by Bill McCurry
The soldier was young, probably not even ten years older than Pres. “When we left the East Gateway last winter, sir. I’ve been with you all the way there and back.”
“You’re a good man. One of my best.” Vintan pointed at Pres. “Was that absolutely required?”
“Well, he was helping the other one get away, but no… I guess not absolutely.”
“And you knew that it would displease me, didn’t you?”
Pall edged away half a step. “Yes, sir.”
“Give me your knife.”
As if pushing through honey, the young man drew his knife and presented it.
Vintan snatched the weapon and tossed it to his other hand, then he pointed at Ella and me. “If either of them speaks, kill them at once. Pres, come here.” Vintan tripped Pall and knocked him down, pinning him with one knee. “Come on, Pres.”
Pres walked to Vintan as smoothly as he could while chained to Ella, who did not want to go at all.
Vintan handed Pres the knife. “My friend, you are a ruler of men. This commoner harmed your royal person. It is true that he was performing his duty as he saw it. Yet he acted such that his commander would disapprove, and he knew it. You are not his prince, so he owes you nothing but courtesy. Pres, kill him with your own strong hand, or grant him mercy. If you become king, you’ll make decisions like this every day.”
Pall said, “I’m sorry—”
Vintan pressed his forefinger to Pall’s lips. “Shhh. Hush, my good boy. Few are permitted to teach a king.”
Two soldiers were holding me, one with a shaving-sharp knife pressed to my throat. Even if they had turned me loose, I couldn’t think of a damn thing I could do to improve things.
Pres knelt beside Pall and touched the knife’s tip to the young man’s throat. Pall whimpered and tried to look away, but Vintan held his head with both hands. Pres lifted the knife and swung it down hard, handle-first into Pall’s right cheek. Except for panting, Pall didn’t move or make a sound.
Pres laid the knife on Pall’s chest and walked back to stand beside me at the wall, Ella trailing along by the manacle. She stroked his shoulder from behind as they walked.
Vintan allowed Pall to stand, paced over to Pres, and clapped him on the other shoulder. “That was an interesting choice, my friend. Had you killed him, you might be less an enemy. Had you spared him, you might count him a friend—or an enemy, who knows? As it is, will Pall be the kind of man who is grateful for his life or vengeful over being harmed? That’s the charge of a king—judging men. Well, I trust that Aevan’s examinations over the next few days will prove far less eventful, won’t they?”
After the door had smacked shut behind us and the bar had tamped in place, we kept silent in the almost-darkness. I found the far wall and slid down to sit against it. From beside the barrel, Pres and Ella made the noises of clinking chains, rustling wool, and scraping against wood as they hunkered against the side wall. We all sat for a length of time that would’ve felt uncomfortable out in the real world, but in this dark hole, none of us cared how many minutes or hours we sat there like mossy old stones.
Ella looked at the dirt floor. “Ralt was correct. I did get him into all this shit. I pursued Vintan as if I were a furious little dog. Had I simply waited for the army in Crossoak, then Ralt and those other fine boys would still be alive. But instead, I gave chase, and did that help Pres even a jot? No. Vintan never intended to hurt him at all.”
The prince said, “He was one of my people. He was one of my soldiers, and he had sworn to serve my family unto death. He died trying to save us. Yet I willingly traveled with our enemies, and I befriended them, the men who killed him. Am I a traitor?”
“What was Ralt’s wife’s name?” I asked.
Neither of them answered.
“Did he really have a wife? Or just a steady whore? What was his favorite drink? Would he loan you money?”
“I don’t know any of that,” Ella said.
“Fingit’s flopping ears! You’re not grieving for Ralt. You didn’t even really know him. I didn’t, either. It’s a sad thing he’s dead, and I wish he wasn’t, but I’m not going to write a song about it. You’re just feeling sad about yourself and your own regrets. That’s normal, so go ahead and keep doing that. Just hold the noise down.”
