Will Power

SCENE XV A Long-Awaited Meeting

For a second I sat quite silently in the gloom of the hooded carriage. The girl was sitting opposite me and, like the gallants I had been lining up with, she was masked. It was an odd mask, glittery and shaped like the beak of a bird. Though golden and studded with green stones, it was eerie looking and, in other colors, would have been quite sinister. She was pale and blond, but since that went for the entire non-goblin population of this land, it was hardly informative. She wore her hair in golden ringlets which broke around her shoulders and the lacy enticement of her neckline. Her dress was of a rose-colored silk adorned with frills and some small amethysts. Her necklace looked like silver and tiger’s eye or some similar semiprecious stones. And, strangely enough-for in other circumstances I would have thought her way too good for the likes of me-I was a little bit disappointed.

In my old Cresdon haunt, the Eagle, a woman like this would have turned heads like hands on a clock. Had she walked up to the bar where I sat, cheating some poor idiot out of his meager wages, I would have gaped, stared and, quite possibly, drooled. But I was getting used to beauty, elegance, finery, and riches; I was not quite so easy to impress these days. Before, I would have turned on my best performance for the chance of an hour alone with any woman distinguished by a lack of contagious skin afflictions and a fair limb count, but now I expected radiant perfection. The girl, under her mask and silk, might well be it, but her jewelry clearly wasn’t, and this, strangely, bothered me. She would not have passed muster in the king’s palace thus attired, and there would have been snickerings and knowing glances at her amethysts and tiger’s eye. Perhaps there were the makings of a courtier in me yet.

“You are very quiet, Mr. Hawthorne,” she said. Her voice, as I had noticed when she first spoke, had that rich and breathy character that spoke of both naïveté and knowledge, of coyness and sensuality. I caught my breath, began to answer, and had to pause, swallow, and try again.

“I am not sure where to begin,” I said, beginning. “You know my name, but I do not know yours, nor do I think I have seen you at court.”

She smiled. That much I could see, since the mask left the lower part of her face uncovered. She had good, even, white teeth, but I was struck not by them but by how few times I had seen courtiers produce anything so genuine. Their smiles were controlled wrinkles of their lips, as if someone had threaded a fishing line through the corners of their mouths and then tugged it gently upward. Such smiles were amused or sardonic, but always restrained, and no one showed their teeth.

“My name is not important,” she said, “and I am surprised you ask it.”

“Is it not normal to introduce oneself before”-I faltered, realizing I had dug myself a hole-“er. . before, driving somewhere together?”

She giggled at my clumsiness. It was, again, both endearing and uncourtly, perhaps endearing because it was uncourtly. I smiled despite myself, but my doubts grew.

“So do you read many plays?” I said.

This stopped her smile like I had smacked it with a large fish. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice losing a little of the refined politeness it had managed thus far.

“You made reference to a play in your letter,” I clarified. “Have you read many?”

“The odd one,” she said, with no real effort to conceal the lie. She beamed again.

The odd one? This was not the same mind that had conjured all those phoenixes and clouds onto the pages of the letter. As she seemed to relax and grow more playful, I found myself growing uneasy.

“You’re not from round here, are you?” she said, and a little more of that aristocratic hauteur fell away from her accent.

“Not exactly, no,” I answered warily.

“You’re so tense!” she exclaimed. “I won’t bite, you know. What do you go by, Will or Bill?”

“Either,” I said, cautiously. “Usually Will.”

“Right then, Will,” she announced. “Turn round and let me rub your shoulders.”

She moved suddenly, leaning across the carriage and pulling my upper body toward her. Usually this would be a promising step, but now I flinched like I’d taken an arrow in the gut.

“You’re very highly strung, aren’t you Will?” she said, as I recoiled slightly from her touch. “Your muscles are all knotted up like bits o’ rope.”

I pulled myself back abruptly and caught her wrist. “So that’s the fashionable courtly speech, is it?” I demanded. “Bits o’ rope? You didn’t write that letter.”

“Yes, I did,” she said, lying playfully again.

“No chance. You don’t sound like a courtier, you don’t dress like one, and I’ll bet my last farthing that you can’t write like one.”

“What does it matter who wrote the letter?” she answered.

“So you didn’t?” I pressed.

“No,” she replied, a trifle sulkily.

