by Dave Duncan
“How long is this going to take?”
“Ten minutes? Have you more important things to do than rescue your lover from the worst death imaginable?”
Of course not. “What’s in it for you?”
Sybilla had followed her and laughed joyfully. “Now you’re starting to talk sense! Always ask that question, even if just to yourself. The man you are about to meet is my brother, who has a problem. Wulf can help him. And he can help Wulf. These things are always quid pro quo. Heaven bless us, is that the best you’ve got? It looks like Justina’s wedding dress from eighty years ago.”
Impudent brat!
Madlenka dropped the offending garment and reached for another, simpler one. “It takes hours to pin me into that,” she agreed. “I’ll wear this one.” And she wouldn’t try to compete with all the other Sybillas at the ball. She was a backwoods nymph, and could never hope to score in that sort of contest.
Her companion looked doubtful. “You’ll look as if you just escaped from a nunnery kitchen. But you’re probably right. Businesslike, not frivolous. After all, you’re not going to be presented to the king. Now, let me see what shoes you’ve got here.…”
“Where is this ball? this bax201D; Madlenka asked in sudden alarm.
“In the Louvre Palace.”
“In Paris?”
“That’s where it was when I left it. To celebrate the Eve of St. Michael the Archangel.… Listen!” Sybilla abandoned the shoe basket. “I’ll go back there so people won’t start wondering where I’ve gone, and I’ll cut Louis out of the pack and arrange a rendezvous somewhere private. You do the best you can and I’ll come back for you in, what? Twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes,” Madlenka agreed, now talking to empty air.
* * *
She was adjusting her hat in the mirror and wondering if she had gone crazy or was having an especially wicked nightmare when Sybilla appeared behind her.
“Mm.… I suppose that will have to do. The Grand Promenade is due to start in half an hour and we must complete our negotiations before that. Ready?”
“No.” Madlenka spoke firmly. “Who is this brother and what is his problem and how can Wulf—”
“Gramercy! All right. Fair questions.” Sybilla sat on the bed, perching on the extreme edge to show that she was not planning to stay. “You know that yesterday the baron went to see Cardinal Zdenek? Well…”
“No. Otto did?”
“Yes, Otto did. Listen to me! He reported that Wulf had moved Anton to Gallant and Anton had established himself as count, but he pointed out that the Wends were known to have at least one Speaker on their side and probably others, so Wulf was going to need help. Zdenek agreed. He sent one of his hirelings to a secret place he knows of, to deliver a message. And late last night, or very early this morning, Lady Umbral and Justina went to Mauvnik to meet with him.”
Madlenka nodded. “That was the meeting that the priest mentioned?” So far it made sense, if one could adjust to a world of magic.
“Yes.” Sybilla babbled on, like a pebbly brook. “Lady Umbral agreed to let Justina help Wulf for a few days, but she and the Spider disagreed on the price. For months now Zdenek has been hawking Princess Laima around the aristocracy of Europe, wanting to see her betrothed while he can still control the terms and take his cut. Lady Umbral wanted her for my brother. My half-brother, not her son. He’s Louis of Rouen and he will impress you. Zdenek refused, saying that the contract had already been initialed. They settled on dividing Wulf one-third-two-thirds between them.”
“Oh, did they?”
Sybilla grinned, looking even younger than usual. “I’m sure neither intended to keep their word, and Mother soon learned that no contract had been signed yet, so Zdenek was lying and the game was still on. Understand?”
Madlenka understood some of it, but this was not her world and she was going to have to learn very fast. Baron Otto would be the one to consult. And Wulf himself, of course.
“How do you split a Speaker?”
“Never use that word! Why do you think we have all these codes? He’s your falcon. When he’s under contract, he’s a client’s hireling. Zdenek employs five hirelings and flies no falcons of his own, so far as I know. He wanted to be Wulf’s cadger and let Lady Umbral be his client for four months of the year. Now come along and meet Louis.”
