“Now, wait a-,” I started to protest, but suddenly strong hands grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet. Two Knights of the Double Tarn held me between them, and from the looks on their faces I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I wore no sword, and the knife I always carried in my boot might as well have been on the moon for all the good it could do me.
Then a third knight, bigger and older than the rest, approached me. I decided he deserved all my attention. He held out his hand for the apple. “I’ll take that.” He wrapped the handkerchief around it and put it in a pocket. “And who are you?”
Murder was too serious for aliases. “I’m Edward LaCrosse.”
“There’s no LaCrosse on the guest list.”
“You know every name by heart?”
“Yes.” He said it with such certainty I couldn’t doubt him. “So what are you doing here?”
“Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, apparently.”
“I’ll decide that.”
Lord DeGrandis lumbered out of the crowd. His red face contrasted sharply with the yellow frills at his neck. “Why are you standing there? Execute this man!”
“No one’s getting executed,” the older knight said, “until I get answers.”
“This is my castle, Sir Robert,” DeGrandis boomed.
Sir Robert faced him steadily. “Then give some orders.”
With a wave of his hand, DeGrandis said, “Execute this man!”
The knights holding me neither moved nor responded.
“Did you hear me?” DeGrandis said. It came out high, whiny, and desperate. “I’m the chancellor of this training school, the lord of this castle, and I gave you an order!”
“Did you hear anything?” the man holding my right arm said.
“Just a big yellow fly buzzing around,” the other responded. Neither smiled.
To my handlers Robert said, “Secure this gentleman in one of the serving rooms. I’ll speak to him in more detail shortly.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said as they pulled me away. “You know this kid was already dead when I got to him, right?”
“I know he’s dead now, ” Robert said, then turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask that you remain calm. No one’s leaving the hall until we know more about what happened, so I suggest you take advantage of the free food and drink.”
Trying to take on a roomful of Knights of the Double Tarn would be efficiently fatal, so I let them drag me away without a fight. The knights handed me over to a pair of the newly minted soldiers, whose grip was no less formidable. “Take him into a side room and sit on him,” one veteran said. “Sir Robert will be along shortly to question him.”
“Yes, sir,” the first soldier replied, and they quickly hustled me out of the hall. Great, I thought, a whole new irony: in trying to help a stranger, I’d fallen into the middle of something deadly here in Grand Bruan, where I knew no one and had no resources at all. Who was laughing now?
THREE
My keepers slammed me down so hard the wooden chair cracked from the impact. “Sit there and be quiet,” one of them snarled. He’d clearly perfected it in a mirror and would need a lot more practice before it had the desired effect. Given my circumstances, though, I didn’t point that out.
They’d taken me to a tiny room outside the main hall. I was far enough away that I heard nothing except the breathing of my minders, the occasional pop from the torch outside the door, and my own thundering heart. It wasn’t a cell, though; it was filled with wooden crates, box-laden shelves, and the distinctive odor of disuse. Most castles were full of forgotten rooms like this, and I was grateful it wasn’t a fully equipped interrogation chamber. Maybe it was all there was: had the castle been so thoroughly decommissioned for peacetime training that no prison cells remained?
“Hold out your arms,” the other one said. He produced a pair of elaborately engraved manacles. A few links of chain attached each wrist cuff to a thick metal disk the size of a saucer. He snapped the manacles around my wrists.
My guards seemed to think pitching me into the chair and cuffing me meant I could no longer hear them talk. “Did you see the look on his face?” the taller man asked his friend. “He was spitting up black foam. Black foam.”
“I know,” his compatriot agreed. He had short sandy hair and was missing half his left earlobe. His voice shook a little.
“And did you see the look on the queen’s face?” the other said. He had one of those high, insinuating voices that seemed naturally suited to gossip. “She was aiming for Gillian.”
“No, man, I don’t believe that. She’s the queen.”
“She’s also a woman, and they’re a hell of a lot meaner than men. That fancy headband doesn’t make her any less female.”
“Don’t let Kay hear you say that,” the first soldier whispered urgently. “You’ll have us both peeling potatoes for a week.”
“Look, you stand guard here. I’m going back upstairs.”
“Me? Why do I have to stay?”
“Because I have seniority.”
“A week and a half is not seniority.”
“I was commissioned before you, soldier,” the taller man said with a quavering attempt to pull rank. “That’s a fact. So you stay here and wait until someone relieves you.”
The taller man departed. The remaining guard stood with his back to the door, hand on his sword hilt, and watched me with what he assumed was an ass-puckering glare. I smiled, closed my eyes, and settled in to wait, a skill I’d mastered long ago.
Finally big Robert, who knew the names of all the guests, came into the room. His expression was grim, and he loomed over me with practiced intimidation. His muscles bulged under clothes about half a size too small. I got the feeling that, if he grew angry enough, arrows would bounce off his bare skin.
He slapped my foot off my knee and said, “If you’re looking for trouble, wise guy, I come from where they put the edge on it. So your best choice would be to answer my questions truthfully and completely.”
“I agree.” I deliberately crossed my leg again. He was using a standard tactic: make the suspect think only the interrogator stands between him and certain death. It worked, unless the suspect was someone like me.
“So who are you?” he demanded.
“Like I already told you, my name is Edward LaCrosse. I’m on your guest list as Edward, the Baron Rosselac.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why the alias?”
“I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business?”
“A tail job. There was a slight chance the man I was hired to follow might have heard my real name, and I didn’t want him to see it on the list. Seemed harmless enough at the time.”
“A sword jockey,” Sir Robert said disdainfully. The reaction didn’t surprise me. Soldiers who’d bought into the system had little use for people like me, who knew the system but worked outside it. It annoyed them that we used our job skills in our own service, not that of the local monarch. The argument that the skills belonged to the soldier, not to the king or commander, generally fell on unsympathetic ears.
“A man’s gotta eat,” I said.
“Who were you following?”
I shook my head. “That’s confidential.”
“Somebody’s been killed here, pal. Don’t get cute.”
