“See, I told you,” said the boy, relieved that he had not remembered it wrong.
“You idiot!” said Just Alice. “You knot-headed, soup-for-brains, thickwit numskull.” If not for her chains, she surely would have smacked him. “ ‘Am I truly and justly a slave?’ That was your question?”
“Yes. So what?”
“I believe Alice’s concern is that the way you asked the question may have caused some confusion,” said Oswald.
“It’s a compound question,” said Just Alice. “He could say no if any part of it was false.”
“So?” said the boy.
“So, what if you were truly a slave but not justly one?” said Just Alice.
“That’s stupid,” said the boy. “How could I be one and not the other? That makes no sense at all.”
“You’re quite sure about that, are you?” said Just Alice.
“My father was captured in wartime,” said the boy, “and my mother was sold to pay her family’s debts, so I was born a slave. That’s where slaves come from.” The boy stopped and thought about what he had just said. No one spoke for a long moment. “If I am not justly a slave, then who is?”
“I have my standards,” said Mennofar. “I will not answer that question.”
“I can never get anywhere with you,” said the boy. “Every time I get one thing from you, you turn it right back around again. Do you enjoy torturing me?”
“Yes,” said Mennofar.
“That might be the only true thing you’ve ever said to me,” said the boy. “I’m finished with you. I’ve got nothing more to ask.”
“Is anyone justly a slave?” said Just Alice.
“Don’t you start in,” said the boy.
“No, that’s what you should ask him,” said Just Alice. “Is anyone justly a slave?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the boy.
“Just ask,” said Just Alice.
“Fine,” said the boy. “Mennofar, is anyone justly a slave?”
“No,” said Mennofar. The boy gawped at him.
“Well, that ties it up rather neatly, then,” said Oswald. “Although it means you’re a slave after all.” He thought about this a moment more. “Oh, dear.”
The boy, however, was still gawping at Mennofar. “How can you say that?” he asked. “How can that be?”
“Makes sense to me,” said Just Alice. “Why should your poor father be a slave just because some nobleman lost a battle to some other nobleman? And it’s even worse for your mother. The crops fail, so she has to be a slave? That’s hardly fair, is it?”
“It is unjust for one man to own another,” said Mennofar.
“Exactly,” said Just Alice. “Come to think of it, why should one man be king and another be a peasant?”
“Let’s watch that kind of talk,” said Oswald. He glanced around as if the Captain of the Guard might be lurking behind a shrub somewhere.
“But it’s fated to be,” said the boy.
“There is no fate,” said Mennofar.
“I could have told you that,” said Just Alice. “In fact, I did, didn’t I?”
“You’re wrong!” said the boy. “Every man has a fate. As we are born, the Three Sisters draw it from the great bowl.”
“My vision shows me otherwise,” said Mennofar.
“But how can you know that?” said the boy. “Ha! You’re not going to trick me again. You cannot see the gods, not even with your third eye. You told me so yourself.”
“A good point,” said Oswald. “Well reasoned.”
“When I look into the future,” said Mennofar, “I can see the endlessly unfolding possibilities it holds, the immense number of paths that a single life can take. When I see these possibilities, all the things that might happen, I know that the gods have not fixed a single unerring, unchanging destiny for each person.”
“Well, maybe not every little detail is set in stone,” said the boy, “but a person’s life is what it is. It’s not like I could ever become King of High Albemarle.”
Mennofar closed his eyes and concentrated hard. When he opened them, he smiled, flashing his many pointed teeth. “It is unlikely,” he said. “But not impossible.”
This was a bit much, even for Just Alice. “How?” she asked.
“All he has to do is escape the Duke, return to High Albemarle and lead a slave rebellion,” said Mennofar. “It would almost certainly end in failure and death, but if the rebels won, he could wind up being king.”
“Really?” said the boy. His prospects were looking up.
“Of course, if you really want to be a king, West Stanhope is a much safer play. All you have to do is foil the Duke and ask for Princess Alice’s hand in marriage as your reward for rescuing her,” said Mennofar.
“That does make sense,” said Oswald. “When she ascends to the throne, you’d be prince consort…or captain regent…or something like that.”
Mennofar nodded while Just Alice glared at Oswald. The boy was too deep in his own thoughts to notice. Having a fate meant knowing where he belonged, even if where he belonged was at the bottom. With a fate, he knew what he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to do. It was a comfort. Even when he lost his fate, he still knew what to do: go and find it. But if the gods had not set his fate when he was born, then there was no reason for any of the things that had happened to him or Reka or Kelemen. Or even Rodrigo. Without fate, there might be nothing at all. Belief in it explained everything.
Except that it did not. Fate was a reason, but it was a terrible one. Fate said that his mother and father should die because they did not want their child to live a life of endless drudgery. Fate said that Rodrigo should never see his daughter because Tibor thought it might be inconvenient.
He had changed. It was that simple. While he searched for what he thought was his fate, he had been forced to act as though he had none. He had made his own choices without regard for who he was supposed to be. For the first time, he had lived with doubt and uncertainty. Not knowing meant exploring and discovering. Yes, it was frightening, but it was also fun. Some of his choices were wise, and some were foolish, but all were his and his alone. Once he had thought fate was an anchor, holding him steady, giving him a place in the world. Now he saw that it was a shackle, binding him in place. Except that he was held prisoner not by iron bonds but by his own belief. When he let that go, the shackle simply vanished.
