Pascal glanced at him in surprise, saw the grimness there, and hurried down the path toward the main road with him. As they came out onto the highway, Pascal asked, “Shall we not wait for our fellow travelers?”
“Yes,” Matt said, “five miles down the road. Then we’ll let them catch up.”
“Why the haste to go so quickly now?”
“Because that man I fought is dead,” Matt said, “and I don’t want to be around when the locals discover it.”
Pascal’s eyes went wide and frightened. Then he turned away, paying serious attention to making speed. “They will be after you with the reeve and all his men!”
“I don’t think so,” Matt said. “I don’t think any of them will even recognize him-I’m pretty sure he’s from out of town.”
“Why?” Pascal was getting very used to staring. “Because he was a professional assassin-I could tell by his style.”
“Oh! Then you killed him because if you did not, he would have killed you!”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t kill him at all,” Matt explained. “I forced him to tell me who had hired him to kill me-but before he could talk, he died.”
“Sorcery!” Pascal gasped. “That was my guess, too. You might want to find a different traveling companion, Pascal. Almost anybody would be safer.”
The young man didn’t answer for several minutes; he only hurried along, watching the road and keeping pace with Matt. When he did speak, it was only to say, “I must think over my future again.”
“Yes,” Matt agreed. “That might be wise.”
“Hell and damnation!” Rebozo swore. “Can you not find a single assassin who is competent?”
The secretary cowered away from his master’s anger-Rebozo was, after all, a sorcerer, and a powerful one. Now was not the time to remind him that, so far, he had chosen all the assassins himself.
“First that fool of a knightling in Merovence, then that debacle of a manticore, followed by a ghost who proved to be as easy to bribe as any clerk-and now this! Two tavern brawls in a row, and neither slays him? Are your assassins all fools and oxen, or is this wizard of Merovence proof against any assault?”
The secretary grasped at the last phrase. “Perhaps, Lord Chancellor. He is, after all, Queen Alisande’s Lord Wizard-and her husband. Perhaps he is invulnerable to all but the mightiest spells.”
“Yes, perhaps he is.” Rebozo calmed with amazing speed, gazing off into space. “Her wizard-and her husband! Ah, if we could capture and hold him, we could bring that proud queen to her knees, and all of Merovence with her, at our mercy!”
The secretary shivered at the audacity of it-and the danger. “How could we hold so mighty a wizard?”
“With sorcery,” Rebozo told him, “sorcery of the foulest sort. The king might have to join with me in such an effort, if the wizard proves too much for me alone-but we shall attempt it! Send word to that chowder-headed reeve that he has tried the wrong man! Bid him arrest this wizard for the murder of your agent!”
“It shall be done, Lord Chancellor.” LoClercchi scribbled out a quick note, then passed it to Rebozo, who sealed it-carefully not signing it-then worked his magic over it until it disappeared in a flash. He leaned back and nodded, satisfied. “The note shall appear by him, no matter where he may be. He shall lead forth his men to capture and hold that wizard forthwith! If all goes well, he will be in our power by dawn!”
But the secretary knew better than to think all would go well-at least, if the minstrel really was Matthew Mantrell, Lord Wizard of Merovence. And if he was, it might be better if they did not capture him-for rather than ransom him by money or deed, Queen Alisande might very well march south against Latruria, with all her armies behind her. The secretary found himself wondering if King Boncorro was really ready for a war. Alisande was ready for a war, and growing more ready with each passing minute. The only problem was that so far, she had no one to fight. Of course, they were still in her own country… As they rode, peasants working in the fields looked up to see the marching army and the silver figure at its head with the glitter of sunlight on her crown. They shouted to one another and came running, to cheer their queen and bow as she passed. No one rode out to command them, none forced them-they came to catch a glimpse of her of their own free will. Alisande’s heart expanded within her at the sincerity of their devotion. Perhaps she was doing right by them, after all. She turned to watch them straggling back to their work as the vanguard passed… and saw a flutter of wings beating upward, a bird launching itself into the sky. Launching itself? Surely not! It sprang up too smartly for that, lofted too high as it was still unfurling its wings. Was some loyal peasant releasing his tame pigeon to honor her? A crossbow quarrel sprang up to meet the bird-sprang up from her own army, behind her, and a soldier broke ranks to run and catch the tumbling, bloody ball of feathers as it fell from the sky! Alisande stared, outraged, frozen by the sudden, callous stroke. Then anger broke loose. “Bring me that man!”
