by Dave Duncan
Savage said, “Oh... turtle turds! Like that, is it?”
“It is, and I’d be grateful if you’d help spread the word on who’s doing the shitting, so I don’t get burned at the stake.”
That remark wasn’t lese-majesty either.
The evening meeting with Bowman went better than Niall had feared. Perhaps by then Leader had realized that a Deputy did not appoint himself, and to have refused the honour would have been, um, risky—even lese-majesty? He offered wine and Niall was happy to accept. A feud with his immediate superior was a disaster to be shunned.
Greymere was an old palace, much of it very cramped. Leader was unmarried, so he lived in one small room, which was, as one might have guessed, shabby and untidy. So was he. His sandy hair was growing thin, but he needed a haircut. Fenton had been married. His widow had not left yet, but Niall would then inherit a much superior two-room suite.
“How many runs do you want me to impose on Lindsay?” Bowman asked, scowling.
“None would be plenty, since he just happened to catch the first thunderbolt. Let’s try warnings for a couple of days?”
The Commander nodded. “Pirate’s Wife wants discipline tightened?”
“She did not use those words, but that was what she meant.”
“I’ll share the load, so you don’t get lynched.”
“Thank you.”
“On day twelve, the day after tomorrow,” Bowman said, “we host the first assembly of the Order in about ten years. Coronation on day fifteen. And you’re going to need sleep until you get bound? Good luck on that. There’s been a slight change for the assembly. You are to be present when she makes her speech. You are the best thing that’s happened since she took the throne.”
Niall groaned. “If she is to talk about me, will you ask her to stress that I was not sent north just to assassinate Panoleo?”
“Ask her yourself.” Bowman drained his glass. “Your rank gives you right of access. Spirits, I wish I was out of here! Five years on that accursed wasteland learning to be a swordsman, then ten more standing in a palace watching all the highbrows swanking around, never fighting anything more than boredom. That’s half my life gone already! Durendal was going to get me dubbed and make me sheriff of Appleshire, but by then Fat Man was too sick to do anything.”
Niall was surprised. He’d always been told that Blades resisted being released from their binding, but of course Bowman had been bound by Ambrose. He’d been one of those who had gone berserk on the night Ambrose died at Falconsrest. His loyalty to Malinda might be much weaker.
“About the coronation.... I’m to be one of the dancers? When do I get to rehearse?”
“The day before. Here....” Bowman passed him the wine bottle. “You’re not limited to one glass yet. Get drunk. It’s something I look forward to and plan to do on the day I’m dubbed, and you’re made Leader.”
“No! Don’t tell me I have that to look forward to!”
“It won’t be long,” the commander said ominously. “She can’t wait to get rid of me.”
Chapter 36
The Prince wants you
sir leopard
Two mornings later, Niall was seated at the rear desk in the Blades Office, struggling to clean up the administrative chaos left by the late Sir Fenton. It had been quite clear from the start that the hand in the pay bucket, as the Pirate’s Wife had called it, had been Fenton’s own, so his stumblebum horse had done the world a favour. Therefore, that was cleared up, and Niall had sent the Queen a report on it. But the existing guard roster was a predatory dung heap that ate the brain of anyone who tried to understand it. Some Blades had been granted no gym time for weeks, and others no duties.
Even Fenton’s handwriting had been atrocious. Malinda had appointed him Deputy when she had promoted Bowman to Leader, so she should not be blaming Ambrose. Now it was up to Niall himself to prove that her judgment was improving. Or wasn’t.
It was fairly obvious now that the Royal Guard was now split into two sections, the Queen’s Men, and the Old Boys, those who had been bound by Ambrose. The youngsters liked having one of one of their own as Deputy, and many of the elders seemed to approve of the move back to tighter discipline. Malinda might be a better judge of men than Niall had once believed.
This was the day of the Blades’ assembly, and the front desk, which normally bore a notice, complaints, was that morning hidden under an enormous open ledger. Behind it sat Sir Savage, who greeted each new arrival with a quill pen and a joyful vista of his flotsam teeth. By the end of the day, there should be over a thousand new signatures in that book. Grand Master was in town, and had been the first to write his name under the date.
Bowman and Niall had followed in that order, and the next line had been reserved for Durendal.
So much excitement made serious work almost impossible. Former friends from Ironhall who had been bound as private Blades, all wanted to shake Niall’s hand and ask where he had been for so long. So did just about everyone else. A courier had been received by Chancellor Osprey at a late hour last night and the Blades’ superb gossip mill whispered that he had come from Thencaster and had reported Wyldish trouble.
Suddenly an especial rumble of male enthusiasm announced the arrival of Lord Roland amid a froth of admirers. Niall and Savage both stood up. Niall went forward to greet him, and was intercepted by Fizz, who threw her arms around him in a wild embrace.
Spectators cheered.
Obviously, work would have to wait. Niall locked the toxic roster in a drawer, and eventually managed to extract Fizz and himself from the mob that was steadily flooding the palace.
“Let me show you our new home,” he said. “It still needs tidying up, maybe some paint. It was only vacated yesterday, and neighbours took a lot of the furniture. How was your stay with the Rolands?”
