Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Tal turned in as relaxed a manner as he could and, trying to show deference to the Baron on his right, spoke past him to the Duke. “For a time, m’lord.”
Kaspar took a sip from a wine cup, and asked, “Have you completed that ‘family business’ you spoke of when last we met?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. It took longer than I had anticipated, but it is now a matter in the past.”
“So, you are now free to seek your fortune?” The Duke’s eyes were narrow and appraising even as he kept his tone light.
Tal feigned a laugh. “Given my luck at cards lately, I am in need of a fortune, m’lord.”
The King rose, and a half second later, Kaspar did as well. As he turned to follow his cousin, Kaspar looked over his shoulder and said, “I am hunting at first light.
Join me at the southern gate. I’ll have a horse ready. Do you have a bow?”
“Yes, m’lord,” said Tal, to Kaspar’s retreating back.
The Court Baron turned. “Quite the coup, young Hawkins.”
“Sir?”
“The Dukes of Olasko have been hunters for genera-
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tions. They say this Duke’s grandfather once hunted dragons in the west of the Kingdom of the Isles. To be invited to hunt with him is a mark of distinction.”
Tal smiled and nodded, attempting to look suitably flattered. The Baron and his wife departed.
Tal felt it necessary to make one circuit of the hall, then determined to stay close to the exit and wait until someone else departed. He had no wish to mark himself by being the first to leave, but he wished to be out of the palace as soon as possible.
As he made his way through the throng, he was occasionally stopped by this acquaintance or that and several times by strangers who wished simply to introduce themselves to the current Champion of the Masters’ Court. As he came near the King’s cortege he was struck by how many people were being kept at bay by the servants, who were acting as guardians of the royal privacy as much as providing tidbits and drink—though who could eat or drink after such a meal? Tal wondered.
Without intending to, Tal caught the King’s eye, who waved him to approach. Tal instantly turned, and as he moved toward the King, the servants parted enough to let him pass. Tal bowed. “Majesty.”
King Carol smiled. “Hawkins, it is good to have you with us again. Would it be possible to arrange a demonstration of your skills here in the palace?”
“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” replied Tal. “Whatever time you require.”
“Oh, good, young sir. Prince Constantine is of an age and needs to learn his weapons. His instructors say the boy has promise, but still, I think watching experts in such matters tends to give a lad something to emulate. Don’t you?”
Tal couldn’t disagree, and besides, it would be im-
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politic to do so. “Most learning begins with mimicry, Majesty.”
“Quite. What say you, a week from today?”
“At any time you wish, Majesty.”
“Say mid-morning. I find the wits are keener in the morning than the afternoon.” Turning to his wife, he said,
“Assuming my wits are keen at any time of the day, what, my dear?”
The Queen smiled and patted her husband’s arm.
“You are a man of very keen wit, m’lord . . . sometimes.”
The King laughed aloud, and Tal couldn’t help but smile. King Carol of Roldem was the only monarch Tal had encountered in his travels, but Tal doubted most were as self-deprecating as this one.
“Shall I bring an opponent, Majesty?” Tal knew that any student from the Masters’ Court, and most of the instructors, would welcome an opportunity to come to the court. Royal favors had been curried with less than a sword match in the past, Tal knew.
“We have an ample supply of swordsmen here in the palace, Squire,” answered the King. “Just be here at the appointed hour.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tal with a bow, taking it to mean he was dismissed.
He noticed that a few guests were departing and decided it was safe for him to leave as well. But halfway across the floor he heard a familiar voice. “Squire, a moment of your time.”
Without turning, Tal said, “Constable, what an unexpected surprise.”
Constable Dennis Drogan came to stand before Tal, and with a smile and nod said, “Glad to see you again, Squire.”
“What brings you here?” asked Tal.
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Dennis, a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man, had a head that looked to be perfectly round. He kept his hair cropped close and seemed impervious to the effect that had, for it emphasized his left ear, which had been half bitten off during a scuffle in his youth. His nose looked as if it had been repeatedly broken over the years. Tal recognized him for what he was, a brawler, tough, unrelenting, and dangerous. More so, for he was the Crown’s law in the city.
