Shadow of the Father (17 page)

The room grew much smaller. “How am I going to get the money if I can’t leave?”

“Well, I meant figuratively. Valix!” he called behind Sinch.

Sinch turned as Valix sauntered back into the room. “Yes, sir?”

Balinni gestured toward Sinch. “Our new friend here is lonely in this new town. See to it that he doesn’t lack for company until he’s ready to come back here.”

“Yes, sir.” She said it languidly, the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Sinch stared at her, inhaling the vague overtones of rotten vegetables and unwashed clothing.

“Now you’ve got her company, you are no longer needed mine.” Balinni didn’t even waste a gesture dismissing them. He just pulled one of the papers back to the table and bent over it.

 
“She’s my what?” 

Lady Dewanne smiled. “Dinah is the vixen intended to become your Lady. It will be quite good for the province. Her family, the Falavis, have not been part of the lordship in many decades.”

“And she’s the only one who could be Lord—Lady—in my place?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s gone.”

“Yes.”

Yilon sank his head into his paws. “But you said, at first—”

“She is wilful and has misbehaved in the past. However, in light of recent events, it is possible that someone attempting to solidify their claim to the lordship might have kidnapped her in order to marry her and install themselves as lord.”

“But wait,” Yilon said. “I thought all someone needed was the crown.”

“No,” Lady Dewanne said. “Noble blood is also necessary. In this day and age, many foxes can claim a portion of noble blood, but a fox married to Dinah would have a much stronger position.”

“Oh.”

“In any case,” the elder vixen said, leaning forward, “I simply wanted to advise you that rendering any assistance you can in the search for the crown would be very…”

“Welcome?”

“I was going to say, prudent.” She let the barest trace of a smile touch her lips. “As I have said, you will not be sent back to Divalia, and if you are not the Lord in a few days’ time, your position here in Dewanne will be extremely tenuous.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Yilon said.

“In point of fact,” the vixens said, “it would be remarkably easy to do so.” She rose from the table. “Velkan will be conducting his operations from his house, the first one on the right as you enter the plaza. I strongly suggest you find him there and place yourself at his disposal.”

She strode out of the room, leaving Yilon at the table with his paws folded over the stone in front of him. He watched the door close behind her and then got up, slowly.

He needed to find Sinch and get the crown back. Maxon’s fevered talk about the mice worried him, even though Lady Dewanne and Corwin had dismissed it, and he’d proven his point about his unsuitability as much as he could. It sounded like his only chance was to find someone else just as qualified for the lordship to take his place, and his options on that score were limited to Dinah. Which meant that he had to find her.

At least this was a concrete course of action he could take. He could go to Velkan, in accordance with Lady Dewanne’s wishes, or orders, and participate in the dual searches as best he could. With his own agenda, but nobody else need know that until the crown and Dinah were found. Then, hopefully she would be happy to take his place, for the good of Dewanne.

Min was waiting for him outside the door. “Your luncheon is ready, sir. Will you be taking it in your room?”

Yilon’s stomach growled. “Yes, I’ll…” He spotted a flash of movement by the front door: Maxon. The door opened and then shut. The steward was probably going to Velkan’s house as well. “I’ll be back in a moment for it.”

“I’ll keep it ready for you, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” he said. “Remember?”

“Sorry.” Min ducked his head, his ears folding back.

“I’m going to keep reminding you,” Yilon said.

“I’ll try to remember.”

“All right. I’m just going to Velkan’s. I’ll be right back.”

But when he got to the front of the castle and looked outside, the steward was not walking across the plaza toward the governor’s house.

Instead, Yilon saw just a quick glimpse of his blue vest and bushy red tail as he disappeared behind it.

The plaza was moderately busy, foxes stopping to talk, crossing slowly or quickly, but none looking specifically at him. He made his decision in a moment, and hurried around the back of the governor’s house to peer around the corner.

Maxon’s blue vest, fortunately, stood out among the small crowd of foxes in the narrower street behind the gardens of the governor’s house. Yilon made sure Maxon wasn’t looking back and then stepped into the crowd, making his way around other foxes, staying several yards back but always keeping his eye on the steward.

