‘It would be bril­liant,’ he said ad­mir­ingly. ‘A Skilled as­sas­sin. It’s a won­der no one thought of it be­fore.’

  ‘Per­haps Shrewd did,’ I said quietly. ‘But per­haps his as­sas­sin failed to learn …’

  Chade leaned back in his chair. ‘I won­der,’ he said spec­u­lat­ively. ‘Shrewd is close-mouthed enough to have such an idea, and keep it even from me. But I doubt, my­self, that Will is more than a spy, just now. A for­mid­able one, and no mis­tak­ing that. You must be es­pe­cially vi­gil­ant. But I do not think we need fear him as an as­sas­sin.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ah, well. The ur­gency for speed be­comes ever plainer. The es­cape must be made from the King’s room. You must find a way to draw the watch­ers all off again.’

  ‘Dur­ing the King-in-Wait­ing ce­re­mony …’

  ‘No. We dare not wait that long. To­mor­row night. No later than that. You need not keep them oc­cu­pied long. Just a few minutes will be all I will need.’

  ‘We must wait! Oth­er­wise, the whole plot is im­possible. By to­mor­row night, you wish me to have the Queen and Burrich pre­pared, which means telling them you ex­ist. And Burrich will have to see to horses and sup­plies …’

  ‘Plug-horses. Noth­ing fine. They would be no­ticed too quickly. And a lit­ter for the King.’

  ‘Plug-horses we have in plenty, for they are all that is left. But it will stick in Burrich’s craw for his king and queen to ride them.’

  ‘And a mule for him­self. They are to be humble folk, with scarce the coin to jour­ney in­land. We have no wish to at­tract high­way­men.’

  I snorted to think of Burrich astride a mule. ‘It can­not be done,’ I said quietly. ‘The time is too short. It must be done the night of the King-in-Wait­ing ce­re­mony. All will be down at the feast­ing.’

  ‘Any­thing that must be done, can be done,’ Chade as­ser­ted. He sat thought­fully a mo­ment. ‘Per­haps you have a point. Regal can­not have the King in­ca­pa­cit­ated for the ce­re­mony. If he is not there, not one of the Coastal dukes will give it any cre­dence. Regal will have to al­low Shrewd his pain herbs, to keep him tract­able, if noth­ing else. Very well, then. The night after to­mor­row. And if you ab­so­lutely must speak to me to­mor­row, put some birch­bark on your hearth fire. Not a lot, I have no wish to be smoked out. But a gen­er­ous hand­ful. I will open the way.’

  ‘The Fool will want to go with the King,’ I re­minded my­self slowly.

  ‘He can­not,’ Chade said de­cis­ively. ‘There is no dis­guising him. He would only in­crease the danger. Be­sides, it is ne­ces­sary he stay. We will need his help to pre­pare for this dis­ap­pear­ance.’

  ‘I do not think that will change his mind.’

  ‘Leave the Fool to me. I can show him that his king’s life de­pends on his get­ting away from here cleanly. An “at­mo­sphere” must be cre­ated, in which the King and Queen’s dis­ap­pear­ance is not seen as … ah, well. Leave that part to me. I will dis­cour­age them from smash­ing walls. The Queen’s role is easy. All she need do is re­tire early from the ce­re­mony, and de­clare that she wishes to sleep long, and send her at­tend­ants away. She should leave word she does not wish to be dis­turbed un­til she sum­mons them. If all goes well, we should be able to give Shrewd and Kettricken most of the night hours to gain some dis­tance.’ He smiled at me kindly. ‘Well. I think that is as much plan­ning as we can do. No, no, I know noth­ing is fixed. It is bet­ter this way. We are more flex­ible. Now go get what sleep you can, boy. You’ve a busy day to­mor­row. And I’ve much to do right now. I must mix enough medi­cines to take King Shrewd all the way to the moun­tains. And pack­age them clearly. Burrich reads, does he not?’

  ‘Very well,’ I as­sured him. I paused. ‘Were you at the keep well last night, about mid­night? Sup­posedly the Pocked Man was seen. Some are say­ing it means the well will go bad. Oth­ers are see­ing it as a bad omen for Regal’s ce­re­mony.’

