Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) (11 page)

Viktor snorted angrily, and everyone turned their attention back to him. He was still scowling, and rubbing his hands slowly together, as though they were bothered by a vague ache. “Everything’s getting out of hand, and I’m helpless to do anything about it. Ah well, just means we’ll have to work harder, that’s all. Roderik, they tell me Dominic’s been busy at Court. Him and his tame bitch, Elizabeth. He’s making too many friends. We can’t allow that. You, actor!”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Do you think you’re up to appearing as me at Court?”

“I’m ready, Your Highness. What do you want me to do?”

“Sway some of those fools at Court over to our side. Be calm and charming and persuasive. Promise them anything, for now. Roderik, dig up all the dirt you can on Dominic, and see that it reaches the right ears. If you can’t find anything nasty enough, invent something. We haven’t time to be fussy. Lewis has magic on his side, with Ironheart and the Monk. Dominic has Elizabeth’s cunning, which is no less competent for all its deviousness. And both Lewis and Dominic have a great many guards and men-at-arms under their command. I have one company of guards, a little sorcery, and damn all support at Court. All of which means we have to work twice as hard and twice as dirty, just to stay in the race.” He cocked a sardonic eye at Jordan. “You look surprised, actor. My body may be ill, but I assure you that my mind is still sound. Gawaine!”

“Yes, sire.”

“Talk to the unattached guards and men-at-arms. Sound out how many might be willing to fight for us, and how many more might be swayed by promises of loot or patronage. When you’ve done that, start thinking of ways to get at my dear brothers. I’ve no doubt their protection is as good as mine, if not better, but there’s always the chance they’ve left some small opening we can take advantage of. I won’t feel secure until Lewis and Dominic are dead and safely buried in their graves.”

“You’d kill your own brothers?” said Jordan slowly.

Viktor looked at him tiredly. “My God, you’re actually shocked. Listen, fool, either Lewis or Dominic is almost certainly responsible for the death of our father. He and I may have had our disagreements, but I was still fond of the old man, and I will avenge his murder. No matter what the cost. Besides, Dominic is barking mad and always has been. And Lewis … I think I’d prefer it if he was mad. It might make some of his excesses easier to stomach. I’ve no love for my brothers, actor. I knew them too well. The world will be a better place for their passing.” Viktor suddenly stopped and smiled crookedly. “And anyway, they stand between me and the throne. I’ve waited a long time for this chance, and I won’t be stopped now—not by anything or anyone. I will sit upon the throne of Redhart if I have to see all the corridors of this castle soaked in blood to do it!” He broke off suddenly, racked by a long coughing fit. Heather spoke to him softly and comfortingly, and dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Viktor finally got himself under control again and sank back in his chair, his eyes closed. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and very tired. “Roderik, Gawaine, get me the crown and the seal. I’ve had enough excuses, I want results. Get them—I don’t care how. Spend as much as you need to, kill as many as you have to. Heather, I’m tired. Get me out of here. I’m tired …”

“Of course, darling. You lean on Gawaine and me, and we’ll get you back to your new quarters.”

Between them, she and Gawaine got Viktor to his feet again, and Heather pulled the cowl forward so that it hid his features. They left the room in silence, and the door closed quietly behind them. Jordan looked at Roderik.

“So that’s Prince Viktor.”

“Yes. What did you think of him?”

“He’s certainly … determined. Is he really being poisoned?”

“No,” said DeGrange flatly. “The food comes from Argent’s personal supplies. He’s even tasted it himself, in Viktor’s presence. The prince is flinching at shadows.”

“And now, if you’ll excuse us for a moment,” said Roderik, “Brion and I need to discuss Viktor’s instructions, so we’ll leave you to settle into your new quarters. We won’t be gone long, and the guards will stay outside your door to see that you’re not disturbed. If you need anything, there’s a bellpull by the fireplace. Someone will come when you call.”

“Fine by me,” said Jordan. “I think I’ll do a little exploring. I’ve never seen a room with so many doors. If I’m not back in an hour, send a pack of hounds in to look for me.”

Roderik smiled politely. DeGrange just looked at Jordan. After a moment they bowed formally, and left. The lock made a hard, final sound as the key was turned from the other side. Jordan shook his head slowly. It was times like this that made him wish he’d taken up a career in carpentry, like his mother wanted.

