drawer. “This situation is way too close to getting out of hand,” he said as he poured our drinks. He downed his in a single swallow. “I’m going to go get Marc.”
“You’re leaving?” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll assign someone to protect you. As long as you stay out of sight, you’ll be fine. And once Marc gets here, you should be able to leave with no difficulties.”
“So where is Marc?”
“At his main castle in Motlace. If I leave now and ride all night, I can be there well before dawn. Once he hears what’s going on, he’ll want to come sort it out himself.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
Kay grinned wearily. “I am.” He nodded at one of the tapestries. “Do you know anything about him?”
The woven picture showed a man in hugely complicated regalia riding an equally decked-out horse across a flowered field. He carried a sword nearly as long as he was tall. At the far right of the image, apparently his goal, stood a woman with downcast eyes and a multipointed crown. Despite the artistic license, I recognized her as Jennifer Drake.
I looked more closely at the king’s face, visible beneath his open visor. It was square-jawed and handsome, with long hair flowing from beneath his helmet. His beard was short and neat, and his eyes half-closed in either communion with the spirit world, or boredom. His lips were unnaturally red, a stylistic element I’d seen on a lot of Grand Bruan tapestries. “Just what I’ve heard back home.”
Kay poured himself another drink. “He’s the reason I have this job. He lived with me and my family in secret until he was fifteen and claimed the crown. We were raised as brothers. I used to make sure no one picked on him when he was little, and then after he put on six inches and fifty pounds the summer he turned fourteen, he made sure no one picked on me.”
“Is he as honest as they say?”
“He’s the best man I know. And I’m completely serious. Marc always tries to do the right thing, and he’s smart enough to know what that is.”
One tapestry showed Marcus on one knee, presenting a ring to Jennifer. Her dress had a train long enough to cross the channel separating Grand Bruan from the mainland. “How attached is he to his queen?”
“Watch the two of them together and you’ll be lucky to get away without a toothache.”
“So you want me to just sit around and wait for King Marcus to ride in and save the day?”
“It won’t be all bad, I promise. I’ll make sure you get a room stocked with liquor for three.”
“Who are the other two?”
He grinned. “There are no other two. And once Marc is on the scene, everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
I sipped my drink and nodded, wishing I had his confidence. King Marcus Drake might be as spotless as Kay described, and I sure hoped he was. But as anyone who’s ever polished armor knows, nothing attracts bird shit like a clean, shiny surface. And the buzzards were already gathered around us.
SIX
Left alone in the swanky lounge, I suddenly realized just how badly my hand hurt. My fingers would barely flex at all, and the swelling reached the second knuckles. I must’ve been really angry to throw such a clumsy punch. And the damn manacles hadn’t helped.
To distract myself while I waited for my room, I looked over some of the other tapestries. One especially held my attention. It showed Marcus Drake as a teenage boy, pulling Belacrux from the tree where it had been embedded awaiting the island’s true king. Behind him stood a younger but still recognizable Bob Kay, and watching over all this was a tall, husky man with a wide-brimmed hat. This would be Cameron Kern, who’d guided Drake’s career from birth. His powers were so legendary as to be ludicrous: he could tell the future, turn the tide of battle, fly through the air, and transform into any animal he wished. He’d once magically caused an entire fleet of invading ships to burst into flame.
If he could’ve really done those things, of course, then he would’ve seen it coming when the king dismissed him and sent him packing. The rumors surrounding the reason were just as outlandish.
Another tapestry showed the Drakes’ wedding ceremony, suitably exaggerated to include thousands of well-wishers outside the castle. Both king and queen looked young and idealistic, and again I spotted someone I recognized: Thomas Gillian, in armor and cape, waiting his turn to be knighted.
A pair of secondary figures caught my eye. They were depicted inside the castle, which gave them status, but far to the back of the witnesses. One was a small, dark-haired woman with enormous blue eyes, in an elaborate black gown that looked funereal. Beside her was a boy of about five, also black-clad and somehow more disturbing.
I held a lamp closer to these two. Their woven shapes were barely six inches tall, but the detail was extraordinary, so that the faces had the individuality of real life. Something about the boy seemed familiar to me, even though I’d never been to this island before. I couldn’t place it, though, before a firm knock preceded the opening of the door.
Thomas Gillian entered. He carefully closed the door behind him, then locked it. He put his back against it, stood at ease, and said, “Sir Robert has put you in my charge.”
“What precisely does that entail?”
“Where you go, I go. I protect you and, if you get out of line, restrain you. Up to, and including, execution.” He said all this with absolutely no emotion.
“I guess I better behave, then.”
“It would be in your best interest. Sir Robert has sent for the doctor to tend your hand, and she should arrive shortly.”
The thought of seeing the dark-haired doctor again improved my mood. “Well, that’s something. Kay opened a bottle; would you like a drink?”
He shook his head. “Given that someone has already tried to poison me once today, I think I’ll stick to my own sources of refreshment for a bit.”
Someone knocked softly at the door. Gillian unlocked it and stepped back.
Iris Gladstone entered. The dead room suddenly jumped to life. Or maybe it was just me. She said, “Hello, Tom. I’m here to check on Mr. LaCrosse’s hand.”
“Hi,” I said.
She pulled off her coat, revealing a sleeveless tunic and skirt. To hide what those clothes revealed beneath a shapeless white coat seemed criminal.
Gillian relocked the door and assumed the exact same position. His eyes grew glassy, as if he were a million miles away. I knew better; he saw and heard everything. To Iris I said, “Working late?”
“Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?” She yawned and stretched, displaying far too many curves for a man in my weakened condition to endure. She ran her hands through her hair. “I had to examine several of the honored guests for various maladies brought on by the stress of their confinement. Alas, they’ll all live.”
“Survival is a courtier’s main skill,” I said. Watching her spread the contents of her bag on a side table was more enjoyable than it should’ve been.
She looked up and smiled. Having recently been dazzled by Queen Jennifer, I felt qualified to say that the royal grin paled next to this one, at least for me. She said, “I should probably offer to stitch your head back on since I bit it off before. Mary told me how you stuck up for her.”
“Don’t mention it.” I gestured dismissively with my injured hand. The movement made it throb anew, and despite my best efforts it showed. It also rattled the chain between the manacles.
Iris turned to Gillian. “Tom, can you undo these?”
Gillian shook his head. “Sir Robert was explicit.”
Iris’s eyes narrowed. “Tom, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to treat this man’s injury, which I can’t do if it’s halfway covered by these shackles. You can lock him up again as soon as I’m done, but for right now, I’m telling you, take them off.”
