Glasswrights' Apprentice (33 page)

“What in the name of First God Ait!” The bellow came from behind a heavy oaken door, and then the soldiers were bowing, shifting uncomfortably in their armor as Larindolian crashed the door back on its hinges. “What in the name of all the Thousand Gods is happening out here?” The nobleman tugged at his flashing tunic of silver cloth, turning icy eyes on the captain of the guard. “You, man. What are you doing? Don't you realize the royal family needs its rest?”

“Your Grace,” the captain of the guard nodded stiffly, issuing a tight hand signal to his men. A dozen swords slid back into sheaths, and the fighting men shifted uneasily in the narrow hallway. “We beg your pardon.”

“
My
pardon,” Larindolian mimicked sarcastically. “What about the pardon of the princes and princesses in their nursery? What about Her Majesty, the Queen?” The chamberlain stepped fully into the hall, closing the oaken door fast behind him. “Are you going to beg the king's pardon?”

Rani saw angry fear flash in the captain's eyes, and she knew that she could not let the tirade continue. “Please, Your Grace,” she began. “The guards were only doing their job -”

“According to whom, First Pilgrim?” Larindolian turned cunning eyes on her. “Are you telling me how to run this household? Are you taking responsibility for the safety of the royal family? The only family that you have in all the world?”

The last question was a clear warning, and Rani swallowed her angry retort, remembering that she was supposed to be a pilgrim on the road to enlightenment, an orphan who had recently arrived in the City to honor the Thousand Gods. As if to drive home the reminder, Larindolian closed his hand about her arm, pressing the unseen snake-chased bracelet deeper into her flesh. His message was so clear that he might have spoken aloud - Rani must not forget that she was supposed to be alone in the royal court; she had no brother, no Brotherhood. She swallowed a defiant retort.

“I'm sorry, Your Grace.” She worked to add honest remorse to her tone, but she did not quite manage the effect. “I did not mean to cause worry to you or to the guard. Please forgive this humble pilgrim, who has so much to learn about the customs of her new family.”

Larindolian pinched his fingers tighter, bruising her arm beneath its metal band, but his voice was forgiving. “Certainly, First Pilgrim. We in the royal household understand the burden that you bear, the struggle to find a clear path on the road of the Thousand Gods. Go to your rest now.”

Rani muttered the appropriate thanks, but she resented the need to walk down the corridor, alone but for Marcanado. She felt all eyes on her narrow back, and by the time she reached the nursery door, she was grateful for the children's guard who opened the door, even if he did look at her with weary exasperation. As if to emphasize the guard's fatigue, the four princesses chose that moment to squeal in excitement. Rani heard the flurry of the nurses trying to calm their charges, and her irritation at being penned in the palace was renewed.

When Marcanado made as if to follow her into the children's quarters, Rani rounded on him, unable to still her dagger tongue. “Enough! You can leave me now!”

Of course, the stolid soldier did not react; he merely stared at her as if she were
speaking some foreign language from a distant land. “I said -” Rani started to rage.

“Marcanado, that will be enough. You are dismissed.”

Rani turned to gape at Prince Bashanorandi as the soldier bowed and took his leave of the nursery. Bashi returned her gaze with an impish grin, running a hand through his red-brown hair and winking one blue eye. Ignoring two of the princesses who dove about Rani's legs in some impromptu game, Rani stammered, “How did you do that?”

“The power of command,” Bashi pretended to stroke his pointed chin, as if he could grow a true beard. Rani smiled, but a chill prowled up her spine as she realized the power this younger prince bore over the household guard. If Bashi had the soldiers eating out of the palm of his hand, could it be such a great step to lust for more power, to demand more recognition as the royal heir?

Bashanorandi had done more than dismiss the meddlesome guard. Rani thought back over the past few weeks, to the other times when Bashi had shown his hand. He had made the guards play chess with him only the morning before, despite their protests that they had other duties. He often conspired with the soldiers to gain more practice time in the riding ring or before the archery targets. Bashi manipulated the soldiers shamelessly, like one born to the role. Like one ready to don a robe of power, he had revealed his true colors. How could Rani not have recognized the threat before?

