The Dragon and the Fair Maid of Kent

  "So he did," said Jim, "and in such a voice that all around heard. So it strikes me there is some danger he might show so much superiority over Sir Mortimer as to diminish what credit Sir Mortimer would get from this, and as you say, Daffyd ap Hywel is not of rank to encounter with a knight, while certain obligations of my own to the Collegiate of Magickians…"

  "Well, yes of course!" said Edward, rising like a buoyant ship from the monster wave of a suddenly storm-wracked sea. "But Mortimer is no village lout with his sword, and of course you could, you understand, mention to Sir Brian how much I—and for that matter—he stands to gain from this exhibition if he… well… you understand…"

  Real anger was kindling in Jim, now.

  "I fear, Your Grace," he said stiffly, "I would not know how to go about doing that."

  "Eh?" Edward stiffened, a thundercloud beginning to take possession of his brow now at this, almost a direct denial.

  "Sir Brian, like Chandos, has always most strictly observed his knightly vows, one of which was to always do his utmost. I don't believe it would accord with his honor to do anything else, and, to tell you the truth, I don't think it would accord with mine to suggest it to him."

  Braced as he was for the roof to fall in, to Jim's utter astonishment the thundercloud vanished. Edward smiled ruefully, and his whole body relaxed.

  "Certainly, all my hopes depend upon Sir Mortimer here making a good showing to my father. But that the day should come that I ask a knight to go against his vows, may Heaven forbid! We must trust in Mortimer's good right arm and what skills he has learned from some fine swordsmen, and we all know France has those who are among the best. Come, Mortimer!"

  He started to turn toward the door, but Mortimer spoke up.

  "By your leave, Your Grace," he said. "A moment more only. I would say just a word to my lord."

  Edward turned back.

  "I would say two things, my lord," went on Mortimer, but now to Jim. "One is that in spite of the accident of life that caused me to be brought up in France—a land that is dear to my heart but not my own land—and named with a French title—"

  Jim suddenly remembered that the French laws of inheritance differed from those of England. In England only the oldest son of a noble family was entitled. In France, as in some other European countries, all the sons were. That explained the hard time Mortimer had gone through, before finding a niche at the English Court, if he was only a second, or even later, son.

  "—One is to say that I am wholly English, of mother and father both. It was only circumstance that caused me to be raised in France. The second thing I would say is that while France will ever be dear to my heart, the vows I took there were no less than any knightly vows made here, and I would accept favor from no man in a test of arms!"

  "Brian will love you that you feel that way," said Jim, as forcefully as he could. "He would feel the same way. I'll tell him what you said."

  "Thank you, my lord. Your Grace, forgive me for slowing your departure," said Mortimer.

  "Forgiveness is unneeded. James, can we just walk out? Or does that enchantment of yours carry dangers for any who might wish to pass through it?"

  "It is harmless, Your Grace, and already taken away."

  "Then, we will talk further with you later. Nobly said, Mortimer. Come."

  They went out.

  Jim drew a deep breath. Once more he had had a discussion with Edward without giving in on everything the young man wanted, but also without creating bad feelings between them. But now there was no point in putting off uncomfortable news.

  Jim turned to the table, which in addition to the two pitchers, one of wine, one of water, held mazers—instead of ordinary wine cups—since he was a lord.

  He filled one of them from the water pitcher. It made a rather odd-appearing scrying glass, but it should work. He gave it the necessary command, and a three-quarters view of Brian's head and shoulders showed up in the still surface of the water.

  "Brian," he said to it.

  Brian looked around himself confusedly.

  "James?" he said, searching the empty air.

  "You needn't speak out loud, Brian," said Jim. "I'm just talking to you in your head. Just think the words you'd say to me, if you've got anybody with you who might wonder why you seem to be holding a conversation with nobody. I've just had a visit from the Prince and Sir Mortimer Verweather. It was about you. I'm up in our room. Can you come now?"

  "Certainly," thought Brian. "I'm only—tell you later."

  He was obviously having trouble producing words without speaking them aloud.

