His hosts inspected him with curiosity, with amusement, then with contemptuous comments that he could not catch. There was laughter. He knew he must look strange to them—the reverse of the way they looked to him. He would seem a very pale brown, very stringy, and too tall. His tussock of unruly brown hair would be entertaining, also. The minstrel Jalon had told him that fauns had hairy legs, and certainly Rap’s legs had been been busily growing hairy recently. They obviously amused the goblins. But evidently he had overlooked the feature that amused them most. The chief said something that provoked especially loud laughter. Darad’s reply brought more.
He leered at Rap. “The chief offered to give me your nose, because mine is broken. I said mine was still prettier.” He laughed again and took another drink.
The goblins all had wide, plump faces, but their noses were thin and very long. They also had big ears.
“When do I get to eat?” Rap asked.
Darad showed his tooth gap in another leer. “Why waste good food?”
“What’s going to happen, then?” Even if courage was important, Rap just could not feel courageous-but now anger was coming to his aid. If they were going to kill him, he would rather they got started than just left him in suspense.
Again that wolfish grin. “Wait and see! I wouldn’t want to spoil your surprise.”
The chief turned and grunted an order. One of the youngest men sprang up and ran along the big room and out the door. As Rap watched with farsight, he hurried to the smallest building, the one where the boys and youths of the tribe were sitting or lying around a fireplace. There seemed to be one grown man there, perhaps a supervisor, and he now rose to follow the chief’s messenger. Yet, while the messenger ran back, the newcomer took his time, idly kicking snow with his bare feet, brazenly strolling through that deadly arctic cold while clad in nothing but a strip of deer hide.
He sauntered into the hall and up to the fireplace, folded his arms, and looked expectantly at the chief. He was not a grown man, but not far off it-about Rap’s age, almost as tall and twice the depth, a barrel-chested, powerful youth, as big as any goblin in the room. He already had more moustache than most, and the black rope of his hair hung almost to his waist. There were no tattoos on his wide, ugly face, but there was much arrogance. The chief said something. The youth looked Rap over and then grinned hugely with his oversized teeth. He held a meaty arm against one of Rap’s to allow a comparison. The audience exploded in appreciative laughter.
“This is Little Chicken,” Darad explained helpfully. “High Raven’s son. You’ll be seeing more of him in future. More than you want, I fancy!” He laughed and then translated his joke for the benefit of the audience. They found it equally amusing. High Raven must be the chief. That and his size explained this youngster’s superior air.
“Do I have to fight him?” Rap demanded, uneasily studying Little Chicken’s impressively thick limbs and chest.
“Just hold your end up!” Darad said, laughing again.
The chief snapped an order. Little Chicken nodded and grabbed Rap’s wrist. The goblins respected courage; Rap felt pushed beyond all endurance by this mockery and ill treatment. He jerked his arm away and swung a fast punch with his other hand.
He hit nothing. He had no time to register the horrifying implications of that failure before Little Chicken doubled him over with a left hook in the belly and then flattened him to the floor with a thump on the back of his head. Dimly he heard the audience erupt in screams of mirth.
Little Chicken might be shorter, but obviously his greater weight was combined with much greater speed. He kicked at Rap to drive home the point and his father shouted what sounded like a warning. So Little Chicken casually knelt, tucked Rap under one arm, and rose to wander away while the spectators were still bellowing and hooting and rolling around on the platform. Hands and feet trailing on the gritty snow, Rap was borne ignominiously over to the boys’ building and dumped in a corner. The boys clustered around to inspect the dazed and still nauseated captive. They found him just as entertaining as their elders had done.
6
Princess Kadolan peered around the south drawing room, being careful not to appear to be peering—she did not think it seemly for a lady to screw up her eyes merely to see properly. In a moment she located the burgundy dress she sought, and the highpiled honey-blond hair. She set off at a measured pace, smiling and nodding to a few friends. The big room was almost empty, and also strangely drab. The snow floating down outside had muffled the morning sun and muted the normally joyful tones of Angilki’s decor.
In searching out the brightest light for her sketch book, Inos had curled up on a love seat by the window. Her bright gown burned hot against the winter whiteness without and the potted plants within. Behind her, beside the casement, an oversize grandfather clock steadily chopped away at the seconds, contrasting the relentless march of time with youth and beauty. Portrait of an artist . . .
Kade knew well that in most women such a pose would be a deliberate stratagem, but in Inos it came from pure instinct. Imperceptibly Kinvale had melted away her awkward adolescence to reveal a stunningly beautiful young woman. She had gained poise and grace, and yet she still retained her bloom of innocence. That would vanish, of course, as soon as she herself became fully aware of the change, but—as Ekka had remarked only a few minutes ago—the smallest part of the problem now was motivating the prospective suitors.
Inos flipped over a page and frowned at it. Then she noticed Kadolan’s approach, sat up straight, put her feet down . . .
“Don’t get up, dear.” Kade settled at her side. “Does this snow make you homesick?”
Inos flashed her a smile that could have demolished an Imperial legion. ”This? I don’t think a Krasnegarian would call this snow, Aunt. You couldn’t lose a horse in this.”
“You could barely lose a copper groat in it. No, unless it gets much deeper it should not spoil the skating party.”
“I hope not,” Inos said, gazing happily out at the winter-shrouded lawns and hedges. She had not known how to skate until a few weeks ago—skating was not a practical pastime in Krasnegar—but she had taken to it like a horse to oats. From her father she inherited a natural ability for such vigorous pursuits. She glanced around to see who might be within earshot. Kadolan had already determined that no one was.
“You have come to scold me, Aunt. You have that this-will-hurt-me-more look about you.”
“Oh, dear! Am I becoming so obvious in my old age?”
Inos chuckled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Of course not! I am teasing. But I certainly ought to know when I have distressed you; I do it often enough, do I not?”
“No, dear . . .” Kade found herself being studied by the greenest eyes in the Impire, large and deep and unreadable.
“Well, I did!” Inos said, much amused. “I was quite horrid to you when we first arrived, my dear Aunt, and I am truly repentant. But I am seeing that expression much less often, so either you have given up on me, or I am getting better. Which is it?” When Inos chose to be charming, she was irresistible.
“You are doing wonderfully, my dear.”
A tiny gleam of pleasure was masked at once by a coquettish smile. ”But . . .”
“Well . . . That naval person has departed—”
“Captain Eggoli?” Inos contrived to look shocked. “Should he be traveling in his present state of health? In this snow?”
“He seemed quite eager to leave—and not at all eager to come and make his farewells to you.”
Inos threw up her hands dramatically. “And I did so hope to hear just once more how he keelhauled those poor mutineeers! Surely it would have been proper for an Imperial officer to have come to say good-bye?” She could not quite keep the satisfied twinkle out of her eye, although she was becoming much more skilled at hiding her feelings now. Inosolan was much more skilled at almost everything now.
And it really was very funny.
“What I cannot understand,” Kadolan said, playing along, “is how a strapping young sailor like that could have come down with such a terrible cold when everyone else seems perfectly healthy.”
Still Inos kept a straight face. “I did hear rumors that he spent a night in a potting shed.”
“That seems an unwise thing to do. The whole night?”