“Narwhals?” Kadie squealed. “We . . . I mean you, of course. You have a brooch like that, Mama!”
“So I, I mean I, do,” Inos agreed. “It belonged to Ollialo, Inisso’s wife!”
“That’s why this is short—it’s a lady’s weapon! Will you give me the brooch, to match my sword?”
“No, I won’t!”
The rapier must be a long-forgotten family heirloom. It would rank as part of the Krasnegarian crown jewels, if Krasnegar had any crown jewels. It must be far older than Gath’s book. Even without a historical provenance, a weapon that old was worth a fortune. The joke had rebounded.
“Mm!” Inos said, watching her daughter’s renewed capering, as she massacred invisible hordes. Kadie’s curious fascination with fencing was showing no signs of diminishing, although most of her friends had tired of the sport long since. Innumerable romances like The Kidnapped Princess were her main motivation, but a juvenile crush on Corporal Isyrano was part of it. Fortunately he was an honorable man and happily married.
Meanwhile, Kadie with foils was bad enough, and Kadie with a real rapier was an unnerving thought. Armed children? Oh, the joys of motherhood!
“No, you can’t wear it at dinner,” she said, and Gath sniggered as he at last began unwrapping his book.
“Mother!” Kadie said with infinite scorn, although she must have been considering the idea. Even Kadie would not be able to reconcile a sword with a ball gown.
“Well, lay it down before you kill someone. Last inspection—what else do you need?”
All eyes went to the table.
“Pity about the wine,” Gath remarked wistfully. Kadie shrugged. ”I tried.”
“No luck at all, huh?”
“Stubborn as a mule.”
“I am not deaf,” Inos said coldly. “And I resent being called a mule. Now, let’s go over the seating, shall we?”
Kadie reluctantly switched back from deadly swordswoman to royal hostess, but she used the rapier to point. “Me here. Gath, there. Nia . . . Kev . . . Brak . . .”
“Brak won’t be coming.” Gath was staring off to the other end of the hall, suddenly tense. His face had lost its merriment and gone very wooden. Inos felt a twinge of alarm.
“Why not?”
“He just won’t.”
“Why not? . . .”
“Concussion.” Gath dropped his book on the table. “Thanks, Kadie. No, I can’t!” Then he spun around and ran.
“Gath, wait!” Inos cried, but she had already been answered. Her son vanished out the side door.
Mother and daughter exchanged worried looks.
“Go and find him,” Inos said quickly. “Tell him to come straight back here at once! No, leave the sword.”
She bit her lip as Kadie went scurrying off, holding up the hem of her gown. When she left the hall she took four or five young pages along. The palace cubs would have a much better chance of finding Gath than Inos would.
Ylinyli was still there, a look of concern on his chubby impish face.
“Concussion?” Inos said. “He did say `concussion’?”
“I fear so, ma’am.”
Rap, Rap! I need you!
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
It made no sense. If Gath had foreseen an accident, then he could have warned Brak, surely? Gath’s strange prescience didn’t work for other people, or so Rap had thought. Gath could only know ahead of time what he was going to know anyway. That was Rap’s theory. But if Brak was about to have an accident, Gath would learn of an accident eventually.
She smiled uneasily at Ylinyli. “I expect it’s some sort of prank. ”
He bit his mustache. “I shouldn’t say this, ma’am . . .”
“Sit down and say it.”
Frowning, he leaned on a chair back and dropped his servant voice. “Inos, they’ve been picking on him. Didn’t you know?” She shook her head. But Gath had been rather morose lately. Shed blamed Rap’s absence. Concussion? Brak was the son of Kratharkran the smith, older than Gath and about twice the size. A red-haired jotunn lout! Oh, my baby!
“Why?” she whispered, horrified.
The major-domo squirmed. “Because . . . I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Sit down!”
Inos spoke quietly, but she still wore the occult royal glamour Rap had laid on her years ago. Moving like a flash of lightning, Ylinyli sat.
“Now tell me,” she said. “Because of his Majesty.”
“That is ridiculous!”
Still she did not raise her voice, but Ylinyli quailed.