  "Fine," said Jim. "I'll let you go, now."

  He wiped out the scrying-glass command, emptied the mazer, and taking another, splashed a little wine into it, unmixed with water—having had experiences with the product of local wells in places other than Malencontri, no matter how well mannered the servants. It was less than ten minutes before Brian knocked.

  "Brian, James!" he called from beyond the door.

  "I'm alone!" Jim called back. "Come on in."

  Brian came in, carrying in one hand a bulging sack that gave forth a chorus of whimpers, mixed with occasional very high-pitched squeals. He paused to one-handedly pour himself a mazer of wine—also waterless, but in his case for reasons of taste—and then casually passed the bag to Jim.

  "Here, James," he said. "I was down at Tiverton's kennels and they had some rat-terrier pups. You said you needed some for Malencontri, so I took some. They'd only have been drowned otherwise."

  "Thanks," said Jim, holding the bag at arm's length uncertainly. It would never do to tell Brian that these were far too young to have time to grow up before London's plague reached Malencontri—though, if the plague lasted in Somerset, they might become old enough to be useful in the Nursing Room. It was unthinkable that he should admit that the pups—probably just born a day or so before—touched his heart with their crying, jumbled in the sack like unliving chunks of just about anything. What was he to do with them the rest of the time he and Angie were here?

  He had an inspiration. Hob had a soft heart for everything living. Hob could take them away up the chimneys and take care of them.

  But for now—he pointed a free finger at the sack and said "Sleep!" and the noise instantly ceased. For a moment the thought touched him that he might have overdosed them. Then reason returned. He had used magic, not medicine. As long as he didn't keep them sleeping too long, it shouldn't do them any harm. He put the sack, still silent, gently down beside his chair.

  "Why did you do that, James?" asked Brian, obviously intrigued.

  "Magic reasons," Jim said. "We've more important things to talk about."

  "So I was thinking when you spoke to me in my head," Brian answered. "James, do you know it is very hard to say words in your head without moving your lips?"

  "I do know. But it gets easier the more often you do it. You and I may be doing it more often from now on, and you'll see how easy it gets."

  Brian frowned doubtfully and took a drink from his mazer.

  "But the important matters, James?"

  Jim frowned in his turn. He was wondering how to break the news to Brian.

  "The Prince and Sir Mortimer were just here. I promised Mortimer to tell you what he told me—that he was completely English on both sides of his family and had only been brought up in France because of circumstance. But that the knightly vows he took there were no less than a knight would take here, and he desired favors from no man at any time."

  "Well, that is only as a knight should—pardon me James while I pour myself a little more wine—but how did he come to tell you it?"

  "Actually," said Jim, "it was because the Prince—you know how he is—had suddenly come up with the idea of Mortimer fighting you with blunted weapons for the amusement of the King, and was all set to make it happen without even asking if you'd want to do it."

  "But why should I not?"

  "It would be only courtesie to ask you, first."
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  "Well, the lad is still young in many ways. Also being a King's first son may make him a trifle thoughtless, at times. Was this the urgent matter for which you asked me here?"

  "I didn't know how you'd take the news."

  "It would be only ordinary manners on my part to entertain the King. He is a jolly old soul, if he does stink somewhat, despite his fine clothes. Plied me with some fine Spanish wine this morning and wanted to hear about every small bicker or tournament I have been in—though I lacked time to tell all I could remember. But one cannot blame a man for stinking in some small degree or other, though I, myself have a penchant for the feeling of cleanliness, as you may remember from the morning after our first meeting. I mind my grandfather—but there, enough of that."

  Jim was not likely to forget it. He had woken up one morning to find Brian, in the first days they had known each other, naked, bathing in the ice-cold water of a brook with every appearance of enjoyment.

  "Well," he said now. "I'm glad you feel that way about it—particularly the business of the Prince not asking you first."

  "It is great sport, James. Not to be compared with jousting or a real rencontre with all weapons sharp. I look forward to it now that you've told me."