* * *
The room was a bedchamber, bright with many candles, their light glittering on gilt and crystal and fine enamel. The only occupant was a youngish man sitting on a chair, the only chair. The window drapes were purple velvet; the carpet was thick and soft. A huge crystal mirror above the dressing shelf made the place seem less cramped than it really was. The door stood ajar, admitting sounds of distant music.
The man sprang up and bowed. Sybilla made introductions. Madlenka curtseyed; he kissed her fingers.
Yes, he impressed. For some reason she had expected an effete courtly fop, although she had never met such a creature, for there were none in the hills of Cardice. Louis was not that. He was not unlike Wulf, in fact, although a little older—broad, deep-chested, and muscular, as evidenced by the calves filling his hose. His face was more craggy than handsome, and certainly not soft or feminine, but he had a wonderful smile that flaunted a complete set of white teeth. He was clean-shaven of course, bronzed and of fair complexion, although not flaxen like Wulf. His eyes were gray, not golden, and his clothes had cost a coach and four.
Yes, so far he impressed.
He gestured at the other chair. “Do please sit here, ma’am.” His Latin was much better than hers, and her French was too despicable to try. “Sister, you will have to settle for the bed, I fear.”
He dropped on one knee and leaned his forearms on the other. It was the attitude of a humble petitioner, and made him seem eager and attentive. Sybilla closed the door and sat as directed.
“Ma’am, will you pardon my atrocious manners if I come straight to the point? My sister and I must soon return to the ball and the longer we talk, the more people are likely to start spying on us.”
“Please do, m’sieur.”
He nodded graciously. He did have a wonderful smile, and knew how to usnew how e it.
“I am a suitor for the hand of your beautiful princess. Yes, I have seen her, although we live at opposite ends of Christendom, but I would not admit that if I had not been assured that you are one of the Wise.” He shot a twinkling glance at his Speaker sister. “Laima has beauty to make fire flow in the veins of any man. Her wit and grace are well known. I concede that I am far from her only suitor, and very far from the greatest.”
Madlenka must say something. “But not the least favored, I am certain.”
“You flatter, ma’am. Here in France I am the youngest son of a marquis, which is better than being a schoolmaster, but in Jorgary, I would be a prince. My offer to your sovereign, King Konrad, included a pledge that I would reside in your country and learn to speak your vernacular tongue, whereas most other suitors would expect the lovely Laima to go and live with them in their homelands. I am sure that difference would matter to her, but I doubt if her opinions are of importance, alas, or even known. I am not rich; my estates bring in a few thousand livres a month, but that is penury by royal standards. I cannot increase my original offer to your esteemed Cardinal Zdenek, which was one-half of whatever dowry the princess brings to the marriage.”
One-half…? Madlenka must have let her outrage show, because he shrugged. Graciously, of course.
“Alas, it is to be expected. That is how ‘arrangements’ are made, and others will have offered him more. Because of my own circumstances, more than one-half would be unfair to my bride, exposing our poverty to the shame of all.”
Then Louis paused to let her comment. Her mind spun frantically. She was not accustomed to managing the most valuable livestock in Christendom, or whatever Sybilla had called Wulf. But, of course, there was something very obviously missing.
“You want me to contract
my, um, falcon’s services to Cardinal Zdenek, so he will agree to accept you as Princess Laima’s husband?” She took his nod as acceptance. She thought he was hiding his amusement at her fumbling attempts at negotiation. “And what are you offering me, as his cadger?”
That smile again.…
“I have an uncle who stands very high in the Church. He will do all he can to further my suit. He could provide your falcon with a papal absolution for any past misdeeds. Sybilla has established that your handfasting to Anton was highly irregular and not properly explained to you in advance. You were subjected to unseemly pressure. A papal order to your bishop to annul it would be included.”
Stars danced and birds sang. Then clouds of doubt swept in. “According to a reliable source, His Holiness has already prejudged the case and found my, um, falcon, guilty of Satanism.” Madlenka looked to Sybilla for confirmation, since she was the source in question.
Sybilla nodded impatiently.
Louis said, “I expect that His Holiness was merely establishing a bargaining position.”
“Oh, was he? Is your uncle higher than the pope?”
