The Hunter's Haunt

by Dave Duncan

  "She stutters!" I said. "Tell me if this is how it happens? You ask her something—the name of her mother's mother, for example. She goes off to ask Verl, or the image she thinks is Verl. Then she comes back and you repeat the question. She is very nervous, she stutters, gabbles … In the case of her grandmother's name … What did the margrave's housekeeper say her mother's name was, by the way?"

  He shrugged. "They think it was Marsha, but no one is sure after all these years."

  "She believes her own name is Rosalind and her mother's was Sweet-rose, so naturally she might begin with noises like those names. The correct answer is Rose-dawn, so you smile and nod, right? Whenever she makes noises that sound like the answer you want, you show signs of agreement." I looked around for my own signs of encouragement. "All her life, Rosie has been the lowest of the low. She has had to satisfy a dozen people, all at the same time—every one of them shouting at her to do something and all entitled to strike her. Of course she has learned how to please people! I don't think she knows she is doing it."

  "Rubbish!" the dowager muttered. No one disagreed.

  I had not won much support, obviously.

  Gwill yawned. The yawn spread around the room. Dawn was here. Tallow fumes from the candles burdened the air. We were all feeling the long night. I sensed that more people were thinking of following Rosie upstairs to bed. If I lost my audience, then I should have Fritz to deal with. But there was another riddle left unsolved, and it should be cleared out of the way first. I looked to the merchant, who was yawning harder than any, stretching his thick arms.

  "Well, Burgomaster? Have you no story to tell us, to complete the evening?"

  He eyed me sourly and then glanced thoughtfully at his wife. Marla looked brighter than anyone, but of course she must be accustomed to long, hard nights in her line of work.

  She glowed a coy smile at him. "It does seem late, Johein darling! Why don't we run upstairs and cuddle into bed, mm?" She fondled the gold chain across his paunch.

  He raised his bushy brows in sudden interest. "Sleepy, beloved?"

  "Oh, a little. Tired of all this talk." She stroked his cheek.

  "Ahem!" the soldier said. "Burgomaster, you never did tell us why you had engaged the services of Master Tickenpepper to advise you on the laws of Verlia."

  The merchant pondered a moment, then shrugged his fat shoulders. "Well, I was planning to keep it as a surprise. My dear wife and I are on our honeymoon, you realize."

  Gwill choked. "You take a lawyer along on your honeymoon, sir?"

  Fritz and the soldier smothered laughs. Even the dowager made an odd coughing noise.

  The fat man glared. "Watch your tongue, minstrel!" He eyed the dowager with equal contempt. "I suppose now is as good a time as any for the truth to come out. I don't know I believe Omar's drivel about the horse, ma'am, but I know that your precious Rosie is not what you think she is."

  "Then pray enlighten us!"

  "Darling?" said the actress. She leaned over to kiss him. "Don't you love me more than that boring Rosie?"

  "Later, beloved."

  "Now, darling!"

  "Later, I said! I have to tell the seventh story, to solve the mystery."

  "Oo!" Marla squealed, in a sudden change of tactics. "Solve the mystery? That is exciting! What is the surprise, my love? A surprise for me?"

  He patted her knee. "You will be as surprised as anyone, my little chaffinch." He cleared his throat pompously, frowning around to make sure we were all paying attention. "I am Burgomaster Johein, chief magistrate of Schlosbelsh. By profession, I am an importer. I inherited the business from my father, and built it into one of the largest in the Volkslander. I am rated as the wealthiest man in the city—barring the great landowners, of course, and I know for a fact that not a few of them … Well, never mind. I have four sons and two daughters still living. My first wife died some years ago. I had been intending to take another, but pressure of business kept me from getting around to it. A serious matter, choosing a wife, you know!"

  "My good fortune that you delayed, darling," the actress said, fanning him with her lashes.