I released her hands, waiting for more information. She folded her arms and sat in silence for a minute or so. Then, in what I took to be her own voice-it was devoid of courtly affectation and touched with some regional accent that was round and earthy-she said, “And you don’t think I look like a courtier?”

Her tone was hurt, and this seemed so completely genuine that my suspicion momentarily evaporated and I had nothing but a kind of pity for her.

“Well, I haven’t really seen you yet,” I said, as kindly as I could in the circumstances.

“There!” she said, snatching the mask from her face. “Now you can see me.”

She was quite beautiful. Her face was fuller than was the fashion at court and she held a slight rosiness in her cheeks which would have seemed too countrified for the city, but she looked real as few of the women in the palace had looked. I was caught by surprise.

“Well?” she demanded, pouting slightly. Even in the dull light I could see that her eyes were hazel, deep and darker than any I had seen in the city.

“You look wonderful,” I said, honestly.

“But not like a court lady.”

“Better than a court lady.”

She looked at me quizzically, a childlike skepticism passing over her face. Then she smiled broadly again. “Good,” she concluded. “Look, we are nearly there.”

She moved the curtain and the light fell on her face. We had been traveling for some time and were now far from the city. Trees grew out of darkening fields and, in the distance, isolated stone cottages showed lights at the windows.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Nearly there.”

“Yes, but. .”

She reached across and laid her finger on my lips. I fell silent and then decided that this would be a good time to kiss her. I had no idea who she was or what she had in mind for me when the coach stopped, but I could not believe she meant me harm. Well, I preferred not to. It was conceivable that she would slip a stiletto in my ribs or hand me over to someone else who would, but she was no goblin, even if she wasn’t a courtier either. I contrived to get closer to her on the pretext of looking out of the window and then made the move. As my cheek brushed against hers she backed away: a small but decisive gesture.

“Wait till later,” she said.

But there was something in her glance, or the way she averted it and stared fixedly out of the window, that told me beyond any doubt that there would be no “later.” It was my turn to sulk. I suppose I should have been more concerned for my safety, but I was too busy being disappointed in that petty, self-involved fashion that I’ve cultivated so expertly over the years.

It was quite dark when the carriage drew to a creaking halt. I had long since lost track of which direction we were heading in. I was thus rather alarmed when I looked out and found the dark, irregular silhouettes of trees hanging over the road. We were on the edge of that vile forest.

“Where the hell are we going? I demanded, petulance muffling my growing fear.

“We are at an inn,” said my companion. “Climb down and go inside. I have to pay the driver. When you go in, go straight up the stairs at the back of the bar and wait for me in room four. It will be unlocked.”

“Why don’t I wait for you here?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Because we should not be seen going in together,” said she, with that provocative little smile, which seemed to promise so much more than I was going to get. “That just isn’t done.”

She wagged her finger at me. As she fumbled for her purse and replaced her mask, she added, “Go on in and I’ll join you presently.”

I wanted to believe her, but as I got down and walked across the cobbled yard to where the small hubbub of the tavern emanated, I knew she wouldn’t be coming up. I considered having a few beers-if they were any good-and then getting the first ride I could back to the city, but I was too frustrated to be so passive. I sensed no malice from her and I wasn’t about to threaten the girl, partly because I doubted that she knew entirely what it was that was about to happen. The assassins had got to me in Phasdreille. There was no reason for them to arrange so elaborate a ruse to get me out here in the middle of nowhere. No; this was something different, and I felt a rising sense of caution touched with anticipation. I wanted to see who had gone to so much trouble to get me out here and why.

So I started to go in. But first I took one last look at the masked beauty in the carriage, who was making a show of sorting through some coins. I didn’t expect I’d see her again and had almost decided to go back to say something romantic and significant when the carriage suddenly launched forward and, with a clatter of hooves, vanished into the darkness. Well, that was my ride gone.

So much for romance.

For a minute or two I just stood there, not surprised, but feeling sort of confused and pathetic anyway. Then someone came out of the pub pushing a dolly with a barrel on it and the decision was made. He gave me a curious look. Suddenly conscious of how strange it must seem to be standing around in the courtyard in the dark, I took a few purposeful strides, gave him a “good evening” kind of nod, and stepped into the inn.

