One Velvet Glove

by Dave Duncan

  “I hope I’m not. My lord, I suppose we’d better wait here for a few days to see if there is any change. If there is not, then as your senior Blade, I must formally advise you that you should leave right after that, and return to Chivial. I accept the blame for losing you both the money bag and your invaluable advisor, Master Robins, but I cannot see how you can fulfill your mission now.”

  “The night is always darkest just before the dawn, lad. We’ll fight our way out of the swamp, you’ll see.”

  “Robins’s death was his own damned fault,” Burl said. “Find some rope and I’ll lower you down the shaft to retrieve the bag.”

  Dragon laughed. “And I’ll help him haul you up again—probably.”

  “There you are, dear boy! What did I tell you, mm?”

  An elderly herald brought us news that Master Robins’s funeral could commence as soon as the ambassador wished, so we hurriedly spruced up and sallied out to attend. The pyre had been built in the centre of the great quadrangle, on a small paved area blackened by ancient scorch marks. As soon as we arrived, a footman lit the tinder and then departed, leaving us five Chivians as the entire congregation. I snatched some flowers from a nearby flowerbed and tossed them up beside the shrouded corpse. There was no singing, no music even, just a lonely mortal far from home, slain by treachery while doing his duty. Gardeners scythed lawns and clipped shrubs, but always at a distance.

  Poor Robins! He and I had probably come as close to being friends as snoop and Blade ever could. I should have realized sooner how vital he was to my ward’s mission—one of our enemies had seen that. If pawn takes queen, can checkmate be far behind?

  No doubt the wood had been well dried out by the heat of a Fitish summer, for the pyre blazed up fiercely. Tomorrow someone, perhaps I, would gather up the bones. We might even be able to take them home to Chivial, for burial wherever dead inquisitors sleep.

  “You have orders for us, Leader?” Trust Dragon to break the spell and return to mundane affairs before anyone else did.

  I looked to our ward.

  Bannerville had been as pensive as the rest of us, perhaps more so. “Mm? What? Oh, I think a day of rest after yesterday. Need to wait and see what our hostess can do to fulfill her promises to you—right, dear boy?” He glanced around. “Think I’ll take a walk and admire the art.”

  I needed only a nod to inform Burl and Dragon that they were at liberty and I would look after Chinless. Even fencing practice seemed unnecessary somehow, for we were as ready as we could ever be. The next move was up to our foes, unless Desidéria could be classed as a friend, which seemed very unlikely to me.

  So the ambassador elect and his Blade strolled around that great park with its flowerbeds and fountains, its shrubbery and statuary. I stayed one pace back until I was spoken to, which happened when we came to the first statue, a bronze nude standing on a creamy marble plinth.

  “Good likeness, would you say, Leader?”

  I saw then what he had—the metal face bore a strong resemblance to the marquisa. And so did the rest of it: the streaming hair, the conical breasts, the slim hips, and long, slender legs. I had not specifically told him that she had exposed her all to me, but I had made it fairly clear. Memories brought a thrill to my groin.

  “Dead on, I’d say, my lord.”

  “Live on must have been something to see.”

  “Very hard to resist, sir.”

  He chuckled and resumed his stroll. The next statue was of pale pink marble, but it also depicted Desidéria, albeit in a slightly different pose, and perhaps by a different sculptor.

  “I’d say that the lady displays narcissistic tendencies, Sir Spender.”

  “You suppose all the others are going to be the same, sir?”

  And they were. We counted twelve statues, each one represented the marquisa, always nude but in a variety of media and poses—standing, kneeling, sitting, reclining. The only exception was a plinth of black stone standing just across the road from the Time Tower. It seemed to bear no figure at all.

  “She must be keeping this one for her future husband,” was Bannerville’s verdict, but when we drew closer we saw a tiny golden snake curled up on the stone.

  “I think the lady has a sense of humour, Spender. What do you think?”

  “I think she is as mad as a baited bear, my lord. Here comes more trouble.”

