Not Really the Prisoner of Zenda (44 page)

But you don’t have to,
she didn’t say.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked. “Back into Baron Cullinane’s service?”

He chuckled. “Jason Cullinane was born to go look for trouble, and I’d just as soon he have somebody else watch his back, somebody a little younger, and a lot faster — both of wrist and wit. Better for him. As for what I’m going to do, I’m not sure, but I do have some ideas, and I’ll just have to see if I have the money I need to do something about them.”

“If it’s a matter of money,” she said, then stopped herself. “Please. But money can be come by, if …?”

He shook his head. “No. Kethol and Durine and Erenor and I managed to put some gold aside, over the years, and I had occasion to take it out and look it over the other day, and it’s gotten to be a fair amount. It’s starting to be too heavy to carry around, if the truth be known, as it sometimes is. Even after I give Erenor his share, there’s probably enough for me to buy the tavern that the three of us used to talk about, as long as I don’t insist on it being in the capital, and I don’t. Maybe over in Cullinane, or perhaps in Adahan.

“The Three Swords Inn, maybe? That was the name that we always talked about, the three of us. Durine would have liked that, and, well, with Kethol off in Therranj, I don’t think I’ll hear an objection to me using his share of the money, or the name.” He looked up at her. “If he ever shows up to claim his share of the tavern, that would be fine with me, but I somehow doubt that he will, eh?”

“There are other possibilities, you know,” she said. “Dereneyl, for example —”

“Dereneyl, my lady, is governed by Treseen, and even after the baron takes over, I’ve made a few enemies there. I seem to have that habit. It would be difficult for Lord Sherrol and his son to hold a grudge against the baron, but an innkeeper? I think that settling in Dereneyl would be asking for trouble, and well, I’m trying to give up asking for trouble, aren’t I?” He shrugged again. “It really takes more than one person to run a tavern, but I think I might cut Erenor in, for a small piece.” His grin was back. “Probably not as small as he’ll agree to, but I can live with that.”

He had still been rubbing at the same spot on the sword, all the time he had spoken, and he glared down at it, stopped himself, and stood.

Pirojil picked up his sword belt, and slipped the sword into the scabbard, pumping it a couple of times as though to make sure that it wouldn’t stick, before he belted the sword around his thick waist. “Back to normal, eh?”

“So when …?”

“When do I leave? And for where? As soon as I can. I’ve got to go take my leave of Baron Cullinane, and tell Walter Slovotsky that the next time that he has some dirty job that he needs to rope some poor fool into doing for him, he’d best find somebody else.” He sighed. “And I should talk to Erenor. There’s … some matters he and I need to discuss, particularly if I’m going to let him buy into the Three Swords, wherever it ends up being.” He frowned for a moment. “We’ll see,” he said, as he drew himself up straight. “But that’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with, my lady.”

He reached out and took her hand, and bowed deeply over it. His hand was rough and callused, but he held hers gently, as though he was afraid that it would break. “This shouldn’t need to be said, not really, but I’ll say it anyway: if, well, if you ever do need an ugly old soldier, you know that you have but to send for me.”

His words were quiet, but there was an intensity behind those piggish, sunken eyes that frightened her.

Send for him? Why should she have to send for him? It wasn’t right. Why couldn’t he just stay?

Yes, of course, he would come if she or Kethol sent for him, and if there was anybody in the way …

“I’ve never been one for long goodbyes,” he said, “and this one has already been more than long enough for me.” He gestured at Kethol’s sleeping form. “Give Baron Keranahan my best wishes, my lady.”

His shoulders twitched, and just for a moment, she thought that he was going to reach out to her, but he just brought a knuckle to his forehead.

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

She watched the door for a very long time.

23

B
ERALYN

It’s not over until it’s over, and maybe not even then. (A fat lady singing just means that you’re at the opera, or maybe listening to Kate Smith.)

— Walter Slovotsky

B
ERALYN
COULDN
’
T
EVEN
think of sleep. Walking the ramparts was, at least, better than pacing up and down in her room, which is all she would have done.

She didn’t understand it, not any of it. Tyrnael had refused to have a quiet word with her, and had begged to be excused, bowed quickly, and walked off to his rooms.

It was quiet now. Even most of the nobles minor who should have been honored and pleased to have been offered residence in the castle had excused themselves and found other accommodations in the city.

Even Forinel and that Leria had not reappeared, closeted up in their rooms with his injuries as an excuse, although the healing draughts that Thomen, himself, had poured into his wounds had sealed them up almost instantly. Yes, he had had some loss of blood, but she doubted that that was the real —

“Nothing quite like a sudden death to end a party, eh?”