The barroom was curious. It had more of the Cresdon bustle than the other inns I had seen since we were transported to wherever we now were. It was smoky and loud-not like the Eagle, you understand, but it certainly had more character than the Refuge or anything in Phasdreille. The atmosphere cheered me. Maybe the beer would even be decent.

I made my way to the bar and ordered. At first I didn’t notice, but the patrons were a surprisingly mixed bag. In place of the tall, pale, and blond aristocratic types I had grown used to, these were tall, short, fat, thin, pale, dark, brunette, redheaded-in short, just what you’d expect in the taverns of Thrusia. My heart skipped at the idea and a thought struck me: Perhaps I had crossed back, taken another mystical carriage ride back across the edge of reality, back to Stavis. Then I tasted the beer: the same straw-colored ditchwater as before. I was still here.

As if to emphasize the point, I turned and found myself gazing across the room to the foot of a narrow staircase made of plain wooden boards. I took a sip of my “beer,” left the rest of it on the bar, and walked to and up the stairs quite calmly, almost as if I knew what I was doing. Room four was the second from the head of the stairs on the right. I knocked, and, when no one answered, pushed the door open.

A candle was burning inside. There was a rough-looking bed with an uneven mattress stuffed with straw, a deal table and chair, and a large water pitcher and bowl. On the table was a bottle of beer and two earthenware goblets. Nothing else. I walked in, closed the door behind me, and sat on the bed. Drawing a knife from my boot, I stared at the door to a large closet and spoke aloud. “All right, let’s get on with it. I’m in no mood for games.”

The door swung open. “Nor am I, Will.”

It was Lisha.

She stood there, small and still, smiling slightly. I stared at her, my mouth open. Then, without thinking, I threw my arms around her and squeezed her hard. This was the last thing I had expected and suddenly it seemed that I had never been happier to see anyone.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

“Waiting for you, obviously.”

“You sent the letter?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“First,” she said, “tell me how you got to Phasdreille and which of the party you have seen.”

I still had my hands fixed to her shoulders, and now-perhaps at the mention of the others-it was like I remembered who she was, and I felt awkward and overfamiliar. I let her go and took a step back, gesturing vaguely and looking shamefaced.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

I nodded and looked at the floor.

She poured me a glass of the beer (better than that in the city, but not by much) and I told my tale-all of it: Sorrail, the fight in the cave, the loss of Orgos and Mithos, our failed rescue attempt, meeting Garnet in the city, and everything that had happened since. After I had finished, she sat in silence for a long time, her narrow eyes almost closed with thought. She was, as ever, small and girlish. Her skin was dark, brown as leather, and her hair was black and glossy as the feathers of a raven. Sitting there so small in the candlelight of this unfamiliar room I was reminded of when I had first met the much-touted party leader and how bewildered and disappointed I had been. That seemed like a very long time ago.

“But you have had no news of Mithos and Orgos since your encounter in the forest?”

I shook my head.

“You think they are?. .”

“I don’t know,” I answered, quickly.

“And there has been no other attempt to rescue them since you reached Phasdreille?”

“Not that I know of,” I answered, “though I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they weren’t telling me everything. I’m not the most popular person in the city.”

There was another long silence between us, then she sipped her beer and I shifted in my seat.

“So you also met the ambassador,” she said. “Strange. I came here in similar circumstances and around the same time, but I arrived alone. I made my way toward the White City, though I did not get that far. Passing through a village near the forest on the east bank of the river, I found that I was being followed. Soon there was a growing crowd behind me, whispering and pointing. I made for an inn but they overtook me as I went in and let me know that I was not welcome.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Why not?”

“It seems they thought I was some kind of goblin half-breed.”

Jaws often drop on the stage, but rarely have I been so gobsmacked in reality. This was one of those rare occasions. I just sat there and Lisha said nothing. It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place. I looked at her, so small and dark, with her black hair and her narrow, eastern eyes, and I was suddenly embarrassed.

“How could they think that you were like that filth just because you don’t, you know, look the same as them?”

She shrugged fractionally and smiled her tiny, knowing smile.

“You haven’t come across the goblins, though, Lisha,” I said, trying to sound conciliatory. “I mean, I’m not saying that it’s understandable that they took you for one, but the people round here have pretty good reason to hate them.”

“Perhaps,” she said, regarding me thoughtfully.

“I mean it’s terrible that they misjudged you, but if you knew these things, you’d see why they are so paranoid. It’s more misreading than malice, you know?”