  "I gather," Jim said carefully, "that the Prince was hoping Mortimer might show well in the contest—that way making him a better advocate to the King of the Prince himself, when young Edward's not there to speak for himself."

  "Why, and mayhap he will."

  "Perhaps. The Prince did say, too, Mortimer had trained with some of the best swordsmen in France. So he may be dangerous to you, after all."

  "Tush, James! What matters is not the teacher of swordsmanship, but the swordsman, once taught. And you must remember, this is merely play. It is not as if we were making use of sharpened weapons."

  "If you say so," said Jim, holding himself back from mentioning that at the same kind of play at the Earl of Somerset's Christmas party he had seen knights carried off the field with a broken arm or leg, and one with concussion.

  "So," said Brian, tossing off his last splash of wine and getting up, "I thank you for telling me all this, James. But, forgive me, I must get back to the kennels. How the Kennel Master there ever won his position, I do not understand! Agreed with everything I had to say, but when I fished for what knowledge he had of his own, he showed none. Most Kennel Masters—Hunt Masters—whatever one calls them, are of a custom to have their head so jammed with iron-clad notions out of ages past that one needs a battle axe to get through to them with any new idea. But this fellow was just the opposite. Seemed to have no notions of his own at all, and nothing else. Agreed with everything I said—'Yes, Sir Brian—,' 'Of course, Sir Brian—,' left me feeling as if he hadn't understood a word I'd said. But I'll get some sense out of him, yet. At any rate I got your terriers for you, and it's been kind of you to sit and listen to me. My thanks, James."

  "Don't thank me, Brian." Jim also stood up. "It was good of you to interrupt your talk—and thanks again for these terrier pups."

  "They're only a few days old," said Brian cheerfully, going toward the door, "and as I may have mentioned, the Kennel Master had no need of them, being overburdened with terriers—"

  At this moment the door to the room opened just as he reached it, and he almost bowled over Angie, who was coming in."—My most abject apologies, Lady Angela! Grant me the mercy of your indulgence for such clumsiness!"

  "Quite all right, Brian," said Angela. "I wasn't looking either. No harm done."

  "May the saints be thanked for that—I am no lightweight—and thank your own gentle self for excusing me so readily."

  "Nonsense. On your way, Brian."

  "I will make sure to be more careful in the future," said Brian, going out. Angie came the rest of the way in and dropped into the chair Brian had vacated.

  "Sometimes Brian overdoes the manners bit—" She broke off abruptly. "Saints above! What's that?"

  "Puppies," said Jim, who had just awakened them again.

  "Puppies?"

  Chapter Nineteen

  Terrier puppies." Jim lifted the noisy bag in front of her. "He knew we needed terriers, and the Kennel Master of this castle evidently had some he didn't want, so Brian took them and just brought them up here."

  "Put them down at once! Let the little things out! You don't carry puppies around in a sack as if they were pieces of wood! How could you let them stay in there?"

  "I haven't had time—" Jim was starting to say as he carefully lowered the sack, which was already more than a little smelly, down to the floor, opened it and let its prisoners out. Angie fell on her knees beside them.

  "They're all still alive—and hungry, too, poor babies!" she said. One of them had found the end of one of her fingers and was trying to suck on it, to a chorus of miniature yelps and whimpers. "It's a miracle they're all alive, joggled around like that. I can't understand Brian. The kindest man I know in this world, treats that horse of his as if it was his only child, and then carries helpless little creatures around like this."

  "I think the Kennel Master gave them to him that way. He didn't have any other way to carry them up here, and I hadn't had time—"

  "You should have made time!" The puppies were already beginning to make a mess of the thankfully uncarpeted floor.

  "—and they're too young yet to be taken from their mother," she was going on.

  "They need to be back with her right away if they're going to live, and they'll never grow up in time to be useful in the Nursing Room. Anyway, how did he think we'd take care of them here and get them home?"

  "Probably the same way he would. Turn the responsibility over to servants."