Brother and sister exchanged glances of amusement.
Louis said, “Not quite, although he came close to being elected pope by the conclave of 1458. He is bishop of several places, including Rouen and Ostia, and he is dean of the College of Cardinals. If my uncle asks for the documents I have mentioned, the Holy Father will sign them as a personal favor to him.”
A churchman’s “nephews” were often his illegitimate sons, but did this apply even to the dean of the College of Cardinals? Madlenka had certainly soared to new heights. Vertigo was a clear and present danger. She nodded while thoughts whirled in her head like snowflakes.
Cardice was not all mountain, and its lower slopes nurtured herds of wild horses, which local ranchers would round up and sell to traders traveling the Silver Road. Madlenka Bukovany had spent a significant part of her childhood watching horse trading.
“So you offer me my falcon’s life and liberty. You offer Cardinal Zdenek the same bribe he has already rejected, but presume that this time he agrees and gives you the hand of the princess. You must raise your bid, m’sieur.”
Louis smiled with all those wonderful teeth again and glanced at Sybilla, who was starting to fidget.
“I told you,” she said, speaking as fast as a drumroll, “the Scarlet Spider has five hirelings. That is a remarkable collection when even the king of France has only six. Zdenek has two of them guarding him, one watching over the crown prince, and two keeping old Konrad alive. Those two are exhausted, working day and night. He is sorely in need of more, especially to tend the king, for if one of the attendants nods off, the patient will die. If he spares one of his own bodyguards, he may be kidnapped or tweaked. He saw Wulfgang as a gift from the gods even before he did anything. Now that he has slaughtered the Wends single-handed, he is beyond price.”
“So how long would my falcon be required to serve him?”
Louis had the grace to look shamefaced. If he wasn’t genuine, his duplicity was impressive. “That is up to you to negotiate, ma’am. You are his cadger. Zdenek is a very old man and may not last long. He cannot ask for more than a lifetime contract, or until he is dismissed as first minister.”
“Which will be no more than fifteen minutes after the old king dies,” Sybilla said tartly. “Young Konrad detests him.”
Louis spread a hand, palm up. “In return, I am offering to save your falcon from the Inquisition, to snatch him out of the torture chamber and the pyre. His only alternative now would be to swear fideli swear fty to the pope, a transfer of allegiance that would require your compliance. The pope may not even want him, as he has many falcons already and sees Wulfgang as a priest killer. Surely two or three years’ service to a high state officer is a better price to pay than being burned? And you might die with him.”
So Madlenka was now expected to go and bargain with the Scarlet Spider? If that prospect was more attractive than being burned at the stake, the difference was slight. As Zdenek had a reputation for working far into the night, she had no excuse to put off the ordeal until morning.
Sybilla stood up. “The music has stopped. The Promenade will be lining up. You go, Louis. And you, ma’am? You want me to send you back to Cardice?”
Madlenka rose also. “Yes, please. No, wait.… If I have to negotiate with the cardinal…” How could she travel to Mauvnik and back? Justina? No, she would sell out to Lady Umbral. “I need my falcon.”
“You can’t have him. At the moment I doubt if you could wake him with a clap of thunder in both ears.”
“Then you will have to move me to the cardinal’s presence.”
“I will do no such thing!” Sybilla said. “His current hireling watchdog would flatten us. Besides, I have never been in his office or met him, so I can’t go there.” She grinned. “But one rainy afternoon, Justina took me around a dozen of the best palaces of Christendom, so if I can just remember which is which, I—”
“Don’t be cruel, Sybilla!” Louis said from the door. “Do as she asks.”
Sybilla pouted. “I’ve seen the door to Zdenek’s antechamber. I’ll put you there and you can ask for an audience.”
“And, please … In case he does not send me home again, will you look in on me later and see how I am doing?”
CHAPTER 31
When he was eight years old, Herkus had lied about his age and won a job as a stableboy for the bishop. At fourteen he had been doubling as waiter and bouncer in a tavern. One night he broke up a four-way fight single-handed—wielding, it must be admitted, a stout ax handle—and thus caught the eye of Sir Karolis Kavarskas, who was then the constable. Kavarskas promptly enrolled him in the palace guard.
