by PAMELA DEAN
If these had been random conversations Ted might have enjoyed them. But the King so clearly had a list in his mind of what he had to do. Three or four times Ted saw him avoid someone whom he later sought out. Ted tried to amuse himself by deciding why it was important to discuss the goats in the north pasture before one found out about the dwarfish nails, but the music was giving him a headache. He liked loud music, but this was so hollow and shrill that it hurt.
He was also disturbed because they saw nobody he knew. Not only had his sister and his cousins vanished, but Benjamin, having delivered him to the King, disappeared as well, and he could not see Randolph or Matthew or anyone else he recognized. He also felt that he should keep an eye out for Fence and warn him about that staircase.
He was much too harried to be hungry, but it was a relief to sit down and be quiet. The music stopped for dinner. He had to sit on the King’s right, and the King, having finished whatever he had been doing earlier, paid Ted more attention than Ted liked.
Lord Andrew sat on the King’s left, and Matthew sat next to Andrew, and Conrad next to Ted; they all courteously refrained from interrupting the King’s conversation with his son. Andrew was plainly listening to it, but Ted was not sure that an interruption from Andrew would have been much relief anyway. Conrad was arguing about recorder music with the man beside him, and Matthew talked earnestly to a thin young woman with yellow braids and a scarred forehead. There was no help there.
Having remarked on all the earlier conversations and asked after Ted’s studies, and noticed that Ted was not eating, the King looked as if something had dawned on him.
“Thy duties sit ill on thee at festival,” he said. “But I release thee now. Thou shalt dance as thou wilt after dinner.”
“Dance?” said Ted, horrified. That was no escape.
“Thou wilt not?”
“No, sir; thank you, but no.”
The King raised his eyebrows in a way that made Ted wish he were elsewhere. “I wager thou’lt dance after midnight.”
“Sir?”
“Not then neither?”
“Sir, I’d rather not at all.” Surely shy Edward didn’t like dancing. He was probably terrified of girls.
The King put a finger on the tip of Ted’s nose; this was so bizarre that it was not even embarrassing. “Spite not thy face,” said the King, lightly enough, but Ted felt sure that he had been given a warning, without having the remotest idea of what he had been warned against.
The King turned to Andrew and asked after his sister, and Ted tried to figure out the silverware so he could eat. Normally in High Castle you used your dagger and your fingers, and there were wooden spoons for soup or porridge. But this table was set with enough silver for a family of four at each plate. That the handles of the utensils were all made in the shapes of animals’ heads did not make up for there being so many utensils.
He managed to feed himself fairly well by watching what Matthew served himself and how he ate it, and doing likewise. He had begun by copying the yellow-haired woman, but she kept serving herself things he didn’t like.
Ted was watching Matthew dismember some complicated shellfish and talk to Conrad at the same time, when Matthew dropped his fork with a clatter and straightened, looking with some alarm down toward the other end of the table. As Ted looked that way, he caught with the corner of his eye the expression on the face of the yellow-haired woman. It was ferocious.
The cause of all this was a dark and slender woman in a red dress. She came rapidly up Ted’s side of the table; Ted thought she moved like an otter. She was beautiful, but she looked murderous. The closer she got, the less Ted liked her. She looked important, but he did not recognize her. She passed behind Ted’s chair with a flurry that lifted the damp hair on his neck, and stood at the King’s elbow.
“Sire,” she said. Ted wondered if she had a sore throat.
The King looked at her as if he had not expected her and didn’t want her. “Lady Claudia?” he said.
“Sire, Fence has returned.”
Ted shot out of his chair, jarring the table and spilling his wine. Matthew had half risen, his face exultant, but when Ted’s wine slopped into his plate he sat down abruptly. The yellow-haired woman said something quiet but urgent into his ear, and Matthew tried to give Ted a quelling frown. Ted beamed at him. He could not help it. If Fence had come home on schedule, maybe everything would still be all right.
