The Dragon and the Fair M

by Gordon R. Dickson

  "Well, good!" said Angie, hugging him. "I'll make you a cup of tea."

  "I'd rather have something to drink after hearing about this."

  "I'll make some tea," said Angie. 'This day's not yet half over—"

  The words were prophetic. Even before the kettle had begun to boil, there came a scratching at the door—an almost timid scratching.

  "Now what?" Jim said. He raised his voice. "Come!"

  The Prince came in—hesitating abruptly as he saw Angie.

  "Er—James," said the Prince. "Could you step outside for a few words with me?"

  "Of course," said Jim. "Honored to do so, Your Grace."

  "Good. Oh, good day, my lady."

  "Good day, Your Grace."

  "He will be back shortly."

  "My thanks to you, Your Grace, for your gentleness in telling me."

  "Not at all," said the Prince gruffly. He turned and went out through the door again. Jim followed, casting a reassuring glance over his shoulder. Angie raised her two clasped hands over her head and shook them in a boxer's signal of victory.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Prince led Jim away from his doorway and the servant and man-at-arms there, whose interest was showing clearly on their faces. It was a dull job, Jim recognized, just standing there either all night or all day. It was not something that he and Angie insisted on at Malencontri, either. It was the staff itself that insisted.

  What, leave the door to their lord and lady's room unguarded and unserved? As if he was some ordinary knight instead of being a paladin who had fought beside King Arthur, and a famous Magickian, to boot? Here at Tiverton they would undoubtedly feel the same about their King and any noble guests of his.

  After all, servants everywhere knew how things should properly be done in their castle.

  Still, the Prince led Jim away from even these faithful followers, clear around the curving corridor that followed the shape of the outer wall of the tower, until they two were completely private.

  They were alone now in the corridor, close to the stairs. The afternoon sunlight from a single arrow slit fell squarely on the face of the younger man, looking stern with concern in a way Jim had never seen it appear before.

  There were no doorways to rooms visible now, either before or behind them, —nevertheless, young Edward lowered his voice when he finally spoke.

  "This is madness, James!"

  "Your Grace?"

  "You must know what I mean. This plan of your wives to ask you, Brian and the archer to confront my father and tell him you are leaving, whether or no."

  "What other choice do we have, Your Grace? The wedding day set, the chapel readied for a Mass the moment the wedding itself is over—our obligation to Holy Church—"

  "Yes, yes, I know all about that!" said the Prince. "But not for God's sake in that harebrained, arrogant manner you, or they, plan. My father will not even wait to hear your last words, but have you thrown in dungeons, all six of you—there to rot though even Chandos himself, if he was here, should beg mercy for you! The wives and your friends may not see that, but surely you do!"

  "Indeed," sighed Jim. "But what other way in honor is there?"

  "There must be some! I myself will not be able to do anything for you if you attempt such a rash act. Probably lucky not to be thrown in dungeon myself for bringing you here to insult him. For he will take it as an insult, without doubt! You do not flout the royal will!"

  "I know," said Jim.

  "It is not of myself I am thinking. True, this could put an end to all my careful plan to regain his good graces. But you must believe me, James, when I say that in this hap it is you and the others that I am concerned with, in that I urged you to come, and what happens to you here is my responsibility. More than that, indeed, I have some small love for you and Brian—the archer as well, even, though nothing but a common man and Welshman to boot, poor fellow."

  There were moments when Jim's throat went dry, and his gullet burned to tell people like the Prince that Dafydd was their equal—and more than their equal—in royal heritage. But his promise to Dafydd kept him silent. Young Edward was going on.

  "—did you not all rescue me from that mad Magickian who kept me captive and made a simulacrum of me from snow, to put among the French knights and claim that I had changed sides against our honest Englishmen? I would save you all if I could, but if you insist upon running naked upon a swordpoint, what is there I can do!"

  "Gladly would I relieve you of that responsibility, Your Grace," Jim said in the best tradition of fourteenth-century politesse. "But I see nothing I can do."

