The two men turned to face him, drawing themselves up and sheathing their weapons. They bowed, then turned and marched out. The guardsmen opened the door before them and shut it after. L’Augustine and Benicci stepped forward to confer with one another as the courtiers turned to take their seats again with a buzz of avid conversation, everyone comparing notes on the incident. Even the young countess, the cause of the fracas, sat down and joined in the talk with a merry glint in her eye.1 “They shall duel at sunrise tomorrow, I doubt not,” the chancellor said, just as hungrily as any of the others. “I do not doubt it,” the king said, “and the outcome is forgone, unless Pestilline has some noteworthy surprise in store, for Corvo is the best swordsman among the young bloods, and has slain two in duels already.”
“And wounded four more. But he has not contended against your Majesty, and I believe you are more skilled with the blade than any of them.”
“That may be true,” Boncorro said frankly, “but I shall have no chance to put it to the test-for kings do not duel with swords.”
“Noblemen do not challenge kings,” Rebozo returned. “Is this not reason enough for you to do as you please?”1 “No, Rebozo, for though noblemen may not challenge kings, they may rise up against them,” Boncorro said.| “Surely no lord would dare!”
“No one lord, perhaps,” the king agreed, “but they might very well band together in twos or threes or tens, if all felt they had grievances against me that could not be answered in open court-grievances such as the seduction of a wife or daughter, or even of a sister or true love. Then would I have a civil war on my hands and watch my plans come to naught as battles ravaged the countryside and destroyed the prosperity that I labor so hard to achieve. That is why I must not seek the favors of this luscious young countess, or of any other woman of station.”
“Surely a knight’s leman would be fair game for you, Majesty, for no knight could stand against the might of a king!”
“No, but his lord might… What?”
A servant had come up behind his chair and murmured in his ear. The king nodded, satisfied, and the man bowed and went away. “When and where?” asked the chancellor. “Tomorrow at dawn,” said Boncorro, “in the Summer Park, by the Royal Pavilion.”
“More entertainment for your court,” Rebozo mused. “How considerate of these two young men!”
“Yes, and if I have learned of their duel, it will not be long before word has spread to every man in this room, and not much longer before it has been heard by every woman. There are trees and hedges in plenty about the pavilion, and I doubt not each one will be hiding its dozen of secret witnesses tomorrow morning.”
“Every man of your court,” the chancellor agreed. “Well, two out of three, at least-the third will be still dead I drunk, or too lazy to rise. There will be quite a few of the ladies, too, I doubt not-the Contessa of Corvo first among them, though she will pretend she is incognito in her cloak and mask. Entertainment indeed, Rebozo-and those who do not watch in person will listen avidly to the reports. It will keep my court busy for another tedious day, and preserve them from mischief for three more as they review the details of the duel and the merits of the argument.”
“Sound policy, your Majesty,” Rebozo agreed. “It is,” the king mused, “so long as I do not become embroiled in such disputes myself. No, Rebozo-I must forbear the tour, and content myself with the view.”
“Yes, I see.” Rebozo shook his head sadly. “If a dalliance with a highborn lady did not lead to a battle with her father, it would be sure to bring a confrontation with her husband-or even with an alliance of noblemen who considered their honor impugned. Yes, Majesty, you are wise, though it must cost you dearly.”
Boncorro nodded. “No matter the number of aristocratic beauties who parade their charms before me, wearing their décolletages aslowasconventionandnaturalphilosophy permit-I must not touch them.”
“Poor lad,” Rebozo sighed. “Still, though you may not touch, you may look.”
Boncorro did, his eye gleaming as his gaze caressed the beauties of his court. “There is no harm in that, and no cause for offense, if I do not let my enjoyment show too keenly.”
“But the desire it raises, Majesty,” Rebozo murmured, “surely that must be released.”
“That is the task of my luscious serving girls, Rebozo. If my foster brothers taught me nothing else, they taught me that.” They had taught him quite a bit more, Rebozo knew-but as far as he was concerned, not enough, or not deeply enough. He felt a moment’s burning anger at the country lord and his boys. Because of them, Boncorro would waste his youth on good governance! Boncorro did not notice, but went on explaining. “Later, my doxies will satisfy the lust my ladies raise now. For the moment, though, the illusion that one of the young ladies might inflame me to the point of granting favors to her husband, if she has one, or even of proposing marriage, if she has not-such hope will keep my courtiers dancing attendance upon me, vying for my favor and thereby falling even further under my sway.”
It is one of the reasons why he was resolved never to marry, though he would not let even Rebozo know that. The chancellor shook his head sadly. “A misspent youth, your Majesty! A lad your age should be riding to the hounds and rolling in the hay, not sealing himself away with parchment and ink until the blood in his veins has run dry!”