The King, too, looked as if he thought everything would be all right. He got carefully to his feet, and his look at Claudia became more gracious. “I thank you, child,” he said. “Where is he? He shall not face this crowd; I will go to meet him.”
Claudia appeared distressed and reluctant, but Ted thought that she did not mean it. She was not much like an otter after all; she was grim, not playful.
“Sire,” she said, “Fence and my lord Randolph have gone to Fence’s chambers.”
Ted hated the way she said “my lord Randolph.” She sounded as if he belonged to her and as if he had somehow done her an injury. If she had the right to talk about Randolph like that, thought Ted, I’d know who she was.
The King frowned. “Sent he greetings, then?”
“Sire, he did not speak to me nor I to him. I did see him enter and greet Randolph and depart.” She shrugged.
So how’d you know where they were going? thought Ted. The yellow-haired woman still looked ferocious, and Ted was beginning to feel the same way.
The King’s brows drew together. Before he could speak, Andrew appeared at his other elbow. Ted had not even seen him get up, and was startled.
“Shall I fetch him out, my lord?” said Andrew.
“He’s not a weasel!” burst out Ted. He had no idea what was going on, but Claudia and Andrew seemed to be getting away with something, and Ted saw no reason to let them. This was the worst departure from the Secret story yet, and it seemed to be Claudia’s doing. Ted felt as if she had insulted him.
“Edward,” said the King, gently, and turned back to Andrew.
“He is long overdue,” said Andrew, “and his tidings are most needful. Should not we call a council at once?”
“In the middle of a banquet?” said Ted.
“Edward,” said the King, less gently. He added, with a sort of icy indulgence, “Thou needst not attend.”
Ted’s face grew hot. Now he really had been insulted. “Of course I’ll come, but what’s the point?”
“Ted,” said Matthew, not loudly.
“I won’t be quiet!” cried Ted. The disappointment of his earlier exultance made him reckless. He was determined to shove this story back on its proper course. “He,” said Ted, scowling in the direction of Andrew, who was regarding him with an amusement that Ted might have found disquieting if he had been in any state to think about it, “is just trying to make trouble, anybody can see that. You know Fence always has a good reason for what he does, you know it, Father. He’d have come to you in his own time. Who’s she,” and he scowled at Claudia, who did not look at all amused, “to come sneaking to tell you he’s here before he’s ready to see you?”
“Does the King serve Fence, or Fence the King?” said Claudia, more huskily than ever. Ted hoped she had strep.
“Who are you to say?” he demanded.
“Edward, I pray you be quiet,” said Matthew. He sounded as if he were really saying something else, which Ted should be able to figure out.
“Let him shriek,” said Andrew pleasantly. “His is the visage of a prince on the soul of a beggar.”
Ted, in an excess of temper even worse than that in which he had once thrown an egg at Laura, launched himself across the table at Lord Andrew. Andrew was either unprepared for this or a slow thinker, for he was knocked sprawling. Ted had the breath struck out of him by the edge of the table, and he slid sideways to the floor at Matthew’s feet, soaked with wine and gravy, plastered with squashed shellfish and burst pasties, the echo of broken glass jarring his ears.
There was dead
silence. Ted could not believe what he had done. Andrew picked himself up, drew his dagger, and advanced on Ted, all with a calm deliberation that was worse than anger would have been.
“Andrew,” said Matthew, “put up thy knife.”
Ted sat up against his knees. He was still breathless, still dizzy, and still furious. Andrew took another step. “You would!” said Ted, trying to stand up. He had started this and he saw no way out of it, so he might as well go on. Matthew slid both hands under his arms and picked him up. Ted had to lean on him.
“Young fool,” breathed Matthew in his ear. “Where’s thy dagger?”
He thrust Ted to one side and put a hand to his own knife. The yellow-haired woman got to her feet with one quiet motion, pushing her chair back onto Ted’s feet. He got out of her way; she still looked ferocious and she had a knife too.
Andrew stopped. “Do you not know a jest?” he said to Matthew. He smiled a smile that made Ted shiver and Matthew stiffen. Andrew looked as if he had gotten what he wanted.