  ‘Oh? Well, and per­haps it is.’ Chade chuckled to him­self. ‘Omens and portents they shall have, boy, un­til a van­ish­ing king and a miss­ing queen seem but a nat­ural thing in the midst of it.’ He grinned like a boy, and the years dropped from his face. Some­thing like their old spark of mis­chief came into his green eyes. ‘Go get some rest. And let Burrich and the Queen know of our plans. I shall speak to Shrewd and the Fool. No oth­ers are to know even a whis­per. For some of it, we must trust to luck. But for the rest, trust to me!’

  His laughter was not a wholly re­as­sur­ing sound as it fol­lowed me down the stairs.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Treas­ons and Trait­ors

  Prince Regal was the only child of King Shrewd and Queen De­sire to sur­vive birth. Some say the mid­wives never cared for the Queen and did not do over­much to see her babes lived. Oth­ers that the mid­wives in their anxi­ety to spare the Queen her birth pangs, gave her too much of those herbs that dull pain. But as only two of her still­born chil­dren had been car­ried more than seven months in her womb, most mid­wives say the Queen’s use of in­tox­ic­ants was at fault, as well as her evil habit of car­ry­ing her belt knife with the blade to­ward her belly, as all know this is bad luck for a wo­man of child-bear­ing years.

  I did not sleep. Whenever I pushed my wor­ries about King Shrewd from my mind, Molly stood there in­stead, be­side someone else. My mind shuttled between them, weav­ing me a coat of misery and worry. I prom­ised my­self that as soon as King Shrewd and Kettricken were safe, I would find a way to win Molly back from who­ever had stolen her from me. That de­cided, I turned over and stared into the dark some more.

  Night’s reign was still solid when I rolled from my bed. I ghos­ted past empty stalls and sleep­ing an­im­als to go si­lently up Burrich’s stairs. He heard me out, then asked gently, ‘Are you sure you’ve not had a bad dream?’

  ‘If I have, it’s las­ted most of my life,’ I poin­ted out quietly.

  ‘I be­gin to feel that way my­self,’ he agreed. We were talk­ing in the dark. He was still in bed and I was sit­ting on the floor be­side it, whis­per­ing. I would not suf­fer Burrich to build up his fire, or even light a candle, for I did not de­sire any­one to won­der about a sud­den de­par­ture from his routine. ‘For us to ac­com­plish all he is ask­ing in two days means that every task must be done per­fectly the first time. I have come to you first. Can you do it?’

  He was si­lent and in the dark­ness I could not see his face. ‘Three sturdy horses, a mule, a lit­ter and sup­plies for three. All without any­one no­ti­cing it.’ An­other si­lence. ‘I can’t very well just load up the King and Queen and ride out through the gates of Buck­keep, either.’

  ‘You know that copse of alder where the big dog-fox used to den? Have the horses wait­ing there. The King and Kettricken will meet you there.’ Re­luct­antly I ad­ded, ‘The wolf will guide them to you.’

  ‘Must they know, as well as I, what you do?’ He was aghast at the thought.

  ‘I use what tools I have. And I do not per­ceive it as you do.’

  ‘How long can you share minds with one who scratches and licks him­self, who will roll in car­rion, who goes mad when a fe­male is in sea­son, who thinks no fur­ther than his next meal be­fore you ac­cept his val­ues as your own? Then what will you be?’

  ‘A guards­man?’ I haz­arded.

  Des­pite him­self, Burrich gave a snort of laughter. ‘I was ser­i­ous,’ he said after a mo­ment.

  ‘So am I, about the King and Queen. We must put our minds to how we will ac­com­plish this. I no longer care what I sac­ri­fice to ac­com­plish it.’

  He was quiet a mo­ment. ‘So some­how I’m to get four an­im­als and a lit­ter out of Buck­keep without ex­cit­ing any in­terest?’

  I nod­ded in the dark, then, ‘Can it be done?’

  Grudgingly he said, ‘There’s a stable-hand or two left that I trust. It’s not a fa­vour I like to ask of any­one. I don’t want a lad swinging over some­thing I asked him to do. But I sup­pose it could be made to look as if they were part of a coffle be­ing taken up­river. But my lads are not stu­pid; I won’t have a stu­pid hand in the stable. Once the news is out that the King is miss­ing, they’ll fig­ure it out quickly.’

  ‘Choose one who loves the King.’

  Burrich sighed. ‘Food sup­plies. It won’t be sump­tu­ous ra­tions. More like march­ing fare. Am I to sup­ply winter cloth­ing as well?’

