7
This was going to be a bad one; Gath just knew it. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he did. Funny thing was, though, that he hadn’t been up to anything he shouldn’t’ve.
He couldn’t even think of anything in his past that might have caught up with him, except the molasses he and Kadie had spread on the seats in the kitchen staff toilets—but that had been two years back and was long forgotten. He still felt bad about it, though.
The room was dim, full of jumping shadows, lit only by the lantern in Dad’s hand and little red worms of glow among the peat. It was cool, too, and smelled of smoke.
Gath went and sat in his mother’s chair, while Dad laid the lantern on the high mantel and poked at the fire.
“You sit there,” Dad said, waving a hand without looking around.
Gath hated to think of his dad being upset, especially if it was his fault. He knew that other boys’ dads beat them, because they’d shown him the welts—Jar and Kliff and Brak. His dad had never struck him once, not ever, but he was the king and he could look very fierce sometimes. It wasn’t a beating that was the trouble tonight, just being unhappy. He was sure Dad was unhappy, or would be unhappy soon, although he wasn’t sure why.
Over in the corner was the big chest where the crowns were kept. Long ago he’d used to come in here with Kadie and Kadie would pick the lock and they would play at trying the crowns on, but he hadn’t done that in a long time. So it wasn’t that. Unless Kadie was still doing it. He hoped he wouldn’t get asked about that.
He’d done awfully bad in yesterday’s spelling test. It might be that.
Or it might be his swollen eye.
Dad flopped down in the other chair. Not fierce, but rather solemn.
“It got punched, sir.” Gath didn’t have to call Dad ”sir.” No one had ever told him to, but everyone else did and he rather liked to. Reminded him that his dad was the king. And a wonderful dad, too, of course.
“What happened to . . . I can see that. You’re going to have a great shiner!”
Gath sniggered. “No, I didn’t.”
“I can see your knuckles, too, but I don’t suppose you punched yourself, did you?”
“It was Brak.”
“Who was it and . . .” The king scratched his hair. It was the only hair in the kingdom untidier than his, Mom always said. “Brak? Redhead jotunn? The blacksmith’s son?”
Gath just nodded. He was feeling a little mixed up again. He’d felt mixed up a couple of times this afternoon. Maybe he’d banged his head when Brak knocked him down.
Dad said, “You ought to pick on someone your own size. Not more than twice as big, anyway. Who started it?”
Gath considered the question. Was the one who started it the one who swung the first punch, or the one who called your father a sorcerer?
“Who hit who first?” his father demanded in a royal sort of voice.
“I hit him first. I punched him on the chest.”
“Idiot—stupid place to punch. What had he said?”
Gath didn’t want to answer that, but something told him he should. While he was still debating, his father made an impatient noise. “You’re not a kid anymore, Gath. This is a man-to-man talk we’re having, remember? So, please tell me what he said.”
“He said you were a sorcerer.”
“Oh!” the king said, and did not look pleased.
After a moment he said, “Did you ever ask me if I was a sorcerer?”
“Kadie did. When we were little.”
“And what did I say?”
“You said that it was a very impertinent question.”
“I did?” His father looked happier. “Thank the Gods for that, then. And why should it matter if Brak thinks I’m a sorcerer?”
Gath thought about that. “It doesn’t seem to matter much now, Dad, but it did then. It was the way he said it.”
His father laughed quietly. “Well, I know you’re not the sort who goes around picking fights. Tomorrow . . . no, I’m judging the knife-throwing contest in the morning. Before supper tomorrow, we’ll go down to the gym and I’ll show you a few things.”
“What sort of things?” Gath demanded, feeling very excited all of a sudden.
“Did you know I once had a fight with Brak’s father?”
“And lived?” Gath said in astonishment. He didn’t think Kratharkran the smith had ever actually killed anyone, but he was huge! Maybe Dad really was a sorcerer. Kadie said he was, but Kadie said all kinds of things. Gath thought he might be, but he wouldn’t say so, or admit it to Brak and the others.
He was the finest dad in the world, as well as being a king. Gath wouldn’t trade him for anyone else’s dad.
His dad was grinning, his teeth shiny in the shadow. “Don’t recall dying. We squabbled when we were kids, of course, and he always won. But once I beat him fairly in a real stand-up, grown-up, knockdown fight. Once! Now don’t go and brag about that to Brak, you hear? Krath would be after me like lightning, and I might not be so lucky next time. But there’s a few things I can show you about defending yourself. I know you’ll not abuse them.”
He sighed and then added, “Fighting’s a pretty stupid pastime, I think. But this is Krasnegar. Now . . . that wasn’t really why I wanted to talk to you. ”
Gath pulled his mind off the prospect of beating Brak. He didn’t really want to beat Brak, anyway. But it would be nice to stop him calling Dad a sorcerer.
“I’m very proud of you for what you’ve been doing, Gath.” Oh, wow! ”Doing what, sir?”
“Helping sick people and old people. Why did you decide to do that?”
Gath felt his face going all hot. He’d begun to think he’d been very stupid. The other kids had laughed at him—he’d walked away from several near-fights over that, and after the first few days it had become an awful bore, but of course he hadn’t been able to stop then in case the others thought it was because of what they’d been saying. But if it pleased Dad, then he’d keep on, of course. Wonderful!
Now he had to answer the question, and that was tricky. Really he’d thought it would be a good idea to help people because Dad did it sometimes and it was the only thing he could think of that Dad did as a king that he might be able to help with. He’d have to be a king himself someday, probably, so he might as well get started learning, he’d thought. But he didn’t want to say so.
“Well, Mom can’t just now, with Holi so little.”
“Mmph. That’s all? Well, never mind.”
The king scratched his head again, as if the conversation was getting difficult. “It could present a problem, Gath. It’s hard to explain. Have you ever heard of—”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gath!”
“They’re secret words that sorcerers know. And if you can make a sorcerer tell you his words of power, then you become a sorcerer, too.”
“Not bad!” Dad said in an odd voice. “Who told—”
“Guys,” Gath said vaguely. It was one of the things boys talked about, like girls.
He had to wait a bit for the next question, and when his dad spoke it wasn’t a question.
“Gath, I’m going to tell you a secret. Quite a lot of secrets. I know you won’t tell anyone if I ask you—will you?”
Gath shook his head. He especially wouldn’t tell chatterbox Kadie! He didn’t understand why his dad seemed so cheerful when he was going to be so unhappy. This wasn’t working out right, somehow, although he didn’t know how, or why he thought that.
He was starting to feel mixed up again.
“I really am a sorcerer, Gath. When I want to be. Surprised?”
“No, sir. I sort of thought you were.”
His father laughed. “You’re a good boy, Gath! All right, it’s a long story. My mother was born a very long way from here, in a place called Sys—”
“What sort of seer?” Gath said, excitedly. “Oh, you’d heard that, had you?”
“No, sir.”
There was an odd sort of pause, then, until Dad said, “Then why did you ask about your grandmother being a seer?”
“I wanted you to tell me more . . .” Gath had a horrible certainty that he was going to start weeping in a few minutes, which was all wrong for a man of thirteen and a half and would upset Dad, except Dad was really upset about Thrippy, or was going to be upset. Had he said that yet? What was there to cry about anyway? He was ever so mixed up and big guys didn’t sob all over their dads’ chests . . .