Robert Argent sat alone in his study, leafing through the letters and business papers that had accumulated in his absence. He’d been doing it for some time, but he wasn’t getting anywhere. He realized he’d just read the same paragraph for the third time, and it still hadn’t sunk in. He dropped the letter onto his desk, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He knew he ought to be concentrating; the letter was important, they all were, but none of it seemed to matter much anymore. The man who sweated his guts out over every deal, who squeezed each bargain till it screamed to get the last drop of credit: that was a different Robert Argent. That man lived only in the past now. Argent missed him.

He sat back in his chair and looked around him. It was a medium-sized, simply appointed study; modest but comfortable. The carpet had been a gift from his late wife, and the portraits on the walls had been painted by his daughter-in-law. They were quite good, some of them. With the money he was making these days, he could easily afford living quarters that were much more ostentatious, but he’d never seen the point. He was a man of simple tastes, and always had been. It might have been different if he’d married again, but somehow he’d never got around to it. He could have married again: among the merchant community, political marriages were even more popular than among the aristocracy, but he no longer believed in arranged marriages. He believed in love and romance, though there’d been precious little of either in his life.

When he’d been younger, he’d pictured many possible futures for himself, but this hadn’t been one of them. Argent smiled slightly, remembering his early days with Rod, more than twenty years ago, when his friend had been plain Rod Crichton, instead of Count Roderik. They’d had some times together, the two of them … One night in Hub City, they’d been thrown out of fourteen inns in less than three hours; a record that still stood. Argent sighed, and looked listlessly at the wine bottle on his desk, still unopened. He’d always liked his wine, but of late he’d lost even that.

When Rod had first come to him with his lunatic scheme of finding a double for the prince, it had seemed like old times all over again. The two of them together, against an uncaring world. And, of course, a chance to rebuild his fortunes after the failure of their last great scheme. But the deal had gone sour, right from the beginning. Not his fault this time, or even Rod’s; it had just turned out that the world had grown stronger and nastier than he remembered, while he had grown old and soft.

Robert Argent stared unseeingly at the wall before him; a man with too much past, and no future at all.

Jordan wandered around the huge room, looking for somewhere to settle. The room seemed uncomfortably large and echoing now that he’d been left alone in it. He trailed his fingertips across the furniture, trying to get the feel of the place. Something about the furnishings and fittings just didn’t add up. The look of the room was a total mess: a hopeless mixture of styles. It was as though every item had been chosen to impress the viewer with its appearance and value, but without caring about the overall picture they presented. The room was more like a showroom than a place where someone actually lived. Jordan shrugged. Maybe that was how Viktor saw it …

Jordan crossed over to the nearest window, and pulled back one of the drapes to look out. Night had fallen, and the stars were out. He could faintly hear a wind blowing outside, though the thick glass reduced the sound to the barest murmur. The night looked cold and forbidding, and Jordan shuddered briefly as he let the drape fall back and turned away from the window. So far, Castle Midnight was proving as gloomy and uncomfortable as he’d thought it would. He hadn’t come across an architect yet who could design a castle that was fit to live in. All in all, Jordan was beginning to feel thoroughly depressed. He hadn’t seen a single happy face or cheerful sight since he entered this great hulking pile of black stone.

And then his ears pricked up as he heard something moving, not far away. He glared quickly around, but he couldn’t see anything. It could always be a mouse or a rat … but it hadn’t been that sort of sound. He listened carefully, but the sound wasn’t repeated. Jordan shrugged uncomfortably. An old castle like this was bound to make the odd settling noise from time to time. He spotted a drinks cabinet set against the opposite wall, and moved determinedly toward it. He felt very strongly that after the day he’d had, he was owed a drink or two. Or several. He pulled open the rococo cabinet doors, and then stared nonplussed at the row of cut-glass decanters before him. They had all been fashioned into the shapes of strange fantastical creatures, such as unicorns, wyverns, or cockatrices. The shapes were grotesque and distorted, and, more importantly, there were no labels to describe the contents. Jordan smiled briefly. Of course there weren’t any labels; Viktor would know what his own decanters held. And the shapes might be a bit queer, but then Viktor’s taste in furniture wasn’t that hot either.

Jordan picked up the nearest decanter, and hefted it in his hand. The cut glass was a solid weight, and hideously expensive. He let his mind play idly with a few schemes for making off with the decanters, as a sort of insurance in case things went wrong later, and then reluctantly discarded the notion. He stood to make fifty thousand ducats out of this impersonation, and he wasn’t about to risk that for a few cut-glass decanters. He pulled out the heavy stopper, and gripping the decanter tightly to make sure he wouldn’t drop it, he sniffed cautiously at the dark purple wine inside. It smelled strong and acidic, not to mention malevolent, so he replaced the stopper. The next decanter he tried held plum brandy, and Jordan passed on that as well. He’d tried the sickly stuff once, and the hangover lasted four days. The third decanter held a good malt whiskey, and Jordan was just about to pour himself a very large glass when he heard the sound of sudden movement again. It sounded louder, and closer.