  "Come, man!" said the Prince impatiently. "You are a Magickian. Surely there is something!"

  "Well…" Jim looked out the arrow slit thoughtfully. "With your kind assistance, perhaps…"

  "Anything! That is to say—whatever is actually possible for me to perform. Simply tell me what it is."

  Jim sighed doubtfully.

  "Let me see… it would involve you saying a word or two to the King before we come to bid him farewell, for that is all we planned to do, after all, Your Grace…"

  "Yes, yes! Say what?"

  "Well, it would merely be Your Grace begging him to pay no attention to the rumor."

  "Rumor? What rumor? There are no rumors here."

  "Yet there may be one. Messengers come and go from the Earl of Cumberland on crown business, papers for the King to sign and that sort of thing. One of them might well have been a man who had served in a household of which the Countess was a part, and had an admiration for her, so that when he was coming or going he had the chance to speak her. She would not have remembered him, of course."

  "I should think not!"

  "But he might have passed on to her the latest rumor in London."

  "Yes… and so?"

  "A rumor that the Earl of Cumberland might already have heard, also—that here in Tiverton the King had been talking to and entertaining enemies of the Earl. Of course, once the Countess had heard this, she felt it her duty to tell you this—saying what a shame it was she could not recall the messenger's name—it had not occurred to the man to remind her of it—and would not even be sure if she could recognize him again."

  "But James!" said the Prince, impatiently. "My father has been doing no such thing!"

  Jim turned from the light of the arrow slit and looked him solemnly in the eyes.

  "But, Your Grace, were you not aware that I myself, Brian and Dafydd ap Hywel, are all enemies of the King—according to the Earl? Indeed, he's already managed once to have articles of treason drawn against us—though they've since been withdrawn—possibly due to the good efforts of Sir John Chandos… and there are others who were at that time accused."

  For a long second the Prince stared. Then the stare gave way to a look of fierce exultation.

  "Like myself, by all the saints—you would say! Though my father would never permit Cumberland, no matter how powerful, to accuse me of any such thing! He would have him in the Tower of London, first—in no such pleasant place as his usual quarters there! But how does this—aha! I see. There is no real love between him and this ambitious half-brother of his. I tell you that frankly, James. But Cumberland is the most useful of all the great lords to him, and at his age, he would avoid trouble if possible. He wishes merely to live his life comfortably and sign papers."

  "You will, of course, Your Grace," said Jim, tactfully, "know your father better than any man living."

  "And I do. I do!" The Prince clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder. "I knew that Magickian's mind of yours would come up with an answer to this coil! I must tell the Countess, and, all being well, will see my father yet this afternoon, or perhaps early evening."

  "And perhaps you'll let me know by tomorrow morning if you've seen him?"

  "I will. My word on it. Now, I shall release you to return to your lady. By the way, what possessed you to have a bitch and her whelps in your room?"

  "It's something of a long story, Yo
ur Grace."

  "Ah. Well, then, I have no time for it now. Later, perhaps. Give you good day, James."

  He turned, and could be heard a moment later clattering down the stairs.

  Jim went back to Angie.

  "Well?" said Angie, as he came in.

  "Nothing to it," said Jim, throwing himself into a chair.

  "James Eckert—"

  "I'm just about to tell you," said Jim. "He warned me his father would throw all three—no, all six of us, including you wives—into the dungeons here for such presumption, if we talked to him as you suggested. He'd take it as a personal insult. I sighed and said our honor and promises gave us no choice but to do it… and then, when he was fully worked up, I gave him a possible way out."

  "Go on," said Angie. "Don't just sit there smirking."

  "I never smirk!" said Jim, stung.

  Angie said nothing. One argument at a time.

  "What I suggested to him was that he go to the King and beg him to pay no attention to the latest rumor from London. Now, you could at last ask me what that rumor was."

  "What was the rumor?"

