Closer to the Chest

by Mercedes Lackey

  Amily made a rude noise.

  The Prince smiled and gave a last brush to Rolan’s satiny coat. “We’ll make it right without making a fuss. Perhaps the Sethorites may come to regret their swindle, once winter sets in. If I am remembering the Temple correctly, it’s a vast barn that is impossible to keep heated. The Sisters will be sitting by their cozy fires, while the Sethorites will be piling on every robe they own, and wondering when spring will come.”

  Amily laughed. “From your mouth to the gods’ own ears, my Prince,” she said.

  • • •

  Of all of his personas, Mags enjoyed that of “Magnus, Lord Chipman’s cousin” the most. But then, that was because most of the time Magnus didn’t need to watch his back for enemies, unlike Harkon, and Magnus didn’t have a job to do—Magnus had all the leisure that Harkon and Mags himself did not. Magnus was everyone’s friend; he had just enough money to pay his own way, without having enough to make other young highborn men jealous of him. He was just high enough in rank that he was invited everywhere, and not so high that anyone needed to worry that he might be courting their company with an eye toward poaching an advantageous marriage out from under them. Magnus didn’t have an enemy in the world. He knew how to get the Weaponsmaster to find you a time for a lesson, he knew enough about horses to give you good advice, and enough about weapons to keep you from being cheated. He played at dice and cards without betting more than he could afford to lose, and when he lost, he laughed. He knew all the best taverns in Haven, and which houses of pleasure would offer a good time without fleecing their customers in some way or other. He was the perfect boon companion.

  And just now, he was, to his astonishment, watching a young girl who, by Amily’s description must be Lirelle, Lord Lional’s younger daughter, as she crouched in the bushes under a window, furiously taking notes in a bound journal. She thought she couldn’t be seen, since she was between the wall and the ornamental bushes, but Mags was hyper-vigilant about movement where none should be, and he had spotted her fairly easily.

  While this was rather irregular behavior, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, as the window in question did not lead into one of the many private apartments here at the Palace, but into a classroom—one of the ones at Herald’s Collegium, to be precise.

  He finally decided he had seen enough, and made his way between the wall of the Collegium and the bushes until he stood a few armlength’s behind her. She was so intent on making notes she didn’t even notice him until he cleared his throat.

  She squeaked, started, and fell over.

  “It’s a great deal more comfortable inside than in the bushes, you know,” he said, as she scrambled to her feet, flushing with mixed embarrassment and anger. “I know who you are—you’re Lord Lional’s younger daughter—so you might as well tell me what you were doing here.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to tell anyone about this. I can’t imagine you’d be making yourself so infernally uncomfortable if you didn’t have a good reason.”

  The anger faded, and she gaped at him for a moment. “Here, come along with me, milady,” he said, offering his hand. She took it, tentatively, ignoring the dead leaves clinging to her brown linen gown. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. The library just off the Throne Room is generally empty this time of day, and cool. We can have a nice conversation uninterrupted. I’m Magnus, by the way. Lord Chipman’s cousin.”

  “I’m Lirelle,” she said, as they exited the bushes and she blushed as she looked down at her gown, realizing she probably looked like a hoyden. Mags looked politely away as she gave herself a hasty brushing, then led her into the Palace and straight to the Library.

  As he had expected, the room was quite empty, except for one ancient gentleman, snoozing in the warm sunlight of one of the windows. Mags led the girl to a pair of chairs as far from the old fellow as possible, and waited for her to take her seat before taking his own. “Now, why, exactly, were you lurking outside a classroom?” he asked.

  “It was a history lesson and I wanted to hear it,” she told him. Now that he had a good look at her, he rather liked what he saw: a young girl with intelligent eyes, a face full of personality, and no sign of sulkiness. “My tutor back home is useless. He won’t teach me anything worthwhile!” That could have sounded petulant. It didn’t. It sounded plaintive.

  “And what does he teach you?” Mags asked.