Drogan smiled. “My uncle is still bursar to the household here in the palace, and I am technically a member of the Royal Court.”
“Ah, of course, but rather, what brings you here?”
Putting his hand on Tal’s shoulder, Drogan moved him toward the door. “You do, Squire.”
“Me?” Tal fell into step beside the shorter man. “Why?”
“Because people have an annoying habit of turning up dead when you’re in the city. I thought it best to have a word with you before we start accumulating corpses again.”
Tal didn’t try to feign innocence, but he did look ag-grieved. “Dennis, you and I have never been close friends, but we have been affable acquaintances. You know that in every instance, someone ended up dead because my life was at risk. What am I supposed to do? Stand by and say,
‘Oh, if I defend myself, the Constable is going to be annoyed, so I’d better let them kill me?’ ”
The grip on Tal’s shoulder tightened, just enough to convey emphasis without causing pain. “No, by all means, should your life be put at peril, defend yourself; I’m just suggesting you try to avoid finding your life at peril any-time soon.”
Caught halfway between amusement and irritation, Tal said, “I’ll do my best.”
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“That’s all I can ask.”
Tal slipped out from under the Constable’s meaty hand and left the palace. Outside, as guests waited for carriages, Tal wended his way through the crowd and exited through one of the pedestrian gates. He was only a few yards from the palace, moving downhill on a thorough-fare lined with the homes of the wealthy, when someone fell into step beside him.
“Evening, Tal,” said a familiar voice.
“Evening, Quincy,” answered Tal without looking. He had spied the merchant from Bas-Tyra in the crowd at the palace.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
Tal stopped and started to laugh. “You didn’t ambush me outside the palace to discuss the weather, my friend.”
Quincy halted also. “Well, I saw you on your way out when the Constable intercepted you; I know you walked to the gala rather than booking a carriage, so I just left before you and waited.”
“How have you been, Quincy?” Tal asked, looking at his old acquaintance under the lantern light. Quincy de Castle was in his thirties, perhaps early forties, with a rapidly balding pate. His features were undistinguished save for his eyes, which were as close to an eagle’s as any man Tal had known. He wore fashionable but not extravagant clothing, a jacket of a charcoal hue, double-breasted with a swallowtail cut. and matching trousers tucked into knee-high boots. It was, as Tal knew, the latest fashion in the Kingdom of the Isles, as it was
last
year’s fashion in Roldem.
“I have been well enough.”
“Recently back from the Kingdom, I see.”
They resumed walking. “Yes, the clothing. I just arrived and had no time to have new garb made. Besides, all _______________
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this slavery to fashion seems very . . . unproductive. If someone thinks less of me for wearing last year’s style, let him. It but works to my advantage should we negotiate.”
Quincy was one of the most astute merchants in the city. He was a native of Bas-Tyra, the second most important city in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom, and spe-cialized in high-quality luxury goods. As a result, he numbered nobility, even royalty, among his customers and was invited to all the better social functions. Tal also suspected him of being an agent for the King of the Isles.
There was something about him that made Tal wary, something very unmerchant-like in his bearing.
“I see,” said Tal. “Your needing an edge in business seems hardly likely, but I’ll grant that taking one where you can find it is logical. Now, what is it that you wish of me?”
“What makes you think I want something?” said Quincy with a smile.
“Because it’s not your habit to lurk in the shadows and leap out upon me in the night. This is hardly a chance meeting.”
“Hardly. Look, I’ll get to the point. The first reason is I wish to invite you to a small gathering at Dawson’s on this coming Fifthnight. I am inviting a few likable chaps for supper, drink, and then perhaps we’ll go on to some cards or dice.”
“A note to my man would have sufficed.”
“There’s another reason,” Quincy answered as they turned a corner and started down a steeper hill toward Tal’s quarters. “You are to hunt with Duke Kaspar tomorrow, am I right?”
“Bribing the waiting staff, are we?”