  "Well, we're going to take care of them! You go out to whoever's on duty at our door and tell him or her you want their mother up here right away. And this castle's carpenter and the Room Mistress—and some warm, fresh milk! And you tell them I do mean warm—not boiling and not icy cold, either! We want that immediately. Little ones this age have to eat constantly—and lots of clean, soft cloths. All right away. Immediately, not fifteen minutes from now."

  "You known what, Angie?" said Jim. "I think if you gave them the message the way you told it to me you'd do a better job of impressing them with the speed you want."

  "You forget the century we're in! They don't know me, but they know who and what you are—and particularly that you're a Magickian. Make magickal noises at them if they don't get everything done fast!"

  "All right," Jim said. "Maybe you're right." He went out into the hall.

  "Hah!" he said sharply to the guard and servant on duty there. "I want the bitch that whelped these pups Sir Brian just brought me, warm milk, the castle carpenter, and the Room Mistress, all here as fast as everyone can run. If you're not here by the time I finish drinking a cup of wine, I'll turn you and every one who should be into beetles. Armsman, you get the Kennel Master and carpenter. You, woman, the milk and your Room Mistress. Go!"

  He glowered at them, but they were already in flight.

  He went back inside.

  "I heard every word you said," Angie greeted him—Jim had left the door ajar when he stepped into the hall, and now realized that she was telling him something else by the statement. For a moment he remembered the sound-conducting ward he had created when he had wanted to hear what Edward was saying outside the room, which allowed anyone inside to hear those speaking in the corridor. But he had disposed of that earlier.

  "Well, you're the one who reminded me about the century we're in," he responded somewhat weakly.

  "Did you have to call the woman 'woman,' like that?"

  "I don't know her name the way I would at Malencontri. I'd have called her 'man' if she'd been male."

  "Oh, I know. Sorry. Do you want to pass me a blanket from the bed? These pups are all trying to cuddle up to me and crawl into my clothes for warmth and hoping to find a teat to suck on. How long before we get those people here?"

  "As fast as can be,"
said Jim. "Everybody, including the Cliffside Dragons, have always taken the beetle threat very seriously."

  "It can't be fast enough for me—ah, there's someone," said Angie, for there had been a scratching at the door. "Come!"

  "Matilda, Room Mistress, my lady," said a plump woman whose long-nosed face displayed no expression at all on seeing Angie wrapped in a blanket and seated on the floor, covered by squalling, piping pups. "You wished something?"

  "Blankets! Lots of them. And soft cloths the size of a handkerchief. Both fast!"

  "Immediately, my lady. How many blankets might my lady consider 'lots'?"

  "Six—eight. At least eight!" said Angie. "And I want them now!"

  "Yes, my lady." Matilda, Room Mistress, went out.

  "Jim," said Angie. "Come help me count these little devils. I don't want anyone stepping on one that's gotten buried under a blanket—or one getting lost and we find him dead in a corner two days from now."

  "I wouldn't worry about one getting lost," said Jim, moving to help her. "They huddle together with no mother around. It's instinct."

  Together they counted that there were twelve pups.

  "Is that all?" said Angie. "I could have sworn there were fifty—there's the door again. It'll be the Room Mistress back with the blankets—and just in time."

  "Come!" both she and Jim shouted at the same time. But it was not Matilda, but the servant who had been on watch at the door, panting and carrying half a pitcher of milk.

  "Good," said Angie. "Give it here—give it to me, that is."

  The servant handed it to her. Angie tasted it gingerly from the edge of the pitcher.

  "Fresh enough," she said. "But not what I'd call 'warm.' " The servant fell on her knees before Jim, clasping her upraised hands together in supplication.

  "Oh, of your great mercy, my lady, don't have my lord turn me into a beetle! It was somebody else warmed it and gave it me!"

  "He won't," said Angie. "Will you, Jim?"

  "Not this time," said Jim.

  Another scratch at the door.

  "Come!" called Jim. A boy looking about twelve years old—which probably meant he was fifteen, there were a few straggly blond hairs on his upper lip—came in, carrying a friendly looking, full-grown terrier, who began to wriggle in his arms as soon she saw, and undoubtedly smelled, the pups.