for a woman who rode a monster.
When she was sure she had their attention, the woman said, very slowly and with a charming smile, “My name is Miranda Lyonette, and I am here on behalf of the Spirit Court with a warning for your king. Now, I’m on a very tight deadline, so I would appreciate it very much if you would open the gate and let me on my way.”
It was the older guard who gathered his wits first. “Um, lady,” he said, picking himself up off the ground, “we’d like to help, but we can’t open the gate without the Master Gatekeeper, and he’s been called off to the castle.”
“Well,” she said, “then you’d better run and get him.”
The men looked at each other, then back at the woman. She made a little shooing motion, and the guards ran off, falling over each other as they rushed the tiny gatehouse door.
When they were gone, Miranda slid down the hound’s back and began to stretch the last few days out of her joints.
“I could have just jumped it,” the hound growled. It eyed the two-story wall and snorted dismissively. “Saved us some time. I
“We
“Good impressions are wasted on this lot.” Gin shook himself vigorously, raising a small cloud of grit from his ever-shifting coat. “We should have just jumped and saved the act for the king.”
“Next time I’ll just leave the negotiating to you, then.” Miranda stepped clear of the hound’s dust cloud. “Why don’t you worry less about the schedule and more about keeping your nose sharp? He has to be skulking around here somewhere.”
Gin gave her a withering look. “My nose is always sharp.” His long ears twitched, then swiveled forward. “The guards are coming back, and they brought a lot of other clanky metal types with them.” He flopped down, resting his chin on his paws. “So much for doing things the quick way.”
Miranda ignored him and put on a dazzling smile as the two guards, and a small squad of spearmen, marched through the gatehouse.
The gate guards had had no trouble finding the Master Gatekeeper. He was in the throne room, standing in a rough clump around the empty throne with every other official in Allaze.
“Sir,” the older guard said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We have a situation outside.”
“I’m a bit busy,” the Master Gatekeeper snapped.
“But, sir,” the guard said, clutching his metal cap, “it’s really something I think you should-”
“There’s a wizard at the east gate!” the younger guard burst out, and then shrank back as the older guard and the Master Gatekeeper both snapped their heads around to glare at him. “It has to be a wizard,” he said sheepishly. “Ain’t no one else can ride a monster like that.”
“Did you say wizard?” The Master of Security pushed his way over to them. “Was it a dark-haired man? Young looking?”
“No, sir.” The young guard saluted. “It was a lady wizard, sir. Redheaded. Said she had a warning for the king.”
The Master Gatekeeper and the Master of Security put their heads together and began arguing quietly. Whatever it was they argued about, the Master of Security must have won because he was the one who started barking orders. Three minutes later, the two gate guards were back at their post, only now with a squad of royal guard and the Master of Security between them and the monster, which lay with its long chin rested on its paws, watching.
The woman appeared completely unruffled by the sudden arrival of a large number of spears pointed in her direction. If there were any remaining doubts about her being a wizard, the large, ostentatiously jeweled rings covering her fingers put those to rest. She watched patiently, gently tapping her nails against the large ruby on her thumb, which was beginning to glow like an ember in the bright sun. Several of the men started to ease back toward the gatehouse, their spears wobbling, and the Master of Security decided it was time to take control of the situation.
“I hear you have a warning for the king,” he said boldly. “You may speak it to me.”
“My orders are to speak only to the king himself,” Miranda said. “It is a matter of some delicacy.”
“I am Oban, Master of Security. You’ll speak it to me, or not at all,” he huffed.
Miranda looked at Gin, who flicked his ear in the ghosthound equivalent of a shrug. “I suppose we have wasted enough time,” she said. “I am here on behalf of the Spirit Court by order of the Rector Spiritualis, Etmon Banage. Yesterday morning we received a tip that the known fugitive wizard and wanted criminal Eli Monpress has been sighted within your kingdom. It is our belief that he is after an old wizard artifact held in your treasury. I am here to offer my assistance to keep him from stealing it.”
There was a long pause, and Miranda got the horrible, sinking feeling that she had missed something important.
“Lady,” the Master of Security said, shaking his head, “if you’re here to warn the king about Eli, then you’re a little late.”
Miranda scowled. “You mean he’s already stolen the artifact?”
“No.” The Master of Security sighed. “He’s stolen the king.”
Three hours later, Miranda was seated at the foot of a small table in a cramped office in the lower part of the castle. Oban, Master of Security, the Master of the Exchequer, and the Master of the Courts were crammed together at the other end of the table, as far from her as possible. Other than Oban, none of them had told her their names, and they all looked equally displeased at being cornered in a small room with a wizard. Still, this was a step forward. An hour ago, she’d been sitting in the throne room with all forty masters of Mellinor, whom she guessed were the local equivalent of the standard governing body of lords and appointees that most kingdoms this size seemed to favor, staring daggers at her. It was only after much official argument that these three had stepped forward to speak for the whole, but from the way they were glaring at her, Miranda didn’t think she’d gotten off any easier. In fact, she was beginning to regret telling Gin to wait at the gate. Miranda knew from experience that a large set of teeth on one’s side tended to make these bureaucratic talks much easier.
Still, for all their pomp, the men across from her seemed to be in no hurry to get things started. After several minutes of waiting, compounded by the hours already wasted while the Mellinor officials decided who was going to deal with her, Miranda came to the conclusion that civility could get one only so far in life, and she cut straight to the point.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “This would be much easier if you just told me the whole story.”
The two nameless officials sneered, but Oban, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “We caught Eli this morning trying to get the king’s prized stallion out of the stables. The horse made a racket and the Master of the Stables caught him red-handed. The thief gave up immediately, and as soon as he told us his name was Eli Monpress… Well,” Oban said and shrugged, “who hasn’t heard of him? I was called in and we locked him up in our strongest cell. Now, of course, we’re sure the horse business was only a ploy to get inside the castle proper, because no sooner had we put him in the cell than he was gone, and shortly after that, so was our king.”
“If you knew he was a wizard,” Miranda said slowly, “why did you leave him alone?”
“Well,” Oban said, wiping his bald head with a handkerchief, “as I said, it was our strongest cell. We took everything off him that looked magical. He didn’t have any rings or gems, nothing like that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, as soon as we knew the thief was out, we tried to get the king to safety. His Majesty was with us all the way to the throne room, and then he vanished. We searched all the secret passages, all the hidden stairs. By that point, the grounds were crawling with soldiers and every exit was watched. No one saw a thing.”
“This is our only clue,” said the small man to his left, the Master of the Exchequer. He took a small white card from his pocket and slid it across the polished table. “We found it in the rose garden shortly after the king vanished.”
Miranda picked up the card, holding it delicately between her thumb and forefinger. It was cut from a heavy white stock, like a calling card, and at the center, engraved in gold ink, was an extravagant, cursive