  I caught Gwill's eye and hastily looked away. I recalled that steamy, scented parlor in the Velvet Stable in Gilderburg, and the girls dancing on the tables. Then I tried to picture the assembled civic fathers of Schlosbelsh being gracious to the burgomaster's new wife. The mind …

  What exactly is boggling, anyway?

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  27: The Merchant's Tale

  My attention was drawn to the Verlia affair some months ago, in early summer. I was in my counting house, busy as usual. Wealth never brings relaxation, you know. We work much harder than the poor. And my civic duties take a lot of my time.

  I recall that I was in a testy mood. I forget what exactly had upset me—the continuing stupidity of my clerks, I suppose. Most of them don't have the wits of a chicken, and they're constantly getting sick and expecting time off work. I give them two days off every month! That's time enough to be sick.

  Anyway, this particular day, I received a very unusual caller. Most of my visitors are other important merchants and guildmasters, you understand, or often members of the nobility come to borrow money. I like to make 'em wait. When I was informed that there was an elderly nun asking to see me, I was not impressed. I couldn't imagine why a nun would want to see me, other than to beg money for repairs to the nunnery or something. I probably wouldn't have found time for her that day, except there was a weedy young aristocrat in my waiting room, and I knew he was hoping for a sizable loan. I also knew he needed the money very badly. The longer he had to stew about it, the less he would scream when I told him the terms. Besides, if he saw a woman, and a cleric besides, being received ahead of himself, it would make him realize that the sun didn't rise for him alone, just because he had the hereditary right to pee in a silver pot, or something. So I said to send in the nun first.

  She came in leaning on a staff. Her habit was a tawdry, threadbare thing, and I didn't recognize her order—she wasn't from Gilderburg. She was old, and frail, so I told her to take a seat, although I didn't intend for her to stay long.

  I went on signing letters. "I am pressed for time this morning, Sister," I said. "Come to the point quickly, if you please."

  She perched on the extreme edge of the chair and did not seem to know what to do with her stick. She was nervous and twittery. "I apologize for interrupting an important person such as yourself, Burgomaster. I would not impose on you, except the matter is rather urgent. She is due to take her vows in a few weeks."

  Obviously she was a confused old bird.

  "Who is?" I said.

  "Postulant Marla, Your Honor."

  "And why should I care?"

  "You needn't. I mean, I hope you will. Oh, dear! You see, I think she may be important."

  I doubted it at that point, I admit. I decided I would give the hag five minutes to come to the point, or I would toss her out. But as she wandered and maundered, I began to get intrigued. I'm no vagabond yarn-spinner like Omar, so I won't try to repeat the story the way she told it. I'll just give you the bare facts.

  My visitor said she was Sister Zauch, from some obscure convent in Luzfraul that I'd never heard of. The hills are full of them. It's cheaper to dump unwanted daughters in a house of nuns than give them a dowry when they grow up. The nuns settle for much less—I know!

  But this wasn't anything like that. About twenty years ago, one bad winter's night, a woman had come to the convent door. She was sick—dying in fact—and she had a baby girl with her. The mother duly died. The child was kept on in the nunnery. Nothing unusual about that, really. Luzfraul's on the far side of Gilderburg from Schlosbelsh—this side of Gilderburg, that is—and just where someone coming over the Ranges might take a wrong turn … I'm getting ahead of myself. At first I was thinking the other way, thinking of going south and finding the passes closed and taking the wrong turn on the way back.

  Sister
Zauch was already past her five minutes, and I told her to get to the point. She brought out an old letter. Apparently the sisters had made an effort to identify the dying woman, but not much of an effort. The mother superior had written a letter to the margrave of the district, but for some reason it had never been sent. It had been lying in a drawer for twenty years. Nuns are not normally very businesslike people, of course. Sister Zauch herself had found the letter a few weeks before.

  Now the girl was grown up and about to take her vows. That would be that, of course. But Zauch herself had been required to come to Schlosbelsh on some family business or other, and had brought the girl along as companion. While she was here, she had decided to consult the authorities. Would I advise her on what ought to be done? If anything.

