by Alex Bledsoe
“If you’re smell-blind.”
A heavy hand clapped me on the shoulder, and a man I didn’t know said, “Good Lord, man, do I smell Devil’s Dew in your cup? Is that what you’re drinking?”
“I guess. Someone gave it to me.”
He laughed as if this were the funniest thing in the world. “I use that stuff on my bull calves before I geld them, it puts them right out! How much did you drink?” He looked in my mostly empty mug and laughed even louder.
Now I was a little annoyed. “Well, I can handle it,” I said, but I was also wondering why the strange redhead gave it to me.
A group of girls lifted Phoebe overhead and carried her in triumph around the courtyard. Jack wiped the sweat and wool from his chest. A few girls not involved in celebrating Phoebe’s win attempted to console the loser, but he politely rebuffed them. I didn’t see Isadora, but it did seem Jack was a man of his word.
Then Billy appeared. The red-haired girl who’d delivered my drink was on his arm, counting coins in her other hand. She jabbed him and said something, which made him give her more money. Then he whispered something that made her laugh.
He looked across at me, nodded knowingly, and winked.
Before my rapidly fuzzying head could process this, the bodyguard and the king moved toward the back of the crowd. The big man parted the way, just as Billy Cudgel had done for Jack. I nudged Liz and said, “I’m going after the kim . . . kiln . . . king. Can you keep an eye on Jack?”
“Are you okay to do that?” she asked, nodding at the tankard I still held.
I poured the dregs on the ground and handed her the mug. “I’ll be all right. Jush shon’t let that guy geld me.”
“Wow. Seriously, Eddie, you sound out of it.”
My head was a little watery, but I assumed it was no big deal. “I’ll be fine.”
Chapter
FOURTEEN
I once knew a mercenary named Kemp who claimed he’d encountered a fighting technique called the Fist of Despair. Someone with this particular skill could hit you over the heart, and you had three blinks before your heart stopped and you dropped dead. Kemp said he’d personally seen a man struggle valiantly not to blink that last blink, to hang on to as much life as possible, before losing the fight and falling dead where he stood.
That’s how the Devil’s Dew hit me.
I turned into a sack of wet sand. I could barely walk, my eyes crossed, and I felt saliva drip from my slack mouth. However, I did not do the sensible thing like the man in Kemp’s story and fall to the ground. Instead, I obstinately continued, determined to find King Ellis and . . . well, by then my intent was a little blurry even to me.
I passed a horse trough and impulsively ducked my head in it. The muffled sound and pressure of the water against my face felt great, and I actually stayed under so long that someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I rose, I was surrounded by half a dozen people.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you all right?” a thin, older gentleman asked. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I said, tucking my wet hair behind my ears and wishing they’d all stand still.
“You were underwater for a long time,” a woman with a cane said.
“You were bubbling,” a little boy added.
“I’m fine,” I assured them, standing to my full height. That was a bit of a mistake, as I found that the air at that height was rather thin and made me wobble. “Thank you for your concern.”
A big hand appeared on my shoulder—so heavy, it almost knocked me to the ground. I turned to find Clancy Glendower’s face way too close to mine. “Are you all right, Mr. Lacrosser?” he asked with real concern.
“Just a little tipsy, Clance,” I said, and returned his pat. I shook my head, splashing us both with water from my wet hair. Even my beard felt heavy on my face.
“If you need a place to take a bath, I can help you find—”
“No, thank you, I’m fine. Although, have you seen a really tall guy wandering around?”
“Uhm . . . I’m right here in front of you.”
“Not you, Clancy. Another tall guy.”
“No, it’s just me, Mr. Lacrosser. I think you’re seeing double.” He leaned close and whispered, “That happens sometimes when you drink.”
I stared at him. “Wow. Do you dress yourself, Clancy?” He smiled proudly and adjusted his tunic. “Why, yes, I do. Thanks for noticing. A lot of people think I don’t.”