The soldiers looked up, startled, then amazed by their queen’s wrath. Red with anger they might have understood-but pale with rage? Over so little a thing as a pigeon? A squadron hustled the luckless crossbowman out of the field and up to the queen, where he stood like the Ancient Mariner with a very small albatross, while his queen sat fuming above him. “For shame, sirrah!” she cried “Are you so starved that you must seize upon every tiniest scrap of meat? For surely, one pigeon cannot make a pie! Do I feed you so poorly that you must devour every feather that floats by? Is there not enough food in my wagons to feed an army, that you must seek your own provisions from the countryside?”
It was her tone that did it, more than the words-the sheer icy rage that daunted the crossbowman and made his hands tremble. Again and again he tried to protest, but he was so terrified that no words came. “Royal rage” was no empty phrase, not now! “Surely there was but little meat on its poor tiny carcass-but there was as much life in it as in you or me! By what right do you deprive a fellow creature of breath? What need was there for killing?”
In answer, the soldier held out the tiny carcass with shaking hands-but two fingers held up a foot, so that Alisande could clearly see the capsule tied to its leg. She stared, taken aback. Then she glanced at the sergeant and nodded. He plucked the capsule from the bird’s leg and passed it up to her. Alisande opened it, shook out the scrap of parchment inside and read. Her face settled into hard, grim lines. Nonetheless, she looked down at the crossbowman. “You could not have known this was there.”
“Nay, Majesty.” The man swallowed thickly. “I am countrybred, and saw only the escape of meat that might help feed a peasant’s family.”
“Give it to the next peasant we pass, then!” Alisande commanded. “For now, get you back to your sergeant! Good fortune has saved you-but see to it that you shoot no more birds without reason!”
“Yes, Majesty! I thank you, your Majesty!” The crossbowman ducked his head, then ran off, relieved. Alisande sat staring after him, amazed at her own reaction. Why had she taken the death of a mere pigeon so hard? She had killed hares, even deer, for her own supper, and never thought twice about it! She had flown hawks to seize just such birds as this, and never given it a thought! Where had this sudden concern for even the tiniest life come from? And what did it bode for her prowess as a general? “What was it, Majesty?” asked Lady Constance. The woman was right-she should have been far more concerned about the message, than about the messenger. “A spy’s report, to the Chancellor of Latruria,” Alisande replied. “Some one of my peasants has learned to read and write, and taken the pay of another sovereign!”
“Or is not truly one of yours at all?” Lady Constance said quietly. “If that is the case, he is a most brave man,” Alisande said grimly. “Sergeant! Alert the home guard to seek out a peasant who keeps pigeons and can read!”
The man ducked his head and ran back along the ranks. “What did it say?” Lady Constance asked, eyes wide an
d round. “Only that the Queen of Merovence rides south with her army.”
“Why, that is not so damaging!” Lady Constance said in surprise. “There is no secret in this-every peasant in the parish knows it, and rumor will spread the word almost as fast as that pigeon could fly!”
‘True,“ Alisande agreed. ”It is not the news itself that angers me, but the simple fact of a spy living so close to my castle.“
“Small wonder in that,” Lady Constance said with irony. “Again, true-we must expect that every monarch about will set spies upon us, even those who are our friends. But to know that we will be shadowed every mile of the way, that the Chancellor of Latruria will not only know of our coming, but will surely know our exact strength, down to the man! And what the chancellor knows, King Boncorro shall know!”
“We could not hope to take him by surprise, I suppose.” Lady Constance sighed. “No, we could not,” Alisande said with regret. “I suppose it means no more than that King Boncorro is competent, or has competent men about him-but it serves notice on me to brace for a true battle.” She turned to her adjutant. “Give orders to shoot down any pigeons that we see flying near.”