Jordan whirled around, sword in hand, and put his back against the drinks cabinet. The room lay open and apparently harmless before him. All the doors were still shut, and no one could have got past the guards outside without his hearing. Jordan remembered some of the things Gawaine had told him about ghosts and monsters, the Real and the Unreal, and a slow chill ran through him. He checked the distance between him and the main door, swallowed hard, and wondered if the guards would hear him if he screamed for help. He took a hold of himself and shook his head angrily. So far he hadn’t seen anything that looked even remotely threatening, and a right twit he’d look if he summoned the guards and then had to admit it was only his imagination …

He realized he was still holding the decanter in his left hand, and put it back in the drinks cabinet. He looked cautiously around him. The room was very quiet. Jordan moved slowly forward, holding his sword out before him. The nearest door lay to his right. If he remembered Roderik’s gesture correctly, that was the bedchamber. What better place for an assassin to be hiding … Jordan padded quietly over to the door, and pressed his ear against the wood. He thought he heard a few quiet, furtive sounds on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t be certain. He took a firm hold on the doorknob with his left hand, and turned it slowly. He waited until he was sure the catch had disengaged, and then eased the door open an inch. He let go of the doorknob very carefully, and wiped his sweaty palm on his trouser leg. He still couldn’t hear anything. His breathing was getting faster, and his legs were just a little shaky. He began to wonder if the assassin was standing on the other side of the door, listening to him, waiting for him to make the wrong move. Jordan decided he wasn’t going to think about that. He also decided he’d better do something fast, before what little was left of his nerve disappeared completely. He took a firm grip on his sword hilt, kicked the door wide open, and stormed into the bedchamber.

The large dog by the bed looked up, startled by Jordan’s sudden entrance. It started to back away, and then stopped and wagged its tail hopefully. Jordan looked quickly around the bedroom, but there was no one else there. He put his sword away and shook his head, grinning. All that fuss over a pet dog … he was getting paranoid. He walked slowly toward the dog, holding out his hand and making quiet encouraging noises. The dog looked at him for a moment with its head cocked slightly to one side, and then bounded forward to greet him, its tail wagging furiously.

Jordan sat on the edge of the bed and petted the dog happily. It pushed against his legs and showed every sign of intending to stay there for some time. Jordan told the dog it was a good boy, and it looked up at him, grinning in agreement. It was a good-looking dog, obviously pedigree, and apparently quite happy, though it was rather hard to tell with a bloodhound. The face wasn’t really equipped to register happiness. And it had the saddest eyes Jordan had ever seen. The dog was obviously well trained as well as friendly, in that it hadn’t tried to jump up on him the moment it met him, and Jordan’s estimate of Viktor went up a little. Anyone who kept a fine animal like this as a pet couldn’t be all bad. He just wished someone had mentioned it was there … He grinned down at the bloodhound, and it put its head into his lap for him to scratch behind his ears.

Jordan looked about him, taking in his bedchamber. He hadn’t seen anything this luxurious since he’d sung for his supper in a top rank brothel in Hub City. There was no denying it was comfortable, very comfortable, but it was also gauche, gaudy, and almost terminally sensuous. His boots practically disappeared into the thick pile carpet, and the bed was so soft it was like sitting on a cloud. In fact, he’d sunk so deeply into it, he wasn’t sure if he could get up again without help. As usual, the fittings and furnishings clashed loudly, but Jordan was growing inured to that. His gaze fell on the huge blocky wardrobe that covered most of one wall, and a thought occurred to him. Sooner or later he was going to be meeting the important people at Court, and when he did he’d better not be wearing his present attire. After several days on the road, his clothes smelled strongly of sweat, dust, and a few other things he didn’t even want to think about. He was surprised flowers hadn’t wilted in their vases when he walked past them. He stretched slowly, feeling his back muscles grate against each other. Presumably there was a bathroom somewhere in this suite, but he’d look for it later, when he had the time, and when he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be interrupted. Roderik or the others could be back any time, and he hated being interrupted in the bath. Right now, he’d settle for a change of clothes.