By the next morning it had stopped snowing. The world outside the walls of the imperial hostel was mantled in thick, unbroken white, and the air was filmy with a kind of damp haze that was almost-but not quite-fog.
“Misty Sendaria,” Silk said ironically at breakfast. “Sometimes I’m amazed that the entire kingdom doesn’t rust shut.”
They traveled all that day at a mile-eating canter, and that night there was another imperial hostel, almost identical to the one they had left that morning – so closely identical in fact that it almost seemed to Garion that they had ridden all day and merely arrived back where they had started. He commented on that to Silk as they were putting their horses in the stable.
“Tolnedrans are nothing if not predictable,” Silk said. “All their hostels are exactly the same. You can find these same buildings in Drasnia, Algaria, Arendia and any place else their great roads go. It’s their one weakness – this lack of imagination.”
“Don’t they get tired of doing the same thing over and over again?”
“It makes them feel comfortable, I guess.” Silk laughed. “Let’s go see about supper.”
It snowed again the following day, but by noon Garion caught a scent other than that faintly dusty odor snow always seemed to have. Even as he had done when they had approached Darine, he began to smell the sea, and he knew their journey was almost at an end.
Camaar, the largest city in Sendaria and the major seaport of the north, was a sprawling place which had existed at the mouth of the Greater Camaar River since antiquity. It was the natural western terminus of the Great North Road which stretched to Boktor in Drasnia and the equally natural northern end of the Great West Road which reached down across Arendia into Tolnedra and the imperial capital at Tol Honeth. With some accuracy it could be said that all roads ended at Camaar.
Late on a chill, snowy afternoon, they rode down a gradual hill toward the city. Some distance from the gate, Aunt Pol stopped her horse. “Since we’re no longer posing as vagabonds,” she announced, “I see no further need for selecting the most disreputable inns, do you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Mister Wolf said.
“Well, I have,” she said. “I’ve had more than enough of wayside hostels and seedy village inns. I need a bath, a clean bed and some decent food. If you don’t mind, I’ll choose our lodging this time.”
“Of course, Pol,” Wolf said mildly. “Whatever you say.”
“Very well, then,” she said and rode on toward the city gate with the rest of them trailing behind her.
“What is your business in Camaar?” one of the fur-mantled guards at the broad gate asked rather rudely.
Aunt Pol threw back her hood and fixed the man with a steely gaze. “I am the Duchess of Erat,” she announced in ringing tones. “These are my retainers, and my business in Camaar is my own affair.”
The guard blinked and then bowed respectfully.
“Forgive me, your Grace,” he said. “I didn’t intend to give offense.”
“Indeed?” Aunt Pol said, her tone still cold and her gaze still dangerous.
“I did not recognize your Grace,” the poor man floundered, squirming under that imperious stare. “May I offer any assistance?”
“I hardly think so,” Aunt Pol said, looking him up and down. “Which is the finest inn in Camaar?”
“That would be the Lion, my Lady.”
“And-?” she said impatiently.
“And what, my Lady?” the man said, confused by her question.
“Where is it?” she demanded. “Don’t stand there gaping like a dolt. Speak up.”
“It lies beyond the customs houses,” the guard replied, flushing at her words. “Follow this street until you reach Customs Square. Anyone there can direct you to the Lion.”
Aunt Pol pulled her hood back up.
“Give the fellow something,” she said over her shoulder and rode on into the city without a backward glance.
“My thanks,” the guard said as Wolf leaned down to hand him a small coin. “I must admit that I haven’t heard of the Duchess of Erat before.”
“You’re a fortunate man,” Wolf said.
“She’s a great beauty,” the man said admiringly.
“And has a temper to match,” Wolf told him.
“I noticed that,” the guard said.
“We noticed you noticing,” Silk told him slyly.
They nudged their horses and caught up with Aunt Pol.
“The Duchess of Erat?” Silk asked mildly.
“The fellow’s manner irritated me,” Aunt Pol said loftily, “and I’m tired of putting on a poor face in front of strangers.”