She sat quite still and said nothing for a long time. Then she sighed and said, “I don’t know, Will. This place just doesn’t feel right to me. I’ve had to skulk around the countryside wrapped up like a leper so that no one would challenge me on the assumption that I’m some kind of demon. Out here, where the people are a little more mixed, I can just about get by, but even here I have to stay in my room and pay double the usual rate to keep the innkeeper happy. I can’t get anywhere near the city. That’s why I had to bring you to me, without making myself visible.

“I heard of your presence in the city but I did not want to risk drawing attention to myself,” she said. “Apart from the danger such exposure might put me in, it could also jeopardize the kind of reception you have been getting. I chose a way that would reach you but wouldn’t attract attention if the letter should. . go astray. You were the obvious target because I doubted Garnet and Renthrette would roll with something so underhanded. I assume they’ve adjusted to the court rather better than you have?”

“Yes,” I said. “Odd, really. I’ve always prided myself on being flexible, on being able to play any role I was given, while they’ve always seemed rigid, unbending, and intolerant of whatever seemed suspicious. I guess the palace doesn’t seem suspicious to them.”

“And you? Are you suspicious?”

“No,” I said, quickly and without much thought. “I don’t think so. There are strange things about the whole city, but I suppose you’d find that everywhere.”

“I suppose,” agreed Lisha, noncommittally.

“What are you thinking?” I pressed. “You think something is wrong?”

“Probably nothing. I’m just not sure of a few things. I told you that I have word from the city via some of the few people who will talk to me.”

“Does that include the girl who picked me up?”

“Rose? Yes. She doesn’t know anything about me, but she likes to talk, and I have learned much from her. She. . has contact with some of the courtiers from time to time.”

“You mean. .”

“Outside the city, people are not so wealthy as in it. Much of what is made or grown out here goes into Phasdreille, and many of the laborers struggle to make ends meet. Rose, like many others, has found a way to bring in some more money. That way she can keep her family, and her children, respectably.”

“Ironic.”

“Irony is a luxury many cannot afford,” she answered. I dropped my eyes a little, but she smiled. “Come now, Will. Before you came here, your hide was a good deal tougher. I suggest you thicken it again, if you can. It may yet prove invaluable. But that wasn’t my point. Rose and others like her told me of the arrival of people they called Outsiders. When you first reached the city, you created something of a stir. It seems that these Outsiders have been expected for some time. And though their interest in you has strangely dwindled lately, your first appearance prompted a good deal of excitement and some anxiety. Your names were on everyone’s lips for a day or so, and then, quite suddenly, you were forgotten. Garnet is now a horseman of the fair folk. Renthrette is a court lady often seen in the company of the much esteemed Sorrail. Will Hawthorne has vanished from sight and, it seems, from memory. Rose spoke of you several times when you first came to Phasdreille, but when I sent her to get you, she appeared to have no recollection of you. It is, as you say, odd.”

“I guess I’m kind of forgettable.” I shrugged.

“But that’s the thing,” she said. “You’re not. You should stand out, because you’re not like them. You don’t look like them and you certainly don’t think like them, so why have people stopped talking about you?”

“Maybe I’m just the wrong kind of different,” I said.

She looked at me sharply, and then nodded, as if I had said something shrewd or profound. “There’s also this attempt on your life,” she continued. “I don’t know, Will. It’s all very strange. It sounds like two separate entities-one goblin, the other human-want you dead. The cloaked figure only intervened when it seemed that the goblins might spare you. Why do two groups who hate each other both want you dead? And then there’s the Orgos apparition in the forest. Do you have any ideas?”

“Not really,” I confessed. “The goblin said, ‘I have no faith in prophecy, Mr. Hawthorne.’ Could our arrival have been foretold somehow? It might explain why there was such interest in us at first. Then when it turned out that we either weren’t what was prophesied or that the prophecy was bollocks, or whatever-then they lost interest in us? I don’t ordinarily believe in such things, of course. . ”

“Of course.” Lisha smiled dryly.

“But this place is crawling with things I didn’t believe in, so I’m sort of at sea in a leaky kettle. Maybe there was some kind of prophecy that seemed to refer to us.”

“And then it became apparent that you weren’t the prophesied Outsiders after all,” Lisha suggested.