They didn’t answer me. I wasn’t hungry or sleepy, so I pulled my knees up and propped my head on them. In my imagination, I watched Ralt get stabbed in the back and then twitch a few hundred times.
Twenty-Five
I have dallied with a lot of women since my wife died. I don’t mean a large number of women—I mean lots and lots. I don’t say that to be a braggart. In fact, in recent years, I have felt it to be a bit shameful.
Every one of those women left me. They usually left before a week was up. Some of them told me why they were leaving, and a great number of those said I was too hard to live with. Quite a few took their leave without saying anything, and several robbed me, probably feeling like I owed them for being such an ass. One young lady stabbed me before she fled, confirming that I am remarkably hard to live with.
I didn’t mind it when they left. None of them was like my wife.
Ella wasn’t like my wife, either. She was a little tougher and a little more softhearted. She was no doubt smarter and better educated than my wife, but she wasn’t as funny. My wife’s willpower dwarfed Ella’s, but then it dwarfed the willpower of everyone I’ve ever met, so that was no failing on Ella’s part. Ella’s integrity was as straight as the horizon. My wife’s might’ve had a bobble or two.
I didn’t really think about these things until Ella and I were locked up together in that nasty shack, and we spent two nights in whispered conversation when the prince was asleep. Since she was manacled to the boy, we were forced to converse within a few feet of him. But he plunged into the sleep of the young and never wiggled.
Our discussions weren’t exactly romantic, although at times we talked about things we’d never choose to laugh about in the tavern. Sometimes we just scratched our curiosity. On the first night, I asked her, “How did you come to spend your days chasing after other people’s brats? You could do better.”
She paused. “My own children are dead, and I can’t have any more. I may as well rear other people’s children since I cannot rear my own. I suppose that sounds defeatist.”
“I don’t think so. I may as well murder people since I can’t murder Harik. We’re doing the same thing, fundamentally.”
She laughed silently. “Perhaps I can do better. If we survive, I might see what’s to be done about it.”
Other times, we shared our opinions, welcome or not. On the second night, she whispered, “I’ll bet people tell you that you’re a terrible person.”
“It has been said to me on occasion.”
“You are.”
That stung a little, but I saw it as an honest statement.
“You don’t have to be a terrible person. You can change, if you decide to.”
“All right. Tomorrow, I’ll put on somebody else’s shoes and be a good person for the rest of my life.”
“No, you’ll never be a good person. If you apply yourself, you might not be terrible.”
I paused but then decided I’d be damned if she once again left me with nothing to say. “Hell, that’s even easier. I’ll be done by lunchtime.”
She felt for my hand in the dark, hit my stump instead, and I flinched. She patted my forearm. “Don’t worry, if you do something terrible, I can twist your ear. It works with almost everyone. You’d be surprised.”
The next morning, Aevan poked us and defiled us some more, and then he at last declared us to be healthy and no threat to the Denz kingdom. A soldier unchained us, and another handed us clothing. The clothes were clean, but in terms of style, they were one notch above cutting a hole in a quilt and poking your head through. Vintan and a dozen soldiers escorted us the two miles down to the castle. My feet slipped a little in the plain canvas shoes
, but walking in the spring sunlight gratified me more than any of those women I’ve lived with.
None of the local Denzmen paid particular attention to us. They were too busy carrying bags and bushels into the castle, or herding in sheep, goats, and pigs. They were preparing for a siege, and they weren’t dallying about it. We passed through a massive portcullis with an extravagant number of murder holes. Once in the castle yard, we wove through a flood of people and animals bustling in all directions, until we at last reached the broad stone keep. Besides being broad, it was also seventy feet tall.
As we walked in through tall, ironbound doors, I said, “Vintan, are you sure this viscount of yours has time to see us today? If we distract him, he may forget to bring in all the chickens, and I won’t have any eggs for my breakfast.”
“You are, as is often the case, correct. Not about breakfast, but about the manifold tasks facing the master of this stronghold. Therefore, you will not see him, not for several days. You may rejoice in that. He puts one in mind of a wild hog with poor digestion.”
