Javes’ hand crept to his purse, closing over the top as if to keep any more coin from escaping even as he gave a slight shrug. “Right cross or not, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes tomorrow morning when they receive their lord’s notice of amercement for tonight’s activities.”
“That is very true, Wolf Damas’son,” Kveta said. She nosed his hand. “Speaking of tomorrow, we didn’t have a chance to set a meeting time.”
Javes’ distracted air disappeared. “So we didn’t. I haven’t had a chance to speak with either His Majesty or the lord commander, but I think midmorning should be acceptable to either.”
“Then, unless I hear otherwise, I will come to your floor tomorrow morning. I can present my credentials to your king at the same time.” Kveta glanced around as if she could see anything beyond the forest of knees and shins. “Have you seen honored Wyln and Laurel, Rabbit?”
I did my own glancing back over the mob following us up the stairs, but my teachers in the talent hadn’t appeared. “I’m sure they’re around someplace,” I said.
“Ah, well, when you see them if you would tell them that I have messages for both. I tried to speak with them earlier, but the predinner contretemps got in the way—” Kveta broke off as Idwal stopped upon reaching the top of the gallery stairs. He gave another bow.
“I will say good night here, Your Majesty.”
I was startled. Jusson had asked Idwal to accompany him to his rooms and we were nowhere near the royal chambers.
“Oh, I say,” murmured Javes. Behind us the aristos stirred in surprise.
“Seems that a royal command doesn’t go as far as it used to these days,” Kveta said softly, her ears pushed forward.
So it didn’t. At least not here in Mearden. However, the king merely nodded and Idwal hustled his family off, Berenice planted firmly between him and his wife. At the same time, Kveta pushed between Javes and I and trotted up the last remaining steps.
“I will also say good night here, honored king,” the wolf said, bowing. “With your permission, I see you on the morrow.”
“Of course, Captain Kveta,” Jusson said. Then without a backwards glance for either wolf or host, he turned and led us up the winding staircase to his chambers. Despite Kveta and Idwal’s defection, it was still a sizable mob that followed; the aristos had remained with us, trooping past the guards and being bowed in by Cais, his mien wonderfully impassive. Releasing Bertram’s shoulder, I watched him race off to join Finn at the fireplace, the diminutive servant busy stirring a small pot hanging from a hob. I followed after him, dodging the king’s late-night guests to walk over to the fireplace and prop my staff against the wall, out of the way of careless elbows and feet. The butterflies on the mantelpiece stirred, then lapsed back into their drowsing. I didn’t blame them. I could feel the night’s cold through the stone wall and I moved in front of the fireplace, enjoying the heat from the burning peat moss and the smell of hot spiced wine from Finn’s pot. Turning to warm my back, I searched for Jeff and Arlis. However, they still hadn’t returned from the barracks. Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson were present, though. They also scanned the arriving guests, as if looking for someone. Seeing Javes, they joined him, stepping aside out of the milling crowd, their faces grave as they spoke together. A sneaking suspicion crept over me and I began to worry about Suiden’s whereabouts and hoped that Jusson would not ask where my former captain was.
I was distracted from my suspicions by Bertram hurrying out of the room. He quickly returned with a tray ladened with goblets. A very short time later the goblets were filled with mulled wine and he was moving through the crowd, distributing them to all takers. I took one, though it was more to occupy my hands than anything else. Having wine during my bath, and then more at dinner, made my head a little muzzy. Holding the goblet in one hand, I went back to my speculations, wondering if Suiden was with Laurel and Wyln, when the flames in the fireplace caught my eye, the way they leapt and crackled, while the air sphere hummed softly in my ear—
“Well, that was an interesting dinner.”