  A diminutive page was hurrying toward us, one I recognized from the previous evening.

  He saluted Bannerville. “My lord, the marquisa invites you to dine with her at noon. She has a friend she believes you would like to meet.”

  “Indeed?” Chinless drawled. “Do I get to know the name of this friend before we dine?”

  “She said to say Prince Luis, my lord.”

  We exchanged glances. This was too good to be true.

  Bannerville dismissed the lad with a clipped word of thanks. Before he could move, I said, “Joel, are you still as old as you said you were last night?”

  The formal poker-face he had presented to Lord Bannerville melted into an impudent grin for my humbler station. “No, Sir Spender. What I said last night was wrong. I’ve been here twice as long as that.”

  “Then why did you lie to me?”

  “I thought you might not believe me.” He bowed and walked away, no doubt sniggering over his own cleverness.

  “What did he tell you last night?”

  “That he’d been in the marquisa’s service for two hundred years. That’s typical of this place, my lord! It’s a small ruin when seen from the outside, and a huge luxury palace inside, practically a small city, but it may be nothing nothing but mirage and illusion. For all I know, Desidéria is an octogenarian and ugly as a pig. She will undoubtedly present you to some Prince Luis, but have you any idea what the real Prince Luis looks like?”

  “Not a clue, dear boy. We’ll leave the money bag where it is until we’re sure, yes?”

  Chapter 8

  The more I thought about the coming encounter, the more certain I was that it had to be a hoax. I said so and offered to prove it, if they would all come upstairs with me to our quarters.

  The view from the balcony was just what it had been the previous day, except that the tide was somewhat higher. The two boats I had seen beached in the cove were still there.

  “I can’t be absolutely certain,” I admitted, “because they’re too far away, but they look exactly like the same two boats that I saw there yesterday and they haven’t moved. So either Prince Luis camps in the woods near here, or he’s been here all the time and is Desidéria’s in-house lover wearing a false beard.”

  “He could have ridden in,” our ward said.

  “That trail through the forest is very rarely used. A boat trip and a walk up from that cove would be much easier.”

  He smiled paternally. “It’s almost noon, so we will soon find out.”

  But he wouldn’t find out, that was the point. Even if we knew what the rebel leader looked like, Desidéria’s enchantments would be quite capable of deceiving us. I decided I had to exert my authority.

  “My lord, in view of what happened to Master Robins, if you do propose to meet with this alleged prince, I must insist that I stand right beside you the whole time.” Blades have been known to jump in front of a dagger thrust when they had no time to draw.

  Chinless turned petulant. “That is not how diplomatic conversations are held, Leader.”

  “Brothers, do you uphold my decision?”

  Burl and Dragon spoke as one: “Aye, Leader.”

  The throne room had been converted into a dining hall, with a large sideboard manned by three waiters and a table draped in white linen set for four. When we entered, the marquisa and her chancellor were standing in conversation with a tall man clad in hunting garb of brown leather. Chinless’s concerns about etiquette were suddenly irrelevant,
for the stranger was wearing a sword and he was not, so it was permissible for him to keep his bodyguard with him. Burl and Dragon halted farther back, but still within summoning distance. I closed up on our ward, prepared to eavesdrop. Had Master Robins been present, he would have been able to tell when people were lying. I could not.

  The Cobra said, “Your Highness, I have the honour of presenting His Excellency Ambassador Designate Earl Bannerville of Chivial...”

  Luis, if that’s who he truly was, stood taller than anyone else in the room. He had an impressive chest and shoulders, a close-trimmed brown beard, a jutting hooked nose, and an air of imperial majesty. If he wasn’t royalty, he ought to be and Desidéria had designed him with her usual flair for effect.

  Glancing at her, I received one the greatest shocks of my life, for it was the first time I had viewed her in daylight. Her irises were not black, as I had assumed. All I had seen by candlelight had been her dilated pupils. Now I saw that her eyes were gold, and her pupils were vertical slits, like a cat’s. Noticing my start of surprise, she smiled sleepily at me, as if to warn me that now she had fulfilled one of her two promises, I was halfway to having to keep mine.