“I bet,” I said, patted his arm again, and staggered off down the street, deliberately milking my intoxication. What better disguise for a super-intelligent sword jockey than a wet, stumbling drunk?
I still didn’t connect my wobbly legs and woolly thoughts with the idea that I should stop what I’d set out to do. Squinting through self-generated fog, I stumbled from building to building, seeking the tall form of the king’s bodyguard ahead of me in the crowd. My purposes had narrowed down to this simple task, and although I muttered a lot of “pardon me’s,” I also just shoved people aside as they impeded my progress. Abruptly I realized the figure I sought had vanished. I grabbed the next man I saw and said, “Hey, friend, have you seen a really tall guy following an older guy?”
He had the solid build of someone used to managing big, recalcitrant animals; even though I practically used him as a crutch, he didn’t bend. He looked at me, then at my hand. “You better let me go, friend.”
I’d grabbed him much harder than I intended. “Sorry. A few too many ale mugs, too early in the morning.”
“You still haven’t let me go,” he pointed out.
He was right, so I did. He said, “I saw two guys like that head down the street toward the south gate. But are you all right? Is there someone here looking after you?”
“I don’t need looking after,” I snapped petulantly. “Hm. You might try sobering up a little; the big one looked pretty tough.”
“I’m plenty tough,” I insisted, “and plenty sober.” I was annoyed that the word came out “shober.” I smiled, and as soon as he was gone slapped myself a couple of times, hard. Wow. I used to be able to hold my liquor, I told myself. What was in that Devil’s Dew?
The woman with the cane watched me from the porch of the Head Boar. I couldn’t quite make out her face, but I was certain it radiated disapproval. Annoyed, I yelled, “I’m . . . fine!” She said calmly, “You’re a fine drunk, if that’s what you mean.”
Even more annoyed, I said firmly, “Yes!”
I continued past the Head Boar until a firm hand grabbed the back of my tunic and jerked me into the ridiculously small alley. “Clancy, goddammit—!” I said, before I suddenly realized I faced King Ellis and his bodyguard.
The bodyguard slammed me into a wall, hard enough to make it, and me, rattle. “Why are you following us?” he asked, and shook me for emphasis.
I made myself think deliberately. I couldn’t trust my physical reflexes, because they were too numbed and slow. Liz might come to my rescue, but I wouldn’t count on that, mostly because it would embarrass me too much. I had no other backup, so I’d have to get out of this myself. To do that, I had to be smart and slick.
So I said, “Fuck you.”
Even as I said them, I knew the words were a mistake, and the heavy thwock of my skull against the wall underlined that assumption. I battled the nausea threatening to surge up my gullet along with all the Devil’s Dew, and added, “And your mama, too.”
The bodyguard smiled and drew back a fist as big as a sheep, but the king put his hand on the giant’s arm. “Hold on, Ajax. He’s sick.”
“He’s drunk.”
“So’s your mother,” my mouth said, although I was almost certain my brain wasn’t involved.
The king grabbed my face and turned it toward him. “Do you know who I am?”
Mess this up, I promised my brain, and I’ll cut you out of my head and leave you on the side of the road. I said, “You’re holding his leash; that makes you the most important guy around.” Okay, not my best res
ponse, but a definite improvement over “fuck you.” Nice going, brain.
The king scrutinized me very closely. Luckily, it’s easy to pretend to be a drunken bum when you are, in fact, a drunken bum. I smiled and said, “Hi, pops.”
“Let him go,” the king said.
“He insulted my mother,” Ajax rumbled. “No one does that. That woman is an angel.”
“He can barely stand. I think the headache he’ll have later will be punishment enough.”
“I better not see him later,” Ajax said. He shook me once, hard enough that my teeth crushed my tongue, then let me go and stepped back.
I wrestled my tunic back into place, elaborately stroked my hair back from my face, and held out my hand. “No hard feelings, big man?”
Ajax glared at my hand, then my face, then back at my hand. “Come on, be an adult,” the king said impatiently. He reached for my hand.