I looked away from the flames to find Jusson lounging in his crowned chair. His guests had sat down as they could, some in chairs at the table, others on the chairs dragged from the fireplace, and some on judiciously placed chests and footlockers. Realizing I was one of the last standing, I found an unoccupied chest and sat. A moment later Javes, Groskin and Ryson stopped talking and Javes found a seat for himself. Groskin and Ryson discreetly headed for the door, but they weren’t able to escape. Thadro caught their eye and motioned to the available seats. Groskin actually hesitated a moment before returning, his face blank. He gingerly sat close to the lord commander while Ryson plopped down next to me. I quickly held my breath, but got a whiff anyway—of what smelled like soap. Astounded, I leaned in closer and sniffed. It was soap with just a hint of lavender water. Ryson gave me a sideways glance, which I met with a wide-eyed stare. Before either of us could say anything, an aristo spoke.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “I want to speak with Mistress Frauke about her daughter coming to our village fair and going a few rounds with the local strongman. My money would be on Maid Aveline.”
There was a burst of laughter. “The folks of Mearden are a combative group,” a second aristo said. He gestured at the armsman captain sitting next to him. “My captain was telling Thadro and me about a tavern brawl he witnessed. Tell them what you told me, Remke.”
“Tavern brawls in seaports are as common as seagulls,” the first aristo said before Remke could speak.
“Not like this, my lord,” Captain Remke said.
“Oh?” Jusson’s brow lifted. “What happened?”
“After getting the men settled, Your Majesty, the other captains and I decided to unwind a bit, take in the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Of course you would,” Jusson said, smiling as he took a sip of wine.
A faint flush appeared on the captain’s face. “Yes, Your Majesty. We asked about for a lively place with good food and a decent cellar—”
“And pretty serving wenches?” another aristo asked.
“I like ’em healthy myself,” a northern Marcher Lord put in. “Ones that can handle a squeeze and cuddle and a fistful of tankards all at the same time.”
“So I’ve heard, Huegon,” Jusson said.
“Best kind in the world, Your Majesty,” Lord Huegon said, his eyes gleaming.
Remke’s flush deepened. “Er, yes. Anyway, so we were directed to this tavern near the docks, apparently a very popular place as it was crammed full with not only locals, but sailors too, including crew from the Turalian and Borderland ships—”
“Well, there you go,” still another aristo jumped in. “Like a torch to pitch, those two coming together after Ambassador Kenalt’s adventures in smuggling, murder, and rabble-rousing last spring.”
“That’s what we thought,” Remke said, his flush fading. “And even though from what we could tell the two crews were being polite to each other, we decided to go somewhere less volatile. However, before we could get out the door again, a fight broke out.”
“So much for the diplomatic efforts of the Qarant,” the first aristo said, his eyes going to Javes—who ignored him. “Why the hell they’ve involved someone so obviously from the Border in a dispute involving the Turals is something I would dearly love to discover—”
“I beg your pardon, Your Lordship,” Remke said, “but the fight wasn’t between the Turals and the magicals. It was between the locals.”
“Why?” Jusson asked. “Another stomacher gone astray?”
“No, sire,” Thadro said, jumping in. “It started over someone’s pig getting loose and invading another’s garden—five years ago last summer. Right, Remke?”
“Yes, sir,” Remke said. “The pig dug up and ate all their rutabagas.”
There was a moment of stunned silence; then the minihall exploded in laughter, the king included.
“Good heavens,” Jav
es said, faintly. “Turnip wars.”
“I’ve seen pub-clearing brawls before, Your Majesty,” Remke said when the laughter died a bit, “but never one that had turned that ugly that fast. One moment they were drinking like sensible people, the next trying to crush skulls with chairs and tables. And when they had broken all the furniture in the tavern, they went outside, looking for more. The town constables and harbor peacekeepers were hard-pressed to keep it contained to the docks. In fact, just about the only people not involved were the Turals and Kveta’s crew. And us.”
“None of you were hurt, we trust?” Jusson asked, concern momentarily replacing his amusement.
“No, Your Majesty,” Remke said. “None of it came our way, which was rather amazing. Then, we didn’t hang about to see if that would change. When it spilled out onto the docks, the Turalians, the magicals, and the other arms captains and I all decided that the best thing would be to quit the field. They went back to their ships and we went back to our quarters, where we reckoned that someone should come here and inform the lord commander.” A bewildered look crossed his face. “Only to have it happen again.”
