were now above the royal chambers; it meant that, unless you were a lizard capable of scaling sheer rock walls, you couldn’t leave your accommodations without passing the queen’s guards below.
Gillian opened the huge wooden door at the end of the hall. “Here you go. I think you’ll find everything in order.”
My hand throbbed with every heartbeat, but I still wondered why Gillian accepted my lame excuse so easily. He couldn’t be that oblivious. He gestured for me to raise my hands and removed the manacles from my wrists. The sense of relief was akin to a burning man’s hitting the water. “Thanks. I’d tip you, but I’m tapped out.”
“Since I’m a Knight of the Double Tarn, that would be considered an attempted bribe. Best you don’t pursue it.”
“Fair enough.”
He nodded and, without another word, left.
They’d given me a small but lavish guest room. The main door was reinforced, and bars protected the windows; I was as safe as if I’d been in prison, and that may have been the plan. But double mattresses and Bob Kay’s promised supply of ale went a long way toward making jail bearable.
I rubbed my wrists, careful with my right one. Numbness had set in, but I knew that wouldn’t last. I wanted to sit down, drink myself stupid, and awaken anywhere but in Grand Bruan. Instead, after washing Agravaine’s blood off my face and eating some of the fresh bread set out for me, I paced the room and methodically studied it. All castle rooms had secrets, whether openings into passageways or peepholes for observation. Royalty liked to keep their enemies, as the saying goes, even closer than their friends, and anything embarrassing about the personal habits of a rival was as good as a freshly edged battle ax. Many treaties had been signed, to the consternation of the general populace, to preserve the dignity of a king with a soft spot for little boys or livestock.
I spotted two peepholes right away and plugged them with pieces of the bread. Then I searched even more closely because those were so obvious, I suspected them as decoys. Sure enough, I found a third hidden ingeniously in the mortar between two wall stones, positioned to give a good view of the entire room, especially the bed. I stuffed the sharp end of a quill into that one, on the off chance a peeper might put out his own eye before he noticed it. I found no hidden seams indicating a secret passage and finally declared the room secure.
The closets and dressers contained clothes that were close enough to my size. I sat on the edge of the huge canopied bed and wrestled my boots off with my good hand. I took off my shirt, soaked Agravaine’s blood out of it in the basin, then hung it up to dry near the fire. I put my trousers neatly between the mattresses, an old bachelor trick to restore the creases. I changed into some comfortably baggy black pants and a nice pullover tunic. All this domestic effort took the last of my energy, so I fell back on the mattress and stared up at the canopy’s design. Like everything else here, it depicted another scene of battle triumph for King Marcus Drake.
I fell asleep staring at it. My own memories of battle easily conjured the appropriate sounds.
I awoke to a fanfare of horns and cheering. My first thought was, That’s more like it. It was the least I deserved after what I’d been through.
Then I winced. Way too much sun blasted into the room, and judging from its angle, I’d slept until noon. I rolled out of bed and nearly howled as my injured hand came back to aching life. I stumbled to the window, blinking against the glare, to see what caused the commotion.
People filled the central courtyard below. Many were the irate guests from the previous night, but now they cheered as if this parade had been the whole reason for their trip. The rest were castle staff and, of course, the entire complement of the Knights of the Double Tarn.
Another blast of music announced the arrival of, I assumed, King Marcus Drake. Certainly the number of men in armor standing in neat, shiny rows along the parade route implied the visitor was important. Then Bob Kay rode slowly through the gate, followed by a tall man with long brown hair, a beard, and a flowing purple cloak.
I dressed as quickly as I could. As I wrangled my boots with my good hand, Kay unlocked the door. He looked exhausted beneath a coating of road dust. “You made good time,” I said.
“I knew Marc would insist on coming immediately.” Then Kay exclaimed, “Shit! Didn’t you see the doctor?”
I shrugged. The knuckles on my right hand were black, with yellow circles outlining them, and the rest of my hand was bright red and swollen. “Yeah, I saw her.”
“Dr. Gladstone usually does a better job.”
“She did a great job. Agravaine and his pals ambushed me again after you left.”
Kay scowled darkly. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, but with less than his normal certainty. He indicated my hand. “And I’ll make sure that gets taken care of as well.”
“That’s not the only strange thing. Can I talk to you privately somewhere?”
“Not now. I’m glad you’re already dressed, because the king wants to see you immediately.” Before I could react, Kay locked the manacles around my wrists again. I started to protest, but by then I’d resigned myself to it. In his place, I’d have done the same thing.
I followed him downstairs into the hall where the fatal banquet had been held the evening before. The food was gone, but it was again filled with people. The clatter of armor echoed from the high ceiling as pages helped their knights out of their parade battle dress. Sun streamed in through windows and the open main doors; in daylight the room was far less glamorous, and the tapestries looked faded and threadbare.
It appeared Marcus Drake had brought the rest of the Knights of the Double Tarn with him. They were a varied crew, similar only in their cool, unimpressed demeanor. I saw no sign of Agravaine and his cronies, although Gillian nodded a greeting. It was moderately friendlier than before.
“Marc!” Kay called. Then suddenly, with no real time to prepare for the moment, I stood face-to-face with the most famous king in the known world.
Actually, face-to-chest is more like it. If I thought the Knights of the Double Tarn made me feel small, then next to King Marcus Drake I was a dwarf. He stood six and a half feet tall, and his shoulders were as broad as one of the serving tables. His tunic, undoubtedly custom-tailored to him, nonetheless drew tight across his muscular arms. In contrast, his brown hair fell boyishly into his face, and he tossed it aside to reveal his clear, surprisingly kind eyes. I’d met my share of important people, and usually something about them immediately disappointed me. But everything about Marcus Drake measured up to his larger-than-life reputation.
He’d already removed his armor and was restrapping his sword belt as we approached. I wondered if the scabbard held the legendary Belacrux. Like everyone, I imagined this weapon as always gleaming, freshly polished, and razor-edged. Up close, though, the sword at his waist looked just like any other well-used battle weapon, the worn leather hilt grip stained with sweat and blood. If this was Belacrux, then it was the only letdown.
Drake saw me looking. “Yes, this is Belacrux.” I expected a huge, booming voice to make the rafters quiver, but instead he spoke with casual, conversational ease. “And, no, I’m afraid you can’t hold it.”
I said nothing. He grinned when he saw Kay. Despite his size, his smile was easy and genuine.
“Your Majesty,” Kay said formally, and knelt to Drake. I belatedly did the same.
“Rise, Sir Robert,” Drake responded in kind.
Kay gestured to me. “Marc, this is the man I told you about. Edward LaCrosse.”
I bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“Bob thinks quite highly of you,” Drake said. “Bob, loosen those cuffs. So give me the quick version of what’s happened here.”
“Didn’t he tell you?” I said as Kay unlocked the disk and let out the chain’s slack.
“Of course,” Drake said. “But I want to hear you tell it.”
Comparing stories was the oldest trick in the scroll; besides, I had nothing to hide. “Your man Patrice took a bite from a poisoned apple that was pretty clearly meant for someone else. No one else here had the sense or gumption enough to try and help him, so I did. I guess that made me look guilty to some people. Kay understood I had nothing to do with it and asked me to help find the real culprit.”
Drake looked at Kay, who nodded. The king said, “And you believe Thomas Gillian was the true intended victim?”
“Right now I do. I’ll change my mind if the evidence changes.”
Drake looked around. “And where is Jennifer?”
“In your quarters,” Kay said.