  "Something one of those almost-daily crown messengers bringing business matters from the court—papers to be signed, and so forth—stopped to tell Joan: the latest rumor at court was that the King, far off here at Tiverton, was entertaining enemies of the Earl of Cumberland."

  "The King's not afraid of Cumberland, surely? He can do what he royally well wants?"

  "Oh, of course. He could have his head chopped off. Cumberland, like Oxford, can count on a considerable armed strength, but the King has all England to back him up in whatever he wants to do. But the King isn't young any longer, and Cumberland takes a lot of the dull work of running England off his hands—so the King would rather not have any fuss—so it'll be just easier to avoid trouble if we leave—but I haven't told you the best of it yet. Young Edward asked me 'what enemies?' and I reminded him that Brian, Dafydd, and I were all known enemies of Cumberland. He caught on immediately, and even admitted he was, too."

  "You were smart."

  "Thank you," said Jim smugly. "So I don't think we'll have much disagreement on his part when the three of us request an audience with his father tomorrow morning and beg his permission to get back to Malencontri."

  He got up from his chair.

  "I think that calls for a drink," he said, going to the table where the wine pitcher and clean mazers sat.

  "For once I agree with you," said Angie, joining him. "Just a sort of half-glass now, not a gallon, in my mazer, Jim—"

  "M'lord! M'lady!" piped a familiar voice behind them. "We're back!"

  They turned to see not only Hob, sword at his side, but also the Tiverton hobgoblin, with a somewhat rusty old dagger in its ancient, cracked leather sheath, which Jim recognized as being off one of the walls of the Great Hall at Malencontri, roped around his waist. His face looked about as fierce as a hob's could.

  "He wanted to come back with me," said Hob—their own hob. "I said he shouldn't, but he wanted to, and he was perfectly all right since you mended him, so we both rode the smoke back here to be ready in case you needed us."

  "I want to pay them back!" said the Tiverton hob. "I'll cut out their liver and lights!"

  "Liver and lights?" said Jim, intrigued. "Do goblins have liver and lights?"

  The Tiverton hob looked at Hob.

  "Don't they?" he asked. "I just guessed—"

  "I don't know. We do—" Hob appealed to Jim. "Don't we?"

  "I don't know if you don't," said Jim. "I'm a little doubtful about the lights."

  The two hobs looked at each other.

  "It doesn't matter," said the Tiverton hob, with a startlingly real grimness in his voice. "I'll cut out whatever they have wherever their liver and lights should be if they haven't any!"

  "Well, that ends the liver and lights question," Jim said, "and in any case there's no chance of our encountering any goblins until we're on our way home, tomorrow."

  The two hobs stared at him with such shocked expressions that Jim stared back.

  "What's the matter?" he asked. "Is there some reason you can't wait for tomorrow to find some goblins?"

  "But, my lord!" burst out Hob. "They're all around you! They're all goblins here at Tiverton, except the little old lady they keep to light the fires they fear to light themselves. The only humans are you, m'lady, and those the King brought with him—and m'lord Verweather!"

  "All goblins?" said Angie.

  "Yes!" said Jim. "What do you mean 'all goblins'? What about the men-at-arms and the servants, and the whole castle staff!"

  "But every one of those are goblins, m'lord! I told you they could change shape—remember when I explained they'd made themselves small to ride on the back of rats, when they attacked you and the Holy Person Bishop on his way back to where he'd come from? And you saw how some of them tried to make themselves over to look like human men in armor, though they didn't do it very well."

  "I remember now," said Jim. "They didn't even look like the real thing—and their armor wasn't armor at all."

  "They're shape-changers, m'lord. It's just one of their little magics we hobs can't do anymore. But we can enter buildings, even if they've got holy marks painted on them—and they can't do that—but we hobs can also pass through fire and order the smoke—none of which they can do."

  "In fact," said Tiverton hob, "they're main terrified of fire. That's why I thought I could stay safe here in my castle until real humans came back, as long as I stayed behind a fire. But they doused the flames with water and got me anyway."