  ‘No. Only for your­self. Kettricken can wear and carry what she’ll need. And Chade can see to the King’s needs.’

  ‘Chade. The name is al­most fa­mil­iar, as if I heard it be­fore, long ago.’

  ‘He is sup­posed to have died, long ago. Be­fore that, he was seen about the keep.’

  ‘To live all these years as a shadow,’ he mar­velled.

  ‘And he plans to go on liv­ing as a shadow.’

  ‘You need not fear I’ll be­tray him.’ Burrich soun­ded hurt.

  ‘I know. I am just so …’

  ‘I know. Go on, then. You’ve told me enough for me to do my part. I’ll be there with the horses and sup­plies. What time?’

  ‘Some­time in the night, when the feast­ing is still lively. I don’t know. I’ll get word to you some­how.’

  He shrugged. ‘As soon as it gets dark, I’ll go out there and wait.’

  ‘Burrich. Thank you.’

  ‘He is my king. She is my queen. I need no thanks from you to do my duty.’

  I left Burrich and crept down his stair­case. I kept to the shad­ows and ex­ten­ded every sense I had to try to be sure no one was spy­ing on me. Once I was clear of the stables, I flit­ted from ware­house to sty to pen, from shadow to shadow un­til I came to the old hut. Nighteyes came pant­ing to meet me. What is it? Why am I called back from my hunt­ing?

  To­mor­row night, when it gets dark. I may need you. Will you stay here, within the keep, to come quickly if I send for you?

  Of course. But why sum­mon me here for this? You need not be this close to me to ask such a simple fa­vour.

  I crouched down in the snow and he came to me, to rest his throat on my shoulder. I hugged him hard.

  Fool­ish­ness, he told me gruffly. Go on, now. I will be here in case you need me.

  My thanks.

  My brother.

  Stealth and haste battled as I made my way back to the keep and up to my room. I fastened my door shut and lay down on my bed. Ex­cite­ment thundered through me. I would know no real rest un­til all had been ac­com­plished.

  At mid-morn­ing I was ad­mit­ted to the Queen’s cham­ber. I brought with me a num­ber of scrolls on herbs. Kettricken was re­clin­ing on a couch be­fore the hearth, and I could see that her fall had caused her more pain in truth than she cared to ad­mit. She looked little bet­ter than she had the night be­fore, but I greeted her warmly, and pro­ceeded to work my way through every herb lis­ted, one after the other, with much dis­cus­sion as to the be­ne­fits of each. I suc­ceeded in bor­ing most of her ladies away, and she fi­nally dis­missed the last three to bring tea, find her more pil­lows, and look for an­other scroll on herbs that Kettricken said was in Ver­ity’s study. Little Rose­mary had long since dozed off in a warm corner by the hearth. As soon as the rustle of their skirts had faded, I spoke quickly, know­ing I had little time.

  ‘You will be leav­ing to­mor­row night, after the King-in-Wait­ing ce­re­mony,’ I told her, and spoke on al­though she had par­ted her lips to ask a ques­tion. ‘Dress warmly and take winter things. Not many. Go to your bed­cham­ber alone, as early as you de­cently can. Plead that the ce­re­mony and your grief have ex­hausted you. Send your at­tend­ants away, say you must sleep, and tell them not to come back un­til you sum­mon them. Bar your door. No. Only listen. There is little time. Ready your­self to leave, and then stay in your room. One will come for you. Trust the Pocked Man. The King is go­ing with you. Trust me,’ I told her des­per­ately as we heard re­turn­ing foot­steps. ‘All else will be ar­ranged. Trust me.’

  Trust. I did not trust any of it would come to pass. Daf­fodil was back with the pil­lows and, shortly after that, the tea ar­rived. We chat­ted ami­ably, and one of Kettricken’s younger ladies even flir­ted with me. Queen Kettricken asked me to leave the herbal scrolls with her, as her back still pained her. She had de­cided she would re­tire early this even­ing, and per­haps the scrolls would help her while away the time be­fore she slept. I made my gra­cious farewells and es­caped.