At least, the ones in his head did. The ones used to chain him up were still there. The boy stared down at them for a moment. “At least one good thing comes of this,” he said, turning to Alice. “You solved a goblin’s puzzle. If we survive, you can get your extraordinary from the Council of Sages.”
Just Alice rolled her eyes back up into her head. “No, I can’t,” she said.
“But it’s a goblin’s puzzle,” said the boy. “You said solving one of those—”
“It’d mean telling people you’re a slave,” said Just Alice. “You’d be sent back to High Albemarle.”
“Oh, right,” said the boy.
“Look on the bright side,” said Mennofar. “The Duke may have us all executed and save you worrying about any of this.”
The Earl rode hard, and the Earl rode long. He rode until every single part of him ached, even the parts he’d forgotten he had. Even so, when he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the royal palace, he was, at best, only a few hours ahead of the Duke’s company. He vaulted from his saddle and strode dramatically through the palace gates. At least, he would have, if his legs had not given out as soon as he touched the ground. Fortunately, the palace guardsmen saw him stumble. Two of them propped him up.
“Lord Middlebury,” said one. “Are you all right?”
“No time, no time,” said the Earl. “You”—he pointed to the first—“find the Captain of the Guard and take him to the King. And you”—he pointed to the other—“see to my horse.”
“Yes, my lord,” they said in unison. Ordering people around and having the
m say, “Yes, my lord,” was one of the few perks of being an earl.
“Now I must go to the King,” said the Earl. It was mostly for his own benefit, as he did not want to fail when he was so close. He set off through the palace gates at what could best be described as a brisk shuffle.
The cabinet was deep in the throes of another meeting when the doors of the library flew open with a bang. Every head snapped up. The pale and sweating Earl staggered into the room.
The Bailiff was the first to recover from the surprise. He jumped up and said, “Your Majesty, may I present Your Right Trusty and Well-Beloved Cousin, the—” It was as far as he got before the Earl fainted dead away.
“Godric!” cried the King, and he rushed to the Earl’s side. “Are you all right?”
The Earl’s eyes fluttered open. He said, “Your Majesty—”
“Don’t overtax yourself,” said the King. He pointed at one of the footmen. “Bring food and drink.”
“Your Majesty,” said the Earl. “It’s the Princess.”
“You have news?” said the King. “She lives?”
“She lives,” said the Earl. “The dragon is gone.”
“Let us give praise to the gods,” said the King.
“Not yet,” said the Earl. He sat up. “Duke Geoffrey has her. He forced her to agree to marry him. Even now he rides here to seek your permission.”
“Has he lost his mind!” cried the Bailiff.
Everyone turned and stared at the Bailiff.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” said the Bailiff, bowing deeply. “The moment got the better of me.”
The King nodded. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “And you’re right. I will never consent to this. Even Geoffrey must know that.”
“Which is why he brings a great host of men with him,” said the Earl.
“Marching an army on the capital?” said the Tipstaff. “That’s almost treason.”
“The arrogance of the man,” said the Seneschal.
“Geoffrey has troubled this land for long enough,” said the King. “We will take the field against him and put an end to his mischief, once and for all.”
“A fine plan, Your Highness,” said the Captain of the Guard. After a pause, he added, “Perhaps His Lordship could let us know just how big a host we are talking about?”
“A phalanx of knights and a full company of men-at-arms,” said the Earl. “Maybe a few more.”
The Captain of the Guard winced a little. “As many as that?” he said.
“We have the men to defeat such a force,” said the King. “Surely.”
“Of course,” said the Captain of the Guard. “Except that most of your knights and men-at-arms are off searching for the Princess.” He looked down at the floor. “I’m afraid Duke Geoffrey has picked his moment rather well.”
“Your Highness, I can rally your troops,” said the Earl. “Let me ride forth and reassemble your forces.” Godric sat up and felt a little dizzy.
“Good man, Godric,” said the King, and he thumped the Earl on the back. “We’ll bar the gates and make ready for a siege. When Godric has put the army back together, he can relieve us.” He turned to the Captain of the Guard. “How long can we hold out?”
“We should be able to—”
“Your Majesty,” said the Chamberlain. “I fear that we may be acting with undue haste. We have not examined the full ramifications of—”
“We don’t have time for one of your committees!” said the King.
“He’ll kill her!” said the Chamberlain. Everyone’s head spun to stare at him. “If we bar the gates, he’ll kill the Princess.”
“He wouldn’t,” said the King.
“He would,” said the Chamberlain. “Without hesitation.”
“But he wants to marry her,” said the King.
“He does not,” said the Chamberlain. “He wants the appearance of legitimacy that comes from marrying her with your blessing. That is her only value to him. If you declare him a rebel and an outlaw—”
“He is a rebel and an outlaw,” said the King.
