Tal noticed with some chagrin that the death scene had changed to include one of the stage's four hidden trapdoors. He felt that Quickly overused the device, but he had to admit that it pleased the crowd to see the vanquished pretender pulled down into the ninth hell as the triumphant prince dealt him the killing blow.
As the applause died and the actors left the stage, Tal found himself the center of attention. The resources of House Uskevren might have detected his arrival as soon as he set foot in the city, but everyone at the Wide Realms was astonished to see him in the flesh. Soon he was dizzy from the hugs, kisses, and occasional friendly gropes.
'Don't think this means you get the part back,' warned Mallion.
'How could I top that performance?' said Tal. 'But next time it's my turn to use the sword.'
'You'll have to take it from me, first,' declared Sivana, sketching a flourish with the blade before leaping up to grab the bars of a big steel cage hanging behind the stage. The troupe still hadn't found a use for the gigantic prop, which Mistress Quickly had bought for a production of 'The Royal Prisoner' the previous spring.
Tal grinned at the challenge and started toward her, but before he'd taken a second step, powerful arms closed around his waist and lifted him off the floor.
'My boy!' cried a husky voice. Mistress Quickly set him down just long enough to kiss him full on the mouth. As usual, her breath smelled of garlic and pipeweed.
Quickly was a big woman, almost six feet tall and wound tight with muscle. She was the only one in the troupe who could have lifted Tal off the floor, and when she held him at arm's length to look him over, he doubted he could escape her powerful grip.
'You look little worse for the wear,' she said appraisingly. 'Tasty as always,' she added with a leer, revealing a prominent gap between her front teeth. Her features were broad and almost comical, even without the garish makeup she wore on and off the stage. No one dared guess at her age, though to account the thousands of stories she told of her five late husbands, she might have been a hundred.
'Let's hear the whole story,' boomed Quickly, 'and not in any tavern full of tilting ears. Who'll be a dear and fetch us a keg?'
The long journey and the many reunions since his return finally caught up with Tal shortly after dark. With some difficulty, he extricated himself from his friends with a promise to return soon.
His tallhouse wasn't far from the theater, so he walked. He made it all the way home before realizing that he'd forgotten to call out to his father's guards. Mindful of the irony, he hoped he hadn't lost them by accident.
He'd forgotten to ask Eckart for another key to the front door, so Tal went to the cellar entrance again. As he descended the stairs, his boot struck something, causing a ceramic clatter. He bent down to pick it up. A bowl from the kitchen.
With a startling scream, a furious animal threw itself from a ledge at Tal's face. Razor claws tore his skin before the creature pushed away and dropped to the ground. Tal turned to see the orange tabby retreating across the street, hissing and yowling as it was chased out of its territory.
'Damn it!' hissed Tal. He touched his cheek and felt the wetness there. His affection for the local cats was diminishing by the day.
'Take that, you scoundrel!' cried Tal. His sword was a blur against a weakening barrier of retreating parries. Between each sharp rap of the blades, he could hear his opponent's labored breathing. Tal hadn't yet broken a sweat, despite a night full of troubling dreams. 'Had enough?' he called.
'Nev-!' puffed Tal's adversary. 'Never!' He withdrew with haste, crossing back quickly without lowering his guard.
'Have at you, then!' cried Tal. Grasping his blade in two hands, he unleashed a punishing series of head and neck attacks. They lacked finesse, but his superior strength beat his opponent's weapon down. When he saw that he'd forced the man into too short a guard, Tal feinted a slash to the left. As expected, his opponent overextended his parry.
Instead of striking the unguarded right, Tal whirled low and threw a sweeping reverse kick at the man's legs. His quick-thinking opponent turned his parry into a straight thrust at Tal's hip. A quicker swordsman might have succeeded. This one fell to the wooden floor with a resounding thud. Before he could move, Tal's blade was at his throat.
'I yield!' cried the fallen man. He dropped his sword to clatter loudly on the floor.
'You should have jumped,' offered Tal. He removed his practice helmet single-handed and set it on the floor. 'That would have looked great.'
'Gods know I've suffered enough humiliation at your hands. You are truly a master swordsman.'
Tal offered Chaney his free hand and lifted him from the floor. 'I'm a sober swordsman, at least,' replied Tal, pulling the other man to his feet. 'You'll beat me after you've had a few more days to dry out.'
'May the gods forbid,' said Chaney. Even among the notoriously hedonistic Foxmantle family, he was known for his excesses. Even on the rare occasions when he was momentarily sober, Chaney couldn't best Tal at sword play. In fact, Chaney was without rival the worst of Master Ferrick's thirty-two students.
Tal used these matches with his friend to devise maneuvers for the fighting scenes at the theater. More often than not, that meant a sharp rap or two from Chaney's wooden practice sword as Tal tried flashy but unsound attacks.
'I'll need a bottle or two just to dull the pain from this hangover,' added Chaney, struggling to remove his padded helmet. 'I hope-'
The sound of loud, slow clapping interrupted their conversation. Chaney and Tal looked up to see that two other men had entered Master Ferrick's practice hall.
One of them strode forward as he continued his mock applause. He was narrow-hipped and broad- shouldered, with long blond hair held up in ivory combs that matched the piping on his burgundy doublet. He wore an elegantly curled mustache above a thin red slash of a mouth. Alale Soargyl fancied himself the most accomplished swordsman of Master Ferrick's school.
'Bravo,' said Alale. 'I shall endeavor to recall that inspired maneuver. It will undoubtedly prove useful when next I am faced with a blindly drunken sailor.'
'I doubt he's ever facing the drunken sailors he meets,' observed Chaney in a stage whisper. Tal couldn't quite hide his smile.
'If your sycophant wishes a lesson in manners or sword play, Master Uskevren,' sniffed Alale, 'it may address me directly.'
Tal felt the hairs on his neck prickle. It wasn't the first time Chaney had been insulted in this fashion, but it still rankled. Ever since they were childhood friends, Chaney was perceived by his peers as little more than Tal's henchman. Chaney derived from a particularly disreputable and very nearly destitute branch of the Foxmantle tree. There was no stopping gossip that he courted Tal's friendship to improve his own standing.
Never one to ignore a barb, Chaney opened his mouth to retort, but Tal interrupted. 'I could stand a lesson.'
Alale's mustache twitched. Tal couldn't tell whether the man was pleased or irritated. Tal was a much better fighter than Chaney, and he was big enough not to fear the rumors that Alale paid longshoremen to thrash those who bested him at practice.
'Very well,' replied Alale after a long pause. 'One must assume responsibility for one's pets.'
'To three?' asked Tal.
'To three, then.' With a last sneer at Chaney, Alale plucked off his gloves before returning to fetch his gear. He would need a few moments to warm up.
Tal smiled inwardly. He considered Alale a poor swordsman and expected to win. He was more concerned about Chaney. Tal hoped he hadn't hurt his feelings by interceding. He turned to see his friend's expression, but Chaney was still glaring at Alale as the man unlaced his doublet.
Tal glanced at the other man who had entered with Alale. It was Radu Malveen, second son of one of the lesser merchant families in Selgaunt. Radu was nearly Tal's height, and his hair was just as black. There the resemblance ended, for while Tal was massive, Radu was whipcord thin. His black eyes were cool as a snake's, and Tal knew from experience that the man was serpent quick. Tal was certain that Radu was the finest swordsman of the school.