“That’s possible,” I mused. “But maybe a few fringe groups still think we’re worth killing just in case. The Assassins’ Convention, which I seem to have walked in on, took place some time after we fell from grace in the eyes of the king.”

“We need to find out more about this prophecy, if it exists,” said Lisha, rising and starting to pace the room. “I wish we could get Garnet and Renthrette out of there. I worry that. .”

“What?” I asked, since her voice had trailed off into nothing.

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure of herself. “It’s just a feeling, an uneasiness. I don’t like the idea of them getting too. . involved with the court in Phasdreille.”

“If you say the word,” I answered with a dry and knowing grin, “they’ll jump back into line like their tails are on fire and you have the only bucket of water in the world.”

“I don’t know, Will,” she said, “but I hope so.”

She sat down again and stared at the tabletop as if her mind was miles away.

“I wish Mithos and Orgos were here,” I said suddenly. It was the first time I had said it, and I was rather surprised by it. It was as if my private anxiety had been skulking through the jungle of my head for days, always a few feet from the path I was on, and had chosen this moment to ambush me.

“I think they are still alive,” she said, looking at me in that compassionate but penetrating fashion of hers which always made me feel like she’d walked in on me as I was getting out of the bath.

“Based on what?” I demanded. I hadn’t intended to sound hostile, but I did not want to be patronized by groundless hopes.

“I just feel it,” she said. “Or rather, I do not feel they have died.”

“Why would you?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I wouldn’t,” she said. “But we have been together a long time and I think their passing might register in me somehow.”

Her eyes held mine throughout this curious speech. I hesitated only a second.

“That is the stuff of stories, Lisha,” I said. “Brothers, friends, twins, parents, and daughters all die daily, and their loved ones are none the wiser till some grim-faced messenger arrives at the door. I’d love to think we were all connected by some sort of spiritual bond, some connection, but I have seen no evidence for it, and plenty to the contrary. I don’t believe it.”

“You are right not to,” she said. “I don’t believe it either. I merely hope that it might be true. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I feel it nonetheless.”

I shrugged, unconvinced, and began feeling depressed as a result. She smiled a little, as if this endeared me to her or reminded her of something she liked in me. Though she was the one talking fancifully and I was the cynical realist, she managed to make me feel, as usual, like a child. I smiled again and she clasped my hand impulsively.

“I am glad you got here,” she said. “I needed to hear a voice of skepticism in this curious place. But now you must go back. I cannot come with you, and I feel that some of our answers still lie in the city. I will move in what limited way I can and gather information from the few safe sources available to me, but I have no wish to be hounded to earth and executed as a goblin spy.”

“Where should I begin?”

“With the prophecy, I suppose, though how you will go about that without putting yourself in danger, I do not know. Beware of trying to sour the city for Garnet and Renthrette too quickly. They may turn against you.”

“Again.”

“Quite. In fact,” she added, “now that I think of it, it might be better if you don’t tell them I’m here.”

“You want me to lie to them?” I said, pleased by the idea.

“No,” she insisted. “I just want you to keep what you know of my presence to yourself. For now.”

I grinned. One day I would get some real mileage out of this, her trusting me over them. Still, it was unlike her to mislead her friends.

“I just think it might be for the best,” she added. “For them, I mean. We’ll tell them soon.”

“We don’t need to,” I said.

She ignored that.

“Be careful, and bring me word through Rose,” she said. “I will send her to the bridgehead gate two days from now and every day thereafter. If I can, I will come in the coach; otherwise, you should give her any letters for me that you have. I think she can be trusted, and I do not think she can read. Leave no writings in your quarters as long as you are in the palace. I hear the general practice of being a courtier involves a good deal of spying just to see who is on the way up and who on the way down and out. I have no doubt that servants are paid to bring stray letters to their masters. Don’t get caught up in the factions of court life, Will. There are too many daggers in such places, and you can’t protect yourself from all angles.”

“It’s a good thing we know who the enemy is,” I remarked.

“Indeed,” she said.

I spent the night on the floor of Lisha’s room and left as close to first light as I could manage. I journeyed back to Phasdreille by means of the same carriage in which I had left, but Rose, alas, did not make the return trip with me. I arrived at about nine o’clock, passing the barbican sentries with a nod which they returned with the smiles of men who thought they knew what I’d been up to all night, and made straight for the palace and my room.