“The disappointment burdens my spirit. I don’t wish to cast an emotional gloom over the stronghold. Do you have any diversions, or maybe something to drink?”
“Perhaps later. Since the viscount must send his regrets, you may visit His Majesty, King Moris. He has come to direct the defense and grind the Northmen to bits tinier than pollen. His audience chamber lies just around this corner. Bib, how many kings have granted you an audience?”
I squinted at the ceiling. “Seven. No, eight.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know why I should be surprised. At least I may rely upon you to avoid behaving like a lummox.” Vintan pushed open an unexceptional wooden door painted the color of deep water. He bowed and sauntered through it, leaving his soldiers to shove the rest of us inside.
I had beheld the audience chambers of eight kings, and five seconds in Moris’s chamber told me he was a different sort altogether. By comparison, the damn room was tiny. I could have walked all the way across it in a dozen steps. Moris must not have cared about bludgeoning his visitors with pomp and regalia, because this room sure wasn’t going to do it. Twenty or so greasy-smelling lamps provided light that reflected back off the pale wood paneling. The room contained a large desk at one end, numerous chairs, two couches, a motionless guard in each corner, and three middle-aged men crowded about a table piled with papers and maps. I couldn’t tell which man was King Moris. They all wore casual clothes, similar in style and well-worn.
I felt like I’d walked into an elderly banker’s drawing room.
A gentleman with the biggest nose, baldest head, and skinniest ass of the bunch said, “Vintan. Have you finally brought him?”
“I have, Your Majesty.”
“Bring him over here then! I can’t tell anything worth a flying damn about him from all the way over there!”
Vintan escorted Crown Prince Prestwick across the room, and the boy gave the baldheaded old fart a precise bow.
“I apologize for bringing you all the way here, Your Highness. I do, I do. I apologize even more for killing your soldiers while getting you here. Brave men every one, no doubt. A damned creeping shame.”
Pres said, “I accept your apology in the spirit in which it was offered, Your Majesty.”
The king loomed over Pres like a tree when they stood beside each other. He blinked down at the boy. “Thank you, because I offered it with as sincere a spirit as I could manage. I meant it, meant it a lot. We’re dying here, Your Highness. I think you probably know that already, so I’m not telling you anything new, but we’re dying. We can’t stop this damned-to-all-twelve-gods Northmen fever, and you Northmen keep bringing it to our lands to kill us. Are you doing it on purpose? A lot of my people think you are, and that would be a shame. I don’t want to wipe out the men of the North, but if it means the Denz people get to live, then I’ll burn every house and drown every baby. So, that is my book on this, my story, right there for you to hear. I want you to know why I took you, and why I’m keeping you.”
Pres looked the king in the face. “That’s why I’m here, Your Majesty. I came to promise you, on my father’s behalf, that no more Northmen will enter your lands through the Kingdom of Glass. I give you my word.”
“Well, that is a thing. It certainly is a thing. Is there more?”
“Now that I’ve promised you this, I will go to my father and tell him about our agreement so he can hold to it. I will leave now, ride to his army, and stop him. Our people need not be at war.”
“Well. That’s a…” Moris swallowed. “I haven’t heard such a thing since my older brother stood before our father and confessed to making me eat a bug off a cow’s ass. Noble, really.” Moris touched his chest. “Your offer is remarkable. Astounding, really astounding. You are a fine man, Your Highness. I’d be very proud if you were my son. That is no prevarication.”
Pres bowed and took a step back, but Vintan laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“It grieves me to my depths,” Moris said, “to deny your noble entreaty, son, to my depths and deeper. But I can’t know whether your father will honor your promise.” Moris held up a hand to silence Pres. “I don’t doubt your father’s character or his honor, I am not saying that. But I know a thing that not many men besides kings know. Not many at all. Being king does not mean you always get your way. Ever present are men of interest and guile whom the king must feed, feed lest they turn and eat the king, the gods damn their dicks seven times a day. You may not see such men around your father, but trust that they are there.”
