‘Yes. You know it?’
‘It’s called The Broken Sword and has the finest chef in Gulgothir. I wish I could join you, but I have business to discuss with my trainer, Shonan.’
‘I would have been glad of the company. My friend, Sieben, is entertaining a lady at our quarters, and would not relish the sight of me arriving home early. Perhaps after tomorrow’s final?’
‘That would be pleasant.’
‘By the way, you have a guest. An urchin I found waiting outside. I would be grateful if you treated him kindly, and offered him a word or two.’
‘Of course. Enjoy your meal.’
Chapter Three
Kells licked his fingers, then tore another chunk of dark bread with which to scour the bowl for the last of the stew. The old servant chuckled. ‘It’s all right, boy, there is more where that came from.’ Lifting the pot from the stove he ladled the bowl full. Kells’s pleasure was undisguised. Taking up his spoon, he attacked the stew with renewed gusto and within moments it had vanished. He belched loudly.
‘I am Carmol,’ said the old servant, holding out his hand.
Kells looked at it, then reached out with his own grimy palm. Carmol shook hands. ‘I think this is the point where you tell me your name,’ he said.
Kells looked up into the old man’s face. It was heavily lined, especially around the eyes, which were blue and merry. ‘Why?’ There was no insolence in Kells’s tone, merely innocent enquiry.
‘Why? Well, it is considered polite when two people share a meal. It is also the way friendships begin.’ The old man was friendly, and his smile was not sly.
‘I am called Fastfinger,’ said Kells.
‘Fastfinger,’ echoed Carmol. ‘Is that what your mother calls you?’
‘No, she calls me Kells. But everyone else calls me Fastfinger. The stew is very good. And the bread is soft. Fresh. I’ve had fresh bread and I know the taste.’ Kells climbed down from the bench and belched again. The kitchen was warm and cosy, and it would have been nice to curl up on the floor beside the stove and sleep. Yet he could not, for his mission was not yet complete. ‘When can I see . . . the Lord Klay?’
‘What is your business with him?’ enquired Carmol.
‘I have no business with him,’ said Kells. ‘I have no business. I am . . . a beggar,’ he announced, thinking it sounded better than thief, or cut-purse.
‘So you have come to beg?’
‘Yes, to beg. When can I see him?’
‘He is a very busy man. But I can give you a coin or two – and another bowl of stew.’
‘I don’t want coins . . .’ He stumbled to silence, his brow furrowing. ‘Well, I do want coins from you, but not from him. Not from the Lord Klay.’
‘Then what do you want ?’ asked Carmol, sitting down at the bench.
Kells leaned in close. It could surely do no harm to tell the Lord Klay’s servant of his mission? The old man might even prove an ally. ‘I want him to lay his hands on my mother.’
The old man laughed suddenly, which embarrassed Kells; this was no subject for laughter and his eyes narrowed. Carmol saw his expression and his smile faded. ‘I am sorry, boy. You took me by surprise. Tell me why you require such . . . such an act from my master?’
‘Because I know the truth,’ said Kells, dropping his voice. ‘I haven’t told anyone, the secret is safe. But I thought that he could spare a little magic for my mam. He could make the lump go away. Then she could walk again, and laugh. And she could work and buy food.’
There was no smile on CarmoPs face now. Tenderly he laid his hand on Kells’s shoulder. ‘You . . . believe the Lord Klay has magic?’
‘He is a god,’ whispered Kells. The old man was silent for a moment, but Kells watched him closely. His face softened, and he looked worried. ‘I swear I won’t tell anyone,’ said the boy.
‘And how did you come by this intelligence, young Kells?’