My sword had come back from the smith, but instead of the notched blade having been reforged, they had just cut the end off and then ground down what remained. It was now less a short sword than long knife. I was irritated enough to have a word with the nearest guard, who pointed me to the armory next door. I marched in like I owned the place, slammed the sword down on the counter, and asked what the hell that was supposed to be.

“It’s a fine sword,” said the duty officer.

“It was a fine sword,” I said, “before you idiots chopped three inches off the end. Now it’s a bread knife. Can’t you make it like it was?”

“Longer, you mean?” said the officer, blankly. “How?”

“I don’t know; I’m not the smith. Melt it down, add more steel, and beat it out again,” I suggested. “Isn’t that how these things work?”

The officer looked confused, but he went back into the forge. When he didn’t come back after a couple of minutes, I went in after him. I noticed two things right away. The first was that, though the smithy was large, with several furnaces and anvils set up, there was only one person working, and all the other hearths were cold. In fact, they looked like they hadn’t been used for ages. The second thing I noticed was the way that the smith in his leather apron studied the sword with the same blank look the duty officer had given me. These people were clueless.

“I could weld a setting for some diamonds to the hilt,” said the smith, sauntering over, “or I can give you a new one.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback and rather pleased. “Fine. Yes. I’ll take a new one.”

Since I seemed to be the only person in the city who didn’t go about with a wheelbarrow full of diamonds, it seemed the smart choice.

He turned to a door and opened it. Briefly I saw beyond him and noticed rack upon rack of swords and other weapons. He drew one out, seemingly at random, and brought it to me.

It was, if anything, finer than the one I had broken, with a filigree patterning in the steel where it had been folded and reforged many times. I swashed it about in a professional sort of way, which seemed to satisfy the smith.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

So I was feeling pretty good about myself as I made for the library. Things had gone without a hitch thus far. I was beginning to feel as smooth as a greased otter when I got to the side door of the library and found it closed and guarded. I paused in the long morning shadows of the colonnade that ran along the sides of the square and considered my next move, while trying to look like I was out on a morning stroll. Not that anyone round here ever went on strolls. It was all lolling about spouting poetry or charging into battle. A good stroll would probably do them good.

None of which helped me. I needed to get into the library because I felt sure that it was there that I could learn the most about the prophecy. But that wasn’t all. My curiosity had been piqued about the fire which had evacuated the building on my last visit but left no noticeable damage anywhere. I had paced around the entire building, focusing particularly on the great dome itself, but there were no signs of cracking, no scorching of brick, no shattering of window glass, no blackening of stone. If there had been a fire, it had been a bloody small one. Perhaps I had just felt the heat from another incinerator, in which case Aliana either had no idea what was going on in the library or she was trying to keep their little book-burning project under wraps. If I got inside again, the first thing I would do was look over that room with the great brass doors.

But getting in, like many things in life, was easier said than done. The only way in that I knew was guarded, and the alternative was to knock politely on the door and ask them what the big secret was. I hadn’t forgotten the spectral “Orgos” or the rival assassins in the alley. They, whoever “they” were, probably had suspicions about me already, but there was no point in confirming those suspicions unless I was going to achieve something in the process.

You will have noticed that my brand of adventuring is subtly different from that of Garnet or Renthrette. Perhaps “subtly” isn’t the right word. In this instance, neither of the noble siblings would think anything of shinning up the walls like secretive steeplejacks, clambering ape-like down chimneys, or knocking holes in the dome with their heads. That was not my style, partly because such feats were beyond me. If I started hoisting my awkward frame up ropes and squeezing through windows I’d probably rupture something crucial or hang myself in the process. The general populace would wake to find me sheepishly dangling from a turret, flapping about like some absurd flightless bird. No, I was not Garnet (thank God) and I must stick with whatever talents I had.

Unfortunately, these were few. I could talk myself into a rich man’s good graces and his theater-loving daughter’s bedchamber (well, nearly). I could act the part of a crippled beggar or a sleeping drunk whenever there were coins to be donated or pilfered. I could get onto a stage and make a crowd believe I was a warrior, lover, tyrant, or clown. But I wasn’t going to get into that library, and the reason was perfectly simple. Out in the slightly seedy tavern where Lisha was staying, I had blended in with the other lowlifes and disreputables. Here, I was a man alone.