He managed to follow Maxon through the bustling Market Street, starting from the end farthest from the lake. The steward didn’t make it up to where the clothing stores were; he ducked into a quiet side street just opposite a bakery whose aromas made Yilon’s stomach rumble again. Yilon couldn’t see a name for the side street, but he didn’t have time to look. On the quieter street, he had to stay further back. Fortunately, he wasn’t wearing any of the bright, distinctive clothes he’d picked out that morning, so there wasn’t much chance that Maxon would recognize him, or notice that he was being followed.

Yilon had no sooner thought that than the steward did look back, right at him. Yilon couldn’t stop himself from flinching, but he did at least pretend to be hurrying to catch up to a couple walking ahead of him, the only foxes between him and the steward. Maxon didn’t appear to have noticed anything; he carried on his way and turned down another wide street.

Here, it was easier for Yilon to follow. Maxon had turned right, away from the lake again. Yilon moved behind clumps of foxes, catching the distinctive blue of the steward’s vest ahead of him, until the steward stopped to talk to a vixen out in front of a public-house. Yilon’s ears pricked up. He sidled closer, trying to get close enough to hear what they were saying. It was only when he was within a few feet of them that he realized that the fox in the blue vest wasn’t the steward.

Panicked, he spun around, looking all through the crowd. There, another blue vest. He hurried to follow, hoping he hadn’t lost Maxon. Not that he had a wide experience of the steward’s behavior, but he couldn’t imagine what business Maxon would have in the middle of the day this far from the palace. The farther he went, the more suspicious Yilon grew.

The next street Maxon, if it were him, led him down certainly did not look like a place where a castle steward would have business. Red brick facades crumbled on either side, rather than the grey stone used nearer the castle. Laundry hung from windows, dirt accumulated in the corners around the stairs that led up or down from the street, and the foxes who walked here wore darker, dirtier clothing. For the first time, Yilon felt that he did stand out in the crowed. He wished he had a cloak he could draw around himself.

Fortunately, the blue-vested fox did not look back, perhaps thinking himself beyond the places where anyone would know him. He strode along the right-hand side of the street, stopped at a house three doors from the end, and called through the curtained doorway. Someone inside challenged him; he answered, and the curtain was pulled aside. As he entered, Yilon saw in profile. It was definitely Maxon.

Yilon hung back while the steward entered the old brick building, then walked up casually once the curtain over the doorway had fallen again. The building didn’t stand out on the block: its red brick and grey cornerstones were covered in a film of grime. The name “Strad” was engraved on the stone over the doorway, but other than that, he couldn’t find any distinguishing marks. All the buildings on that side looked like residences, pressed so closely together there was only a body’s width between them, many with names engraved over the door.

He lingered outside the curtain, hoping to catch some snatch of conversation, but nothing came to him. Despite his casual stance, several of the foxes who passed by gave him curious glances, and when one started shuffling toward him, he thought it best that he leave. As though he’d just gotten bored, he pushed off from the wall and sauntered toward the bent shape, giving it an acknowledging nod. The cloak it wore was more patches than material, and he couldn’t tell whether the rank odor emanated from the figure or from the sack slung over its back. It wasto be a combination of rancid food and oily musk, so perhaps it was both. Nonetheless, he respectfully did not swerve away as he passed.

A bony arm shot out from the cloak and gripped him around the wrist. Startled, he tried to pull away, but the figure yanked him back. “What are you doing here?” a raspy vixen’s voice demanded. The hood of the cloak tilted to one side, sliding far enough that he could see the gleam of one brown eye. “What are you up to, boy?”

“I’m of age.” Yilon struggled to free his wrist, to no avail. The vixen held him as tightly as a noose. “Let go.”

“When I’ve got satisfaction.” She shook his arm. “Who are you?”

“I’m your lord,” he said, desperately.

“Lord?!” she screeched it, pulling him closer. Two foxes at the end of the street turned to look. She pulled his arm down until her muzzle was inches from his. He could tell now that her breath was definitely a major contributor to the odor.

“Let go!” he cried.

She inspected him and then released his wrist, turning away. “Pfagh,” she said. “You’re no lord. I know the lord. I
know
the lord. He won’t forget me. He’ll come for us.”