  “My cousin kept you waiting long enough,” Luis was saying. “Long enough to grow acorns, as we say here.”

  “Kings call the measure and the rest of us dance,” Chinless responded, accepting a goblet of wine from a silver tray. He raised it. “To your health and prosperity, Your Highness.”

  “And may Fitain and Chivial flourish again in their ancient friendship.”

  The toasts were then drunk. Small talk commenced: Desidéria’s palace, the grape harvest, and so on. All four of them were well practiced in the art of saying much and meaning nothing. Suddenly Luis was studying me.

  “I have heard about the king of Chivial’s Blades. That, I assume, is one of them?”

  “Indeed,” my ward said. “Sir Spender. Lightning on the half shell.”

  I tapped my sword hilt to confirm that I was more than furniture.

  “Your daily performances in the Praça Real induced hives of jealousy on every self-styled fencing expert in Lindora, Sir Spendero.”

  “Your Highness is gracious to say so.”

  “I would enjoy watching an exhibition, perhaps after our repast?” He had the grace to put the question to our ward, as he should.

  “I’m sure the lads will feel honoured to show off for you, Your Grace.”

  And so it went. The notables sat down and ate, with me standing at my ward’s back. The food, I noticed, was steaming hot. There was plenty of it, and it surely smelled delicious.

  After the meal, as the waiters were clearing the debris away, Luis asked Desidéria if she could send for some fencing foils. Bannerville told her not to bother, explaining that Blades practiced with real swords. “Spender says it keeps their attention on what they are doing.”

  So Burl took my place beside him, while Dragon and I put on an exhibition, which is not the same as real practice, but involves much leaping around and ringing steel. The hall provided us with plenty of room, and we used all of it, keeping it up until we were both soaked in sweat and gasping for breath, for the day was hot. As the audience applauded, I went back to my place, relieving Burl. I seriously needed warm water and soap; soon everybody else knew that as well as I did.

  Desidéria must have found my heated condition amusing, for she caught my eye and licked her lips—teasing again.

  Demonstrating his regality, Luis reached over to and passed me a couple of weighty gold coins, which I accepted graciously.

  Our hostess rose, and the men surged to their feet. “You gentlemen will want a little privacy now. Régulo and I will leave you to your affairs. When you need anything, have one of your swordsmen pull that bell cord over there, my lord.”

  She turned away, and then back again. “Spirits! I almost forgot. The king will receive you tomorrow, Everard. It will be an informal meeting only. He cannot accept your credentials at Casa Marítima; that must be done in the Palácio Real, but he will recognize you as a Chivian nobleman visiting this country, that is all.”

  Bannerville expressed gratitude and bowed. Desidéria gave me another sneaky smile. She had probably guessed that the ambassadorial credentials were in the red holdall at the bottom of the well. I wondered if they were still down there, or had been rescued during the night. Then she sauntered away, and five pairs of male eyes watched her all the way. That was the last time I saw Marquisa Desidéria da Eternidade.

  Prince and ambassador resumed their seats, facing each other. My doubts about Luis had just returned. If this man were really the leader of a nation-wide rebellion, what was he doing in Castelo Velho, only a few miles from the king? Did the king know he was here? And why had the marquisa just informed the rebel of the king’s location? Had she told the king of the prince’s? Montpurse had spoken truer than he knew when he described Fitish politics as a snake pit.

  Now for business. Bannerville let the prince speak first of course.

  It was a moment before he did, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “Afonso is crazy, you know.”

  “I admit I find His Majesty’s policies somewhat hard to comprehend.”

  “They make perfect sense to him—you cannot talk him out of them. His father and grandfather squandered the royal estate, so he is permanently short of money. The nobles own all the land and were getting ever richer by exporting wine to Chivial, so he is forcing them to sell through Isilond, which cooperates by taxing the trade and subsidizing him. In effect King Francois splits the profits with Afonso. I expect to have his head on my mantelpiece in another month or so. You just need to be patient a little longer.”