Ted had enough breath and wit back now to remember the King. The King held out his hand to Andrew, who lifted his chin with a defiant glance, and handed the King his dagger.
“Here’s mine, my lord,” said Matthew.
“Thou didst not draw,” said the King.
“I so intended.”
“Thou didst not,” said the King. He looked at Ted, who immediately felt sticky inside as well as out. “Nor,” said the King, “didst thou.”
There did not seem to be much to say to this, especially when Ted was not sure if drawing was a good thing or a bad. He settled for bowing his head. The King waited. Ted did not think that explaining that he had no dagger to draw would improve matters. There was still dead silence in the hall. It was eerie that so many people who had been so noisy could be made so quiet so quickly. The King waited. Ted found himself lifting his chin in a gesture much like Andrew’s.
“I’ll speak to thee later,” said the King, saving him from whatever he might have found to say. The King looked around, and Ted realized that all the serving people had vanished. “Lord Andrew,” said the King, “summon Fence to the Council Chamber. Lord Matthew, be so good as to find my other counselors. Lady Claudia, we thank you for your trouble and would that you attend also.”
Andrew bowed and departed. Matthew squeezed Ted’s shoulder, said, “As you will, my lord,” and went out after him. The King, without a glance at Ted, moved slowly for the door. Ted, sinking gratefully into Matthew’s chair, found time to wonder where Benjamin was. He shoved his matted hair out of his eyes. Conversation was starting again at the other end of the hall, and he preferred to escape quietly after people’s attention was elsewhere.
That did leave the attention of the people at his end of the table to deal with. They could hardly pretend to eat their dinner: He had squashed it. The table before him was a crazy quilt of broken glass, puddles of wine, and flattened food. He had ruined his own place, Matthew’s, the King’s, Conrad’s, and the yellow-haired woman’s. Well, things could be worse. At least no one was saying, “Move down, I want a clean plate.” Ted saw that some of the serving people were creeping out again, and he waved a hand at one of them and held his breath.
The young man came over to him promptly enough. He looked, not frightened at all, but as if he were trying not to laugh. Ted gestured at the mess on the table and raised his eyebrows as the King did. This seemed to be enough. The young man said, “Yes, my prince,” and beckoned to several other people, to whom he gave orders.
“Well,” said Ted. “I regret very much having subjected you to all this.” His mother had once said that to someone whose tulips Laura had fallen into. He hoped that it would sound sorry but not too abject, and would somehow imply that he had had no choice in the matter. “Is anyone’s dress damaged?”
Conrad, to his grateful astonishment, grinned at him. “Ah, lad, I’ll give myself more wine splashings than thou couldst, didst thou crack a bottle o’er my head.”
Several people sitting nearby laughed as if this were an old joke, so Ted smiled too. He looked at the yellow-haired woman. “My lady?”
“Never fear,” she said. She spoke as if she knew him well. He wondered who she was.
“I’ll take my leave of you, then,” said Ted, and fled the hall. The musicians began hooting and burbling on their instruments as he went, and he felt that his own story was laughing at him.
He went up to his room and washed off the gravy.
He did not care to think about what he had done, or its possible consequences, just yet, so he worried about Claudia instead. Who in the world was she and what was she doing here? She was messing things up more than all the other differences put together. You’d almost think she was doing it on purpose. If she hadn’t opened her big mouth, Fence would have presented himself properly in the morning, and the council would have been held that afternoon. Ted knew what to say in it, but he did not like having things upset this way.
Besides, in the game he and Fence had been supposed to have a long conversation after this banquet, and he had hoped, somewhere in the course of it, to find a way of warning Fence about Randolph, or at least of finding out what Fence would do if the King persisted in disbelieving in dragons. Ted was sure Fence could think of something more sensible than killing the King if he had more warning than the original story provided. If Ted could then tell Randolph this more sensible idea, then maybe things would be all right.