Quincy laughed. “I’ve let it be known in the palace that a bit of news here or there that might prove useful would be rewarded. Now, is it true?”
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“Yes, tomorrow at sunrise I hunt with the Duke and his party. Why?”
“If you are in the Duke’s favor, I wish you to present me to him.”
“Why?” asked Tal, stopping for a moment.
“Because he really is the most difficult man to see. I can get an audience with the King more readily than I can with Duke Kaspar.”
“Only because you’re selling gems to the Queen at cost.”
“I lose no money, and it earns me a great deal of social access. But not to Kaspar.”
“Why are you so anxious to meet with Kaspar?”
Quincy was quiet for a moment; then he resumed walking, gesturing for Tal to accompany him. As they proceeded he said, “Trade with Olasko is . . . difficult. It’s as if somehow every trading concern in the duchy has . . .
decided to do business the same way.
“They send their agents to Rillanon, Roldem, Bas-Tyra, Ran, down to Kesh, but if I send one of my agents to Opardum, it may as well be for a holiday. For no one will entertain an offer to trade. It’s always their agents, in our cities, on their terms. Take it or leave it.”
“Are they bad trades?”
“No; otherwise, I wouldn’t care. Often they’re very good business. But the essence of commerce is regular trade routes, with goods being dependably provided. It keeps the market alive. This hit or miss . . . I can’t help but feel that a vast opportunity is going to waste because of these trading concerns.
“I feel if I can get Duke Kaspar’s ear, perhaps convince him to speak to some of the wealthier trading concerns, or even to let me visit his court . . . if I come from the Duke’s court to the offices of a major trading concern, like _______________
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Kasana’s or Petrik Brothers, then they would have to take my offers seriously.”
Tal listened and nodded, as if agreeing. To himself he thought,
And if you can get your agent up into Opardum, especially if he’s trading with the Duke’s chancellor, then the King of
the Isles has a pair of eyes and ears near a troublesome neighbor.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Tal. “But for the moment, don’t count on anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Duke is likely to offer me a place in his court, and I will almost certainly will turn him down.”
“Why in the world would you do that?”
“Because it is not in my nature to wish to serve another,” Tal lied. He knew that before the supper on Fifth-day at Dawson’s, half of Roldem would hear about Kaspar offering a position to Tal that he refused. “And, besides, I have some other prospects that may suit me better.”
“Well, don’t offend him too deeply,” said Quincy dryly.
“I’ll try not to.”
They reached the street on which Tal resided and parted company. Tal went quickly to his quarters, where Pasko and Amafi waited, passing the time with a game of cards.
“Master,” said Pasko, rising as Tal entered.
“Awake me an hour before dawn,” Tal instructed as he crossed to the door of his bedroom. “Dress for a hunt.”
“A hunt?”
“Yes, the Duke of Olasko has invited me out to slaughter some helpless animals, and I will oblige him.”
To Amafi he said, “Tomorrow I hunt with the Duke.
When I return, we’ll visit several villas and estates nearby.
It is then we introduce you to the world as my retainer and bodyguard.”
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“Magnificence,” said Amafi.
Pasko said, “Unroll that bedding in the corner. You’ll sleep here.” He indicated to Amafi a place on the floor near Tal’s doorway. “I sleep in the kitchen.”
Then Pasko followed Tal into the bedroom and closed the door. Helping Tal unlace the fancy jacket, he whispered, “All goes well?”
“Well enough,” Tal whispered back. “Knowing Kaspar’s reputation, the animals won’t be as helpless as I indicated. Something nasty like lion or giant boar, I expect.”
“He seems that sort of man,” observed Pasko.
“What do you think of our new friend?”
“He’s a bad cardplayer.”
“Bad player or bad cheat?”
“Both.”
“What else?” asked Tal as Pasko pulled the linen shirt over his head.
“He’s a weapon. Very dangerous, despite his claim to old age. He may be useful if you don’t cut yourself.”
“I take your meaning.”
“I will keep an eye on him for a while,” said Pasko.
“He took oath.”
“That is as it may be,” answered the wily old servant,