I grabbed his wrist with my left hand and his thumb with my right. I bent his thumb back as far as it would go, fully intent on breaking it. He was too strong for that, although he howled in pain and fell to his knees.
He was far from done, though. With his free hand he grabbed my right thumb and tried to pry it from his wrist. I did not let go. This instantly became a matter of my masculine pride, one of those immature emotions that seldom surfaced without the aid of alcohol. The Devil’s Dew invoked it in spades. We jointly forced ourselves to our knees, each struggling with the other’s thumb. I suppose if I’d been sober, I would’ve had sense enough to try another move. Evidently Ajax wasn’t smart enough even when he was sober.
“Stop it!” the king said. “I mean it! Right now! Do you hear me?”
He wasn’t my king, so I ignored him, and Ajax said nothing. We were now almost nose to nose, grimacing in mutual pain and fury. I felt his spit strike my face as it shot out between his clenched teeth. He said, “After I tear it off, I’m going to shove that thumb up your ass, smart guy!”
“Yeah?” I shot back. “Well, I’m gonna shove yours up mine!” Then I frowned, pondering exactly what I’d said. In my peripheral vision I saw other people crowd into the little alley. Some of them laughed. Clancy was there, and he looked very disappointed. So did the woman with the cane. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” the other observers shouted, attracting more onlookers.
“Look at yourselves!” the king shouted helplessly. “You’re both grown men, and you’re thumb wrestling!”
Ajax said, “He started it!”
Because I had an audience, I got the brightest idea of all. I’d show them just how tough I was. I drew back and head-butted Ajax as hard as I could, right between the eyes. He didn’t see it coming, and his face went slack at once.
Unfortunately, I’d dazed myself so thoroughly that I had no knowledge of anything. I didn’t go out, but I definitely went somewhere else. I suppose I hit the ground a moment after he did.
The obligatory bucket of water splashed over me, dragging me from whatever fantasies my addled brain provided. I opened my eyes and gritted my teeth against my hangover’s first agonizing thud.
Two women and two men stood over me. One of the women held the bucket. “I guess he’s alive,” Liz said.
“Might just be death twitches,” the woman with the cane said.
“No, I’m alive,” I said. “A corpse wouldn’t have this headache.” A slow look around told me I was still in the alley, leaning against a building. I did not attempt to rise.
“I’m sorry for not getting here sooner,” Clancy said. “It took me a while to find your wife.”
“I’m not his wife,” Liz said dryly. “More like his keeper.”
“Like you never get drunk,” I muttered.
“When I get drunk, you get lucky,” she shot back. “I’m not feeling the luck right now.”
“Me, neither,” I agreed.
“Billy told me what he did,” the other man said. I recognized Bonny Prince Jack’s properly apologetic voice. “I’m really sorry.”
“Wait till you see how sorry he’s going to be,” I said, and gingerly braced my feet against the ground. I pushed myself upright with my back against the building. Liz dropped the bucket and rushed to catch me before I fell over.
“How are you?” Liz asked.
“I should be able to think straight in a month or so.”
“Who was that man you were fighting?” the other woman asked.
“I’m not sure.” I wanted to tell Jack about his father when no one else was around. Then I recognized the woman with the cane and smiled. “Audrey.”
She was older, truly old now, but still her eyes still had the fire of the woman who’d stood up to those hooligans in her tavern sixteen years ago. “Do I know you?”
“No,” I assured her. I didn’t see the need to bring her into this.
“You knew my name.”
“Lucky guess.”
“He calls everyone Audrey when he first meets them,” Liz said, earning my love all over again. Then she added dryly, “It’s one of his adorable quirks.”
“Sometimes I’m right,” I said.
“That’s true,” Liz said, continuing to back me up. “There’s more Audreys out there than you’d think.”
I looked around for King Ellis and Ajax the bodyguard. “Where are they? The big guy and his friend.”
“They were gone when we got here,” Liz said.
“Just as well,” I said. The world orbited my head for a moment, then settled back down.