The average height of the men in Phasdreille was a good two or three inches above mine. They were lithe and slender, I am-as Renthrette was fond of pointing out-thicker about the waist than I should be, and my limbs tended to the scrawny. They had long, flaxen hair, bright as sunlight through hay, and pale, icy blue eyes. I have hair so brown that it gives a new dimension to the term “nondescript.” My eyes, likewise. And while, in my former life, these features had helped me lie low, they now stood out like a beacon, a sign that singled me out, identified me by name, and reminded all and sundry what a gutter-crawling degenerate I was. While I could live with such barely concealed distaste and skepticism-it had never really bothered me before-it meant that there was no way I could dress as a guard or a librarian (complete with book-burning stove) and sidle in as if everything was normal. I either had to go in as myself, or I had to go in one hell of a disguise.

I tried the former.

It took me a moment to convince the guard on duty that I knew Aliana. He sent word inside to confirm my story. She met me at the main door fairly promptly.

“I’m back,” I announced, redundantly. She met my genial smile with a tiny replica of her own touched with a certain reserve.

“Yes,” she said.

“How was the fire?” I asked, jauntily, as if it had been some kind of holiday excursion.

“It’s out,” she said.

“Much damage?”

“Not much.”

“I was worried about you.”

“There was no need.”

“And the fire’s out?”

“Yes.”

“And there was no real damage, to speak of, as it were?”

“No.”

This was not going all that well. She was holding the door open just wide enough to poke her head round, and showed no sign of inviting me in.

“So,” I tried, trying to sound casual, “can I come in and do some, you know, reading?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, not bothering to soften the blow much. “The library is closed, as you know, and, since the fire, we have been obliged to tighten our security and speed up our work.”

“What work?” I demanded, a trifle testily.

“Cataloging,” she said. Her smile had evaporated like a ground mist under a morning sun. The door, if anything, had closed an inch or two. “Now I really must get back to work,” she said.

“Right, right,” I beamed, falsely. “While I remember,” I added before I walked away, “I was wondering if you might mention to Sorrail what I did during the goblin siege.”

“The goblin siege?” she said, suddenly hesitant.

“Yes. You know, when we were up on the walls and the goblins were attacking. You had your crossbow. I was on the other side of that big breach in the walls over there as the goblins were coming through. Well, no one seems to remember me doing anything and, when I mention it, people don’t seem to believe me. I wasn’t expecting them to put a life-size bronze of me in the town square, but a little less contempt would be nice, you know? After all, I did earn it. Pretty heroic, I thought: gigantic monster poised to ravish the city and. . Well, I’m not especially popular right now, so I thought you might mention it to Sorrail or the king or something. I mean, fair’s fair.”

She gave me a long, blank stare, as if I was speaking a foreign language. She showed no animation at the memory of the battle, no astonishment that I hadn’t got some kind of official award, and, in fact, no sign that she could recall the event at all. When I finished she merely nodded distantly, as if her mind was on something else, and said, “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

I made understanding noises and the door shut heavily in my face. A key turned and then a series of heavy bolts thudded home. I wouldn’t be going in that way.

“The lover returns,” said Renthrette. “Been breaking hearts, Will?”

“Jealous, Renthrette?”

“Desperately,” she said with a look that would have curdled milk.

“How did you know where I’ve been, anyway?”

“Gossip, Will, gossip. I thought you would have figured that out. What do you think courtiers do all day? It’s not all banqueting with the king, you know. A lot of talking goes on here. I expect you’d like it. That’s your strength, isn’t it, talking?” She smiled, wide as a grave and twice as nasty.

“We can’t all be semiliterate baboons like you and your brother,” I responded.

“I can read, so can Garnet.”

“I said semiliterate, not illiterate. Yes, you can read in that ‘see the dog run’ fashion you think is adequate, but it unsettles your stomach, doesn’t it, all that brain juice flowing? And killing things is so much more fun.”

“It’s not about fun-” she began.

“I know,” I interjected, “it’s about principle. It’s about honor and chivalry and sunshine and the forces of light. I heard the litany, Renthrette, so spare me.”

“I’m just verbalizing,” she said. “I thought that was what you liked: words.”

“Thank you,” I muttered bitterly. “You’re a chipper little thing when you’ve got an evening with Sorrail to look forward to, aren’t you?”