The man nodded and turned away, but that odd pulse of pity welled up in Alisande again, the lament that any living thing should die without need, and she called out, “No, stop! It is ridiculous to even attempt it, when for every bird we see, there will be five that we do not! Let them go, mine adjutant-it is better that we know how much King Boncorro knows, than that we believe he knows nothing.”
And she set her face firmly to the south, ignoring the adjutant’s stare of confusion, no matter how quickly it was masked.
Chapter 12
Five miles was all it took for the twilight to thicken to the point at which Matt had to call a halt. “If we go any farther tonight, we might as well go wandering among the trees-we won’t be able to see any more out in the open.”
Pascal shuddered. “Not the forest, I pray you, friend Matthew! There are still so many outlaws that one does not ask whether one will be robbed, but when.”
“Doesn’t sound too good,” Matt said. “This road passes through the forest, doesn’t it?”
“Aye, but my relatives have told me that the road itself is safe. The king’s foresters and reeves have seen to it that the trees are cut back for seven yards to either side, and the reeves’ men patrol it frequently.”
“So travelers are never robbed anymore?”
“Almost never.”
Matt didn’t like the sound of “almost,” but reminded himself that they had a backup. “Okay, Manny! You can come out now!”
There was a moment’s pause, during which Pascal sidled around to put Matt between himself and the only nearby outcrop of trees-so of course the manticore stepped out from the boulder behind him. “I thought to accompany you openly on the road, mortals, but there were too many other folk abroad.”
“Yüü!” Pascal’s head seemed to jump a foot, though his shoes stayed on the ground, stretching him out, then snapping him back. “He does move quietly,” Matt agreed. “Yes, Manny, thanks for staying undercover. Half of northern Latruria seems to be hiking south on the highway.”
“The other half are staying at home seducing one another,” Pascal grumbled. Matt could see he was beginning to have doubts about Panegyra’s fidelity-and this before she had even married! But the man was far too old for her, and Matt thought Pascal was right-the little snip would probably be planning her first affair even as she was marching down the aisle! Assuming she wasn’t working on her second. Or third, or fourth. But maybe he was doing her an injustice. He turned to the manticore. “I’ve got a question, Manny.”
“I am hungry.” Both sets of teeth grinned. “I paid a fanner to tie out a brace of goats for you-he seemed to be overstocked, judging by the state of his clothes.”
“Where!”
“Ah, ah!” Matt wagged a forefinger, then pulled it back quickly, just in case. “Answers first, before you get my goat!”
“I thought they were the farmer’s.”
“Mine now-I bought ‘em. When Pascal introduced us, you mentioned that somebody had sicced you on me.”
“I had been commanded to eat you if you crossed the border, aye.” The manticore’s tongue slurped around its lips. “It took little urging to induce my accord.”
“Good thing you didn’t follow through-I’m not a man of good taste.”
Pascal winced. “That was old.”
“That’s why it didn’t taste good anymore. Besides, I believe in recycling. So tell me, Manny-who was it who told you to put the bite on me? Of course, if you can’t say…”
“ ‘Tis simplicity itself!” the manticore assured him. “The man who bade me gobble you was Rrrnimmmmmmmm…” His lips sealed themselves shut and his eyes widened in astonishment. “Mmmm! MM, mm!”
“I was afraid of that,” Matt said unhappily. “What’s your name, manticore? Not your true one-I can see you wouldn’t want to go spreading that around. Just the nickname I’ve given you.”
“Mmmmmanny!” Then the manticore clacked its jaws shut, looking even more surprised. “Easy for you to say. But how about this guy who compelled you to hunt me? What was his name?”
“Mmninmimirürimmmmm…” The manticore stared in outrage. “Mmmmm! Mmm, mmm, mm!”
“Can’t even get his mouth open this time.” Matt sighed. “Okay, what’s the name of my partner, here?”
“Why, he is Pascal!” Then Manny frowned, puzzled, and opened and closed his jaws a couple of times. “Don’t worry, they work just fine-as long as I don’t ask you to tell me who told you to get me. What was his name, by the way?”
