"Well..." The guard shuffled his feet.
"Do you get paid enough?"
The two exchanged a does-she-really-want-to-know? look.
In the silence, Abas asked, "Fingernail extractor?"
"No."
The two guards told how Counselor Rawdon, who was in charge of giving them their pay, had lately shorted them.
"I will look into that," I promised. "Meanwhile, please see to it that the castle defenses are fortified immediately."
Both men saluted smartly before leaving.
They might still think me weak, but I doubted they'd kill me while I was promising them money.
Abas poked my arm to get my attention. "Stocks?" he asked. "Dunking in the millpond?"
I was tempted to say, "Only for you," but luckily I didn't have time. I had spotted Sister Mary Ursula, who was standing by the well and had evidently heard much of our conversation.
"Blessed is the way of the One," she said.
Abas gave a groan of dismay. "Oh, not her!"
That was a surprise. So apparently nobody got along well with her. Well, come to think of it, that wasn't surprising at all. But it made me wonder what, exactly, Mr. Rasmussem was warning me against when he said that she didn't work well with Kenric.
I figured I needed to be polite but firm. "Hello," I said. "I wish I had more time to talk to you, but I don't."
Sister Mary Ursula couldn't be put off that easily. "I guessed you might be One," she said.
"One," I said vaguely, "two..." I was going to say, "What's the difference?" But the pairing of one and two like that brought to mind something else. "One, two, buckle my shoe," I told her. She wasn't the only one who could be obscure.
"Hmmm," she said. "I surmised you were truly One with the world by how you treated that boy. You recognized his Oneness. Many would not have." She glanced at Abas.
Abas scratched his head and yawned.
"I did recognize his Oneness," I said, "and, you know, I'd like to talk to you about your becoming my adviser"—could she really be the one the Rasmussem program wanted me to favor?—"but I also need to talk to Sir Deming and Counselor Rawdon. I'd like to meet with the three of you together."
"Rawdon," she said, shaking her head.
Because she looked skeptical, I added, "Four of us—one meeting."
"One," she echoed, smiling.
"I'm on my way to see Counselor Rawdon right now." Friendly as the guards seemed at my promise to investigate their salary dispute, the way to really get on their good side was to actually hand over the money due them. I suspected that then they'd be willing to forgive me a lot. So, Rawdon first. I asked Sister Mary Ursula, "Could you please find Sir Deming and invite him to the Great Hall?"
"I am One with your wishes," Sister Mary Ursula said. She bowed, at the same time pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and making a nasal humming noise.
I didn't know if she expected me to do likewise, but I only said, "Thank you."
Though Abas was looking bored, I wanted to keep him near me in case those barbarians made it past Captain Penrod's increased castle defenses. "So," I said, "Toledo-made swords are the best. But, it takes a master swordsman to vise one well..."
Abas flexed his biceps.
"Amazing," I told him. "Tell me about yourself as we walk to Rawdon's quarters, all right?"
Abas didn't need to be asked twice.
Luckily, I found that all I needed to contribute to the conversation was a rapt expression and an occasional "Impressive!" or "My! That's interesting." I didn't have to really listen to a word of his explanations about his workout schedule or his past triumphs.
When we got to Rawdon's room, he wasn't there.
"Excuse me." I interrupted Abas in the middle of re-counting how he'd saved the king of a neighboring land, who'd been gored by a charging wild boar. Abas had broken off the beast's tusks with his bare hands, then strangled it—which sounded pretty gross to me.
A servant woman was on her knees in the hall, scrubbing the floor. I asked her, "Have you seen Counselor Rawdon?"
"No, my lady. Sorry."
Abas didn't need me to invite him to resume his story—frothy sweat on the animal's hide, and hot stinking breath, and all.
The servant looked as though she wasn't quite finished with what she'd been saying, so I put my hand on Abas's arm to get him to stop.
He didn't take the hint, and I had to say, "Excuse me," again.
The woman told me, "He was in his room earlier, Princess. But he's not there now. I know because I'd just washed the floor in front of his door; and when he left, I had to clean that part again because he left footprints in the wetness; but luckily, he came this way, and I didn't have to redo the whole hall."
She was only two doors down from Rawdon's room, which couldn't have taken her more than five minutes.
Abas started talking again as we walked to the end of the hall. There I saw steps leading both up and down.
"What's upstairs?" I interrupted Abas.
"Defense battlements. Servants' quarters," by which I took him to mean minor servants since Rawdon's room was on the second level, along with the family's apartments. Abas didn't miss a beat and resumed talking about the boar.
I led the way back downstairs and flagged down a servant woman who was going from room to room providing fresh flowers for the vases. She said she had not seen Rawdon.
I poked my head into the Great Hall. Sir Deming was sitting on one of the petitioners' benches that lined the wails. He was definitely drooping^ his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands while Sister Mary Ursula, sitting next to him, told him, "...and if you acknowledge the cow's Oneness with you, and then ask her politely, she will give forth sweeter milk. It's the same with turnips—"
"There you are," Deming said, sounding—for this once—happy to see me.
"Sorry," I said. "Not quite ready yet. We haven't been able to find Rawdon."