  Me? What did I know or care about lost aristocratic bastards? But I suppose a burgomaster seems much the same as a margrave to a gang of cloistered elderly females.

  Well, a letter was better than an ancient nun's confused blathering. It repeated the story of the dying woman, but it quoted a few words she had raved in her delirium. "Prince" was one of them, and that caught my attention, of course. Ravings carry little weight, but there was real evidence, too. The baby had been wrapped in a blanket of very fine woolen cloth, with a coat of arms stitched in the corner. The letter contained a drawing of this, and it certainly had a genuine look to it, although I don't waste my time on heraldic nonsense.

  I began to cross-examine old Sister Zauch. She had nothing more to add. The blanket had been lost, the letter had never been sent. She did not want Postulant Marla to hear anything about our conversation unless she did turn out to be of noble blood—it would upset her. That was understandable.

  Of course I was skeptical. I promised the old biddy I would investigate the insignia and send word to her as soon as I learned anything. She was changing her lodgings, she said, so she couldn't give me an address. We agreed she would call on me again in a few days, and that was the end of the interview.

  I saw her out. I turned my attention to my other visitors, and almost forgot the whole business. But the next day Master Tickenpepper came calling about some important legal business of mine. I noticed the letter, still lying on my desk, and showed it to him. He agreed that it seemed genuine. I told him to look into it, not really expecting anything of interest to emerge.

  Well, as you have all guessed by now, the coat of arms turned out to belong to the royal house of Verlia! That was a considerable surprise, because Verlia is not exactly next door. I couldn't imagine how the blanket could have come so far. I decided it probably hadn't. The woman herself had stitched the emblem into it, most likely, to honor her baby.

  At that time I had heard of Verlia, but that was about all, and I have traveled widely. Very few men in Schlosbelsh would have even known there was such a place, because most have never been as far as Gilderburg in their lives. In the next few days, some odd rumors began to float around. As burgomaster, I hear the news as soon as anyone does—it is my business to! I stress that point, because it is important. Sister Zauch spoke to me before anyone else in the city had heard about the missing heir!

  I set Master Tickenpepper to work finding out the truth of the matter.

  When the old woman returned, I told her that the girl might indeed be important. I asked to meet her.

  Sister Zauch was unwell and wanted to return to the convent, but she sent the girl to me. That's when I met Marla.

  I was bewitched from the moment I set eyes on her! Such innocence, such unconscious beauty—and very possibly daughter of an old and powerful family! I am not by nature a romantic man, but her situation touched me, I admit. Very soon, I stopped caring who her parents had been. I fell in love!

  I proposed. She accepted. We were married.

  Yes, I knew there was a remote chance that she might turn out to have an aristocratic background, but it was not a factor in my decision. The chances of ever tracking it down seemed very remote, and the odds of ever proving anything conclusive even slighter. Not many lost heiresses have gods waiting to attest to their identity! I love her for herself alone, and would still love her, no matter how humble her birth. I took her as she was, without dowry or credentials.

  It was only later, when Tickenpepper came back with his final report, that I realized that I had unwittingly married a queen.

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  28: Interlude

  Me?" Marla screamed. "You mean I'm the rightful queen we've been hearing about all night?" Without giving Johein a chance to reply, she hurled herself on him and kissed him fervently.

  There is no fool like an old fool, so they say.

  I looked around the room. Stunned disbelief would be an understatement. Frieda's eyes were wide, she had her hands over her mouth. Even Fritz's great jaw hung limply. Captain Tiger's hand had instinctively settled on the hilt of his sword.

  Gwill, though, was in the early stages of apoplexy. He and I stared at each other. We knew more than the others. We knew Marla could not possibly be what was being claimed for her … didn't we? Lack of sleep was making me groggy. Could an admittedly shrewd businessman like Johein be deceived on anything so vital to his own well-being?

  Could Marla be the lost princess, despite the trade she had plied in Gilderburg?

