“These young people nowadays! We used to have time for romance, time for courting, but nowadays? All they want is…”
And then the nice old lady pronounced a phrase that would have made a sailor blush. Eel’s new acquaintance was certainly colorful, I would even go so far as to say amusing. Her black dress hung on her as loosely as on a coat hanger and her purple wig looked like some kind of misunderstanding. Her wrinkled face was covered with a layer of white powder as thick as a finger, and this charming get-up was rounded off by a well-fed little doggy with a blue silk ribbon round its neck.
“Countess Ranter at your service.”
I wonder why everybody’s so keen to offer their services today?
“I…”
“Oh, don’t bother yourself, duke. I know perfectly well who you are. But then, so does everyone in this hall.”
“The gossipers?” I put in, remembering what the baron had said as I came to Eel’s assistance.
I earned a rather disdainful glance from the dear old lady.
“Is that what Oro the bear told you? What was he talking about with you for so long? But then, don’t bother to answer, dralan, even my shaggy little Tobiander knows, don’t you, my little one?” the countess cooed, addressing the lap dog, which was drooling in its sleep. “What can that beer-soaked barbarian possibly discuss? Nothing but swords, battles, and stupid orcs that don’t really exist. Isn’t that right, my little darling?”
“You don’t believe in orcs, countess?”
“I do. But Tobiander is so impressionable! By the way, you look a lot younger than I thought you were, duke!”
“Really! You flatter me.”
“Yes, when I saw you last, about forty years ago, you were marching around gravely under the table with a wooden sword in your hand. But now you don’t look a day over thirty. Do northerners posses the secret of eternal youth?”
I gave a forced laugh. Eel remained icily calm. This damned old woman had seen the real duke! Even if he was only an infant at the time!
Don’t worry, Harold! The duke has lived like a hermit, Harold! No one will recognize him, Harold! I’m with you, Harold!
May the demons gobble up Kli-Kli and his brilliant little ideas!
“My youthfulness must come from my ancestors, countess.”
“Yes, and by the way, about them! You’re not at all like your father. Not in the slightest! And I can’t see a single feature of my dear second cousin in you!”
Her second cousin? Ah, that would be Eel’s supposed mother. I quickly ran through the duke’s family tree on his mother’s side in my mind. Yes, that was it! There was an intersection with a branch of the Ranter family. A distant connection, but it was there.
“These are questions you had better put to my mother, dear countess.”
“And how, may I ask? She has been dead a long time!”
Oops! Time to close down the conversation.
“Yes, a great loss,” I put in, taking Eel by the elbow. “But allow us to take our leave, we have a lot of business to attend to.”
And before she could say another word, we set off toward the broad marble stairway at the opposite end of the hall. I could feel the old lady’s stare of amazement drilling into my back.
Never mind, she’ll survive. And anyway, what did she expect from a dralan so recently separated from his plow? Polite manners?
I heard laughter break out on my left. Of course, it was Kli-Kli amusing the noble gentlemen. The jester was taking his work seriously, and all those dolled-up peacocks were chortling just like any ordinary commoners. The goblin sang songs, juggled three full glasses of wine, and asked riddles. All the jokes were too stupid for my taste, but they were a resounding success with the nobility.
“Upstairs,” I said to Eel. “We’ll check what’s up there.”
We walked up the stairs to the second floor and found ourselves on a balcony that ran right round the hall and provided a magnificent view. Two corridors started from the same point, leading into the depths of the building. The one nearest to me contained a lot of paintings in huge gilded frames, an entire portrait gallery, in fact.
Out of curiosity I walked up to the first canvas. Staring out at me from the picture with a sardonic expression was Count Balistan Pargaid in person. The next painting showed a man who was a copy of Pargaid. No doubt it was his father. I took another step in order to see the count’s grandfather, and suddenly felt a strange tickling in my stomach. I started wondering what could have caused this nuisance, but then I remembered what Miralissa had said about the Key and the sensation I should feel.
The Key! I swear by Sagot, the Key was somewhere near!
“I felt something. Eel, cover me in case anything happens!”
I strolled on down the corridor, moving farther and farther away from the Nightingales’ festivities, and found myself alone with just pictures, from which Balistan Pargaid’s numerous ancestors gazed out at me.
The tickling in my stomach grew stronger. The Key was calling to me, luring me. I almost thought I could hear words.
“Here I am! Come quick! The bonds are calling you!”
There was not much farther left to go. The artifact was behind one of two doors on each side of the final portrait in the corridor. I walked up to them and stopped to examine the portrait, which had caught my attention. It cost me an effort of will not to gasp out loud.
The portrait was old. Very old. I could tell that from the way the paint had darkened, and the artist’s style. Assessing the picture with the strictly professional eye of a master thief who has not disdained the theft of a few works of art in his time, I can state with certainty that the canvas was at least five hundred years old and, to judge from his costume, the man depicted in it had lived at least fifteen hundred years ago.
The man in the picture was over fifty years old, thin, with gray hair at his temples and gray streaks in his neat little beard. He had no mustache. His brown eyes gazed at me in genial derision. And I knew this fellow or, rather, I had seen him, even though he lived at a time when Ranneng was no more than a small village and Avendoom did not even exist.
Where have I seen this gentleman! But of course, in a dream! The dream in which this man killed the dwarf master-craftsman and tried to take possession of the Key, but met his death from an elfin dagger. I recall that he had a golden nightingale embroidered on his doublet.
So this was who Balistan Pargaid reminded me of! The family likeness between the present-day servant of the Master and the man whose life ended in the Mountains of the Dwarves was striking! What was his name, now …
“Suovik Pargaid,” a quiet voice said behind my back.
I looked round. The master of the house was standing behind me. I hadn’t even heard him walk up to me, although the floor was made of slabs of marble and not covered with a Sultanate carpet.
“I beg your pardon, milord. I saw the picture and was unable to overcome my curiosity,” I said lamely.
“You have walked quite a long way, dralan,” Balistan Pargaid said with a rather unpleasant laugh. “A-ah, here is our good duke!”
Fortunately Eel had sensed that something was wrong and he appeared from round the corner of the corridor.
“I trust that Dralan Par has not offended your ancestors, count? He has an interest in antiquity…”
“Oh, indeed?” the count asked.
“Tell me, count, who is the subject of this portrait?” Eel asked, hastily switching the conversation to a less contentious subject.
“You do honor to my ancestors, Your Lordship! This is Suovik Pargaid, as I have already said. The third of the Pargaid line. Unfortunately, one fine day he set out for the Mountains of the Dwarves and never returned.”
“How regrettable.”