"I'd be glad to help you look," Deming volunteered. "Maybe Abas..." He glanced from the still-chattering prince to the still-chattering nun, obviously thinking to pair them off.
"Sorry." I backed out, closing the doors. In case of barbarian attack, Abas would be a good man to have by my side. If he noticed we were under attack, that is. I couldn't be sure he'd stop bragging about his physical prowess long enough to notice much of anything.
A door opened and a pair of male servants came out, carrying a platter with an entire roast pig, complete with apple. It must be time for the midday meal that I had missed the last time I was here. I realized that the hunger I'd felt in the barbarians' camp had evaporated once the game restarted and set me back down in the morning. But now, as this new day progressed, my stomach was once again rumbling—not that I found a dead porker with fruit in its mouth appetizing.
"Excuse me," I said to the men, "but have either of you seen Rawdon?"
"Not since he stopped by the kitchen asking for field rations," one said.
"'Field rations?'" I repeated. "You mean, like, to take when you're going on a trip?"
The man nodded.
That was odd. Sister Mary Ursula hadn't insulted him in this round of the game, so he had no reason to leave. "Did he say where he was going?"
Both men shook their heads.
I moved out of their way and told Abas, "Let's check with the captain of the guard to see if Rawdon has left yet."
Still talking, Abas followed me outside. While I hadn't been paying attention, he'd shifted to tournaments he had fought in, and the proper technique for splitting a lance, which, apparently, was a desirable thing.
I glanced at the wagon that was still parked by the supply door, even though I assumed the increased guards I'd ordered had prevented any barbarians from sneaking in. I was just turning my eyes away, when I noticed a shadow that moved beneath the wagon.
"Abas, look out!" I shouted. "Behind the wagon!"
There was the hiss of an arrow.
But no th
unk! of impact.
Abas had caught the arrow midflight.
So maybe there was something to be said for brawn, even unaccompanied by brain.
With a bellow, Abas went tearing behind the wagon before the archer had a chance to notch another arrow.
Hiding didn't seem a kingly thing to do; I might survive the attack, but such obvious cowardice wouldn't win any loyalty from my people. So, fighting my instincts, I ran toward the wagon also, yelling all the while, "Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" which sounded more science fiction than fantasy, but there was no time to worry about vocabulary, and I needed more guards immediately, because I knew from last time that there were three barbarians in the courtyard—and three against one wasn't fair odds, even if the one was used to fighting off wild boar with his bare hands.
On the far side of the wagon, I saw Abas was doing quite well without me. Since he didn't have a bow, he'd simply used his caught arrow as a dagger; it was sticking out of the chest of one of the barbarians, now dead. Abas had kicked the other archer in the face, and while that man rolled on the ground, Abas was engaged in a sword fight with the third man—the man I recognized as King Grimbold.
"Wait—" I started to tell Abas, but in that moment, his sword swept off Grimbold's head.
Was that an oops! or not?
Abas turned to the surviving, though injured, man.
"Abas," I said, "put your sword away. He's obviously not going anywhere. I need to ask him a couple questions."
Grumpily, Abas put his sword back in its scabbard.
I was aware of members of the castle guard on the wall, firing arrows over the side into the surrounding woods.
"Four down," Penrod reported to me. "The rest have escaped into the forest. Do you want us to pursue them, or concentrate on our defenses here?"
Just what I needed—another decision. I didn't yet know if we needed to attack the barbarian camp, but in any case I didn't want to send the majority of my men chasing after a small raiding party, leaving us defenseless; nor did I want a small party of my men stumbling into the barbarian encampment.
"Send two dozen men after them—with clear instructions not to pursue farther than..."—I had to estimate what was a good distance—"...five miles. If they haven't caught the barbarians by then, have them come back."
While Penrod selected which men of the group should go, I turned my attention to the wounded barbarian. He was sitting up now, his back supported by the castle wall, his hands over his bruised and bleeding mouth. No doubt he was missing several teeth from Abas's kick. His voice was slurred because of his injuries, which didn't help his accent. "You be done killing our king," he moaned. "You be done killing King Grimbold."
I knew that already, but everybody else turned to look at the headless corpse.
"You're one of the northern barbarians, aren't you?" I asked.
The man nodded.
"That's one," Abas said.
Of course there was only one barbarian left; we could all see that. Or was Sister Mary Ursula beginning to wear off on him? Ignoring Abas's irrelevant remark, I asked the barbarian, "Why did you come?"
"To be kidnapping you, as the new king," he said. "To be forcing you to be handing on the crown of King Brecc the Slayer."
Of course, I knew all this from last time. But I had to ask or I wouldn't be able to explain to anybody how I knew. Before I could ask about the location of his camp and the number of people in it—which was what I really wanted to know—Abas announced, "And that's two."
"What—" I started to ask Abas, when he picked up the wagon and brought the back end down on the barbarian's head, like smushing a bug.
For a few seconds, I couldn't even get my mouth to work.
"What?" Abas demanded, seeing my amazed, angry face. "You said not to use my sword."
"I said I wanted to question him."
