The Dragon and the Gnarly King

  "Edgar," he said.

  "Yes, Mage?"

  "I'm going to rest. And you're going to go out and get me something to eat and drink. You will not tell anyone that I am here, and you will bring no one back with you. I will be listening and watching you magically, and I can strike from a distance. Tell no one—you hear? Tell mo one I'm here."

  "Oh, Mage," said Edgar, clasping his hands prayerfully, "I won't. You can trust me."

  "I better be able to," growled Jim, thinking that he'd been using similar threatening words a lot lately. He lifted the ward from the door as Edgar left, and put it back, reminding it that only Edgar could enter, when he returned.

  As the door closed, Jim's eyes drooped. He could not fall asleep, of course, he told himself, with all of this discomfort caused by the wound. He closed his eyes however, and tried to ignore it, as a good medieval knight should; and was understandably furious, accordingly, when—it seemed only a second or two later—he had to open them again because Edgar was standing beside the bed, calling him.

  "What? What is it?" he snapped. "What went wrong?"

  "Nothing, Mage," said Edgar, timorously. "The food and drink you wished—"

  Edgar waved at the little table at the bedside. On it was a glass, a pitcher of wine, some chunks of cold meat, and dark bread on a wooden platter. Jim was still sitting up in the bed.

  "Ah—I see," he grumphed. "All right. How long were you gone?"

  "An hour. No more, Mage," said Edgar.

  Jim grunted, and lost himself in the food and drink—the red wine was surprisingly good. After a while all the food was gone, and half the wine. He leaned back against the headboard, feeling better. The pain in his back was still there, but seemed easier to ignore now.

  It made him think, however. Brian had never said a word about how his wounds still hurt him after Jim—or, once before, Carolinus—had mended them with magic. But then, that was part of this century's attitude toward pain: you couldn't do anything about it, so you put it out of your mind. It was like being caught in a rain with no place to shelter—since you couldn't get out of the rain, you just let it rain on you. That was the way life was.

  So he told himself. The pain, however, did not grow any less. He turned his attention back to Edgar.

  "Why did you try to kill me?" he asked.

  "It was all a sad mistake, Mage," said Edgar, swiftly. "I thought you were a Devil that Mage Barron had set to watch me; and a man in my position at Court can't go around with a Devil following him all the time. I thought you would just disappear when I put my knife into you. That's what Devils do, don't they?"

  "They do not," said Jim.

  The fact was, he had no idea whether they did or not; but this hardly mattered, since it was obvious Edgar was lying to him. If Edgar had really believed him to be a Devil, the last thing he would have dared was to use a knife. Edgar clearly hoped to be thought simpleminded, rather than dangerous.

  "So," said Jim, "you thought I'd disappear? That's why you carefully took me up to a deserted section of the castle, here, to use your knife?"

  "Well," said Edgar, "you see, I didn't want anyone to see me doing it. You've no idea how difficult it is for me at Court here. I only manage to stay on and stay alive, and get my stipend as a Gentleman of the King's Wardrobe, because I can pick up little bits of harmless gossip and pass them on to those who may gain some small, harmless advantage from knowing them. To do that, you have to go carefully—that is, you must be alone with whoever you are speaking with; and having a Devil with me—"

  "Let's forget about any Devil being involved in this," said Jim. "Just get one thing clear: I'm going to be with you until we get to the bottom of this. Now, pretty obviously, you're not a practiced assassin."

  "Oh no! I'm not at all, Mage," said Edgar. "I knew someone like yourself would see that right away. I couldn't be that sort of person. I just couldn't live with myself if I was."

  "Then what made you try it?" said Jim. "And let's not have any more of your imaginative answers. Something large had to be at stake for you—and don't tell me it was just a matter of keeping your place here at Court."

  "I promise you, Mage—"

  "Promise me, hell!" Jim checked a sudden, unusual flare of furious anger, remembering Robert and the others back in the Gnarly cave. "There's a young child and several good men with their lives at stake because of this; and I'm through listening to your made-up answers! You're afraid of someone—well, be more afraid of me! What is going on to cause all this? Is it something to do with the two men that I'm looking for? Is it Agatha Falon, herself?"

