life since you encountered the albatross a few weeks ago.”
“That’s the entire story of my life so far,” said Ven. “Not too much happened to me worth telling before that.”
King Vandemere nodded. “Well, I suppose my story is that I was born to be king, but it happened too fast.” He closed the box back up into a cube, then put it on the table in front of him.
“My father died two years ago. My mother died when I was born. So I became king when I was sixteen years old.”
“You’re only eighteen?” Ven asked, amazed, realizing a moment later how rude that sounded. Vandemere was so approachable, so friendly, that it was hard to remember he was a king. “I apologize, Your Majesty—but you look older.”
“And you look much younger than you are,” replied the king. He reached out and tapped the box, and instantly it flattened into a long, thin sheet of interlocking pieces. Ven blinked. “The first rule of good puzzling—see things as they are, and not as they seem.”
The king turned the wooden sheet over, and began spreading the pieces out, though they all remained connected in some way.
“Did you know that there are several other kings on this island?” he asked. Ven shook his head. “And a few queens, not to mention other nobles. Each race, the Nain, the Lirin, the Gwadd, they have their own rulers. But the person born to sit in that throne in the room next door is high king over all of them. So it occurred to me when I was very young that I should go out and see what their kingdoms were like, since I was responsible for them all.”
“A good idea,” said Ven.
“But I didn’t want to go to visit as the crown prince. I knew that there would be a good deal of pomp and ceremony, which I find very boring. I also knew that if people met me as the prince, they would tell me what they expected I would want to hear, and not what they really thought. So when I was thirteen, I told my father that I was going off to learn whatever I could of the world, particularly the part of the world I would rule one day.”
Ven nodded eagerly. His eye was drawn to the puzzle again, and saw that the king had assembled each of the corners of it into what looked like little wooden trees, but when he looked at the entire puzzle, it had taken on the shape of a face.
“The second rule of good puzzling—look at the details and the whole picture separately,” the king said. “You will see two different things.”
He turned the puzzle on its side, then collapsed it into the box cube again.
“So I went traveling. I went alone. And I went in disguise. Not in any special costume, but as a farmhand, a wanderer, a beggar. The sort of person who might live for a while in Hare Warren. A kid, traveling alone. No one noticed me, which was perfect, because then I could see things as they really are, and hear things spoken truthfully and without fear. It was a wonderful time.”
“What sorts of things did you see and hear?” Ven asked.
“I saw a forest where the trees protect each other, tall ones growing around ones that are young or fragile to spare them from the wind until they are strong enough to stand on their own. I saw a place at the edge of the sea where giants once walked out to an island off the coast, where you can still see the stepping-stones they used—they’re the size of oxcarts. I saw the grave of a star that fell from the sky into the sea, and where it lies still, boiling beneath the surface of the water. I saw a unicorn once, and a lion with wings. But mostly I saw people, my people, people of different races and different types of lives, all of whom had stories that I found fascinating. And I realized what I was really seeing in all of them was magic.
“My father had a court full of magicians and conjurers, as did his father before him, and every other high king in history. I sent them all away when I became king, because I saw what they did as tricks, as amusement. I kept my Viziers—they are advisers who can see things that others can’t. The chief Vizier, Graal, is very old, and very wise, and Galliard is his student, also very knowledgeable. But all the men in funny hats making snakes out of silk scarves that used to work in the palace are now out there among the people, entertaining children with their tricks. Because, as king, I only wanted to see the real magic in the world, so that I could learn from it, and preserve it.”
Ven’s curiosity was now itching so fiercely that he could barely keep from scratching his head.
King Vandemere balanced the cube on his palm.
“The problem with seeing a little of that kind of magic is that you gain an appetite for it. Once you know it’s out there, it’s hard not to look for more of it. I met a few Nain, and learned that they are nervous in the air, preferring to live deep in the earth—but then I wanted to see why, what their world within the mountains was like, where gold runs in rivers, and gems grow on trees, or so I’m told. I met some Gwadd, and found them charming and sad at the same time. They say so little in words—so I wanted to learn their silent language, the language that mice and moles can hear, that speaks not in words but in flowers. I met Lirin, who say very little to humans, but record history in song, and have Singers who swear to tell the absolute truth all their lives so that the tales they sing do not become soiled with falsehood. And I wanted to hear those tales, all of them. And I met Kith, people like Galliard, who have the power of wind in their blood, and can hear what is being spoken on it. I wanted to learn how to do that, too.”
The young king stood up and walked to the window.
“But then my father died. I took the throne, as I was born to. And now I’m stuck here. I can’t go about the way I used to.”
“Why?” Ven asked. “You’re the king. Can’t you go anywhere you want?”
King Vandemere chuckled. “Because my face is on every coin in the kingdom,” he said. “Everyone knows who I am now. They bow to me, and they tell me what they think I want to hear. And there are endless things I have to tend to, grain treaties and armies to supply, shipping laws to follow, and all sorts of boring things. Now all the information about the world I have, I get from someone else instead of seeing it for myself. I have to sort through it, trying to separate out their opinions, their slants, because everyone I know has their own agenda, their own plans. All I really want is—is—”
“The hammered truth?” Ven said aloud.
The king’s ears perked up. “What is that?” he asked.
Ven’s face grew red. He had interrupted the king again, but the king didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s what my father used to call it,” he said sheepishly. “The hammered truth—facts that are not varnished or hidden, but shaped straight, like steel that has been hammered. He used to say, ‘Tell people the hammered truth, and it will ring like steel against an anvil.’”
The king practically jumped across the room. He slapped his hand down on the table, making the box of glass puzzle pieces rattle.
“Exactly!” he exclaimed. He sat down again. “That’s exactly what I need—the hammered truth.” He picked up the puzzle cube once more. “Fathers. They make us crazy sometimes, but every now and then they tell us great secrets that no one else can. The last thing my father said to me before he died is the most important thing I have ever heard.”
“And what was that?” Ven asked eagerly.
The king looked at him, but it seemed like his mind was very far away. “I told him I was beginning to discover the magic that was hidden everywhere in the world, in the people, the creatures, the places. He was very weak, so he could only whisper. He said, ‘My son, the magic’s in the puzzle—collect the pieces, put them together, and you’ll have the answer.’ And I understood what he meant—that all the things I had seen were like pieces of a great puzzle, and if I could find as many of them as possible, maybe I could understand why the world was made, and what we are supposed to do with it.”
“And that’s why you have all these puzzles?” Ven asked, pointing at the tables around the room.
“I have them because they remind me to look for the pieces in life and put them together,” the king said. “Solving these puzzles teaches me how to think in the right ways. All skills get better with practice.” He turned the wooden cube over in his hand. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to return to my search for those pieces, however. For the rest of my life I’m expected to stay here and be king, not travel the world looking for interesting places and people and things.”
Ven heard sadness in the king’s voice, and it made him sad as well. “So what are you going to do, then?” he asked.
The king thought for a long time. “I suppose I am going to keep working on grain treaties and army supplies and shipping laws,” he said finally. Then his eyes began to gleam, and a new expression came over his face.
“Unless I can find someone to do it for me,” he said.
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