Since there was already one Herkus in the guard, the two were at first distinguished as Young Herkus and Old Herkus. But Old Herkus was the smallest man in the company, while Young Herkus was already one of the largest and still growing almost visibly, so they rapidly became Big Herkus and Little Herkus, respectively. Any man who mixed them up had to buy the drinks.
Now Little Herkus was twenty-two and had been enjoying life heartily until the previous day. He had a wife, a child, and another on the way, plus a very cuddlesome mistress, a woman of boundless bounce and enthusiasm. The war had provided even more excitement, with Herkus managing to kill a Pelrelmian brute during the south gate skirmish this afternoon. Sir Vladislav had congratulated him personally. Herkus really ought to be in there celebrating that victory tonight. Everyone else was celebrating. But Herkus was on sentry duty at the upper door.
The upper door, on the third floor of the keep, was connected by a drawbridge to the walkway atop the city wall. In peacetime the bridge stayed down and the door was locked at night, guarded by day. After the new count put the castle on war footing, the drawbridge had been raised every night. No need to do that tonight, Master Sergeant Jachym had declared, but the gate should be guarded, and man-at-arms Little Herkus was just the two men to do it. All alone, and apparently all night. Jachym promised he would come around, personally and very often, to make sure he was still there. If he wasn’t, then it would be fifty lashes and a dishonorable discharge. Or possibly the new count would hang him, like he’d hanged Kavarskas.
By midnight, Jachym was still coming around, still sober, and the penalty had gone up to a hundred lashes and discharge. Unfortunately, yesterday Jachym had somehow learned the identity of his wife’s lover. Herkus, he said, was going to stay there until his rammer froze and fell off.
That began to seem quite likely. Herkus was frozen through to the core. Snow came and went, but the wind never stopped, and the porch where he had to stand was steadily drifting in. He had no gloves, and his boots were thin. Meanwhile, the town roared: bells, trumpets, drunken singing. There was a huge party going on inside the keep itself, tantalizingly audible to Herkus even through the six-inch oaken door. Every now and again men would come out to relieve themselves ove
r the edge of the bridge in the hope of scoring on someone walking on the road below, but no one was out in the streets tonight. They all laughed at the snowman sentry.
Fortunately, a couple of the other men-at-arms took pity on him when he showed them how his fingers had turned white, threatening frostbite. They went and brought out a brazier, so at least he could warm his hands. Jachym was sure to remove it on his next visit, so Herkus leaned his pike against the wall and held both hands close above the coals. He could barely feel the heat.
Thus he had his back to the drawbridge and was bent over when a steel-clad arm across his face dragged his head up. The knife at his throat was cold as ice and burned like fire. He had barely time to realize what was happening, or why the brazier was suddenly spluttering and steaming, before sentry and brazier toppled over together, into the scarlet snow.
CHAPTER 32
Madlenka found herself in a dark corridor, just outside an open door. The hall beyond it was dim, but three lamps did burn at the far end, and there were people there. Assuming that they marked her destination, she squared her shoulders and began to walk, her feet making little tapping sounds on the floor. Reflections shone off big chandeliers overhead, off crystal mirrors and gold-framed pictures on the walls, and even in the polished marble underfoot. She went by a group of a dozen or so silk-upholstered couches, occupied by a total of five people. The way they were spaced suggested that no two of them were together. The four men stared curiously at her as she passed; but the fifth, a dowdily dressed woman, appeared to be asleep. Or perhaps she had died of old age while waiting to be admitted to the inner sanctum, the center of the Spider’s web.
The small and unobtrusive door at that end of the big room was guarded by an elderly tonsured man at a large desk, reading a document. A simple wooden bench nearby held three boys writing on slates. All four looked up as she arrived. The man was a Franciscan friar, which was no surprise, for almost all clerks were clerics. His face bore no expression whatsoever, but his desk was littered with books, folders, and papers in heaps and bundles. She wondered if he was a Speaker.