So far Fizz had not commented on his silver ribbon, but she would learn what it meant soon enough. They climbed the great staircase hand in hand, ignoring smiles and grins from the steady stream of people descending.
“Tragic! Lady Kate—she’s dying, you know.”
He hadn’t. “I could see she was unwell. Can’t the healers do something?”
“No. She’s a sensitive, and a lot of us cannot tolerate enchantment of any kind. Oh, Niall darling, I’m so glad you’re not one of these horrible bound Blades!”
A shadow floated over his world. “What do you mean, love?”
“They’re all corpses! I mean, I know they’re not really dead, but they’ve all had a sword stuck in their hearts, so it’s only enchantment keeping them walking around, and they look like corpses to me. Kate senses Blades differently. That’s how she was able to marry Durendal.”
They had reached the door to what had been Fenton’s quarters, but he did not open it. He had a hunch that he never would.
“I am going to be bound the next time the Pir... Queen goes to Ironhall.”
Fizz tried to look shocked, but did not do it well enough to deceive him. “No! You mustn’t! I couldn’t possibly tolerate having a corpse in bed with me every night.”
“I am to be bound. And everyone knows we’re married. The Queen wants to receive you.”
“Well, we can stay married if you want, but I’m going to Oakendown, where the White Sisters are trained. Lady Kate says I’m the most talented natural sensitive she’s ever met. You yourself told Daddy I should go there.”
It is never easy for a man to accept that he has been used, but really blatant cases cannot be denied.
“You planned this! This was what you wanted all along.”
She shrugged, but there was a sly smile hiding under her eyelashes. “Well after you raped me in the caves, I had to say something, didn’t I?”
“The raper is usually the one on top. What about that certificate you had Lord Hedgebury sign to say our marriage was legal?”
>
“I burned it.”
“And your relationship to Panoleo?”
She laughed.
He felt rage blaze up inside him. Fizz squealed in alarm and backed away. He followed until she hit the wall. Then he closed in and glared down at her.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “You’ve gone all monster again. Stop it!”
“My Death dominant showing, is it? Well, there are other ways out of a marriage. Murder is a capital offence, so let’s discuss Tom Twelvish, shall we?”
She flinched. “Again? What about him? What are you hinting now?”
“I am not hinting. I am accusing. Tom Twelvish was a little man, you said so yourself. And Traskar the Wyld stable hand was big. You told me that Twelvish and his buddies went wenching that night. Then he must have gone home to the Owl Room and died. Traskar had been told to kill him so that Panoleo’s men could reopen the entry to the caves. That might take them days or weeks, so they needed Twelvish out of the way.”
“What has this to do with me?” she whimpered.
She tried to slide away, and he gripped her shoulders.
“Why, after returning from the brothel, would a little man, a secretary, open his door late at night to a very large stable hand? He would ask who was knocking, but Traskar could not possibly have given him any sane reason why that door should be opened.”
“I expect he never locked it!” Fizz said shrilly.
“More likely someone had let Traskar in earlier to wait for Twelvish’s return. Yes, that would explain the missing lantern. It was winter, so Traskar needed it when he left, late at night. He’d killed Twelvish and either just hidden the body in the closet or knocked on the back wall to let Panoleo’s men know that it was safe to open it. And who had all the keys? Fizz Fitzambrose did.”
“So did Daddy!”
“Why would he kill Twelvish? Too many blots? No, you were betraying your father by helping Panoleo, and then you betrayed Panoleo. You asked Diolth how many guards the Ciarán had. I know you did because I asked him on our ride from Prail to Ironhall. You knew I carried an invisible sword. You had watched me fight Garbeald and his friend, and if I could handle two so easily, you assumed I could handle three. Did it give you a real thrill to watch the slaughter?”
“You’re making all this up.”
“Am I? The inquisitors here can detect lies, so we’ll go and find one in a minute. I knew Traskar, and he spoke very good Chivian. He had an accent, yes, but I had no trouble understanding him. So when your father strung him up and flogged him almost to death, why did he make you watch? He didn’t need you to translate. I often wondered which side you were on, Fizz my darling. Now I understand that you were playing on both teams, just for fun. And I think your father knew that or suspected that. Was Traskar your lover?”
She was shaking. “Yes! He was big and strong and white all over and he had a cute smell of horse. He wasn’t the only one. Did you think I gave you my maidenhead that night in the caves, you great clumsy killer brute?”
Niall forced Death elementals down and Earth ones up. He sighed and released Fizz. “Never. I wasn’t that innocent. I did love you, though.”
“Really? I was just pretending.” She knew now that he wasn’t going to wring her neck, although she might not appreciate that the urge still smoldered.
“All right, we’ll call it off. I’ll show you where the Sisters’ office is, and you can talk with the Mother Superior.”
However sensitive Fizz might be, she was an unpredictable airhead, an Air-Chance person. The White Sisters would want nothing to do with anyone so unreliable. Niall would let her discover this brutal truth for herself, and if she came back to him weeping— He would decide about that when it happened.
He left her at the Sisters’ door and went off to see if he could speak to the Queen for a moment. He wondered how many people could ask for that and get it—which he did, keeping an archduke waiting.
