by Dave Duncan
It could probably return the same way.
“Come along, Sister.” Stalwart resumed the trek. “You will,” he said—and for some reason he was whispering—“tell me if it changes its mind and comes after us?” She probably wouldn’t have time to get two words out.
“I’ll try to remember.”
“Let me get him at first and poke with that sword. Don’t swing it or you’re liable to get me instead.”
But nothing more happened. They walked on unmolested. He had not died of fright—Stalwart, Sir Stalwart. He was going to be a hero if his luck would just hold a little longer. But then…
They were approaching a fork in the mud highway. Hmm! If the punt had brought him along the branch presently to his left, then the branch to his right must be one of the two he had seen joining from his (then) left, so he and Emerald should now cross and go down the other. But if the punt had come along the one now to his right, then the one to his (now) left must be one of the several he had seen joining from his (then) right and should be ignored. All the channels looked the same by moonlight. His wonderful clever plan had just collapsed and all his bragging to Emerald had been vanity and wind. The safest thing to do was to stay on the right bank and keep walking. If Quagmarsh was on an island they would eventually come back to it, although they might reach the sea first. And the best that could happen would be the two channels he had seen on his left earlier turning out to be the same channel, a loop around an island, and in that case this new plan would get them where they wanted to be anyway, although they probably wouldn’t recognize the spot in the dark.
Trusting him, Emerald did not comment as they went past the fork, bearing right. Instead she said, “Was the archlute your idea?”
“No, that was Snake’s. I wondered if I’d ever be able to bring myself to smash a beautiful thing like that. You know, it wasn’t difficult at all?”
“You said you added some ideas.”
“Just one, I think. The rusty old sword. They wanted me to be unarmed, saying I would be less likely to get my throat cut if I seemed harmless. I argued that carters always carry some sort of a weapon, so I would seem unusual if I didn’t. I settled for a really absurd old relic that Vincent found in a stable.”
“And you very nearly got both of us filled full of crossbow bolts!”
He laughed, although he knew he had not been laughing at the time. “No I didn’t! They weren’t going to shoot with Skuldigger’s coach right behind us; not to mention the Doctor him-self and all those splendid horses.”
“That fall you took off the wagon…?”
“Cute, wasn’t it? I told you I learned some tumbling and juggling and stuff when I was with Owain, and I kept it up at Ironhall. Even taught some of the others. It helps keep you supple.”
“You were faking?”
“Of course. Owain taught me some sleight of hand—pulling coins out of kids’ ears and so on. The secret to that sort of trick is that you set it up beforehand and you distract the viewers at the critical moment. That was what I was doing. I played the fool with the sword so I would be written off as a fool.” His jaw still throbbed. “I didn’t expect Thrusk to take it quite so seriously.”
They squelched on for a while, and then Emerald said, “You’re very brave.”
He thought about it. “I’d like to believe that, but I wouldn’t do it again. Crazy, more than brave. I’ve learned a lot these last two days…. Besides, you should talk—you’ve been marvelous!”
“I,” Emerald said grimly, “was given no choice.”
“I didn’t have much,” he admitted. Bandit and then Snake had flattered him into it. He would never fall for that trick again!
They came to another fork and again he kept to the right. The night was lasting forever. His feet hurt, every muscle in his legs ached, and he wasn’t going to suggest stopping before she did.
“At least we seem to be past all the chimeras,” he said. “I don’t hear any howling ahead of us, do you?”
“I hear something.”
Oh! So did he.
After a moment she said, “What is that?” And after another, “Oh, Wart! There must be hundreds of them! They’re coming this way, Wart!”
He stopped. Suddenly reaction set in and he felt so limp he wondered how he was managing to stay upright. Maybe it was the mud holding him up. “The garlic was Vincent’s idea.”
“Wart!?” she cried. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t have such a thing as a dog biscuit on you, do you?”
“Dogs? Those are dogs coming?”
