swaying about rather vigorously and I had to make a serious effort not to fall. After its recent encounter with Midge’s fist, my face was burning with an appalling heat, as if someone had briefly held a red-hot poker against it.
“Baron Lanten? You have no idea how glad I am to see you here,” I croaked quite sincerely.
My throat was still sore, and I could still feel the other man’s remorseless fingers on my neck.
“I should think so,” one of the guards snorted.
“Harold, you son of a bitch, what in the name of Darkness are you doing here?” Frago barked. I could see that I’d spoiled his mood for an entire month ahead. “What if we hadn’t turned up?”
“Then the story would have ended very sadly for me,” I muttered.
I hate it when people yell at me.
“And not only for you!” Frago went on, still howling. “The king would have had my hide!”
“How did you know you should look for me here?”
“We didn’t know,” snapped the baron, a little calmer now, and sat down on a chair hastily moved up for him by one of his subordinates. Naturally, no one offered me a seat, but I was in no state to be concerned about etiquette and so I took a stool and made myself comfortable facing the baron.
“We didn’t know,” the baron repeated, and glanced at the guards. “Djig, take a stroll.”
“As you say, milord.”
“We were looking for this criminal,” said the baron, jabbing one finger disdainfully toward Midge’s corpse. “A deserter and a traitor. The Wild Hearts were looking for him, too, but we were luckier. A little bird whispered in my ear that this bold lad was in the Royal Library, so we came to catch him while he was available. We weren’t planning on meeting you.”
It was hardly surprising that Frago himself had decided to take part in the hunt and the arrest. Deserters from the Wild Hearts were regarded as the most dangerous of criminals. And it was very lucky for Midge that he’d caught that arrow in his back. If the Wild Hearts had got their hands on him, they would have talked to him in a rather different tone of voice. He wouldn’t have departed this world quite so easily.
“Let me repeat my question. What are you doing here, Harold?”
“I came to look up an old friend. He’s the custodian of this library.”
“And where is your friend, if you would be so kind as to tell me?”
“He’s dead.”
“Tell me about it.”
So I told him. I had to leave out half of the details, of course. I didn’t say a word about the Master and his servants, or the fact that I had seen some of the killers before that night.
“Well, we can say that you have been very lucky, thief,” the baron chuckled when he had heard my story. It was clear that he could barely tolerate my presence. It obviously enraged him.
“We can say that I’ve been very lucky.” I had already recovered my wits a little after what had happened, and now I was impatient for an opportunity to slip out of there and get as far away as possible. “Am I free to go?”
There was nothing more for me to do there—I wouldn’t learn anything from Bolt’s dead body, and the other dead men would be as tight-lipped as . . . well, as dead men.
“Why, have you business to attend to at such a late hour?” The baron chuckled. “I hope it doesn’t involve entering some innocent rich man’s house?”
“Innocent rich men only exist in fairy tales, milord,” I harrumphed, and got up off the stool, firmly intending to be on my way.
The baron seemed about to order me to sit down and shut up, but then Djig appeared and distracted him.
“Milord, there’s one of our men over there.”
“What drivel is this?” Frago asked with a frown.
“If it please milord, there’s no doubt. It’s Yargi. He was on the night shift with the sixth patrol. The Port City.”
“From Justin’s unit?”
“They have another commander now. In that business beside Stark’s Stables Justin—”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to remind me,” Frago snapped.
“Well, what a night!” Frago exclaimed, and spat. “Harold, do you at least know that you bumped off one of my men?”
“Of course no, milord. He didn’t bother to introduce himself before trying to reduce me to prime cuts.”
“I see.” Frago sighed. “Well, there’s a mangy sheep in every herd.”
I could have told the baron that he had more than one mangy sheep in his herd, but I maintained a judicious silence. They say silence is golden, and just recently I’d begun to understand that they’re right.
“Come with me; you can identify him,” Frago said with an imperious gesture.
Uh-huh. Why, of course! I had nothing better to do than go running after the baron like a lapdog up on its hind legs.
“Pardon me, milord, but I have the king’s assignment.”