"You said you wanted to ask him 'a couple of questions.' A couple is two." He shook his head as though unused to dealing with such stupidity. "Everybody knows that," he said. "A couple. Two. Same thing. Didn't your foster parents teach you how to count?"
While I was left speechless, he scratched his belly and said, "That roast pig sure looked good to me. Anybody else ready to eat?"
And with that he went back into the castle, the guards following.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lunch
In a moment only Captain Penrod and I remained.
Penrod knelt in the dust at my feet. He took out his sword and handed it up to me on outstretched palms. "Obviously, I didn't post enough guards, Princess Janine. You could have been killed, and it would have been my fault."
Was he officially resigning his post, or did he expect me to punish him by chopping off his head?
I told him, "Take the sword back. We"—I was getting better at remembering that royal we—"simply need to be more vigilant from now on. Come on, apparently it's time to eat." I wasn't going to miss lunch again.
Penrod did accept the sword back, then started with me toward the Great Hall.
"Speaking of being vigilant," I said, "did your guards see Counselor Rawdon leave?"
Penrod nodded. "He frequently goes to visit his aged mother in the country."
"Very commendable," I said. "But you'd think he could skip it on the day the new king arrives."
"I gather he's her sole support," Penrod said, "and she's the sole support of several grandchildren from Rawdon's two brothers and three sisters, who all died. He brings great bundles of food for them, but seemingly it's never enough. This morning his packhorse was exceptionally laden."
"Sounds like the family has had incredibly bad luck," I said. I got distracted by the thought that I knew all about grandmothers raising kids, but at least my parents were still both alive. "Any idea when he'll be back?"
"He's said she lives in the town of Fairfield, which is two hours' ride off to the west. Usually when he goes, he spends the majority of the day with her."
We arrived at the Hall, where lunch had already started. The two thrones had been pushed against the farthest wall, right to the leaded-glass window. Dozens of long tables had been brought in, at which people sat, evidently divided by rank. The royal family was at one table at the far end of the room, near the thrones, away from the drafts from the doors and from the bustle of servants toting platters of food and refilling people's cups. I couldn't help but notice that they'd started without me and that they'd left no room for me.
Sir Deming and Sister Mary Ursula sat with a group that had to be the queen's ladies-in-waiting, for I recognized Lady Cynthia from a couple games back. Sister Mary Ursula was still talking to Deming, even though he'd arranged to sit two people down from her. Those servants who weren't serving the food were at one cluster of tables, and then there were lots of other tables for the guards, although there were many empty places for those who were away, busy manning the walls or pursuing barbarians. Dogs roamed among the tables, snapping up Men scraps of food (which would have outraged my grandmother, who believes dogs belong outside, guarding the house or helping the blind).
Penrod hesitated, not knowing whether I was finished with him and if he should go sit with his men.
I couldn't start making decisions if the adviser I was most inclined to speak with wasn't here. I asked Penrod, "Do you think we could send one of your men to fetch Rawdon?"
Penrod immediately tapped one of his men on the shoulder. "Go to Fairfield," he ordered. "The princess commands Rawdon's presence."
The guard stood, shoving a half loaf of bread under his arm and as much food as he could fit into his mouth. I told him, "Be sure to tell Counselor Rawdon he'll be welcome to return to his family in a few more days." Rawdon would be of little use to me if he was ticked off at having his family outing cut short. "Be polite," I called after the man, then remembered to add, "please."
It suddenly occurred to me that for this particular game, the magic-users had not been summoned. "And Captain," I said to Penrod, "please send a message to
..." Was it Xenos or Uldemar who had the scrying glass? "I'd like to call to the castle those who know magic."
"Orielle, Uldemar, and Xenos," Penrod said. He smacked another of his men on the arm.
"Thank you," I said. "In all haste, please."
Finally I went to the head table.
They were all sitting on benches along one side of the table: Queen Andreanna, Wulfgar, Abas, and Kenric. The queen was making fun of someone I didn't know, an abbot who apparently was very hard of hearing—in fact, practically deaf. Andreanna was imitating this poor guy, saying, "'What did you say? What? Oh, you said you couldn't have been the one to murder the blacksmith because you had no reason to do it? I thought you said you had a Norwegian do it.'"
Very politically incorrect.
The princes were all so engrossed in this merriment that by sheerest coincidence not a one of them noticed me standing there with no place to sit.
They were spread out—four on a bench that looked long enough for six or seven. Their butts weren't that big. If they'd all moved over just a bit, there'd have been room for me.
The Hall still buzzed with conversation, but I knew everyone was waiting to see how I would react. Would I be intimidated and slink off to another table? Would I meekly request my family to make space for me? Would I make a scene and demand that they make space for me?
I crooked my finger at one of the servants. The noise level was so high, I had to put my mouth to his ear to make sure I was heard. "Get me the king's throne," I ordered.
The servant was aghast. "Surely not for eating in?" Was he worried I'd dribble gravy on the velvet cushion? He glanced around and pointed out a spare bench, a short one, made for three skinny butts, or two regular-size ones, or one royal one.
Yeah, I thought, and do what? Set up a TV tray? "The throne," I repeated.
The conversation abruptly stopped when the servant, with the help of another man, picked up the throne.