Yilon stared at her, backpedaling quickly. She’d stopped walking and now simply stood in the middle of the street talking to herself. Two foxes walking toward him from the other direction gave her a wide berth. She seemed to have forgotten all about him. He’d heard about crazies from Sinch, but in the small town of Vinton, he’d never seen any, nor had he encountered any in Divalia.

As he watched, the curtain to the Strad building moved. A tall, thin fox stepped out onto the landing, then trotted down the stairs. “Oh, mother,” he said. “Come on in. Who’s been—”

He looked familiar, but old vixen’s powerful odor drowned out his scent. Yilon, trying to place him, didn’t move quickly enough. The fox stared at him and then barked sharply, “Hey! Kites!” He ran back into the house.

Kites? The remark didn’t make any sense until another fox, a short, thin one wearing a plain tunic and black trousers, stepped out of the Strad building and scanned the street, eyes narrowed, until he saw Yilon.

Yilon only saw Kites, if that was the short fox’s name, leap down the staircase before he turned and ran. He had about twenty yards’ start on the other, but by the time he rounded the corner back onto the wide street and glanced behind him, Kites had closed the gap by more than half. On the more crowded street, Yilon dodged between foxes as quickly as he could while trying not to attract attention, staying close to the right side of the street. He hoped his pursuer wouldn’t assault him in public, and maybe he could lose himself in the crowd by the time he got to the end of the street.

Halfway down the street, he glanced back again. In the mass of tunics and red fur, he couldn’t see Kites specifically anywhere behind him. He was already panting, so he slowed down, still trotting more quickly than the foxes around him, but not knifing between them. The street where he had to turn left was just ahead. He took a few steps toward it.

A paw grasped his arm. He turned to see Kites, the other fox’s muzzle right at his eye level set in a broad smile. “Why don’t we come along this way,” he said. At Yilon’s hesitation, the other moved his right paw just enough to show the knife blade hidden in it. “Keep quiet, or you’ll end up with this between the ribs.”

Yilon flattened his ears, looking around desperately to see if anyone was looking in their direction. A tall fox met his eyes, but ignored Yilon’s attempt to silently call for help, walking on by. Kites pulled harder, half-dragging Yilon back into the nearest alley on that side. “Hey,” Yilon said, lifting a paw, but before he could get any more words out, or attract any more attention, Kites flashed the blade at him.

A concerned vixen took a step toward them. “Tell her it’s okay,” Kites hissed.

Yilon forced a smile and shook his head at her. “I'm fine,” he said, and allowed himself to be dragged into the alley. His mind worked furiously in the few seconds it took for him to be extracted from the crowd. No doubt this Kites fox was well-versed in knife use, and at close-quarters, Yilon wouldn’t have much chance if he started a fight. However, Kites hadn’t knifed him immediately, which meant that Yilon had something he wanted. He would have to figure out what that was and stall as long as he could.

Until what? Nobody knew where he was. His only hope was that the circumstances would change, that he would see a better opportunity to escape later.

“Just walk nicely,” Kites said. There were still foxes in the alley, one of whom gave them a curious glance before passing by. Yilon wished he were Corwin. Everyone knew him, everyone would want to stop and say hi. Nobody in this town knew who he was.

Kites dragged him into a narrow space between two buildings. Yilon felt the pressure of the knife slide inside his vest, pricking his tunic. “Now, lordling,” Kites hissed, “suppose you tell me what you were doing down there?”

“Just… just out for a walk,” Yilon panted.

The knife pressed in closer, through the tunic, and into the fur below. Yilon sucked in his stomach as much as he could. “Looked to me like you were out for a spy,” Kites said. “Standing around on the street there.” The point of the knife grazed Yilon’s stomach. “Who sent you down there?”

“I… I can’t tell you.” That was the information he was after, then. As long as Yilon didn’t tell him, he’d be safe. Or at least alive.

The pressure against his stomach became a sharp pain. He sucked in his stomach even more, hissing. Kites’s eyes gleamed. “We have other sources,” he said. “It’ll just be quicker if you tell me. But you know, we’re not in that much of a hurry. In fact,” he said, working his paw, bringing a fresh stab of pain with each movement, “I’d quite enjoy it if you didn’t tell me right away.”