layers of bodyguards, claimants, and sycophants, were the objects of all concern-the three princes. Cleedis was right where Pinch expected to find him, at the center of Bors's faction. Dwarfed by the soaring pillars of the Great Hall, the shunned coterie of the Lord Chamberlain drifted forlornly, waiting for a vitalizing spark. The princely idiot Bors clapped to the music that echoed from the dancing halls while Cleedis stood in serious conference with the few plump, waistcoated lords committed to his side. They were an unhappy-looking lot, men trapped by their titles, friendships, and favors to what looked for certain a losing cause. Few held any belief that the benevolent gods of Ankhapur would choose Bors as fit to rule the city. Cleedis alone held firm in that faith, futilely trying to rally supporters to his cause.
Pinch's arrival carried that wanted spark. The paunchy old knights, former captains of Manferic's army, drew aside for the younger man, younger at least by comparison.
'Lord Chamberlain,' Pinch said as he came up behind old Cleedis, who to that point had been quietly haranguing a flagging member of his entourage, the Royal Steward of the Stables.
The old man stopped talking with a sort of choked gasp and turned about all in one go. It was a credit to his years of toadying that the Lord Chamberlain didn't blurt out his surprise. 'Master Janol, how fare you? Rumor was spoken by certain mouths that we would not see you again.'
'Sometimes rumor are just rumors. I'm well, Cleedis.' Pinch let the pleasant smile drop from his mask. 'A word, Cleedis. Now. Privately.'
The old man arched one graying eyebrow. 'Of course, cousin. Glindon, send word to Princes Vargo and Throdus that should they hear tales of their cousin's absence, they are not to worry. Tell them such talk is completely groundless and that he is well and with us here.'
The page rolled his eyes, trying to remember the exact wording, and then hurried off to complete his task.
'Lords, excuse me.' Taking Pinch by the arm, Cleedis hurried them both into a small side chamber, barely larger than a dressing closet. The old man shut the door, latched it, and turned on his agent, the bluish veins on his temple standing out.
'Where have you been? Vargo's had it out that you're dead or scuppered off someplace. There's been havoc to play with the ranks, positive mutiny. They think I've lost control.' The chamberlain was hopping with indignation, furious but dependent on Pinch for answers.
'It was near enough to the truth, but I've made it.'
'Do you have them-the items?'
Pinch found the old man's haste annoying. Brokering was a fine art that, properly done, should be approached casually. This eagerness was unseemly.
'They're where I can put my hands on them. Let's talk payment.
'We did. Fifty thousand bicentas.'
Pinch regretfully shook his head. 'That was then. Now I think the job's worth more.'
Cleedis sucked at his teeth, clearly unwilling to name a figure. Finally he expansively offered, 'Ten thousand more.'
Pinch laughed a short, derisive snort. He held up his branded hand. 'My price is another fifty thousand.'
It was the chamberlain's turn to sputter. 'Fifty more? Impossible!'
'I have the items; you don't.'
'What of that? They're not necessary for the plan,' the old man snapped.
Pinch pricked up his ears. It was the first Cleedis had let on that he knew the whole of Manferic's scheme. He answered with a heartless drawl. 'It would be unfortunate if the genuine articles were discovered by Vargo or Throdus.'
'I'll kill you myself first!'
'Harm me and it's guaranteed.
Cleedis glowered. 'Thirty more,' he finally said with a sullen mumble.
'Forty-five.'
'Thirty.'
'Forty, or Vargo learns everything.'
The old campaigner broke into a hacking cough. 'Forty then, damn you,' he gasped as the fit subsided.
'Forty more it is, Cleedis.' With triumphant cheer, Pinch clapped the other on the shoulder. 'In gems-mixed sizes and properly appraised. Don't try to cheat me on that. My friends have good eyes for stones. Agreed?'
'Agreed.' There was hardly any cheer in Cleedis. 'It will all be ready when you deliver the Cup to Manferic.'
'Me deliver? No, I'll pass it to you.'
'Our lord insists you bring it to him. The stones will be ready then.' It was the chamberlain's turn to drive a hard bargain. 'If you do not deliver, there will be no payment.'
'When?'
'Tonight-after the banquet.'
Pinch didn't like it but he could not refuse. There was still one more card in this game he needed to play. 'Agreed, tonight.'
Cleedis shuffled to the door. 'After the banquet. Now, I must return before more bolt from my side.'
Just as the old man started to open the door, Pinch played his last trump. 'One other condition, Lord Cleedis. My mother-you will take me to my mother.
The hand stopped on the knob. 'That's… impossible. She's dead.'
'Don't lie to me, old fool. I know she's alive and that Ikrit guards her.' Pinch was bluffing on a dead hand, but there was no need for Cleedis to see that.
'How much do you know?' the chamberlain whispered.
'Everything. Manferic, Mother, all of it.'
They locked gazes, gamblers trying to read the bluff in the other's eyes. The stakes were new to Pinch, but the game he knew. Cleedis tried his statesman's best, but in the end the silent struggle went to the younger man.
'I can't,' he whispered. 'I didn't even know she'd survived all these year until you came. Ikrit was supposed to have killed her long ago.'
Pinch smiled grimly. The bluff had succeeded; what he'd guessed was true. 'Why, Cleedis? Why did he deny me for all these years?'
The chamberlain shook his powder-white head. 'That you'll have to ask Manferic when you see him- tonight.' With that, the weary official slipped away before Pinch could impose any more conditions.
The questions asked, Pinch suddenly felt the weariness of his life settle over him. He'd been about for days now with barely a rest, twice beaten, twice healed, underfed, and overimbibed. He couldn't take another revelation, another wonder, without first the benefit of sleep. With a perfunctory bow to the lords assembled, he took his leave of Cleedis's clique and headed for the relative safety of his rooms.
As he passed a small salon, he was hailed by a voice that could not be ignored.
'Cousin.'
Pinch stopped and gave a weary bow. 'Greetings, Prince Vargo.'
'Cousin Janol, stay awhile. I want a word with you.' With a sharp signal, the dark-haired prince dismissed those clustered around the chaise where he'd been lounging. 'Sit here and attend me.' Vargo pulled aside the sweep of his dressing gowns to open a seat for his guest.
Pinch inwardly cursed himself for blindly straying too close to the prince's orbit, but now snared he could not escape. A quick scan of Vargo's hangers-on revealed Iron-Biter was not present, and that was a small relief. There was no saying how the dwarf might greet him and Pinch was not ready to find out. Stifling his resigned sigh and falsely filling himself with enthusiasm, Pinch took the seat offered.
'There was word you were unwell, cousin,' Vargo said as he sipped at his morning tea. He oozed the charm of an unquestioned superior merely marking time to his ultimate victory. 'Everyone was concerned.'
Pinch accepted the tea a servant offered. 'My lord, as you see, I am quite well. You should be wary of those who spread gossip. Perhaps they sought to embarrass you.'
'I considered my source unimpeachable.' The false concern was slipping away from his royal host.
'And yet I'm here and your source has been impeached.'