  For a moment nobody dared breathe a word. Then the merchant heaved his ecstatic bride off him and looked around proudly to judge our reactions. It was the soldier who spoke first. His tone was dry as salt, giving away nothing.

  "My lady, you appear to have discovered a second granddaughter tonight! And a grandson-in-law!"

  The merchant flinched. He and the dowager regarded each other bleakly. What a big happy family that would be!

  "Indeed, ma'am," he said stiffly. "Behold your true granddaughter, and your queen."

  "I don't believe a word of it!"

  "I assure you that the facts are incontestable! The dates fit. The mother superior—the previous mother superior, that is—wrote a detailed, if somewhat windy, account of the matter. She quoted the woman's dying words. I have a transcript of the letter upstairs. Would you doubt such a holy lady? I remind you that this came to my attention before the story was otherwise known in Schlosbelsh. And who in a backwater like Luzfraul could have known the royal insignia of a land so far away?"

  Gwill caught my eye, asking me what we should do. I considered the ethics of the matter. I had no especial reason to spoil Marla's fun, or Johein's, either, for that matter. But I felt I had unmasked Rosie rather brutally. I owed it to her to apply the same standards of strict honesty and integrity to everyone present.

  Almost everyone, I mean.

  True, Mistress Marla had come to my aid a few times that evening, but not willingly. By way of contrast, her husband's tale of Sister Zauch led to the one person who had never faltered in backing me, one who deserved my support much more than she did.

  "My turn again?" I did not wait for argument. "A truly stunning narrative, Your Honor! I gravely feel that I have met my match at last, and in the final round of the contest, too! However, I shall do my best to go down fighting. I can do no better than to recount to you the sad, brief, and salutary tale of Waldgrave Munster."

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  29: Omar's Response to the Merchant's Tale

  I first met Munster six or seven years ago, down in the Winelands. At that time he was a wild, crazy youth. I ran into him again this summer in Gilderburg. He had changed, of course, but not in the way most men do when they reach maturity. Now he is even wilder and crazier.

  You must have heard tell of his brother, the margrave. There is no richer landowner in the entire Volkslander. Doubtless you could name several of his royal, saintly, and influential uncles, cousins, and so forth. Their respectability is legendary. Their family tree is primeval, a forest in itself.

  Muny is the only black sheep it has ever produced, and he makes up for it being about as black as it is possible to be. He inherited the family go
od looks, but there the resemblance ends. He commonly begins his day around noon with wine, women, and song, and goes straight downward. His main interests are wenching, dueling, drinking, brawling, cheating at cards, blackening the family name, and soaping staircases, but he dabbles in every other sort of deviltry imaginable, letting no temptation escape.

  He is one of the most charming men I have ever met. He flaunts his wealth, dresses superbly, and turns every female eye in the street. I have rarely seen him without a beautiful woman on his arm and a broad grin on his face. He can ride any horse ever foaled. He will drink you under the table and waken you at dawn to propose a steeplechase, being witty and debonair and irresistible. His life is one continuous floating riot.

  Let me give you an example. This was when he was in his teens, remember. I was there, but only as a spectator. The hour was late, and all the gold on the table had come to roost in front of Muny, as usual. The rest of the company was drunk and surly, every one of them years older than he and none of them accustomed to losing. He was his invariable jaunty self.

  Without warning, he picked out the largest man in the group and openly accused him of cheating. Considering that the man had lost a small fortune in the previous three hours, that was even less probable than it was wise to suggest. He was also a deadly swordsman.

  In an instant the man was on his feet, drawing his rapier. "Bloody young coxcomb! You will lose your tongue for those words." Onlookers hastily scattered.

  Muny rose deliberately and said, "En garde, varlet!"

  Then he whipped out his own sword. Where the blade should have been hung a length of silk cord—dangling limply, of course. He stared at it disbelievingly. So did everyone else. The silence was icy.

  Then he said, "Damn! I must have been drinking too much." The entire room exploded in thunderclaps of laughter and applause.