“Oh, I find exercise enough, I assure you,” Boncorro said, eyeing a young countess fresh from the country and thinking of the newest of his personal maids. “Beyond that, I find delight enough in witnessing the pleasures of my courtiers.”
He nodded to himself as he glanced about the great hall. It was no mere extravagance to maintain a lavish court, but a political necessity. “Yet I must find some other game to occupy their attention when their delight in the pleasures of the body slackens, so that they may vie with one another for some goal other than the bed of the most beautiful, or the attentions of the most dashing, so that they will not turn to intrigue out of sheer boredom.”
“Your grandfather’s courtiers were scarcely bored, Majesty,” Rebozo grunted, but without much conviction, for he knew it was a lie-and worse, knew that the young king knew it, too. Boncorro held his cup out, and a servant refilled it. He traced the sign of skull and bones over it as he murmured a verse, then lifted the cup to his lips…The dark wine turned bright red-the red of blood. King Boncorro dashed the wine to the floor with a curse. The courtiers fell silent, staring at him, wide-eyed. “Majesty!” Trusty old Rebozo was by his side, hovering over him, anxious, solicitous. “Majesty, what was that foul brew?”
“Poisoned wine, of course!” Boncorro snapped, seething more with contempt than with anger. “Have you not found the assassin who set that gargoyle to fall on me, Rebozo?”
“Yes, Majesty, and he confessed. He died in agony!”
“He confessed under torture, you dolt!… No, I wrong you.” The king throttled back his exasperation at the attentive old man, and his desire to throttle him, too. “But I have told you a hundred times that a confession under torture proves nothing! Now it is clear that the man was guiltless or, at the worst, only one of many-for the true assassin has struck again!”
“My apologies, Majesty!” Rebozo had turned ashen. “My most . abject apologies! I would never have thought-”
“You should have,” Boncorro snapped, “since this is the twelfth attempt in five years!” He reined in his temper again and forced his voice to be more gentle. “Though perhaps I wrong you-this one was far more clumsy than its predecessors. Poison in the wine, indeed! The work of a rank amateur, if ever I saw it! Any churl could slip poison in the wine-and I want the bottler and his servers all questioned, to discover who did it! Questioned, mind you, with no more torture than suffices for each to give you a name, not a confession!”
“Majesty,” Rebozo protested, “that entails scarcely more than a beating-and how can you be sure of an answer gained with so little pain?”
“By comparing it to the other answers, of course! Tho
se given by the other servants! I tell you again, Rebozo, that an answer given to stop pain proves only that the subject will say anything he thinks you wish him to! And as often as not, that will be a lie! Though I do not think this would-be murderer will prove to be the same one who has striven to slay me these five years past.”
Rebozo stared. “How… how does your Majesty see that?”
“Because the other attempts required evil magic of a very difficult kind. To make a block of stone fall, when none were near it, and that at the exact moment I was passing beneath it? ‘Twas only my own warding spell that made me hesitate in midstep, to see that block of granite smash the paving in front of me! And the gargoyle who came alive, the cat with teeth like scimitars, the sword that leaped from the scabbard even as I buckled it on-these all required a lifetime’s knowledge of magic, or a pact with the Devil such as only a man of great importance could achieve!”
His gaze strayed; his voice sank. “A man such as my grandfather, King Maledicto, reaching out from beyond the grave…”
“Come, Majesty!” the chancellor scoffed. “If the Devil was so displeased with your grandfather as to withdraw protection, why would he now give him power to reach out from Hell?”
“Why, because his disappointment with the grandson has become even greater than the lapses of the grandsire!” Boncorro snapped at him, then looked away again. “But I shall not yield! I shall not become what that wicked old man was-a murderer, a child slayer-”
“What a notion!” Rebozo cried. “You who have no children, to worry about slaying them! Come, Majesty, bolster your spirits! We shall find and defeat this sorcerer yet!”
King Boncorro lifted a brooding gaze to him. “See that you do, Lord Chancellor, see that you do! Begin with the servants, all of them-but not with torture, mind you! Take each into a separate chamber and question him or her closely, then compare their answers and see if there is any agreement! If there is, bring word of it to me before you take any action-simple consensus is no proof of truth! It could just as easily be a sign that one person is disliked by all, and since so many of them are left from my grandfather’s court, dislike of one could mean that only he can be relied upon!”
“Majesty, it shall be done as you say.” The chancellor bowed. “May I congratulate you on your courage in having the determination to persevere in your reforms in the face of such concerted effort by the power of Evil to destroy you.”