  "Neither, Mage, I swear it—"

  "Think before you speak!" said Jim. He lifted a forefinger slowly until it pointed at Edgar. "Do you know what I can do to you?"

  Edgar's face went a papery white. Jim had no idea what he could do, but right at the moment he was willing to do it, and the Magickian's Law of using Magick only in self-defense be damned.

  Edgar burst into tears and fell on his knees, his hands clasped before him, staring up at Jim on the bed.

  "I dare not, Mage!" he said. "I never wanted anything to do with them; but how can I refuse when a Lord of the Realm tells me to play the spy? He could crush me with a wave of his hand!"

  "Who could crush you?"

  "Mage, I can't tell you!"

  "Who were you supposed to be spying upon?"

  "All of them!" said Edgar. "But in especial the Earl of Oxford and Sir John Chandos!"

  A bell rang in Jim's mind. The last time he had heard the name of the Earl of Oxford mentioned, it had been in relation to the raid on the Earl of Cumberland's land.

  "The Lord you are so afraid of, then," said Jim at a venture, "is my Lord of Cumberland! Don't deny it!"

  Edgar wrung his hands. He had stopped crying to talk, but now he started again. Jim looked at him with disgust, not unmixed with a tinge of shame at having pushed him to act so.

  "I will be killed!" Edgar was sobbing. "Not only will I lose everything—what little I have—but they will kill me. Kill me most cruelly and hideously—perhaps as the father of our present King, God rest his soul, was killed, so no mark would be left on him!"

  "I'll protect you," said Jim pompously. Once more he was talking at a venture. He had no idea whether Barron, Kineteté, or any other magician would back up any promises he made. But he had to get answers out of this man.

  "So, at Cumberland's order, you spied on Sir John Chandos, the Earl of Oxford, and others. It was about their stopping a raid that might be made on my Lord Earl's estates, wasn't it?"

  "What can I do? What can I do?" said Edgar, more to himself than to Jim. "You know everything, Mage! Why do you even trouble to question me?"

  "I have my reasons," said Jim. "Now tell me, what's the connection between the men I was looking for and the Lady Agatha, and the rest of this business of the raid?"

  "I dare not tell you," said Edgar He had stopped crying, and his face was pale but calm. "Do what you will to me, Mage, she and they can do worse. The woman is a witch!"

  "As a magician, I know she is not a witch," said Jim.

  "Oh, but she is, Mage!" said Edgar, looking up suddenly. "I saw her once myself, at a distance down a corridor, turning into a room. But when I came up to that room afterward, opened the door, and stepped in—intending to say that I had come to the wrong room by mistake—there was no one in it."

  He stared at Jim.

  "And there were no secret passages or doorways out of that room," he added. "Believe me, Mage, I know it well."

  Jim doubted that.

  "Magicians do not explain themselves," he said. "But I repeat, she is not a witch. Now, how did you come to see her down the corridor, and why did you enter the room yourself, with an excuse on your lips?"

  "I just happened to be in the corridor and see her," said Edgar.

  "You have only answered half of what I asked you," said Jim. "Your reason for entering the room?"

  "I thought if she was visiting some
one my Lord might like to know about, then I'd find out who it was. If it was somebody unimportant, I would simply put it out of mind, make my excuses, and leave."

  "You're so afraid of her because she's a witch," said Jim, "but you walked right in, intending just to make your excuses and go out again?" He snapped the rest of his words at Edgar suddenly. "Were you set to spy on her, too?"

  Edgar slumped on the floor. "I am lost," he said, as much to himself as Jim.

  "Tell me the truth," said Jim, "and I'll protect you. How well-known is this story about Lady Agatha being a witch?"

