The Wise Man's Fear

“That was kind of you,” I said.

Bredon gave a gracious nod. “It seems simple at first glance,” he said. “A baron ranks above a baronet. But sometimes young money is worth more than old blood. Sometimes control of a river is more important than how many soldiers you can put to field. Sometimes a person is actually more than one person, technically speaking. The Earl of Svanis is, by strange inheritance, also the Viscount of Tevn. One man, but two different political entities.”

I smiled. “My mother once told me she knew a man who owed fealty to himself,” I said. “Owed himself a share of his own taxes every year, and if he were ever threatened, there were treaties in place demanding he provide himself with prompt and loyal military support.”

Bredon nodded. “It happens more often than folk realize,” he said. “Especially with the older families. Stapes, for example, exists in several separate capacities.”

“Stapes?” I asked. “But he’s just a manservant, isn’t he?”

“Well,” Bredon said slowly. “He is that. But he’s hardly just a manservant. His family is quite old, but he has no title of his own. Technically, he ranks no higher than a cook. But he owns substantial lands. He has money. And he is the Maer’s manservant. They’ve known each other since they were boys. Everyone knows he has Alveron’s ear.”

Bredon’s dark eyes peered at me. “Who would dare insult such a man with an iron ring? Go to his room and you will see the truth: there is nothing in his bowl but gold.”

Bredon excused himself shortly after our game, claiming a prior engagement. Luckily, I now had my lute to occupy my time. I set about retuning it, checking the frets, and fussing over the tuning peg that was constantly coming loose. We had been away from each other for a long while, and it takes time to get reacquainted.

Hours passed. I discovered myself absentmindedly playing “Deadnettle’s Lament” and forced myself to stop. Noon came and went. Lunch was delivered and cleared away. I retuned my lute and ran some scales. Before I knew it I found myself playing “Leave the Town, Tinker.” Only then did I realize what my hands were trying to tell me. If the Maer was still alive, he would have called for me by now.

I let the lute fall silent and began to think very quickly. I needed to leave. Now. Stapes had seen me bring medicine to the Maer. I could even be accused of tampering with the vial I had brought from Caudicus’ rooms.

Slow fear began to knot my gut as I realized the helplessness of my situation. I didn’t know the Maer’s estates well enough to attempt a clever escape. On my way to Severen-Low this morning, I’d gotten turned around and had to stop to ask directions.

The knock on the door was louder than usual, more forceful than that of the errand boy who normally came to deliver the Maer’s invitation. Guards. I froze in my seat. Would it be best to answer the door and tell the truth? Or duck out the window into the garden and somehow try to make a run for it?

The knock came again, louder. “Sir? Sir?”

The voice was muffled by the door, but it was not a guard’s voice. I opened the door and saw a young boy carrying a tray with the Maer’s iron ring and card.

I picked them up. The card had a single word written in a shaky hand: Immediately.

Stapes looked uncharacteristically ragged around the edges and greeted me with an icy stare. Yesterday he’d looked as if he wanted me dead and buried. Today his look implied that simply buried would be good enough.

The Maer’s bedroom was generously decorated with selas flowers. Their delicate smell was almost enough to cover the odors they’d been brought in to conceal. Combined with Stapes’ appearance, I knew my predictions of the night’s unpleasantness had been close to the truth.

Alveron was propped into a sitting position in his bed. He looked as well as could be expected, which is to say exhausted, but no longer sweating and racked with pain. As a matter of fact, he looked almost angelic. A rectangle of sunlight washed over him, lending his skin a frail translucency and making his disarrayed hair shine like a silver crown around his head.

As I stepped closer he opened his eyes, breaking the beatific illusion. No angel ever had eyes as clever as Alveron’s.

“I trust I find your grace well?” I asked politely.

“Passing fair,” he responded. But it was mere social noise, telling me nothing.

“How do you feel?” I asked in a more serious tone.

He gave me a long look that let me know he did not approve of my addressing him so casually, then said. “Old. I feel old and weak.” He took a deep breath. “But for all that, I feel better than I have in several days. A little pain, and I am mightily tired. But I feel . . . clean. I think I’ve passed the crisis.”

I did not ask about last night. “Would you like me to mix you another pot of tea?”

“Please.” His tone was measured and polite. Unable to guess his mood, I hurried through the preparations and handed him his cup.

He looked up at me after sampling it. “This tastes different.”

“There is less laudanum in it,” I explained. “Too much would be harmful to your grace. Your body would begin to depend on it as surely as it craved the ophalum.”

He nodded. “You’ll note my birds are doing well,” he said in an overly casual tone.

I looked through the doorway and saw the sipquicks darting about in their gilded cage, lively as ever. I felt a chill at the implication of his comment. He still didn’t believe Caudicus was poisoning him.

I was too stunned to make a quick reply, but after a breath or two I managed to say, “Their health does not concern me nearly so much as your own. You do feel better, don’t you, your grace?”

“That is the nature of my illness. It comes and goes.” The Maer set down his cup of tea, still three-quarters full. “Eventually it fades entirely, and Caudicus is free to go off gallivanting for months at a time, gathering ingredients for his charms and potives. Speaking of,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Would you do me the favor of fetching my medicine from Caudicus?”

“Certainly, your grace.” I stretched a smile over my face, trying to ignore the unease settling in my chest. I cleaned up the clutter I had created while fixing his tea, tucking packages and bundles of herbs back into the pockets of my burgundy cloak.

The Maer nodded graciously, then closed his eyes and seemed to lapse back into his tranquil, sunlit nap.

“Our fledgling historian!” Caudicus said as he gestured me inside and offered me a seat. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

I sank into the padded chair and only then noticed the array of rings on the nearby table. Caudicus had gone so far as to have a rack built for them. Each was displayed with the name facing outward. There were a great many of them, silver, iron, and gold.

Both my gold ring and Alveron’s iron one sat on a small tray on the table. I reclaimed them, taking note of this rather graceful way of wordlessly offering the return of a ring.

I looked around the large tower room with muted curiosity. What possible motive could he have for poisoning the Maer? Barring access to the University itself, this place was every arcanist’s dream.

Curious, I got to my feet and wandered to his bookshelves. Caudicus had a respectable library, with nearly a hundred books crowding for space. I recognized many of the titles. Some were chemical references. Some were alchemical. Others dealt with the natural sciences, herbology, physiology, bestiology. The vast majority seemed to be historical in nature.

A thought occurred to me. Perhaps I could get the native Vintish superstition to work to my advantage. If Caudicus was a serious scholar and even half as superstitious as a native Vint, he might know something about the Chandrian. Best of all, since I was playing the dimwitted lordling, I didn’t need to worry about damaging my reputation.

Caudicus came around the corner and seemed somewhat taken aback when he saw me standing by the bookshelves. But he rallied quickly and gave me a polite smile. “See anything you’re interested in?”

I turned, shaking my head. “Not particularly,” I said. “Do you know anything about the Chandrian?”

Caudicus looked at me blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I know they’re not going to come into your room at night and steal you out of your bed,” he said, wiggling his fingers at me, the way you’d tease a