Now, she longed to escape to the cathedral, to track down Bardo and tell him that she had finally unmasked the conspirator among the princes. She had solved the Brotherhood's riddle. Bashi was the son who presented a threat to his father, to the king of all Morenia.

And was it really any surprise? Bashi's mother was the proud Queen Felicianda, exotic daughter of foreign lands. Rumor said the queen's people were fierce warriors, skilled at arms and shrewd at games. How else had Queen Felicianda negotiated her marriage to the king of all Morenia? What lessons had Prince Bashanorandi learned at his doting mother's knee?

Of course, Rani could not slip out of the palace again, and she had no reason to believe that Bardo would be in the cathedral now when he had not shown up all evening, all week. Besides, the tumult in the nursery continued, with the young princesses flitting from bed to bed, upsetting their low chairs and tables, and spilling toys and playthings across the flagstones. The royal nurses were trying to reassure their charges, bullying them back to bed with a combination of stern orders and motherly smiles. The youngest of the attendants had turned to the hearth at the far end of the room, swinging a small cauldron over the open flame to warm a soothing posset of milk and spices.

Rani took in the disarray with wide eyes, a little frightened by the havoc she had wrought. Before she could cross the room to her own sleeping pallet, Halaravilli spoke from the doorway to his private sleeping chamber. “The pilgrim returns, the pilgrim returns. Like a snake to a nest, the pilgrim returns.”

The analogy crashed against Rani's senses, and she wheeled on the prince. “What did you say? What did you call me?”

Before Hal could respond, Bashi spoke up, eyeing his brother with amused tolerance. “You must ignore him, Marita Pilgrim. He does not understand that his words may offend those of us with normal sensitivities.” Bashi offered her a slight bow as he flashed a winning smile, and Rani marveled at the conspiratorial jocularity in his voice. “Besides,” Bashi whispered in a tone he clearly intended his brother to hear, “Doesn't the fool know that
birds
build nests, not snakes?”

“Suck eggs,” Hal retorted. “Suck eggs.” Bashi yelped his protest, and launched himself at his brother, adding to the general tumult as the youths collapsed in a wrestling match on the hard stone floor.

When the nurses succeeded in pulling the boys apart, Bashi was nursing a ragged scratch on the meaty heel of his thumb. Hal, for all the fact that he was smaller than his younger brother, had emerged the better in the impromptu battle. Bashi's blue eyes burned as he sneered his hatred for the crown prince, his gaze made angrier by a welt that was rising on his cheekbone. As the nurses started to chide the boys, Hal shook his head vigorously. “Snakes suck eggs,” he insisted. “Birds build nests, snakes find nests, snakes suck eggs.”

“Yes, yes,” bustled the oldest nurse. “Now sit over there and sip your milk like a good boy.” Hal caught Rani's eye as he let himself be led away like a child, sighing in exasperation and offering up an uncommon roguish grin. Rani could not help but respond in kind as she accepted her own mug.

Later that night, as the nursery finally settled to quiet, Rani thought back to the altercation in the hallway, to Larindolian's sudden appearance. The chamberlain's own apartments were not even located in the royal wing of the Palace. Where had the nobleman come from in the dark of night? Certainly not the nursery - that was at the end of the corridor. The king's doorway had been heavily guarded, even as the soldiers had challenged Rani. That left one set of rooms in the wing, one most interesting place for the nobleman to be passing a late evening with the royal family. Larindolian had emerged from Queen Felicianda's rooms.

 

As the crowds clamored in the marketplace, Rani hunched her shoulders forward, grateful that the day was clammy and cool. She was not immediately out of place for swaddling herself in her heavy pilgrim's cloak even though she made a marked contrast to both Halaravilli and Bashanorandi. The two princes appeared enchanted by their people, craving the attention bestowed by old and young alike.

Rani had argued against this expedition, but the tutors had thought it an excellent opportunity for the princes to see their people, to learn a little of the real life in their City. Rani could only imagine the disaster if she ran into Narda, the egg-seller who had been her mistress. For that matter, there were a half-dozen other merchants who knew her by name, and who could make life terribly uncomfortable if she were discovered in her new guise.