Now he needed a junior with brains and good horse control. He walked into the Blades’ mess, which that morning was packed with former Blades lapping up nostalgia. After a moment he spotted Blaise, who had been about seven behind him at Ironhall, and now was eating at a table with five other Guardsmen. He would do very well.
Niall zigzagged through the crowd and loomed over them. “Sir Blaise!”
They looked up. Blaise grinned brightly, “Niall! Good to see you. We all wondered where you’d gone. Er.... what’s wrong?”
“You still sitting on your fat ass is what’s wrong.”
Blaise stood up, his face scarlet with anger.
“Hands at your sides, shoulders back, chin in. Good. Fortunately for you, Leader and I decided that today is still for warnings. Tomorrow the thunderbolts begin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand whom?”
“I don’t understand, Deputy.”
“Right. Because the Queen wonders why her Yeomen look smart and her Blades shoddy. You’ve got egg on your doublet. If I see that there tomorrow, spirits have mercy on you. Report to me in the office as soon as you finish your meal here. The operative word is ‘soon’.”
Niall walked off, disgusted to realize that he almost enjoyed the bullying. His Death dominant did, anyway. The Earth elementals were mourning all the friends he was alienating.
Savage had been relieved by Crystal, but there was still a lineup at the front desk, waiting to sign. Niall hadn’t been back at his desk five minutes before Blaise stamped to a halt before it, and said, “You summoned me, Deputy?” to the wall behind him.
“That’s better.” Niall handed him an envelope. “Can you find this address?”
Blaise thought for a moment. “Yes. I know the street. Number 69 must be about opposite the Wintergreen Elementary?”
“Correct. Well done. Take a horse that won’t spook in the crowds. Deliver that envelope to the Widow Scribner, no one else. She may have remarried. If so, track her down. If she asks about me, you can tell her that I’m back in Grandon and will call on her the day after the coronation. Please don’t mention this ribbon. I’d like to surprise her with that.”
Blaise’s eyes widened. “Your mother, Deputy?”
“Yes. And don’t lose that envelope. I hear tickets are going for five hundred crowns in the street.”
“Yes, Deputy.” Blaise’s eyes added, So you are human?
Niall had planned to give the ticket to Fizz, but his mother would enjoy the show more than Fizz could ever enjoy anything other than degrading and humiliating men.
He had already known that Malinda was a good speaker, but her address to the Blade Assembly that afternoon was a masterpiece. Ranulf Hall was packed close to suffocation. More than twelve hundred cat’s eye swords were present, some worn by palsied ancients, and others by deadly, whipcord athletes. She spoke without notes, and her words were audible in the farthest, highest gallery.
All former Leaders were seated on the stage—Snake, Durendal, Bandit, Dragon, Bowman. Grand Master was there also, but all his predecessors that century had died in office and were thus ineligible to attend.
Most of what the Queen said was predictable: the Loyal and Ancient Order represented four hundred years of service, was the envy of every monarch in Eurania, and ultimately a source of proved, trustworthy public servants to provide Chivial with fair and honest government at every level. Niall had presumed to warn her of one thing she must say about him, and another she must not. He waited in knots to hear whether she had accepted his advice.
“Many of you will already have heard of an uprising in Wylderland. Two weeks ago, our lord of the march, the Marquis of Thencaster, was treacherously ambushed. More than two hundred of his men were slaughtered, and he was grievously wounded.”
She paused while the muttering faded and the deaf were enlightened by neighbours.
“The thr
eat to Thencaster Castle seemed extreme. We are happy to relate that our council has already arranged for a relief force to be dispatched there by sea.”
Pause for applause.
“Only a few hours ago, we received the welcome news that Marquis Neville has recovered from his injury, thanks to some extreme conjuration. Furthermore, the rebels have made no effort to extend their uprising! We are advised that the tribes, lacking a Ciarán, have almost certainly gone back to fighting among themselves.
“You may wonder why we mention all this to the Assembly of Blades, for you are not warriors. The reason is that one of you happened to be in the Thencaster area on completely unrelated business.”
Done! Niall had warned her that she should avoid being accused of sending an assassin to kill the Ciarán. Her husband, Radgar, had charged her father with murdering his father, and the result had been a long and bloody war.
“The uprising was not his concern, except that he is loyal to his Queen and is also a brilliant and deadly swordsman, one of the finest Ironhall has ever produced, we believe. He therefore took it upon himself to penetrate the rebel’s stronghold and single-handedly fight his way past their leader’s guards against all odds and make him pay for all the men slain in that cowardly and treasonous ambush! He thereupon escaped and made his way back here to report. All by himself, he stopped a revolution.”
Done again! She had not mentioned his fictitious marriage to Fizz. When the Order learned that the great hero had been gulled by a woman, loud applause would turn to deafening laughter. Of course, the Blades would thoroughly approve of his success in bedding a marquis’s daughter. That was quite different.
When the hubbub died enough that Malinda could be heard again, she named him and called him out to be cheered in person. And then she did something he had not expected, although the possibility had occurred to him: she pinned a White Star on him. That brought the whole noisy mob to its feet again.
