“I have been well trained in skill and courtesy, my lady.”
Tiphaine’s face was blank save for a very slight lift of the eyebrow at the unspoken, by you.
Rodard had changed out of the plain set of battle armor; he’d be sharing the watches outside her door, but right now he was in a modest, sober set of gentlemen’s evening garments, a simpler version of what she was wearing. With a sword, though, and she knew that particular outfit had a lining of very fine mesh-mail in the houppelande. He and his brother were very good swordsmen; she’d trained them herself, passing on what Sandra’s instructors had drilled into her along with a fund of lethal experience that spanned two decades now. Along with many other skills.
“Armand’s on duty right now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good. Get a crossbow; ordinary Armory pattern issue model. No quarrels, just the bow. Bundle it up and put it somewhere in the dining hall we’ll be going to. Get it done right now, then tell Lioncel where it is before we go in.”
“At once, my lady,” he said and was gone.
“My lady?” Lioncel said.
“Was that a question, squire?”
“No, my lady.”
There was a stamp and clash outside the door when she left; five crossbowmen in three-quarter armor came to attention, and three men-at-arms headed by Armand. She returned the salute and nodded aside slightly. The new-made knight stepped close enough not to be overheard.
“How would you get into those guest chambers, Sir Armand?”
Armand had the curved semicircular visor of his sallet helm up; it stuck out like the brim of a billed cap as he turned his head thoughtfully upward.
“Up the old elevator shafts to the storage levels,” he said after a tensecond pause. “If they’re anything like what I’ve seen in pre-Change buildings elsewhere they’ll be very climbable.”
Then another pause, and: “Hide until around three o’clock in the morning, then rappel down to one of the windows of the suite I wanted. A diamond-coated cutting cable would go through those grills in a few minutes; they’re just mild steel. I’d have used alloy there, myself, even if it’s harder to work into pretty vines.”
“How long?”
“The trip down and getting into the suite, fifteen minutes. Depending on how alert my lord the Count’s guards are; but usually, men don’t look up.”
“My thoughts exactly. Your suggestion?”
“Four men awake at all times in our quarters, moving in pairs between the rooms in the guest suite, beside the guard on the door here.”
“See to it. And would you have any difficulty in getting into the palace, given the perimeter wall and security arrangements you saw?”
“My lady, it’s commendable that the Count feels no need of any great precautions against his people.”
“Plain English, please, Sir Armand. Could you get in, and unobserved?”
“My lady, Rodard or I could do that at any time of day or night. Naked, while riding on a grizzly bear and playing a mandolin.”
“My thoughts exactly, for the second time.”
Lord Rigobert met her at the top of the main staircase. He was in much the same type of outfit as she, except that his houppelande and hose were parti-colored, scarlet on the right and pale gold on the left, and the liripipe was much longer, reaching to the level of his belt of gold links wrought in twining patterns with cabucon-cut garnets for the grapes. She had to admit that he could carry it off magnificently, and it went well with the arrogant jut of his short golden beard and large, shapely but scarred warrior hands. He bowed her forward, giving her a step’s precedence.
“Lord Rigobert,” she said quietly over her shoulder.
They walked downward past an honor guard on the landing where the staircase turned to the ground floor; that was the family quarters, and she was pleased to see strong grillwork doors on either side, evidently closed and guarded at night.
Not totally trusting. Or his father wasn’t, and established the routine.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Does it strike you that this city is probably swarming with every possible variety of enemy agent?”
“Not a bit, Lady Tiphaine,” Rigobert said. “The influx of refugees and troops from everywhere on our side and other strangers and general confusion would make it nearly impossible for anyone to slip in unnoticed.”
“Ha ha big fucking ha, Rigobert, everyone’s a court jester tonight.”
“My guard captain is taking precautions, entirely serious ones.”
“So is mine, but we need to talk to the Count after the dinner; I don’t think he’s considered the implications of us all being here for this one night.”
As promised, the dinner was relatively small and select. The dining chamber was medium-sized, and windowless; the gaslights on their bright, expensive incandescent mantels showed murals of sporting scenes set in the Blue Mountains on the walls, with hounds coursing a stag on one side and a grizzly bear at bay before hunters with spears on the other. Those were far enough from the T-shaped table that she was fairly confident that nobody could eavesdrop through hidden grills, even with a focusing horn behind it.
A herald blew a short note as Tiphaine entered, then announced her, without the annoying bellow some used:
“Lady Tiphaine d’Ath, Baroness of Ath and tenant-in-chief, Knight-Commander of the most noble order of the Golden Horseshoe, Grand Constable of the armies of the Portland Protective Association! Lord Rigobert Gironda de Stafford, Baron Forest Grove and tenant-in-chief, Marchwarden of the South!”
The usher directed her to the seat on the Count’s right; and there was a sudden tormenting smell of things grilled and boiled and simmered as the wheeled trays came in. The archbishop rose and said an elaborate grace; he was three seats to the left of the Count. The ceremonial jeweled saltcellar was at the junction of the upper and lower tables; the Count, his lady, principal landed vassals and noble officers like the city castellan were at the upper table. She noticed Baron Tucannon, both because of the distinctive red hair and because they’d been discussing him earlier. And if she was any judge, a number of the other vassal barons were listening to him very carefully.
Below the salt were the important commoners. Those included the Lord Mayor of the city, the guildmasters who headed their militia regiments, and a middle-aged abbess and a younger attendant in the dark blue habit and white wimple of the Sisters of Compassion, a medical order who’d spread widely in the last generation and who were apparently in charge of the hospital and clinics in the area.
And in a lot of places they’re the only medical care the really poor see, the ones without a guild or confraternity or even a lord.
Tiphaine did more listening than speaking as the meal was served; the locals were talking business, and to the point, although they were also often taking up arguments and discussions they’d been at for months or years. Most of them seemed to be in good heart, and not just because of the Sword and the return of Rudi and Mathilda.
And I’m not one of the youngest present. I’m not even below the average. That’s happening more and more often. It’s a Changeling world, or at least the world of the Changelings and their elder siblings. People like me, who’ve spend most of their lives in the modern world.
Meanwhile she ate; tiny venison sausages with candied apples, a green salad with goat cheese and the famous sweet onions of the area, a frito misto of seasonal vegetables, and…
She chewed a bite slowly and swallowed. “That is possibly the best steak I’ve ever tasted,” she said. “And I like steak.”
Tender, the firm marbled meat brushed with an oil infused with garlic and herbs before it was put on the grill, slightly seared at high heat on the outside and red in the center…
“We have sacrificed a good deal of our demesne herd of Aberdeen Angus,” Countess Ermentrude said. “With the disturbed conditions it was necessary.”
She was a pale willowy young woman in a chocolate-colored cote-hardie and twin-peaked headdress, about five months pregnant and with a roundvoweled accent that Tiphaine took a moment to identify as from one of the
