“What happened?” Cordstick repeated his master’s words as if he was not quite able to fathom them. “Besides the porcupine, the bog wump, the fire ants, the fall from the cliff, the beating at the hands of angry farmers, the dragging through the fields by the horse that threw me, and the encounter with the feral pigs? Besides being driven out of a dozen taverns and thrown out of a dozen more? Not a lot, really.”
“Well,” Laphroig said, an abrupt utterance that he apparently intended to say everything. “Well, we’ll see that you get double pay for your efforts. Now what did you find out?”
Cordstick shook his head. “I found out that I should never have left the castle and may never do so again. Certainly not without an armed escort. The world is a vicious place, my Lord.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that. But what about the Princess? What have you found out about her?”
“Found out about her? Besides the fact that she’s still missing? Besides the fact that looking for her was perhaps the single most painful undertaking of my life?”
His voice was rising steadily, taking on a dangerously manic tone, and Laphroig took a step back despite himself. There was a wild glint in his scribe’s eyes, one he had never seen before.
“Stop this whining, Cordstick!” he ordered, trying to bring things under control. “Others have suffered in my cause, and you don’t hear them complaining.”
“That’s because they are all dead, my Lord! Which, by all rights, I should be, too!”
“Nonsense! You’ve just suffered a few superficial injuries. Now get on with it! You try my patience with your complaints. Leave all that for later. Tell me about the Princess!”
“Might I have a glass of wine, my Lord? From the flask that is not poisoned?”
Laphroig could hardly miss the irony in the wording of the request, but he chose to ignore it. At least until he got his report out of the man. It was beginning to look as if Cordstick might have outlived his usefulness and should be dispensed with before he did something ill advised. Like trying to strangle his master, for example, which his eyes suggested he was already thinking of doing.
He poured Cordstick a glass of the good wine and handed it to him. “Drink that down, and we’ll talk.”
His scribe took the glass with a shaking hand, guided it to his lips, and drained it in a single gulp. Then he held it out for a refill. Laphroig obliged, silently cursing his generosity. Cordstick drank that one down, too.
“My Lord,” he said, wiping his lips with his shirtsleeve, “I understand better now why those who do your bidding do so as spies and not openly. That is another mistake I will not make again.”
“Just tell me what you found out, please,” he urged in his gentlest, most reassuring voice, hiding every other emotion.
Cordstick straightened. Or at least, he made a failed attempt at it. “My Lord, there is nothing new on where the Princess has gone or what she is doing.” He held up one bandaged hand as Laphroig started to vent. “However, that is not to say that our efforts have been totally unsuccessful.”
Laphroig stared. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“It means that we know one more thing that we didn’t know before I set out to find the Princess, although I’m not sure it’s worth the price I had to pay to discover it. The Princess Mistaya has not disappeared for the reasons we thought. Nothing bad has happened to her. No abduction, no spiriting away, nothing like that. Apparently, she had a falling-out with her parents and left of her own volition. Because of the nature of the falling-out, it is thought she has no immediate intention of returning.”
Laphroig shrugged. “Forgive me, Cordstick, but I don’t see how that helps us.”
“It helps, my Lord, because she is seeking sanctuary with an understanding third party. Her grandfather, the River Master, turned her down. She must be looking elsewhere.” He paused. “Do you happen to know anyone who might be willing to grant her sanctuary, should I eventually find her and have a chance to speak with her?”
“Ah,” said Laphroig, the light beginning to dawn. “So you think she might come here to live?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Cordstick rubbed his bandaged hands and then winced. “If she agrees to let you act as her guardian, she becomes your ward and you gain legal status in determining her future. As