This time the manticore hesitated. “I know, I know, your lips are sealed-or will be, if you try.” Matt held up a hand to forestall the answer. “Don’t blame you for not even wanting to try-the condition might become permanent, and then what would those poor lonely goats do? Not to mention all the spare cattle that are for sale between here and Venarra. Okay, Manny, go find ‘em. They should be staked out in a meadow about a mile back.”
“I go!” the manticore cried with a toothy grin. “Just try to snap ‘em up before they even know what hit them, okay?”
The manticore pouted. “I am a cat, Matthew! A large one, and mixed with a scorpion and a hedgehog, perhaps, but a cat in bulk, and a cat in nature!”
“Yeah, but just feed, okay? No recreation. Okay, go.”
The manticore disappeared in a blur. “Remind me not to get his goat.” Matt turned away. “Well, let’s pitch camp, Pascal.”
“Are you not concerned that the reeve may send his men after you?”
“Not terribly. Nobody seemed to notice my would-be murderer dying, in all the excitement over Perkin and Simnel.” Matt remembered the scene with a shudder. “Besides, out of sight, out of mind.” He only wished they were. “Well, mere living is a hazard, in Latruria,” Pascal sighed as he dropped his pack. “I was mad to come here!”
“Lovers generally are-and you really were mad for a sight of Panegyra. Don’t worry, you weren’t exactly the only mad soul in that house.”
A low moan began all around them. Matt froze. “Speak of the-” He clamped his jaw shut; in Latruria, it probably wasn’t a good idea even to speak about speaking of the Devil. “-of the ghost, and you hear him moaning!” He turned around. “That you, Spiro?”
“How did you know?” A wavering tendril of mist curled up from the ground, thickening and spreading to a little above Matt’s head. The top of it sculpted itself into the rough semblance of a human face. “Deduction,” Matt answered. “A form of reason? Foolish mortal!” The face firmed into Spiro’s countenance, and the body began to define itself into clothing. “When you deal with the supernatural, what good is deduction?”
“If it’s good enough for the tax man, it should be good enough for you,” Matt answered, nettled. “What’s the occasion? Decided it was going to be too long before they gave your room to some other poor sucke
r, so you might as well track me down and have another try?”
“Nay.” The hollow eyes scowled down at him. “I have come to thank you, if you must know!”
Matt stood frozen in astonishment for a minute, then said slowly, “Well, I guess I must, if you’re going to say it. Uh, you’re welcome, Spiro.”
“I have not even thanked you yet!”
“Okay, so I’m premature. My mother always said I was. Let’s try again. Uh… glad to see you, Spiro.”
“A pleasure, minstrel.” The ghost bowed. “Say, how’s it been going?”
“Most marvelously well! The current squire has already unearthed my coffin and built another around it. Even as we speak, it trundles through the night toward Genova, where it will take ship for Greece!”
“Hey, congratulations!” Matt grinned and reached out to pat Spiro on the back, then thought better of it. “I never thought he would agree so quickly!” Pascal said, eyes wide. “Who should better know the nature of my descendants?” the ghost said dryly. “Nonetheless, he succumbed to his wife’s pleading-and his own dislike of my claim on the manse, no doubt! I must thank you indeed, minstrel, for I shall soon be all at sea!”
“Must run in the family,” Matt said with a glance at Pascal. ‘Well, I’m really glad for you, Spiro-and glad I could be of service.“ He almost volunteered to help out if the ghost developed any further little problems, but caught himself in time. Besides, Spiro beat him to it. ”I am in your debt, mortal, and I dislike that state. If you need my aid, call upon me.“
Matt stared. Then he recovered and said, “Oh, that’s not necessary! I was just trying to help out a little, that’s all.” As a matter of fact, all Matt had really been doing was trying to get a very intimidating specter out of his room. He felt guilty about taking any kind of payback for it, even gratitude.
But Spiro was determined. “I must repay my debts, mortal! That is the nature of Purgatory!”
“Well, uh, thanks-but you’re going to be in Greece!”
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