  “I will advise King Ambrose of this, of course.”

  “The next time we meet, Your Excellency, will be in the Palácio Real, when I accept your credentials.”

  And so on. Chinless knew where he was in that sort of game, which was like playing tennis with bubbles. He tried to establish what the future King Luis’s policies would be, while Luis fished for whatever he might get out of King Ambrose, ostensibly to help him restore trade but in fact to finance his rebellion. I was very hungry and soon very bored. It went on for a good hour, but at last Luis said that he had a long way to go and Chinless thanked him for making their meeting possible, then the next ten minutes were spent in flowery compliments and farewells.

  Our ward was very pleased with himself as we made our way back to Red Tower. At long last his mission was achieving something! He lamented the absence of Robins to write for him as he dictated his report, and told Dragon that he would have to take the secretary’s place. When we reached the base of the staircase, I held Burl back for a moment and told him to have Bruno deliver food and to save some for me. I was going to explore the environs of Castelo Velho.

  I watched the three of them circle up out of sight and then crossed to the unobtrusive door that led to the unfinished cellar. I was not at all surprised to discover that it was locked—indeed not just locked, but so firmly set in place that it might have been a carving of a door.

  I strode out of Red Tower and across the great quadrangle to the main gate on the east side. I was sure that there must be other entrances, but they would be easier to find from the outside. A dozen or so small children were playing on the grass, supervised by two women. At the gate, a couple of men-at-arms emerged from their guardroom as if to challenge me. They were not the men I had seen when we arrived, which made me wonder just how large Desidéria’s retinue was. I had the impression that it was huge but that most of them were being kept out of our sight. These two had the audacity to lower their pikes as if to block my departure. Without breaking stride, I drew Fortune and the challenge melted away. They stepped aside, grounding their pikes, and I walked out between them to cross the drawbridge.

  I was facing east then, facing the trail by which we had entere
d. I turned to my right. Seen from the outside, Castelo Velho was again a crumbling old ruin of no great size. Where was the deception? Was Desidéria’s palace the reality, magically camouflaged from outsiders? Or did the Cobra sorceress lurk within this relic of ancient times, bewitching intruders into seeing her dreams? If I believed the second theory, I should hustle my ward into his coach and rush him back to Lindora. Which reminded me that I had not seen Donato, Xande, or Silvio since we arrived.

  The southeastern tower looked very much like its partner on the northeast had when we came in—a crumbling cylindrical mass of reddish stone. From the interior it had appeared as an irregular, multicoloured polygon, emblematic of Chance. I pushed my way through the bushes and weeds until I reached the southwestern corner, just another decaying mass of local rock like the others, although when seen from inside it was the Red Tower in which we had our quarters. I still could not tell which was real and which was fake—ruined castle or glorious palace.

  Whichever it was, its western side stood too close to the cliff edge to be guarded by a moat, and the narrow shelf there was devoid of trees or shrubbery, coated in nothing but long, rough grass and some heaps of fallen building stone. By then, though, I had ruined my last remaining hose, and would have to ask Bruno to find me more.

  North of the building the forest returned, but in the base of the northwest tower I found what I was seeking, a small postern gate. A well-marked path led off into the forest. Seen from the interior, this was the striped tower representing Time, which seemed to be Desidéria’s personal haunt, for it was there she had her throne room and the bedchamber in which she had tantalized me with false promises.

  Dazzled by my own brilliance, I followed the path northward, into the woods. It was winding and narrow, as if stamped out by horses walking in single file, not by wagons. It was also in use, for I could see crushed weeds and horse droppings, some of them obviously fresh. Unlike the road by which we had come, this trail would explain how the castle inhabitants were kept supplied with food. Then I saw sky ahead of me, and emerged from the forest at the top of a cliff, overlooking the cove I had seen from Lord Bannerville’s balcony.