When she had first learned of the outing, Rani had planned to make her way to the statue of the Defender of the Faith at the market's edge, passing the mandatory lesson time on her knees beneath the statue's imperious marble arm. The tutors would hear nothing of that decision, however. Whatever rank Rani might have held in the worship of the Thousand Gods, she was still beholden to the king. Her role for the entire year was to live precisely as one of the royal family. She must be obedient to the tutors, to the taskmasters who were even now showing the boys how the scales worked at the center of the marketplace, how the Merchants' Council sat to dispense quick, rough justice.

Even as Rani worried about discovery, she realized that this excursion was a perfect opportunity to observe Bashi, to add further evidence to the docket she was filling against him. She hoped to prove that he was calculating against his father, that he schemed to take an early crown. Rani's pulse began to race as Bashi responded to a tutor's prompting, quizzing the scales-master.

“So, good man, how do you verify that the scales are in balance?”

“Your Highness,” the merchant bowed and tugged at his forelock, practically scraping the ground in his eagerness to please. “If you look at this mechanism here.…” the man trailed off as he indicated a complicated system of gears, “I can test the scales using these and a box of brass weights, stamped with the royal signet, of course, showing they are true and fair.” He illustrated his metier with a loaf of bread.

Even as the younger of the princes nodded and prepared to look elsewhere in the marketplace, Prince Hal stepped closer to the table. “Stamped with the royal sign? Signed by the royal stamp?” Hal gestured toward the king's colors flying above the table, a symbol to all the market that the fairness and order of King Shanoranvilli held sway.

“Er… yes, Your Highness.” The merchant was clearly uncomfortable with Hal's sing-song speech, and he darted a nervous glance between the box of weights, the scale, and the loaf of bread.

Bashi sighed as his brother stepped closer to the weighing mechanism. “Come on, Hal. Let's get back to the stalls. I'm thirsty, and those seed cakes look good.”

“The sign shrinks.” Hal ignored his brother, reaching for one of the bronze weights. The merchant swept it away from the prince's narrow fingers, scarcely swallowing a curse, and a sudden stillness settled over the crowd. “The sign shrinks,” Hal repeated, and the merchant dug up a nervous laugh from deep in his belly.

“Your Highness, these weights are delicate things. You can't be touching them with your fingers. Your fingers will leave marks, and dust will settle - you'd change the weight.”

“Change the weight, weight for change, wait for change, weighting change.” Hal chanted under his breath, ignoring the growing crowd's attention. Rani was the only person who managed to tear herself away from staring at the prince with an awed fascination. She ignored his continued patter, watching the merchant instead. There was something about his nervous gaze, something beyond the tightening of his jaw as Hal continued to mutter his nonsense words. The master of the weights did, in fact, have something to hide.

“Come on, Hal,” Bashi sighed. “Can't you smell the sausages? Let's go over there.”

As Bashi tried to drag them across the marketplace, Hal's hand shot out, grasping the metal weights before the merchant could keep them safe. As the crowd surged closer, Hal turned the weights upside down.

At first glance, there was nothing wrong with the metal measures. Bashi stared at the smooth bronze weights and then rolled his eyes, sighing his disgust. “There! Are you satisfied, Hal?”

The older prince, though, ignored his restless brother. Producing a short dagger from the top of his supple boots, Hal gouged at the bottom of the metal marker. It took a moment of levering, but a plug of wax fell onto the weighing table, glistening in the afternoon light. Glints of metal paint flecked the table.

Prince Hal looked up to eye his brother steadily. “My name is Halaravilli,” he enunciated. “I am a prince of the House of Jair, and you'll give me the respect I deserve.” Bashi flushed crimson, barely managing to swallow his rage and embarrassment. Hal did not wait for his brother's response, though, before turning steely eyes on the merchant. “And
you
are a thief.”

“Your Highness -” The man fell to his knees, his face paling to the color of thin
whey. He worked his hands in supplication, glancing frantically about as the pitch of the crowd rose
to a frenzied hum. “I beg of you, Your Highness.…”

“What? You beg mercy? Did you have mercy for the poor folk who came to you to check their purchases for fair measure?”