  “Poetry. Religious texts, all full of stupid homilies about obedience. Memorizing the family trees of the entire Kingdom. How to write letters. Nothing interesting or useful. We left him behind, but I’m horribly afraid they’re going to send for him as soon as the house is ready—” She looked at him, and only now did she have a stormy expression of pure rebellion.

  “You’re right. Your tutor is an idiot. And I doubt that will be necessary,” Mags replied, and smiled. “Any highborn youngster here at Court can take classes at any of the three Collegia, as well as with the Weaponsmaster.”

  “Anyone?” she breathed, as if she was afraid by saying it aloud, he’d deny it, or amend it with something that would mean she was excluded.

  “Boys, girls, anyone,” he promised. “I suppose even your lady-mother, if she were so inclined.” He looked about for writing materials, and got himself quill, ink, and a piece of the palimpsest-vellum from the next table over. “I’ll just write Lord Semel a note, shall I? And then your parents can arrange whatever you like. The tutor can remain where he is and torment your younger siblings.”

  He wrote out a brief, polite note, saying only that he had found Lirelle listening to a lesson and not specifying where or how, and wished to let his Lordship know that any or all of his sons and daughters could be enrolled in Collegium classes of their choice, and told him how that could be arranged. He ended it with “your humble servant,” signed it with a flourish, and waved it in the air until it was dry. “Here,” he said, handing it to Lirelle. “Before I seal it, I want to make sure I haven’t said anything out-of-turn, as it were.”

  She read it over, as he waited, then handed it back to him with a pleased nod. He pulled off Magnus’ seal-ring, and folded and sealed it on the spot, addressing the outside to “Lord Semel and Lady Tyria.” Then he handed it back to the girl.

  “The sooner you give this to them, the sooner you’ll find yourself in a class,” he said, with a smile.

  She snatched it from his hand, remembered herself and did a little curtsey, then dashed off. He smiled to himself, and got up to have a look for any of the others of the Lional brood.

  Helane wasn’t hard to find, and he very much doubted that she would be interested in classes . . . although you never knew. At the moment, there was a group playing bowls and pins in the garden, and she was the center of a knot of eager young men. And although he had been warned, Mags felt himself feeling a little stunned at her beauty. She really was something exceptional. And she wasn’t that vacant sort of beauty, who has nothing about her that distinguishes her except that—she was animated, and evidently holding her own in teasing and clever conversation. Even he felt as if he was being drawn into her orbit, and had to remind himself that this was not what he was here for.

  A better look around showed him a group of slightly younger men playing at dice, and one of them bore a strong family resemblance to Lirelle and the beauteous Helane. He sauntered over, was recognized, and invited to join. Since the stakes were low, he did. After a few throws, one of the lot thought to introduce him. “Magnus, this is Hawken; his family just arrived at Court. Hawken, this is Magnus, who knows where to find the best of everything at a price that won’t make our fathers swear and threaten to cut off our pocket-money.”

  Magnus laughed, and gave Hawken a slight bow. Hawken, who seemed to have remained a spectator at the dice-game smiled, but with an inquisitive look. “The shallowness of my own purse has forced me to become something of an expert in the study,” he said, with a faint hint o
f self-mockery.

  Now he just needed to let things take their natural course. Sooner or later, this lot of lads were going to suggest a quick trip down to Flora’s or one of the other houses of pleasure, and he wanted to see what Hawken’s reaction to that was going to be. On the whole, this lot of young men were feckless; not ill-intentioned, but not reliable. And this trip would be to determine just how deep Hawken’s pockets were, and how long his parental leash.

  And right on schedule, as it became apparent that Hawken was not going to be one of the players, the suggestion came. Shortcuts of walking lanes between many of the manor houses on the Hill meant that Flora’s and the Sickle Moon were both within walking distance, so off they went. Mags kept to the back of the group, and by dint of a few subtle signals, indicated to Hawken he should probably do the same.

  “Where are we going?” Hawken said in an undertone, once the rest had gotten about five paces ahead of them.

