Will Power

This was not going all that well. She was holding the door open just wide enough to poke her head round, and showed no sign of inviting me in.

“So,” I tried, trying to sound casual, “can I come in and do some, you know, reading?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, not bothering to soften the blow much. “The library is closed, as you know, and, since the fire, we have been obliged to tighten our security and speed up our work.”

“What work?” I demanded, a trifle testily.

“Cataloging,” she said. Her smile had evaporated like a ground mist under a morning sun. The door, if anything, had closed an inch or two. “Now I really must get back to work,” she said.

“Right, right,” I beamed, falsely. “While I remember,” I added before I walked away, “I was wondering if you might mention to Sorrail what I did during the goblin siege.”

“The goblin siege?” she said, suddenly hesitant.

“Yes. You know, when we were up on the walls and the goblins were attacking. You had your crossbow. I was on the other side of that big breach in the walls over there as the goblins were coming through. Well, no one seems to remember me doing anything and, when I mention it, people don’t seem to believe me. I wasn’t expecting them to put a life-size bronze of me in the town square, but a little less contempt would be nice, you know? After all, I did earn it. Pretty heroic, I thought: gigantic monster poised to ravish the city and. . Well, I’m not especially popular right now, so I thought you might mention it to Sorrail or the king or something. I mean, fair’s fair.”

She gave me a long, blank stare, as if I was speaking a foreign language. She showed no animation at the memory of the battle, no astonishment that I hadn’t got some kind of official award, and, in fact, no sign that she could recall the event at all. When I finished she merely nodded distantly, as if her mind was on something else, and said, “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

I made understanding noises and the door shut heavily in my face. A key turned and then a series of heavy bolts thudded home. I wouldn’t be going in that way.

“The lover returns,” said Renthrette. “Been breaking hearts, Will?”

“Jealous, Renthrette?”

“Desperately,” she said with a look that would have curdled milk.

“How did you know where I’ve been, anyway?”

“Gossip, Will, gossip. I thought you would have figured that out. What do you think courtiers do all day? It’s not all banqueting with the king, you know. A lot of talking goes on here. I expect you’d like it. That’s your strength, isn’t it, talking?” She smiled, wide as a grave and twice as nasty.

“We can’t all be semiliterate baboons like you and your brother,” I responded.

“I can read, so can Garnet.”

“I said semiliterate, not illiterate. Yes, you can read in that ‘see the dog run’ fashion you think is adequate, but it unsettles your stomach, doesn’t it, all that brain juice flowing? And killing things is so much more fun.”

“It’s not about fun-” she began.

“I know,” I interjected, “it’s about principle. It’s about honor and chivalry and sunshine and the forces of light. I heard the litany, Renthrette, so spare me.”

“I’m just verbalizing,” she said. “I thought that was what you liked: words.”

“Thank you,” I muttered bitterly. “You’re a chipper little thing when you’ve got an evening with Sorrail to look forward to, aren’t you?”

“Not just Sorrail,” she said. “The whole court. It will be tremendous. So tremendous that even your presence won’t spoil it for me.”

“Mine?”

“You’re going, too.”

She reached out, brandishing a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax and edged with gold. My name was etched in a curly script marked by so many flourishes that the letters were almost unreadable.

“Your invitation,” she said, staring at me significantly. She didn’t actually say don’t screw this up for us, but it was there in her face. I reached for the envelope and she pulled it fractionally away until I met her eyes and gave a shrug of acknowledgment. Then she gave it to me.

And so were my evening’s plans made. It might even be fun. And, besides, I was still floating slightly on the knowledge that Lisha had trusted me while Garnet and Renthrette didn’t even know she was around. When Renthrette taunted me, it was all I could do not to whistle I know something you don’t know. But I said nothing. It was more fun that way.

In truth, I was faintly relieved. Being at the banquet meant I would be safe and could put off any attempts to break into the library until some less rational hour. Tonight, I thought, I would do my best to enjoy the pleasures of the court by blending in, something that would have been close to impossible were it not for assistance that came from a rather surprising quarter. An hour or so before we were due to go, Garnet appeared at my door with one of those earnest looks in his emerald eyes.

“I’ve brought you something,” he said, kind of sheepishly.

“Come in,” I said, trying to see what he was holding behind him. “What is it?”

Garnet lowered his eyes, hesitated, and, with a sharply intaken breath that suggested both embarrassment and resolve, he whisked a suit of black silk and brocade out from the bag he was clutching. It was adorned with a white lace collar and cuffs-not too flouncy, but enough for elegance-and buttoned with silver. I gave a long, tuneless whistle. “Where did you get this?”

Garnet muttered something and walked over to the window with a nonchalance that was totally unconvincing.

“What?” I said.

“I found it in the town,” said Garnet, fidgeting and looking pointedly out of the window.

“You what?” I said.

“I found it,” said Garnet, looking at me suddenly with something like defiance, “you know, in the town.”

“What, lying around?” I demanded.

“Of course not lying around,” he snapped, irritation clouding his brow.

“You bought it?” I exclaimed.

There was silence for a moment.

“Kind of,” said Garnet, dropping his eyes again and gesturing vaguely so that he knocked a small flower vase off the window ledge. It broke and he instantly stooped to pick up the pieces.

“Kind of?” I repeated. “What does that mean? Did you buy it or not?”

“Yes,” he hissed, not looking up.

“You bought this for me?” I persisted. “Garnet, I didn’t know you cared!”

He looked up, and his usually chalky face was flushed with pink. “Don’t make a big deal of this, Will,” he spluttered. “I got it because you’ll need it for tonight. That’s all. I don’t want you embarrassing yourself. Or us.”

“That’s really very sweet of you.”

He rose quickly and his fingers flexed as if he were looking for the axe he normally wore in his belt. “Listen, Will, don’t start. . ”

“I’m grateful, Garnet. I really am,” I said, honestly. “I’m just surprised that you would think to do this for me. Was it expensive?”

“I got a good deal on it,” he said, a little sulkily.

That I didn’t doubt. He and Renthrette would argue for hours to save the kind of change you find under bar stools. The suit was unlike anything I’d ever worn before, excepting some of the cast-off fashions with which the nobility had supplied the Cresdon theaters. I felt the fabric. It was flawlessly smooth, and the brocade felt like the pelt of a meticulously groomed mink. I grinned at Garnet and he shuffled.

“Thanks, Garnet.”