The king looked away as if examining one of the lamps. “So, I can’t accept your brave and noble offer, Your Highness. I’m forced to go with my original plan, so I will hold you hostage until your father stops these incursions, stops them completely, once and for all. I’m sorry to say this, but it is a true thing, son. Your father may be more highly motivated to save his only son’s life than he is to save his only son’s honor.”
Pres looked up at Vintan, who just continued to gaze at the king. Pres looked over his shoulder at Ella and me. All I could do was shrug, which I expect was not as wise or helpful as he wished.
Moris said, “Prince Prestwick, you shall remain here as my guest, and I will provide all the honors and comforts due your station. I hope that your father’s love for you will convince him to do the right thing, the right thing for us, the right thing for you, the right thing for everybody. Once he has done it and we know that it is fully done, then you will be returned to your family.” He pointed at Ella. “Who is she?”
Vintan said, “She cares for the prince.”
“Then she shall care for the prince. Where he goes, she goes.” He pointed at me. “Who is he?”
I said, “Boba the Jester, Your Majesty. Great jokes. Wisdom by the bucketful. Shaky on singing and poetry.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Do you juggle?”
I held up my stumps.
“Ah.”
Vintan said, “Your Majesty, this man is Bib the Sorcerer, a famous murderer and scoundrel. He attempted to thwart us several times, until I defeated him. I bring him to you as a gift.”
Moris jerked his chin at me. “Those empty places where your hands used to be. Hold them up again. Vintan, did you do that?”
“Your Majesty, he is one of the most dangerous men in the north, perhaps in the world. I wouldn’t dare bring him into your presence unless he were… let’s say, neutered.”
I said, “You’re getting kind of personal there, Vin. Watch out, I’m a murderer and a scoundrel. I might beat you to death with these stumps.”
Moris said, “Huh. Vintan, you brought me a present, but you mutilated him before you gave him to me? You’re such an asshole. How many women and children did you kill for no real purpose at all? The thought makes me queasy, queasy enough to puke. If you weren’t the man who gets things done, I might have had you on a gibbet by now and had a little party after. With lutes and dancing. Well, I can�
�t have this sorcerer just wandering around here scaring the kids and the dogs, can I? Put him with the Crows.”
“With the crows?” I looked around the room as doubt about these crows hit me. “Who are the crows? Actual crows?”
But the king had leaned over the table again and acted like I wasn’t there anymore. Red-faced and shaking, Vintan shoved me into the hallway, and soldiers grabbed my arms. They pulled me along toward a narrow stone stairway.
Vintan said, “The Crows,” as if they were something that tasted bad and bit your tongue at the same time. “I had hoped for more, but we do as His Majesty commands. He is usually correct, even if… well, Bib, you will adore the Crows. Just wait.”
Twenty-Six
When I was a boy, I stole twenty-three pies in two days without getting caught. Finally, my aunt started crying when she looked away for just a moment and the fourth pie she’d baked that day disappeared. Then I confessed, which was stupid. It didn’t make her feel better, and everyone in the village despised me. They didn’t hate me for pilfering, which was expected of young boys, but for being too good at it.
My father gave me the worst beating of my life. That’s remarkable, since I’ve been tortured three times as an adult, once by a sorcerer. I didn’t care what those torturers thought of me, but at ten years old, my father’s disappointment hurt worse than any white-hot brand.
He wasn’t done with me. He tasked me with cleaning all the boathouses and stables that belonged to my victims, thirteen buildings in all. I found a silver coin in every building. None of the owners had seen the coins before, but they happily took them from me. My father didn’t comment.
The next day, I went fishing for mullet with my father, which was normal for us. We pulled in the biggest catch I’d ever seen. We did it again the next day, and the day after that, we made the biggest haul he’d ever seen. We caught unprecedented piles of fish every day for twenty-seven days. None of our neighbors pulled in more than an average catch, and I admit my father puffed up a bit. He wasn’t above buying drinks in the tavern and holding forth on all his subtle net-dragging techniques.