“Garlic doesn’t smell all that strong if you keep it in cloves, or bulbs,” he said wearily. “It’s when you cut it up it stinks. Nobody wanting to transport garlic would ever dream of grinding it up and mixing it with salt first.”
“Oh!” she said. “The barrels leaked? Gaps between the planks in the wagon and the road was very bumpy? You left a trail of garlic!”
“Dogs love garlic. Absolutely crazy about it. And we didn’t plan this part, but I fell in the stuff when the wagon broke down. Then Thrusk made me run the rest of the way to the river. It wasn’t much fun while it lasted, but if he’d put me on a horse, the dogs might have lost the trail.”
The dogs were clearly audible now, Snake and his men coming at last. If old Sir Vincent was with them, as he probably was, he would have remembered the abandoned hamlet of Quagmarsh and guessed that was where the conspirators were holed up. Not having boats, the Old Blades would have had to wait for the tide to go out. It occurred to Sir Stalwart that he had left very little for them to do.
26
Valglorious
FROM THE OUTSIDE VALGLORIOUS LOOKED LIKE a castle, and it had withstood sieges in the past. Inside, it was a ducal palace. After two days of luxury, Emerald began to feel spoiled for any lesser existence. She had been assigned a bedchamber the size of a ballroom, she had maids to attend her, she chose her clothes from a finer wardrobe than she had ever imagined, and the entire resources of the palace were available to amuse her. She seriously considered writing herself a note, Memo: Marry a duke.
From Wart’s stories she had expected her host to be big, but Sir Vincent was sturdy and short, wearing his years well. He was also brusque, charming, considerate, and took no nonsense from anyone. His wife, whom Wart had not mentioned at all, was everybody’s idea of what a grandmother ought to be. She could not have been kinder.
On the third morning Emerald went riding with Wart, who looked much better since he’d been healed at the elementary in Kysbury but was still steamingly furious at having been kept out of the fighting at Quagmarsh. When they returned, they were informed that Sir Vincent wished to see them. They found him standing in his favorite place, before the fireplace in the great hall. He was chatting to another man, who was exceedingly lean, with a supercilious manner and a thin mustache to match. Emerald had met him only once and then briefly, by moonlight in a swamp. He was clean and neatly dressed, but his eyes looked as if they had been propped open for a week. He bowed very low to her.
“You are in good health, I trust, Sister?”
She gave him a bob in return. “Recovering, Sir Snake.” No thanks to him! “And I am not a Sister.” Thanks to him!
“Yes, you are. The annals of the Companionship record nothing to the contrary.”
She would see about that. “Cloud? Swan?”
“Both safe!” Snake beamed triumphantly. “Sister Cloud is upstairs being bathed and scented and pampered and whatever else ladies’ maids do to ladies. Sister Swan and her daughter have been joyously reunited with their family.” He pouted briefly in Wart’s direction. “Skuldigger and a few others eluded us, I am afraid. But we caught enough of the ringleaders to stage an impressive public execution.” And to Emerald, “With all the usual barbarities imposed on traitors. Let me know if you want tickets.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You may be called to give evidence at the trial. Ten minutes ought to do it.”
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“Casualties?” asked Sir Vincent.
“A few. Not too bad,” Snake said evasively. He turned his bleary, red-rimmed eyes back to Wart. “Fetch your lute and anything else you need, brother. We ride for Grandon at once.”
“Yes, brother!” Wart turned and ran. He hurtled up the staircase in a tattoo of boots on timber.
The Blades exchanged amused glances that Emerald found excessively irritating. Wart was a hero and they were still thinking of him a child. It was his courage that had made this victory possible.
“You have a visitor, Sister,” said Sir Vincent. “Mother Superior is waiting upstairs in the solarium.”
Oh! She had been expecting a summons to Oakendown. Having the queen bee come to her was probably an epochal honor and breach of tradition. “Let her wait.”
Snake pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Is that a sensible attitude under the circumstances?”
“I may drop in later and spit in her eye.”