  Chade had said he would handle the Fool. I had made my pathetic at­tempts at plan­ning the es­cape. Now all that re­mained was for me to some­how ar­range for the King to be alone after the ce­re­mony. A few minutes were all Chade had asked for. I wondered if I would have to give my life for them. I put the no­tion aside. Just a few minutes. The two broken doors would be a hindrance or a help, I wasn’t sure which. I con­sidered all the ob­vi­ous ploys. I could feign drunk­en­ness and bait the guards out to fight. Un­less I had an axe, it wouldn’t take them more than a few minutes to deal with me. No. I wanted to re­main func­tional. I con­sidered and re­jec­ted a dozen schemes. Too much de­pended on factors I couldn’t con­trol. How many guards would be there, would they be ones I knew, would Wal­lace be there, would Regal have dropped in for a chat?

  On my earlier foray to Kettricken’s room, I had no­ticed that make­shift cur­tains had been tacked up over the splintered door-frames of the King’s cham­bers. Most of the wreck­age had been car­ried off, but bits of oaken door still littered the cor­ridor. No work­men had been called in to do re­pairs. An­other sign that Regal had no in­ten­tion of ever re­turn­ing to Buck­keep.

  I tried to find some ex­cuse to in­tro­duce my­self into that room. The keep down­stairs was busier than ever, for today the dukes of Bearns, Rip­pon and Shoaks duch­ies were ex­pec­ted to ar­rive with their ret­in­ues to wit­ness the King-in-Wait­ing ce­re­mony for Regal. They were be­ing put in the lesser guest-rooms. I wondered how they would re­act to the sud­den dis­ap­pear­ance of the King and Queen. Would it be seen as treach­ery, or would Regal find some way to con­ceal it from them? What would it au­gur for his new reign to be­gin so? I put it from my mind; it wasn’t help­ing me to get the King alone in his cham­ber.

  I left my room and went pa­cing through Buck­keep, hop­ing for in­spir­a­tion. In­stead I found only con­fu­sion. Noble folk of every de­gree were ar­riv­ing for Regal’s ce­re­mony, and the in­flux of guests and their house­holds and ser­vants swept and ed­died about the out­flow of goods and folk that Regal was send­ing in­land. My feet car­ried me un­planned to Ver­ity’s study. The door was ajar and I went in. The hearth was cold, the room musty with dis­use. There was a dis­tinct odour of mouse in the air. I hoped whatever scrolls they were nest­ing in weren’t ir­re­place­able. I was fairly cer­tain I had re­moved the ones Ver­ity treas­ured to Chade’s rooms. I walked about the room, touch­ing his things. Sud­denly I missed him acutely. His un­yield­ing stead­i­ness, his calmness, his strength; he would never have let things come to such a situ­ation. I sat down in his work chair at his map-table. Scuffs and scribbles of ink where he had tried col­ours on it marred the table-top. Here were two badly-cut quills, dis­carded with a brush worn hair­less. In a box on the table were sev­eral little pots of col­our, cracked and dried now. They smelled like Ver­ity to me, in the same way that leather and har­ness oil al­ways smelled like Burrich. I leaned for­ward on the table and put my head in my hands. ‘Ver­ity, we need you now.’

  I can­not come.

  I leaped to my feet, my legs tangling in the chair’s and fell on the rug. Frantic­ally I scrabbled to my feet, and even more frantic­ally scrabbled after the con­tact. Ver­ity!

  I hear you. What is it, boy? A pause. You’ve reached me on your own, have you? Well done!

  We need you to come home right now!

  Why?

  Thoughts tumbled so much faster than words, and in far greater de­tail than he could have wished to know. I felt him grow sad with the in­form­a­tion, and wear­ier. Come home. If you were here, you could put it all to rights. Regal could not claim to be King-in-Wait­ing, he could not strip Buck­keep like this, or take away the King.

  I can­not. Be calm now. Think this through. I could not come home in time to pre­vent any of this. It grieves me. But I am too close now to give up my goal. And if I am to be a father – his thoughts were warm with this new feel­ing – it be­comes even more im­port­ant that I suc­ceed. My goal must be to re­tain the Six Duch­ies in­tact, and with a coast freed of sea-wolves. This, for the child to in­herit.

  What am I to do?

  Just as you have planned. My father, my wife and my child; it is a weighty bur­den I have put upon you. He soun­ded sud­denly un­cer­tain.

  I will do what I can do, I told him, fear­ing to prom­ise any more than that.

  I have faith in you. He paused. