“So?” I asked stupidly.
Kli-Kli grabbed hold of his head in despair and started groaning as if all his teeth were aching.
“Harold, you’ve locked yourself away in your own little world and you can’t see further than your own nose!” the goblin said. “Count Balistan Pargaid is the most influential individual in the south of Valiostr. The antiquity of his family line rivals the Stalkon dynasty, not to mention the fact that he is the leader of all the Nightingales and a very, very dangerous character. He is no ardent admirer of our king. He keeps a low profile, but give him a chance, and the Pargaids will advance their claim to the throne. And believe me, they have a serious right to that claim. Now that we know Pargaid is conspiring with the Master, I am doubly afraid for the king’s welfare.”
“Pargaid and his standard-bearers can put up eight thousand swordsmen, not counting all sorts of other petty riffraff. A force like that has to be taken seriously,” Alistan rumbled.
It was obvious that he was not fond of Pargaid. But what is the love of a nobleman worth, anyway? They’re always squabbling over land, sticking daggers in each other, slipping poison into each other’s drinks, and then the simple soldiers are the ones who have to bear the consequences.
“His lands extend from here almost as far as the oaks of Zagraba, and as for gold…”
“All right. So we’ve found out who the estate belongs to. Now what are we going to do?” I asked, looking at Alistan.
He tugged on his mustache and answered reluctantly. “I don’t think there’s any way we can simply break into his house. Without a map of the patrols and without knowing exactly where the Key is … it would be suicide. The Nightingales’ guards will be on the alert. It’s a big house, and you won’t be able to run round all the rooms. The risk is too great.”
“You’re absolutely right, milord. There’s no simple way to get in there, and if we do get in, we need to know exactly where the artifact is.”
“Kli-Kli has suggested a plan of how we can infiltrate the count’s house.”
Kli-Kli? Has suggested? A plan? I glared at the goblin in astonishment.
“Well?” he asked testily. “Do you think I’m incapable of proposing a brilliant plan?”
“You’re capable all right,” I said, making no attempt to argue. “Only I have absolutely no doubt that your brilliant plan will lead us all straight to the graveyard.”
“All right, Harold. It’s not a brilliant plan, just a few bright ideas from a goblin. So where was I now? It’s no secret that the day after tomorrow Count Balistan Pargaid is holding his annual reception in honor of the great victory of the Nightingales over the Wild Boars two centuries ago. And we have a genuine chance of getting into the festivities—”
“I beg your pardon, Kli-Kli,” Eel put in. “But I find it hard to believe that we will be allowed into the Nightingales’ holy of holies for a polite how-do-you-do.”
“Don’t worry, Tight-Lip. They’ll let us in, all right. Not only will they let us in, they’ll actually invite us themselves! Balistan Pargaid is well known as a dedicated collector of antiquities, and that will be very helpful to us.”
“Kli-Kli, have you really got some rare old book of your grandfather’s stuck in your back pocket?” I asked provocatively.
“You’re a fool, Harold. Show him, Lady Miralissa.”
Without saying a word, the elfess handed me a bracelet. I turned it over in my hands, studying it carefully. Black steel, crudely forged, runes, writing in what I thought was ogric.
“Is this really what I think it is?” I asked, looking up at Miralissa.
“I’m not a mind reader, Harold.” For a fleeting moment the black lips curved into a smile. “Yes, it is very valuable. The bracelet was forged by the ogres in the times before they withdrew into the Desolate Lands.”
Yes, that was it. A piece of ordinary metal, not even a single ounce of precious metal, but the antiquity of the item, and the fact that it was one of the very few artifacts still surviving after the ogres, made it worth two or three hundred gold pieces. Serious money. Especially for someone in my profession.
“So we buy our pass into the house with this?” I asked the goblin.
“We’ve already bought it! While you were resting on that soft straw, we weren’t just sitting about doing nothing. Count Balistan Pargaid has already been informed that this rare piece is in the city and he has politely forwarded an invitation for the Duke Ganet Shagor to attend his modest reception, and to bring his valuable treasure with him.”
“Mmmm…,” I murmured. “I don’t quite catch the connection between us and this duke.”
“The connection’s absolutely direct, Harold,” Kli-Kli said, looking at me with a mocking smile. “Duke Ganet Shagor is none other than yourself, in person!”
That was the moment when I realized I was going to strangle the little blackguard for his stupid bright little ideas.
“Kli-Kli,” I said, trying to speak in a quiet, ingratiating voice. “My friend, did you have too many magic mushrooms for breakfast again? What sort of duke will I make?”
“The perfect kind. You want to get into Pargaid’s house? Then you’ll be a duke,” the jester snapped back.
“I don’t know how to be a duke!” I exploded. “I’m a thief! A thief, not a nobleman and a high society peacock! Couldn’t you find anyone else for the job?”
“Who do you suggest, Harold?” Miralissa asked. “The Wild Hearts will not do, they are warriors. Anybody would recognize them as simple men straightaway. Milord Alistan cannot do it, he is known at court. Who does that leave? Only you.”
“Why does it have to be a duke, why not an elfess or a miserly dwarf?”
“Because news about the collector has already spread through the city, and the collector is a man.”
“But I don’t know all those stupid noblemen’s rules—etiquette and all that high society stuff! I’ll be spotted in the first five seconds!”
“Oh, Harold, don’t make me laugh!” said Kli-Kli, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs to and fro jauntily. “Do you think those idle spongers will understand anything? You’re a duke now, not just some lousy little marquis. Just put on your usual gloomy face, and no one will even come near you or ask you any questions. Just be haughty, cold, and smug, like Master Quidd’s turkey cock, that’s all!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking my head. “This is a wild gamble.”
“Our entire journey to Hrad Spein is a gamble,” the jester said in a serious voice. “We have two days. I’m going to try to teach you something in that time. And I’ll tell you your life story.”
“Are dukes as thick in our kingdom as flies on rotten meat? Kli-Kli, fear the gods! Everyone knows who all the dukes are! Where are you going to get another one from? Overseas? With my accent even a Doralissian could tell that I’ve lived in Valiostr all my life!”
“Now, don’t get so excited! There is one duke, the king’s second cousin via one of his grandmothers. He’s an eccentric, he lives like a hermit and hasn’t left his castle for twenty years, so no one will recognize you as an imposter.”
“But there are—”
“If I say no one, that means no one. Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you, and if anything happens—”
“No!” I snapped.
“No what?”
“No. You won’t be there with me!”
“And why’s that?”
“Kli-Kli, you’re a walking disaster with two skinny little legs! If you go with me, we’ll definitely never get out alive!”
“I’m going with you, Dancer in the Shadows, that has already been decided. And in any case you’ll need a retinue and prompter. In case you didn’t know, dukes don’t go out visiting all on their own.”
“A fine retinue! A little green fool!”
“Precisely, a fool, you fool! Who’s going to take any notice of you when a jester appears in the house?”
Hmm? Well, I had to admit to myself that the goblin was talking sense there—if he pulled a couple of his rotten tricks, everybody would be keeping their eyes on him.
“They could recognize you as the king’s jester.”
“No chance!” he retorted. “The chances of meeting a familiar face among the Nightingales are very slim. And