She started. She hadn’t seen Tyrnael come up to the ramparts.

He bowed deeply, too deeply.

“I thought you were in bed,” she said.

He shook his head. “Well, there is some truth in that. Baron Tyrnael does lie sleeping in his bed — sleep spells, combined with wine, are most effective. I’m going to have to sneak in and wake him up — and I assure you, he will take some waking — before I can explain to him what a reluctant, belated hero he’s been this evening, having exposed — belatedly, but exposed nonetheless — Lord Miron. I think he will accept it as an accomplished fact. As will you, Beralyn.”

What?

Tyrnael muttered a quiet phrase, and he
changed
.

The man who stood in front of her was the wizard, Erenor. Gray-bearded, stooped with age, much like herself. “I have been your friend, Beralyn, albeit a friend under false pretenses.” His smile was far too self-satisfied. “I had always thought it more than a little convenient for you — the timing of that assassination attempt on Jason Cullinane. In my business you have to have a feel for timing, after all.”

“You.”

“None other.” He gave a slight, mocking bow, then straightened, smiling broadly. “I thought you had me for a moment, the first time we met up here. That talk about the gift that I had given you — for a moment, I thought you were testing me, as I was surely testing you.

“It never was about you, my Empress. May I call you my Empress? No, don’t answer; I will, anyway. There was no question in my mind that Miron could not be deterred, and that he would find some way to harm, preferably kill, Forinel. And I haven’t known Forinel very long, but I like him. I’ve never had many friends.” He shrugged. “It’s part of being a swindler, a liar, and something of a thief, I guess.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then you should probably say little, or, better, nothing. I don’t think I need to explain myself completely to you — we’re not really friends, after all — but I think I should point out some obvious things.

“Such as, for example, that you don’t want this whole matter looked at any more than it already will be. Three of us — you, me, and Derinald — know that Miron was killed for something you did. Let’s leave it at that.”

“And then there’s the men that Derinald hired.”

His smile broadened. “Really? I suspect that they are long gone; I could swear honestly, if I cared to, that I’ve never seen them — but I thought that added a little bit of verisimilitude to the story.” He spread his hands. “I doubt that those men ever have, or ever will, set foot in Biemestren. Fear does make a powerful motivation, doesn’t it?”

“You —”

“Shhh.” He raised his finger. “Not that it’s hard to hire someone, if you’ve got enough gold, to kill almost anybody. I even did it myself, in Dereneyl. I could excuse it by saying that Forinel isn’t really a friend of mine, but that’s of no matter — Dereken was intended to fail, anyway. He was completely expendable, and I quite completely expended him.

“I don’t have many friends, but I do have one. His name is Pirojil. For whatever reason, he’s terribly fond of the Cullinanes, and I think he would be very unhappy if anything —
anything
 — bad were ever to happen to any of them. I don’t think you would want to make him unhappy, do you?”

She shook her head.

“A good choice, as it would make me unhappy, and I would make you very, very unhappy.

“So let it all go. Jason Cullinane has no designs on your son’s throne, and you don’t need him as an enemy; you will soon have a grandson of your own — I do have a little foresight, you know? — so just let it be.

“You can talk privately with Tyrnael, if he wants to, and apologize to him for having been taken in by such a clumsy imposter.

“But you probably want to advise him to let it be, too. You all get what you want, don’t you?”

“And what do you get out of it? Why did you go to all this, all this …”

“Trouble? Those who know me even little know that I like things to be complicated. Leave it at that, if you will.”

The smile was gone now, vanished completely. “Or, if you decide to, think of it this way: Miron didn’t just endanger one of my friends. He and his mother were responsible for the death of another one of my friends, and, as I told you — and I don’t always lie, simply because I often like to — I haven’t had many friends.

“My friend’s name was Durine. He never seemed to like me much, but, as I say, I’m used to that.

“His name was Durine. You remember that name, Beralyn, and every time you put your head on your pillow, before you fall asleep, you would serve yourself well if you remembered that name, and made it a point to remember what happened to the son of the bitch that killed my friend.”

He raised a finger. “You can think of Forinel and Pirojil as my friends, if you like, and their friends as my friends by concatenation.”

Erenor took one step toward her, and gripped the front of her muslin dress, just below the neck. His grip was much stronger than it should have been. “You wouldn’t
ever
want to hurt my friends, my Empress.”

He released her, smiled, and then he bowed — one last time — and muttered a quick spell.

And then he was gone.