  "Oh, it is generally known," said Edgar, apathetically. "She has never pretended to be so. But it is talked of by all at Court. It is said the high Lords and those around her—except, possibly, the King himself—know of it, but admit it only among themselves. She vanishes from Court at times. She was gone secretly all the Twelve Nights of Christmas. It was given out she was visiting the Earl of Somerset with Prince Edward, but instead she had traffic and intercourse with various trolls and other demons—"

  "Nonsense!" said Jim. "I was at the Earl's myself last Christmas and saw her there. She did no such thing!"

  "She did not?" Edgar stared.

  "She did not!" snapped Jim. "Answer my question!"

  "She, too," said Edgar miserably. "I am set to watch her, too. But Mage, there are other matters, not so easily explained. She is not in truth well-favored in face or body, but the King dotes on her. If she is indeed not a witch—"

  "That's enough of that!" interrupted Jim. "If I hear the word 'witch' from you one more time—"

  "You will not! You will not, I promise, Mage!" cried Edgar.

  "Good. Now tell me how you know the King dotes on her," said Jim.

  "Why, the whole Court knows, Mage. She has the high favor of a suite of rooms in the main tower, all but next to his Majesty's quarters; and it is in that part of the tower where the King's Advisors are lodged in suites of their own. When she is about the Court, but not with the King, it is usually with one of those Lords who advise the King."

  "How close are her rooms to Cumberland's?"

  Edgar's eyes widened a little bit, for just a moment, but that was all.

  "Next to Cumberland," he said, "of course, Mage."

  "Why of course'?" growled Jim. His back felt a lot better, but it still hurt.

  "Why, Cumberland was the patron who introduced her at Court. No one can be introduced at Court except by a patron already here—except someone like me—" Edgar attempted a knowing smile, but it appeared on his face as rather more of a sad expression than anything else. "—I was born here."

  "How did Cumberland get to know her?" he asked.

  "The story is she met him at a party in one of his castles, and showed him how his Steward there was stealing from him in the accounts the Steward kept."

  "Hmmm," said Jim. "Cumberland must have brought her here, not knowing what a handful she could be. Next to Cumberland, then, is she?"

  "And Cumberland's rooms are next to the Royal space, Mage," he said. "But you must understand, she is the King's friend."

  "Then she is seen more with Cumberland, than with others?"

  "Yes!" said Edgar. "My Lord the Earl of Cumberland is his Majesty's Chief Advisor. It is only natural she is seen most with him, among all the great Lords."

  For the first time Jim felt his spirits lift—even though he could not pin down exactly what gave him that feeling. He had been throwing questions at Edgar almost at random, just as they occurred to him. Sometimes that meant the back of his head was working and now, perhaps, that unconscious part of him had a scent of what he was after

  "Perhaps then you could tell me—" he was beginning, when a sheet of greyish-white paper—the kind they used at Malencontri—came slip-sliding, wafting down toward his lap from the ceiling.

  "Close your eyes," snapped Jim at Edgar, and, when the other had done so, gave the still command again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jim caught the piece of paper just before it went past him on its way to the floor. Happily, his reflexes had always been fast; and this, coupled with the years of volleyball, had taught him, like any old hand in that sport, to receive any incoming object close to the ground rather than up in the air. His fingers closed on the paper and held it. He looked at it.

  It was blank. He stared at it for a second; then, understanding breaking through, he turned it over. On the other side was a note in Angie's handwriting. It was in ordinary twentieth-century script, rather than the fourteenth-century script she had taught herself to write since they had been at Malencontri, so that she could use her knowledge of Latin to answer any rare missive that managed to make its way to them.

  It was a good thing she had. Jim, to this day, could not make sense of the flourishes which scribes here used. Conversely, of course, the best of those clerks would have been badly puzzled by twentieth-century handwriting; so this note Angie had sent would probably have been safe, even if it had fallen into the wrong hands.

  But it had come by magic—and that was a strange thing, for Angie had no magic. Certainly she had possessed none since Carolinus learned that she had managed, more or less by sheer willpower, to turn herself into a dragon. Carolinus, appearing almost immediately, had reversed the change, and then put a ward on her to keep her from discovering any more such things. He had said that Jim was already more than a man his age should have to deal with—two of them doing the sorts of things Jim found to do would be too much.