At Customs Square Silk accosted a busy-looking merchant trudging across the snow-covered paving. “You-fellow,” he said in the most insulting way possible, pulling his horse directly in front of the startled merchant. “My mistress, the Duchess of Erat, requires directions to an inn called the Lion. Be so good as to provide them.”
The merchant blinked, his face flushing at the rat-faced man’s tone.
“Up that street,” he said shortly, pointing. “Some goodly way. It will be on your left. There’s a sign of a Lion at the front.”
Silk sniffed ungraciously, tossed a few coins into the snow at the man’s feet and whirled his horse in a grand manner. The merchant, Garion noted, looked outraged, but he did grope in the snow for the coins Silk had thrown.
“I doubt that any of these people will quickly forget our passage,” Wolf said sourly when they were some ways up the street.
“They’ll remember the passage of an arrogant noblewoman,” Silk said. “This is as good a disguise as any we’ve tried.”
When they arnved at the inn, Aunt Pol commanded not just the usual sleeping chambers but an entire apartment. “My chamberlain there will pay you,” she said to the innkeeper, indicating Mister Wolf. “Our baggage horses are some days behind with the rest of my servants, so I’ll require the services of a dressmaker and a maid. See to it.” And she turned and swept imperially up the long staircase that led to her apartment, following the servant who scurried ahead to show her the way.
“The duchess has a commanding presence, doesn’t she?” the innkeeper ventured as Wolf began counting out coins.
“She has indeed,” Wolf agreed. “I’ve discovered the wisdom of not countering her wishes.”
“I’ll be guided by you then,” the innkeeper assured him. “My youngest daughter is a serviceable girl. I’ll dispatch her to serve as her Grace’s maid.”
“Many thanks, friend,” Silk told him. “Our Lady becomes most irntable when those things she desires are delayed, and we’re the ones who suffer most from her displeasure.”
They trooped up the stairs to the apartments Aunt Pol had taken and stepped into the main sitting room, a splendid chamber far richer than any Garion had seen before. The walls were covered by tapestries with intricate pictures woven into the fabric. A wealth of candles – real wax instead of smoky tallow – gleamed in sconces on the walls and in a massive candelabra on the polished table. A good warm fire danced merrily on the hearth, and a large carpet of curious design lay on the floor.
Aunt Pol was standing before the fire, warming her hands. “Isn’t this better than some shabby, wharfside inn reeking of fish and unwashed sailors?” she asked.
“If the Duchess of Erat will forgive my saying so,” Wolf said somewhat tartly, “this is hardly the way to escape notice, and the cost of these lodgings would feed a legion for a week.”
“Don’t grow parsimonious in your dotage, Old Wolf,” she replied. “No one takes a sPolled noblewoman seriously, and your wagons weren’t able to keep that disgusting Brill from finding us. This guise is at least comfortable, and it permits us to move more rapidly.”
Wolf grunted. “I only hope we won’t regret all this,” he said.
“Stop grumbling, old man,” she told him.
“Have it your way, Pol.” He sighed.
“I intend to,” she said.
“How are we to behave, Mistress Po1?” Durnik asked hesitantly. Her sudden regal manner had obviously confused him. “I’m not familiar with the ways of the gentry.”
“It’s quite simple, Durnik,” she said. She eyed him up and down, noting his plain, dependable face and his solid competence. “How would you like to be chief groom to the Duchess of Erat? And master of her stables?”
Durnik laughed uncomfortably. “Noble titles for work I’ve done all my life,” he said. “I could manage the work easily enough, but the titles might grow a bit heavy.”
“You’ll do splendidly, friend Durnik,” Silk assured him. “That honest face of yours makes people believe anything you choose to tell them. If I had a face like yours, I could steal half the world.” He turned to Aunt Pol. “And what role am I to play, my Lady?” he asked.
“You’ll be my reeve,” she said. “The thievery usually associated with the position should suit you.”