  “The Sickle Moon. It’s a bawdy house, and I suspect my friends there are going to see how much of their pleasure they can get you to pay for,” Mags replied, with a cynical chuckle. “It’s what they always do, see how much of a coney they can make any fellow that’s new to Court, figuring that even if his Papa is not indulgent, he’ll still have a plump purse that his parents anticipate will last him for some moons.”

  Hawken licked his lips uneasily. “I . . . is my father likely to find out about this?”

  “Not if you don’t tell him,” Mags chuckled. “But if the lads empty your purse for you, he’ll find that out soon enough.”

  Mags could tell that Hawken was torn . . . on the one hand, women! On the other, the prospect that his new “friends” would impoverish him in a single afternoon.

  And on the third hand . . . :I think our friend has little to no experience with the fair sex,: Dallen observed, saying exactly what Mags was thinking.

  :I suspect his father is the sort who would not take kindly to his offspring making free with the servants and the dairy-maids,: Mags agreed. :I think I had better take matters into my own hands.:

  “To be honest, visiting a house in a crowd is not to my taste,” he said, curling his lip a little. “I’ll tell you what; let’s you and I take this lane here—” He took Hawken’s elbow, and guided him down a branching path that led between two manor walls, and quickly out of sight of the group. “For now, I know a very good inn with some outstanding entertainment. We’ll enjoy ourselves for a couple of candlemarks, then wander back, and claim we thought that was where everyone was going once they return. Then I’ll take you to Flora’s myself, in a couple of nights.” He winked at Hawken. “The ladies there know me very well. You won’t get gutted, and you will get your money’s worth.”

  :And you’ll have a chance to get your usual report from Flora at the same time. Excellent plan,: said Dallen.

  :Thank you, nothing like using the same trip to accomplish two things.:

  “And you aren’t planning on finding out how much I’m good for?” Hawken asked, with proper suspicion, now that he’d been warned.

  Mags laughed aloud. “If you’re offering out of gratitude, I won’t say no,” he assured the young man. “But I promise you, these are my regular haunts and I know exactly what my pockets will bear. Cousin Chipman doesn’t coddle, but he doesn’t keep me short, either.”

  “In that case, pray, lead on,” Hawken said. “Where are we going?”

  “A highly entertaining establishment that boasts an actual stage, and actual players. The beer and wine are a little overpriced, but that is made up for by virtue of the fact that the entertainment is free,” Mags told him, as they came out from between the two walls onto one of the streets that was going to drop them onto the street of inns once they passed two more manors. “I think you’ll be amused.”

  • • •

  With Hawken’s assurance that he’d told his parents that he was probably going to dine with friends, the two of them stayed down at the King’s Helm until well after dinner, a dinner which Mags insisted on paying for, to cement his trustworthiness in Hawken’s eyes. He considered taking Hawken on to Flora’s that very night anyway, but decided against it. The young man was enjoying himself very much with the tamer entertainment of light comedies and good music he was getting. There was no point in overwhelming him.

  And besides . . . I probably ought to find out just what his father would think of him going to a brothel. He might be fine with it, but I’d rather Magnus didn’t make an enemy of the man if he’s not.

  :Want me to get Nikolas to find out?: Dallen asked :I think he and Lord Semel and the King are all doing the “old crony” chat at the moment and now would be an ideal time.:

  :If it can be worked into the conversation, please. Don’t bother to tell me anything unless the answer is “no,” and I’ll assume if I don’t hear anything, I can go ahead.:

  He hadn’t heard anything from Dallen by the time he and Hawken walked up through the gate to the Palace and were waved through by the Guards, who recognized “Magnus” on sight, and nodded when Hawken fumbled out the token that showed he lived at the Palace.

  There were a lot of members of the Court strolling about in the illuminated gardens, and that was where Mags bid him farewell. “I am going to walk some of this wine off, not be tempted into drinking more,” he told Hawken. “I have a lesson with the Weaponsmaster first thing in the morning, and I do not want to be feeling the effects of our evening when I meet up with him.” And before Hawken could say anything, he sauntered off into the darkness, only doubling back and slipping into his own quarters when he was sure Hawken would not spot him.