“So it did,” Jusson said, his amusement returning. “Tell us, Captain, what else did you see in your reconnoiter of the town and docks?”
Feeling a yawn coming on, I stifled it as I listened to Remke describe a bustling harbor and what seemed to be a prosperous town. Ryson sat upright beside me, his eyes clear and focused, but then he hadn’t been plied with wine all evening long. I too tried to maintain at least a semblance of alertness, but the fire in the fireplace was warm across my back, and (despite myself) the air sphere was a comforting hum in my ear. I lazily sipped my wine, my gaze resting on the tapestry on the wall opposite me. It was a typical hunt scene and I idly wondered if Berenice had made it, the image of her graceful neck as she bent over the tapestry frame flashing across my mind. Then my gaze sharpened and I stared harder at the wall hanging as I noticed that, instead of chasing the stag, the hounds seemed to be running with their quarry, their mouths gaping open with doggy joy. The stag himself held his antlered head lifted to what I’d at first taken to be the sun, but now realized was a full moon. It cast a dark shadow underneath a strand of trees—or maybe it wasn’t shadow. I leaned forward, trying to see, and as I shifted, the stag started to shimmer in the candlelight—
“And so you’re meeting Kveta in the morning?”
I jerked upright as the rest of the room flooded back. Jusson remained lounging in his chair, his goblet held carelessly, his gaze on Javes. Apparently he had left the subject of combatant Mearden and moved on other things.
“With your permission, Your Majesty,” Javes said. “She said that she would like to present her credentials beforehand.”
Jusson waved his goblet. “Yes, of course. And we’d like to sit in on this meeting even after all the protocol is settled. As was said before, involving Captain Kveta in our disputes with Tural is rather odd, no matter that the Border has featured in some of them. We’d like to find out why, sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Javes. “I’ll go as soon as we’re finished here and let Kveta know.”
“Why not just send a servant with a message?” an aristo asked, scowling.
Javes shrugged. “Big castle, things can go astray, what?” he said vaguely.
My attention once more wandered as the merits of a servant versus Javes’ personal attention were debated, my gaze going back to the tapestry—and my spine relaxing. The shimmering must’ve been from the candlelight (helped by the wine), for the stag now seemed perfectly normal. It was an autumnal scene, filled with vibrant reds, oranges, and browns, but winter was fast approaching. I could sense it—the cold misting our breath before us, the smell of snow blowing in from the north, the crunch of my hooves through the frosted leaf cover as we ran, the moon before us leading the way. My antlers held high, my hind legs bunched as I got ready to leap—
“Rabbit.”
I blinked and turned my head to find Jusson and the others staring at me. Bertram had sidled next to me and both he and Ryson were looking into my cup, Bertram looking puzzled as they both saw my wine was mostly untouched.
“Uhm,” I said brilliantly. And at that fortuitous moment, a knock sounded and everyone’s attention shifted to Cais as he walked to the door, including mine as I hoped against hope it was either my personal guards, or better yet, Suiden, full of where he’d been so that everyone’s mind would be off me. But it wasn’t Jeff and Arlis. Nor was it my former captain, or even Laurel and Wyln. It was Berenice.
Jusson recovered first. “Yes, Lady Berenice?” he asked, his voice courteous.
Berenice stepped over the threshold and sank into a deep curtsey. She had changed from her incredibly ugly brown dress to an equally ugly yellow one that matched the yellow in the bruise on her cheek. Still, her gaze was clear and direct.
“Forgive my presumption and forwardness, Your Majesty,” Berenice said, rising. “But, by your leave, I would like to speak with Lord Rabbit. Alone.”
Nine
Despite Berenice’s request for privacy, a stout and dour-faced maid and two burly castle servants were lurking on the landing, the servants carrying a bundle and a basket, the maid holding a candle. As soon as we left the king’s chambers, they surrounded their charge, the maid giving me a suspicious glare, her mouth a flat line. Or maybe she was glaring at my entourage. Jusson, who had his own notion of propriety, had glanced around his minihall looking for Arlis and Jeff. At Thadro’s murmur that he’d given my personal guards leave to remain with their former troop mates in the barracks for the evening, the king frowned slightly and looked at Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson.