  Greedily, Jim began to read the note. It was headed by block capital letters:

  EMERGENCY

  My love,

  Carolinus gave me the ability to write you in an emergency, like this. He had promised me, when you went on that trip to the Holy Land, that he would find some way for me to get a message to you if I really needed to, and later he gave me a small supply of this magic paper—I guess I only have to write on it, and when I tell it to, it will go and find you. Forgive me for not telling you about it, but I didn't know when or how I might need to get in touch with you, so I kept it to myself.

  A man named Sir William Wilson, with a troop of King's soldiers, showed up, with another letter from Prince Edward, asking once more for your help against Agatha Falon. He really sounds desperate, and must have sent this second letter before hearing the results of his first one.

  His second letter says that things have gotten much worse, and at any moment now he might be disowned by the King, or charged with High Treason, or some disastrous thing like that. I don't understand it—King's men seem like odd people to carry a letter like that from the Prince, when Agatha is his father's current favorite. Has it occurred to you how strangely coincidental it is, that both Robert and the Prince are in danger now—and both have Agatha as their major enemy? But I can't see how she could have taken Robert, unless she has some sort of alliance with some magical being—I wouldn't put it past her, either!

  Anyway, I'd like to know where you are and what you're doing. Are you all right? I always want to know that, but Carolinus made such a point of my using this only in a great emergency, that I haven't written you like this before now to find out how things are.

  I won't worry if you don't answer this, because I know you're all right and it just isn't practical for you to send me messages as often at I'd like to have them. But I miss you and I love you more than anyone else in the world. More than little Robert, even, much as I've come to love him in the little time we've had him.

  Do take care of yourself. I lied. I do worry. I worry all the time, but I can't help it and there's nothing that can be done about it, so don't pay any attention to it. But message me when you can. All the love in all the world.

  Angie

  Jim reached out into thin air, saying "Handkerchief" quietly and visualizing one. His fingers closed on it, a little above the surface of the bed, and he blew his nose, and cleared his throat. He was glad Edgar could not see any of this. He carefully folded the letter and tucked it away, the
n wadded up the handkerchief and was about to tell it simply to vanish, when he had a better idea.

  "Disintegrate!" he told it firmly.

  The handkerchief hesitated a moment, winked out, winked in again, but finally disappeared in a small white flash of light.

  Relieved that the present era of magic could understand at least that one modern word, Jim turned his attention back to Edgar.

  "Unstill!" he told Edgar, in a more kindly voice. Edgar opened his eyes but said nothing.

  "Now, back to business," said Jim. "You did say Agatha Falon's quarters were next to those of the Earl of Cumberland?"

  "Why—yes," said Edgar.

  "I see," said Jim. "Now, on another subject. How are matters between Agatha and Prince Edward?"

  "Much as you might expect, Mage," said Edgar. "They are well with each other, although of course since she is interested with his father the King, they have little occasion for direct conversation. But they are certainly cordial."

  At the Earl of Somerset's Christmas Party, Jim remembered, it had been obvious to all that that relationship had been anything but cordial. No one had said anything about it—at least aloud and in his hearing. But it had been no secret then, and it could hardly be a secret here at Court, which was undoubtedly worse than your ordinary small village as far as internal gossip went.

  "If you continue to lie to me," said Jim, slowly and in his deepest voice, "you will begin to grow smaller and more like a worm than a human being, you will continue getting smaller and smaller until you are very small, on the floor, and fully a worm. Then I shall step on you."

  "Mage!" Edgar started to cry again.

  "Stop that!" said Jim. It was a thing about this era that he could not accustom himself to. No one should have to abase himself or herself in such a fashion, and he always felt shamed when such went on about him. He took a deep breath to calm himself down and went on in a more ordinary voice. "Just keep in mind what I said, and answer me truthfully. How are things with Agatha and the Prince?"

  "They have no love for each other. That is true," said Edgar with great sincerity.