“You’re as bad as Claudia,” Ted said to himself, dropping his damp towel on the bed so Patrick could complain about it later. “Running around changing a perfectly good story.”
He wandered over to the window and looked out. The night was clear and warm for the first time since they had been here. He craned out the window. The stars were enormous, and in no patterns that he recognized. Far around the sound of bells still trembled.
“Except,” said Ted, pulling his head in, “she wants to make trouble, and I don’t.”
He went down to the Council Chamber in a frame of mind only a little more cautious than that in which he had attacked Andrew; he took his dagger with him.
CHAPTER 14
LAURA last, they trooped back up to Fence’s living room—or maybe, thought Laura, it was a parlor—and sat down again.
“Fence,” said Randolph.
“Wait,” said Fence. He looked at Laura until she dropped her gaze to the cluttered table. She could feel him looking at Ellen and Patrick, and she sneaked a glance sideways in time to see Patrick drop his eyes too. So somebody somewhere could stare Patrick down. Laura wished she could be gladder about it.
“Did I or did I not,” said Fence, “tell you to stay here with the door bolted? Do I or do I not know whereof I speak touching sorcery? Did you or did you not all three disobey?”
“But Fence,” said Ellen, “we heard metal! It was fighting, not sorcery.”
Laura dared to look at him. He had a way of quirking one corner of his mouth when most people would raise an eyebrow, and he was doing it now.
“And dost thou know more than I of fighting?” he said.
“In fighting, numbers matter,” said Patrick.
“On the narrow stair?”
“Fence,” said Randolph. Fence glared at him irritably and then smiled. “Consider,” said Randolph, “that it is I who do teach Patrick to fight. Thou chastiseth the impulse when ’tis the judgment at fault.”
Fence’s mouth quirked. “Well, then, my lord,” he said to Patrick, “come not so precipitate that thou overturnst thy friends. And thou,” he said to Laura, “where was thy weapon wherewith thou couldst save me?”
“I bet I’d have scared her,” said Laura, wanting to cry and forbidding herself to do so.
“And me,” said Fence.
“Fence,” said Randolph.
Fence sighed. “I commend you all for your courage,” he said. “But I most earnestly urge you to consider what help or hindrance you may be before you disobey me. An you disobey
me in a matter of sorcery, we will all die miserably.”
They all nodded. Fence got up and poured them more wine. When he got to Randolph, Randolph put a hand on his wrist and bore the jug down to the table. “Thou and I have work before us this night.”
Fence looked at him.
“That Andrew summoned you and Claudia’s knife awaited may not signify.”
Fence frowned.
“If she had means to fashion that knife, could she not use the mirrors as well?”
Fence blanched. “No doubt. And as evilly as she made the knife.”
“Fence, there was skill there.”
“Oh, aye; there is skill also in slaying the unicorn.”
“Well, then.”
“ ’Twere best to discover if the King indeed awaits me.” Fence turned his wrist under Randolph’s, moved his hand under Randolph’s hand, and gripped it. “I would it were not so. I am very weary, and these”—he nodded at the children—“have not yet oped their coffers.”
“Tell us quickly,” said Randolph to Laura, who went cold all over and stammered.
“The worst is the staircase and the beast. There was a beast in the West Tower too.”
“What besides sorcery?” said Fence.
In the horrible silence that followed, they heard the distant echo of footsteps. It drew nearer, and stopped suddenly, and a man’s voice boomed up the stairwell. “Suffering stars!”
Randolph let go of Fence and stood up. The footsteps came rapidly up to the door and someone pounded on it. “Fence!”
“Who goes there?”
“Matthew.”
Fence went and unbolted and opened the door. Matthew came in, breathing hard and staggering a little, and saw Randolph. “You are wanted at the King’s council, and not by and by.” He leaned on the wall and breathed for a moment. Then he took Fence by the shoulders and did not quite shake him. “My lord, you are most heartily welcome. For the mercy of Shan, what doth Claudia on your stair with such strange mien?”