“Go with him.”
At the royal command, Groskin and Ryson immediately arose from their seats as I went to the fireplace to get my staff. I halfway expected the butterflies to flutter up from their slumber, but they remained drowsing on the mantelpiece. I still had the air sphere, though, hovering over my shoulder as I hurried to the door, my guards trailing in my wake, me trying to avoid the significant looks cast my way by Lord Huegon. That didn’t deter him.
“A good healthy lass, that,” the northern Marcher Lord said in what he thought was a low whisper. “Took a blow and was able to get up and carry on with her duties. Nothing namby-pamby about her—or coy. Came here for you, didn’t she? Lasses like that appreciate strong ’uns. Don’t be shy, lad. Show her what you’re made of.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” I mumbled, and fled.
Berenice didn’t indicate that she heard the Marcher Lord. As soon we joined her on the landing, she took the candle from her maid and led the way down the stairs, her brisk steps a light counterpoint to the maid’s heavier stumps as we descended the winding stairs to the gallery, the great hall below us dark and quiet. I thought that we would continue down the grand staircase, but Berenice turned to walk along the gallery to another set of stairs going up a short distance to a passageway. We worked our way through it to another, and to others, some level, some with steps going up, some going down, the air growing colder with an increasingly salty tang. Finally, we made one more turn, and we came out upon a sort of broad walk that ran a good distance along the side of the castle. Looking out over the parapet, I could see the forest, a dark swath surrounding the castle’s tor. Spread out below that was the town and even at this late hour there were still lights, some on land, some reflected at the water’s edge, and some gently swaying on ships anchored out in the harbor. And beyond them was the sea, the waning moon, and a multitude of stars brilliant diamond points above it.
“No halo around the moon,” Berenice murmured as she put the candle on a conveniently placed table between two equally convenient chairs. “I thought that with the clouds blowing in this morning, the rains would soon start, but it seems that the afternoon wind cleared them all out to sea.”
Without thinking I lifted my head, listening to the sphere softly humming in my ear. “T
hey’re close …” Berenice looked at me and I trailed off.
“Of course, we also get storms coming in from the ocean,” she said blandly into my silence. “Those can get rather exciting, though our breakwater keeps the worst of it from the town. Nothing like what Lord Wyln described.” Taking the bundle from one of the burly castle servants, Berenice opened it to reveal lap rugs and cloaks. She handed me a cloak and then gave one to Groskin and one to Ryson standing silently behind me. I was glad as the night air was cold and I quickly wrapped the cloak about me.
“We get incredible storms in Freston,” I said. “Last winter part of a village was swept away in a flash flood. The rest was wiped out when part of the mountain above them gave way.” We had been on patrol and heard the landslide, arriving just in time to join in the frantic digging for survivors. We then helped search for victims. I felt my mouth pull down as my mind’s eye flashed to the long row of bodies wrapped for burial. “Captain Suiden said that the flood and landslide happened because there had been a fire in the mountains above them earlier that year so there was nothing to hold back either the water or the earth.” I trailed off again as I caught the fish-eyed stares of Ryson and Groskin, and realized that maybe disaster tales weren’t exactly appropriate for the moment.
But Berenice merely nodded. “That’s why the forest is allowed to grow to the cliff’s edge above the town. Papa says that defensewise it would be better to clear it, but the trees keep the cliffs from eroding. If the town is ever taken, we would be hard-pressed to stop the invaders from scaling the cliffs to the castle.” Wrapping a cloak about herself, she gave the rest to her maid and servants, and taking a spill from the basket the other burly servant carried, she lit it from the candle, then in turn lit two braziers that flanked the table and chairs. The flames immediately sprang up, filling the air with welcomed warmth. “But if the trees were gone,” Berenice said, tossing the spill into one of the braziers, “we would never be able to defend the castle against time and the sea.”
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