He sank down gracefully, kneeling to her. “If there is eye spitting to be done, mistress, then I am the guilty party. Which eye do you want—right or left?”
She did not look at Sir Vincent, but she knew he was amused. “You were merely doing your duty. Mother Superior betrayed my trust!”
Snake shrugged and rose, still moving with a fencer’s grace. “As she will freely admit, although the King did threaten to clap her in irons. I am quite sure she will kneel to you and beg your forgiveness. What else do you want? Now is the time to ask.”
“Gentleholme Sanctuary!” she said. “My father—”
“Already done!” Snake smiled his infuriatingly condescending smile again. “We received more complaints about Gentleholme than almost any other elementary in all Chivial. It was one of the first we raided, back in Thirdmoon. A couple of the rogues turned king’s evidence and the rest were hanged.”
“So they did murder my father?”
“We cannot be certain in specific cases.” He shrugged. He was waiting for her to say something….
“And what of the money they stole from him, then?” she asked. “What of the land?” What of her mother, aging in poverty these past four years?
He sighed. “There have been thousands of such cases over the years, Sister. To locate and compensate the victims would be an impossible task. Under the law, all assets are forfeit to the Crown.”
“How nice for His Majesty! Perhaps Doctor Skuldigger does have a valid point or two!”
Sir Vincent cleared his throat warningly. “May I suggest, Sister? Sir Snake, Mother Superior, and of course the King—they are all persons of power and authority. Such people frequently have to stray outside the normal bounds of conscience in performing their duties. What I mean is that you will not get very far by trying to shame any of them into admitting guilt. You certainly will gain nothing by spitting in eyes.”
“But…?” she said cautiously, wondering if the old man was trying to be helpful or was in league with his fellow Blade.
“But if this story should come out, then Mother Superior would certainly have to resign her high office. The King would be forced to dismiss Sir Snake, possibly commit him to trial. Ambrose himself would look like a coward who had sent a girl into terrible danger just to save his own skin.”
Snake shuddered dramatically but said nothing.
“Do continue, Sir Vincent. Your discourse is most interesting,” she said.
Vincent shrugged. “Now, while you have Mother Superior on her knees, you could ask for immediate restitution as Sister, a solemn promise of promotion to Mother within a year, a posting to court, if that is your wish—just about anything that takes your fancy. As for our sovereign lord the King, if he has fallen heir to lands stolen from your family, you might offer to take them off his hands as compensation for your suffering.” He smiled then. “You would have to promise to keep your mouth shut, of course—not about Stalwart’s valor but about how you were deliberately exposed to danger. That must never be revealed.”
She looked at Snake, whose face would have seemed as innocent as a baby’s had babies sported supercilious mustaches. “Would the King give up Peachyard?”
“Give up Peachyard?” he echoed incredulously. “And I suppose you would also expect all appurtenances pertaining thereto, including but not limited to all livestock, standing crops, indentured laborers, vehicles, implements, existing buildings, and improvements? You might even demand a five-year relief from taxes and a cash grant of, say, ten thousand crowns for necessary repairs?”
It would not bring back her father, nor yet her brothers, but it would be fun breaking this news to her mother…. She blinked away some tears. She nodded. “Not a penny less.”
“No spreading naughty stories?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“No spitting on Mother Superior?”
“I may drool a bit, but no more than that.”
Snake took her fingers and kissed them. “Consider it done, mistress. You were most helpful.”
Wart came down the grand staircase like a landslide and seemed to bounce across the floor until he came to a panting stop beside Sir Snake. “Ready!” He had his lute on his back.
“Then we must be on our way,” Snake said. He offered a hand to Vincent. “Thank you for all your help, brother. Where is your dear lady? Anything we can do for you in return?”
“You can tell Fat Man to keep that spotty duke out of my hair for another year or ten.”
“I’ll see if I can get him kidnapped.”
“Preferably by Baels.”