Liz said, “Can you walk?”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” I said, and closed my eyes.
Liz turned to the others. “Thanks for helping me keep an eye on him. I’ve got it from here on.”
“Will you be at the Glendowers’ dinner to night?” Jack asked. “There might be a significant announcement.” I heard the grin in his voice.
“We’ll do our best,” I assured him. Then I vomited the remaining Dev il’s Dew in my stomach. When I finished and looked up, everyone but Liz was gone.
I staggered away from Liz just to make sure I could still walk unaided. It was a near thing. “Wow,” I said, “if this headache is any indication, that Devil’s Dew is something.”
“I think smashing skulls with your pal didn’t help.” A dog rushed past us to get at my vomit. “Oh, look. Now the dogs can get drunk, too. It’s a real party.”
I felt the goose egg just above the bridge of my nose. “I think you’re right. I’m going to have some scores to settle, once I can feel my toes again.”
She helped me out to our wagon, where I sprawled on the hay and she took off my boots. I draped an arm over my eyes. The thundering in my head was so loud, I had to check to make sure a drummer wasn’t actually standing nearby.
Liz stretched out beside me. “Will you be okay? I mean, there’s drunk and then there’s poisoned.”
“I know what poisoned feels like,” I assured her, recalling a particularly bad night in a Boscobel casino. “This is just drunk.”
“ ‘Just’?”
“Okay, it’s an unjust drunk.”
“If you’re making jokes like that, you’ll be okay. Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Go on, go have fun,” I said. She kissed me on the cheek and left me to my misery. And thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge.
Chapter
FIFTEEN
Everything, from my attitude to my stomach, was sour when we reached Glendower’s Aerie late that afternoon. The sight of so many other horses and wagons did not help. Apparently everyone in town for the festival was also invited to the banquet, and at the moment, I hated crowds. I wanted nothing more than a three-day lie-down somewhere quiet and dark, but I still needed to talk to Glendower about the money I’d given him for Isadora. Its origin would be my first real clue.
People filled the garden drinking, chatting, and laughing about whatever shepherds considered funny. I overheard enough to know that I didn’t ever want to be stuck with them somewhere.
“Do
you know what you call a sheep with no legs?” one man asked another.
“A cloud,” the second man replied, and both laughed.
A third man told a little knot of friends, “So the barbarians come charging over the hill. ‘Run!’ the head shepherd says. ‘What about the sheep?’ the apprentice asks. ‘Fuck the sheep!’ the head shepherd says. The apprentice looks at the approaching barbarians and says, ‘Are you sure we have time?’ ”
A trio played flute, drum, and some sort of stringed instrument. Just as I was relaxing into that, a piper joined in to make it a quartet. It was like fingernails raked across my aching brain.
The afternoon sun blazed overhead, but was just about to slide behind the house and leave the garden in blessed shade. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone, so I kept my head down and let my expression settle into an appropriate scowl. I did check the crowd for Billy Cudgel, but if he was there, he had sense enough to stay out of my sight.
One of the twin maids, Mopsa by my guess, worked her way around refilling goblets. Even though I knew it wasn’t possible, I imagined I could smell the ale from across the garden, and it made me freshly nauseated. I stopped to lean on one of the small flowering trees. I hadn’t been this hungover since I was a very young man.
“Should I send for the moon priestesses?” Liz asked dryly. “They could probably have your funeral pyre ready by midnight.”
I was afraid if I spoke, I’d also vomit, so I concentrated on taking deep breaths. New sweat popped out along my hairline. Finally I managed, “Okay,” and stood upright. Liz took my arm and we went inside.
The other twin maid, Dorcas, met us in the foyer. She was dressed formally, which meant in this case bare shoulders and a slit gown similar to the one Isadora wore in the ritual last night. It displayed lots of firmly muscled leg when she curtsied. No reason the servants couldn’t look for love at the spring feast, too, I suppose.
“Welcome to our banquet, sir,” she said. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. LaCrosse?”
I started to protest, but Liz said, “Yes, we are.”