“Yes, but if you declare him one, he loses all reason to pretend he is not,” said the Chamberlain. “He will kill the Princess, storm the walls, hang us all and probably burn the city for good measure. That way, he still gets to be king.”
“None of that will make him the rightful King of West Stanhope,” said the King.
“And anyone who says that will also be hanged,” said the Chamberlain.
The other members of the cabinet carefully avoided the King’s eye.
“Then, what would you have me do?” said the King.
“Open the gates to the city,” said the Chamberlain. “Bless the marriage.”
“You’re saying we let him win,” said the King.
“I’m saying he already has,” said the Chamberlain.
The King sank back heavily into his chair. “May the gods preserve us.”
As the Duke’s army marched west, the people of West Stanhope fled before them. Fields were abandoned in the middle of plowing. Villages stood empty and lifeless. Every inn had its shutters and doors nailed closed. Oswald, Just Alice and the boy reassured one another that the King’s men were bound to be around the next bend or over the next rise, waiting to surprise the Duke’s army. But when they rounded every turn and topped every hill, all they saw was more road and more empty countryside. No rescuers ever appeared. For his part, all Mennofar did was smile.
Late in the morning of the third day, the Duke’s army crested the final hill. The great plain that sloped gently down to Farnham was empty. The city gates stood wide open. It was finally clear that the King was not going to take the field.
The army came to a halt long enough for the four prisoners to be brought before the Duke. The Duke sat atop his great black charger, with the Princess next to him on a pure white mare. He studied the four of them through narrowed eyes. “Unchain them,” he said.
“Your Grace?” said the Majordomo in surprise.
“Appearances must be maintained,” said the Duke. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion, is it not?”
“Very true,” said the Majordomo, bowing slightly. He turned and snapped his fingers at the guards. “You heard His Grace. Unchain them!”
While their shackles were being removed, the Duke turned to the Princess. “You have promised to be my bride, Your Highness,” he said.
The Princess nodded.
“Renege and they will be the ones to pay the price.”
She glanced at the prisoners and nodded again.
The Duke turned back to the Majordomo. “I want two men guarding each prisoner. If anyone tries to escape, kill them all.” He pointed at Just Alice and smiled. “And start with the girl.”
First went the knights, all in a long column. As each one rode through the city gates, he dipped his lance so as not to knock the tip against the keystone. Next came a column of men-at-arms, marching four abreast into the city. Oswald, Just Alice, the boy and Mennofar, along with their guards, followed them. And right after them rode the Duke, with the Princess beside him. Finally, there was another column of the Duke’s men-at-arms, this one a good bit rowdier than the first.
News of the Princess’s return spread like wildfire, and great crowds of people lined the streets to see if it was really true. When they saw the Princess riding by the Duke’s side, many whispered, “Her Highness’s hand, that’s what he’ll be asking for.” “Don’t see how His Majesty can refuse,” others muttered back. A few people cheered, but mostly the Duke’s men marched by silent crowds. The Duke waved and smiled as if the crowds roared in approval.
They marched through the city and into the courtyard of the royal palace. There, the royal household stood ready to receive them. There were trumpeters and a six-man honor guard. The King and Queen stood next to the Earl of Middlebury and all the members of the cabinet. Everyone was lined up by wig size, right up to the King, whose hairpiece was held aloft by two of the burl
ier footmen.
Everything was prepared for a formal ceremony, but before the honor guard could raise their swords in salute, even before the trumpeters could sound the fanfare, the Princess cried out, “Mama! Papa!” She leapt from her saddle and ran straight into their arms. The King and Queen swept her up and wept openly.
“I was sick with worry for you,” said the Queen.
“I was very frightened,” said the Princess, “but you must—”
“She’s safe and sound now,” said the King.
“Yes, and we must have a great banquet to celebrate,” said the Queen.
The Duke cleared his throat.
With great reluctance, the King looked up at the Duke. “Goodness, do forgive us, Your Grace.”
The Duke smiled tightly. “Not at all,” he said. “Naturally, it’s a very sentimental occasion.” He took his feet from his stirrups and turned to dismount. The Chamberlain waved on the trumpeters. When they sounded the fanfare, the Duke’s horse started in surprise and dumped him face-first onto the ground. Clenching his teeth, he stood and dusted himself off. When he was done, he bowed deeply and said, “Your Majesty, it gives me great personal pleasure to return to your care the Princess Alice, unharmed.”
“Yes, and we are eternally grateful to you for that,” said the King.
“And your gratitude is more precious than gold,” said the Duke. “But as I, personally, saved her from the ferocious dragon—”
“What?!” exclaimed the Princess.
“I rescued Her Highness from the dragon,” said the Duke, never looking away from the King. “As soon as I heard of Her Highness’s distress, I rode out from my castle and confronted the beast. With no thought for my own safety, I courageously engaged the vile worm in personal combat. And when I single-handedly defeated it, it fled the kingdom, never to be seen again.”
“And that’s exactly how it happened?” said the King.
“At least a hundred of these men will swear to it,” said the Duke. “So, that’s exactly how it happened.”
Behind the Duke, the Princess shook her head just a little.
The King looked to the Princess. “Sweetheart, do you have anything to say?” he asked.
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