“Of course it is, ma’am! But you know children!”
Inos forced calm on herself and reassured the major-domo with the best smile she could muster. “Oh, Lin! I don’t need secret police to be a queen, but I do need friends to be a mother! ‘ Now, please, tell me?”
Typical imp, Lin brightened and said hopefully, “First dance at the Winterfest Ball?”
“Granted! Now, what do they say?”
“That he’s run away, Inos.”
Rap had been gone for six weeks, in the dead of winter. As far as his loyal subjects knew, there was no way he could return before summer. Inos had never announced why he had gone, or where. How could she? What could she say? That he was a sorcerer and had had a premonition? That he’d gone rushing off to save the world? Rap would never forgive her.
She tried to see the situation as they must see it, the humble folk of Krasnegar. The stableboy king had run away—deserted his wife, the true queen. Another woman, perhaps?
The adults would just gossip, but children were sadistic monsters.
“They bait him?”
The imp’s fat jowls wobbled as he nodded.
Of course they would. She could imagine what the boys would say, and Gath would have to defend his father’s name. This was Krasnegar. Even the peaceable Gath would have to fight. Oh, my poor baby!
Lin was the nosiest, most gossipy man she had ever known. He was quivering now with the urge to ask impertinent questions.
“Do you know the ringleaders?” she asked. “I could call in their fathers and talk to them.”
Lin shook his head regretfully. “There would be just as many the next day, Inos. Maybe if you made a general proclamation . . .” But his face said it wouldn’t work.
“Why haven’t I heard?” she demanded angrily.
“Far as I know, he’s been doing very well. He thrashed Nev, and Oshi. ”
Shed seen young Oshi. “That was Gath did that? Gods!”
“ ‘Stremely well. But you know jotnar—it’s always one-on-one with them.”
Not always, just usually. And he hadn’t added the obvious—when imps resorted to violence, they fought in packs. If the imp boys started in on Gath, also, then sheer numbers would overcome his occult ability to dodge.
Oh, Rap! I need you!
“Inos . . .” Lin chewed his mustache again. “Gath has second sight, doesn’t he?”
Whatever Lin knew, everyone would know, but the secret was obviously out now. ”He has a slight prescience, yes.”
Lin tried vainly to hide his satisfaction at this confirmation. “Well, then! He didn’t say he wouldn’t be at the dinner. Only that Brak wouldn’t.”
Inos felt a huge relief. “That’s right! And he knew there wasn’t going to be any wine! He came in after I told Kadie that, didn’t he?” Today, at least, Gath was going to win again.
But tomorrow, and the day after?
She needed her husband, but Gath needed his father much more.
How long until Rap came home? Where was he, and what was he doing?
2
“Wake up NOW!” Hardgraa said, slamming the cabin door. Ylo grunted. He had been fast asleep, but he had always had the knack of going into or out of sleep quickly. That did not mean he wished to leave his warn bunk.
“You are wanted on deck in five minutes,” the centurion said. ”You will be there. I think you will find it chilly with no clothes on, but please yourself.”
Ylo stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Your mother plied her trade in ditches and paid her customers. What clothes? Where are we? What time is it?”
“Those clothes. Somewhere on Cenmere. About an hour after breakfast. ”
Ylo sat up and scratched. A century or so ago, this rotten hulk had been a fancy craft, plying the luxury trade on Cenmere, bearing aristocrats to and from their grand lakeside mansions. Now she leaked and creaked and swilled putrid fluids around in her bilges just the sort of ship a dwarf would choose! The cabin was shabby and stale-smelling. Nevertheless, he had slept extremely well, and he did not feel in the least bit seasick, which was remarkable.
He had left his mail surcoat and his wolfskin draped over the chair. A heap of other garments had been laid on top of them. “I’m a civilian now?” he demanded, noting that Hardgraa was garbed in doublet and hose and a warm-looking cloak. “We all are, stupid.”
“Who made those—the dwarf?”
“Ha! We’d all look like mine workers if he had. No, the faun did. They’re plain, but they’re good stuff.”