  "And you saw what they did to him, m'lord," put in Hob. "And that's why I was able to find him here, up in the roof rafters of bat country."

  "I crawled away, when they left me after one session—that's what they called them, m'lord," added Tiverton hob, "and hid. Not that that would do me any good if Hob here hadn't come along in time. They'd have found me again, finally. They had my castle to themselves before the King and the few humans with him came! It'd been cleaned out of all souls a month before by order of him who gives the orders to Verweather. So they hurt me and hurt me!"

  "Poor Tiv," said Hob, putting an arm around the other hob's shoulders.

  Tiverton hob shrugged it off.

  "Not no longer! I got a human weapon now, and the next goblin that gets close to me'll feel the point and edge of it in his liver and lights! See how much fun they get from that! In fact, m'lord, that's what I'm going to ask them—'How much fun was that? Want me to do it again?' Just like they kept asking me!"

  "Come to Malencontri," said Angie. "Nobody will ever do that to you again."

  Both hobs looked shocked—but not in the astonished manner they had done before.

  "Oh, m'lady, I couldn't do that," said Tiverton hob. "It's only one hob to one people's place. That's our own made law—"

  "That's right," said Hob.

  "Besides," went on Tiverton hob, "I've got to stay here and take care of my castle."

  "That's right, too, m'lady," said Hob. "A hob can never leave his home unprotected."

  "Who's this person who gives orders about goblins to Sir Verweather?" said Jim. "You can't mean King Edward, himself?"

  "It's a lady, m'lord—I think. But there's a man comes sometimes," said Tiverton hob. "She makes him come by magic, then sends him away again, the same way. But he gives the lady's orders to the goblins."

  "Was he a lord?" asked Jim, knowing his own hob used the term for any human of the gentry class.

  "He sounded like one," said Tiverton hob cautiously.

  "You actually saw and heard him—and the lady, too, here in Tiverton Castle?"

  "I did that, m'lord, twice."

  "And they both came here and went away by magic?"

  "Yes, m'lord."

  "How do you know she did it with magic?"

  "There were six goblins sitting on the floor in a room that had only two chairs in it—but all the goblins sat together on the fl
oor, cross-legged, shoulder to shoulder in a curve. Then suddenly the lady and the lord, if that's what he was, m'lord—a real lord, I mean—were there in the chairs, and later, they were both just gone. He sounded real mean, even to the lady. Besides I could smell the magic when they came and went. I was watching from the fireplace—that was before they caught me."

  "You can smell magic?"

  "Of course," said both hobs at once.

  "Everybody can but humans," added Hob. "It smells like burned food—burned bread, maybe, m'lord. I think it would have been the loud man and the Agatha who's always with him."

  The "loud man" or "noisy man" was what Hob had always called the Earl of Cumberland, ever since he had first seen and heard him.

  "Could Agatha not only get goblins to work for her, but be able to move herself around like that?" said Angie. "And someone else, too? I thought she barely started to learn Witchery before she gave it up."

  "A little more than 'barely,' I think," said Jim. "But you're right. Transporting oneself and another is pretty advanced magic for Magickians—and come to think of it, she once transported herself and a couple of men, I'd guess from the Royal court in London to Lyonesse, to try to lure us into a trap. Which is something I still can't do without help from Carolinus or Kinetete. But I'll bet I know a lot of other magic she never even dreamed of."

  "Besides," said Angie thoughtfully, "Agatha's smart—not in Joan's class, of course, but smart enough. She could have kept trying on her own and learning."

  "You're probably right," said Jim. "That's just what she must have been doing. It's what every Magickian who amounts to anything does, and it makes him or her different from all others. Then, too, there was that time she spent as a child, being a sort of pet for the old troll of the Earl of Somerset's castle."

  "But trolls are just Naturals with some instinctive magic, that's all. One of them couldn't teach her anything."