Emerald held out both hands to Wart. “Thanks for saving me from the monsters, even if you did throw me to them in the first place. I’m truly grateful. Good chance, Sir Stalwart! See you at court.”
He blinked and then grinned. “So you will!”
27
Star
WHATEVER ONE MIGHT THINK OF SNAKE AS taskmaster, the man never spared himself either. It was almost midnight when he and Stalwart thundered into the King’s favorite palace of No-care, west of Grandon. He had not had a proper night’s sleep in a week, but he saw Stalwart temporarily quartered in the guest wing, ordered a tailor dragged out of bed to measure him, and then went off in his road-stained clothes to report to the Lord Chancellor.
Soon after dawn the tailor got his revenge by dragging Stalwart out of bed to try on his Guard livery, all blue and silver. It was much too loose on him, so the man fussed angrily with chalk and a mouthful of pins, marking it for alteration. Probably it was the smallest uniform ever cut and he had not been able to believe his own measurements. During this ordeal, surveying himself in the mirror, Stalwart was more depressed than impressed. He felt a great deal older than he had done when he left Ironhall two weeks ago, but he didn’t look it. His moorland haircut helped not at all. Those ears of his were definitely better kept out of sight. He had Sleight hanging at his thigh, a magnificent rapier with a cat’s eye pommel, and he looked…ridiculous!
This way to the children’s pageant.
Snake walked in without knocking. He beamed, fresh as dew on a mushroom. “Good chance, brother! Oh, very smart! How is it?”
“A few minor adjustments,” the tailor mumbled around the pins.
“Don’t take too long. He’s going to be presented at noon.”
The tailor practically screamed. He ripped the livery off Stalwart and vanished out the door with it, leaving scissors and tape and other tools strewn everywhere. Stalwart looked around for other clothes. There weren’t any, because his riding outfit had gone to be washed. He perched on the edge of the bed in his briefs and regarded Snake’s contented smile with considerable suspicion.
Snake leaned against the wall and looked as guiltless as paint. He was wearing full court dress, with pearls and gold trim and his White Star order. “While I remember”, he said, “you will sup with His Majesty this evening. Bring your lute. Private party, with music. I advise you to stay sober and not to eat too much at the state banquet this afternoon.”
“I always sick up at state banquets,” Stalwart said sourly.
“I look forward to that, then. At noon the Fat Man will be holding court. A very big event—heralds and trumpets and the best gravy. It will begin with the new ambassador from Isilond presenting his credentials. Then the Lord Chancellor—that’s Durendal now, of course—will present me.”
“You? Does the K—does Fat Man have such a short memory?”
“Two more points,” Snake said smugly, flicking the four-pointed star on his breast. He meant he had been promoted from member to officer.
“Wonderful!” Stalwart said. It was a rare honor for any Blade, very rare. He jumped up and pumped Snake’s hand and tried to look and sound excited. “Well earned, too!” No need to say who had done the earning.
“Thank you, brother. It’s an acknowledgment of all the Old Blades’ efforts, of course.” Snake did not believe that, obviously, but he must enjoy saying it that way so you knew he didn’t believe it. “You’ll go next. This is a breach of precedent and tradition, so we had to make it up. We gave you extra trumpets. Leader will present you. When he announces you—Bandit, I mean, not the herald—then you advance doing the three bows thing. You kneel on the cushion—”
“I do what?” Stalwart yelled, leaping up from the bed again.
“Kneel on the cushion,” Snake repeated, as if surprised by his surprise. “His Majesty will place the ribbon over your head and—”
“What ribbon?”
“Member of the White Star, of course.” A grin broke through, and now it was Snake’s turn to pump hands. “Congratulations! The King’s own idea, not mine. He is really impressed by what you did, brother. You are only the seventh Blade ever admitted to the Star. The heralds think you must be the youngest member ever, by about ten years.”
Stalwart muttered, “Flames!” a few times and flopped down on the bed again. If he’d been earning that then he must have been in much worse danger than he’d realized. How low had they rated his chances? He shivered all over.