“Not just Sorrail,” she said. “The whole court. It will be tremendous. So tremendous that even your presence won’t spoil it for me.”

“Mine?”

“You’re going, too.”

She reached out, brandishing a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax and edged with gold. My name was etched in a curly script marked by so many flourishes that the letters were almost unreadable.

“Your invitation,” she said, staring at me significantly. She didn’t actually say don’t screw this up for us, but it was there in her face. I reached for the envelope and she pulled it fractionally away until I met her eyes and gave a shrug of acknowledgment. Then she gave it to me.

And so were my evening’s plans made. It might even be fun. And, besides, I was still floating slightly on the knowledge that Lisha had trusted me while Garnet and Renthrette didn’t even know she was around. When Renthrette taunted me, it was all I could do not to whistle I know something you don’t know. But I said nothing. It was more fun that way.

In truth, I was faintly relieved. Being at the banquet meant I would be safe and could put off any attempts to break into the library until some less rational hour. Tonight, I thought, I would do my best to enjoy the pleasures of the court by blending in, something that would have been close to impossible were it not for assistance that came from a rather surprising quarter. An hour or so before we were due to go, Garnet appeared at my door with one of those earnest looks in his emerald eyes.

“I’ve brought you something,” he said, kind of sheepishly.

“Come in,” I said, trying to see what he was holding behind him. “What is it?”

Garnet lowered his eyes, hesitated, and, with a sharply intaken breath that suggested both embarrassment and resolve, he whisked a suit of black silk and brocade out from the bag he was clutching. It was adorned with a white lace collar and cuffs-not too flouncy, but enough for elegance-and buttoned with silver. I gave a long, tuneless whistle. “Where did you get this?”

Garnet muttered something and walked over to the window with a nonchalance that was totally unconvincing.

“What?” I said.

“I found it in the town,” said Garnet, fidgeting and looking pointedly out of the window.

“You what?” I said.

“I found it,” said Garnet, looking at me suddenly with something like defiance, “you know, in the town.”

“What, lying around?” I demanded.

“Of course not lying around,” he snapped, irritation clouding his brow.

“You bought it?” I exclaimed.

There was silence for a moment.

“Kind of,” said Garnet, dropping his eyes again and gesturing vaguely so that he knocked a small flower vase off the window ledge. It broke and he instantly stooped to pick up the pieces.

“Kind of?” I repeated. “What does that mean? Did you buy it or not?”

“Yes,” he hissed, not looking up.

“You bought this for me?” I persisted. “Garnet, I didn’t know you cared!”

He looked up, and his usually chalky face was flushed with pink. “Don’t make a big deal of this, Will,” he spluttered. “I got it because you’ll need it for tonight. That’s all. I don’t want you embarrassing yourself. Or us.”

“That’s really very sweet of you.”

He rose quickly and his fingers flexed as if he were looking for the axe he normally wore in his belt. “Listen, Will, don’t start. . ”

“I’m grateful, Garnet. I really am,” I said, honestly. “I’m just surprised that you would think to do this for me. Was it expensive?”

“I got a good deal on it,” he said, a little sulkily.

That I didn’t doubt. He and Renthrette would argue for hours to save the kind of change you find under bar stools. The suit was unlike anything I’d ever worn before, excepting some of the cast-off fashions with which the nobility had supplied the Cresdon theaters. I felt the fabric. It was flawlessly smooth, and the brocade felt like the pelt of a meticulously groomed mink. I grinned at Garnet and he shuffled.

“Thanks, Garnet.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, and meant it in all possible ways.

I changed quickly. The suit was a perfect fit. Garnet had completed the outfit with suitable hose, boots, jewelry, and a tastefully discreet codpiece. I felt like an impostor at first, but I walked up and down a few times and practiced holding one arm crooked while the other hand rested on the pommel of my sword, and the role started to feel more natural. I began to walk slower and straighter, with my head back and my lips curled in a self-satisfied sneer. Soon I was bowing fractionally, practicing delicate little smiles and applauding with two fingers of my right hand against the palm of my left. Garnet rolled his eyes.

“It’s just a suit,” he said. “You’re not supposed to change your entire identity.”

“Rubbish,” I said, admiring myself in a pocket mirror. “I am what I look like. Enter Viscount William, courtier, poet, sophisticate, and lover. This is going to be fun.”

And indeed it was. For a while.