  There were lights burning in the sitting room, but he had already sensed that Amily was there, and not socializing—if the King’s Own could ever be said to be “socializing”—with the Court.

  “I found the Sisters of Ardana!” were the words Amily greeted him with as soon as he was in the door. “And I went down to talk to them, and discovered . . . quite a bit, actually. How are your ribs?”

  He sat down gingerly beside her, and put his arm around her shoulders. “Lubricated and pains eased with a good bit of wine,” he replied, and told her where he had been, and his encounter with two of the four offspring of Lord Semel. “That oldest girl . . .” he shook his head. “She ought to come with a sign about her neck warning the susceptible. I hope she’s got a sensible head under that cascade of perfect hair. The oldest boy is suggestible, but not a total innocent. I warned him off of Danver Haylie’s set, and we went and had innocent fun. And in a few days I’ll take him to Flora’s.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, you wicked corruptor of innocent youth!” she said.

  “The youth in question was going to get corrupted sooner or later,” he pointed out. “And your father, via Dallen, made sure his father isn’t going to object. I’m just making sure he does it safely and within his means. So, what happened when you visited the Sisters of Ardana? And where are they now exactly?”

  He found a comfortable position to ease his ribs—which were starting to ache a bit after all that walking—and listened to her carefully, frowning when she revealed just how the Sethorites had tricked the Sisters.

  “It’s a pretty legal question,” he said at last, out of his experience of far too much time in the Haven Courts of Law. “They certainly were tricked. But I think you’d have a difficult time getting a judge to agree that they were swindled. The value of that farm seems to equal or better the value of the property and Temple. In fact, it could be said they are much better off now, and that the only people who’ve been discommoded are their congregants. Can they rightly be numbered among the Sisters? Legally, I don’t think so.”

  She nodded. “That was the conclusion I came to, so I went to the Prince with a suggestion, and he took it. He’s gifting the Sisters with a big cart, a driver, and a mule; he specified an enclosed cart, with benches that c
an be removed. So the congregants can come down to services twice a week, and the rest of the time the Sisters have the cart to haul what needs to be hauled.”

  “They can probably even arrange for the cart to be hired for a half day at a time when they don’t need it,” Mags observed. “That’s more income. But to get back to what the Sethorites did—if this case were to come in front of me at the Law Court, I’d have to say they were even, even if I got the High Priest under Truth Spell—which I will bet any amount of money he would refuse to do—and proved they’d deliberately swindled the Sisters.”

  It was too warm for a fire, but Amily had clustered some candles on the hearth, so they not only gave off a pleasant light, the heat went straight up the chimney. The light from those candles illuminated Amily’s sober expression. “The Weaponsmaster always says to pick the battles you can win,” she observed pensively. “This really isn’t one we could win.”

  He wasn’t about to say anything as patronizing as “you’re learning,” but he was aware that this was “one of those lessons.” Being King’s Own meant having to figure out things like that. And she’d done so on her own, he was sure of that. The only thing that this conversation with him had really been about was just her confirming to herself that this had been the only way to proceed—and maybe getting reassurance from his answer.

  “Got a question for you,” he said. “Think we’re spendin’ too much time on Lord Semel’s family?”

  She shook her head immediately. “He’s a friend of the King, a confidant of the King, and I suspect it’s an open secret that he’s been one of the King’s informants in the area of his estate. Anyone that wants to influence the King through him will go straight for one of his children or his wife. His wife is probably well aware of just that, and is not going to be taken in, but the children are not. I’ll talk to one of the Trainees about keeping an eye on Lirelle once she starts taking classes. If we can interest Loren in classes, all the better, that puts two of them in a place where we can keep track of them. If you’ve become Hawken’s confidant, that settles that. That leaves Helane, who I know nothing about, and as we saw with Violetta, that can be dangerous—but I have Lady Dia alerted, and I’m talking with her tomorrow about Helane.”