Boncorro waved the compliment away. “There is little danger in it, Chancellor. The powers of Evil have little cause to be displeased with me, for whatever my purpose, it is certainly not the doing of good for its own sake. I attempt to gain power and riches, that is all.”
“Aye-by making the whole country more rich.”
“My wealth comes from the people, one way or another, Lord Chancellor. I saw that as I watched serfs plow and reap. If I would have greater riches, I must first inspire the people to produce greater wealth from which I may draw.”
“Yes, you have explained that many times.” Rebozo sighed. “That, however, does not explain your determination to see justice done, and to protect the innocent from punishment or abuse.”
“Does it not? People will work harder when they feel they are safe, Chancellor, and can bend their minds to their tasks without the constant worry that the sword will fall on their necks, or their goods be plundered at a lord’s whim. When they know they will keep a fair share of that which they grow, the farmers will work harder to grow more-and when serfs can be sure which efforts will not bring punishment, they will put more sweat into those that will be rewarded.”
“Yes, you have explained that time and again,” Rebozo said, “and that greater assurance of safety and greater wealth should lead people to use their newfound gains to buy pleasure.”
“Why, so they do.” Boncorro waved at his court. “Even here you can see it-they are better dressed than ever before, and come flocking to my castle to seek pleasure, the young most of all! For each of those you see here, Rebozo, there are a thousand serfs who are drinking more ale and buying the favors of wantons. Vice flourishes, so the Devil should be not only appeased, but even pleased.”
“Then why should the same Devil give a sorcerer power against you?”
Boncorro shrugged. “The greater the worry and fear, the happier the Devil. Look for an extremist in sorcery, Rebozo-one who believes that any human happiness is wrong if it is not wrung from the pain and suffering of others. There shall we find my would-be killer.”
“Majesty,” said the chancellor, “I will.”
“Then do.” The king waved him away. “Be about your task, Rebozo-but remember, no torture! Well, not much,” he amended. “Only a little, Majesty,” the chancellor agreed, “never fear-which, unfortunately, is what the servants and bottler and cooks shall say, no doubt. Still, I shall strive.” He bowed and turned away. Boncorro watched the old man leave the great hall, and frowned, still brooding, till he was out of sight. Then, with an effort of will, he threw off the mood, tested a whole pitcher of wine, then filled his own goblet and drank deeply. A duke’s daughter came by below the table, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Boncorro laughed and sprang down off the dais, crying, “Fiddlers! A dance tune! We shall caper before we taste the next course!”
The fiddlers struck up a gay, lively tune, and Boncorro began to dance with the beautiful young lady, devouring her charms with his eyes. She blushed demurely, lowering her gaze, but glancing up at him through long lashes. All about them courtiers left their meat and came to dance, quick to ape their king, quick to join in the attempt to cheer him, ever quick to curry favor. Rebozo slammed into his private exchequer, muttering darkly under his breath. LoClercchi, his secretary, looked up in surprise. “Good evening, Lord Chancellor.”
“Not when some amateurish idiot seeks to poison our king,” Rebozo snapped, “who commands me to find the culprit without delay.”
“Ah.” The secretary nodded in sympathy. “Not a good evening, indeed. I fear I must make it worse.”
“Worse?” Rebozo swung about, glaring. “How is this?”
“A message.” The secretary held up a scrap of parchment. “A carrier pigeon landed in the dovecote, just as the sun set.”
“News from a spy?” Rebozo snatched the message and sat down to puzzle out the tiny letters. At last he threw it down on the desk. “Oh, a pox upon it! Your eyes are far younger than mine, LoClercchi-what does it say?”
The secretary took the tiny parchment, but did not look at it, so Rebozo knew that he had already read it. “It is from your peasant spy on the estates of the Duke of Riterra, my lord. He writes from a market in Merovence-though not very far into Merovence. ”Far enough!“ Rebozo’s eyes kindled. ”What does he find that is worthy of report?“
“He writes that a wizard is nosing about the market,” the secretary said, “eavesdropping on conversations, and particularly interested in those who tout the virtues of Latruria. Our spy tested the man and thinks he may be the Lord Wizard himself.”
Rebozo rubbed his hands, nodding vigorously. “I had thought he must take notice of the remaking our young king is doing!”
“Especially since our folk have been boasting and bragging of it whenever they cross the border,” LoClercchi said with irony. “It is marvelous to have agents who work for free, my lord, and without even realizing they do our work. I do not know how you managed it.”
“Bosh! You know well enough that I sent one man about the border farms,gloating on the bragging hewould do in Merovence, on the next fair day! Does our peasant informer say what manner of test he gave the wizard?”
“No, my lord, there was no room on so small a parchment-and, frankly, I do not think he could write quickly enough. His letters are horribly clumsy, and his spelling atrocious.”
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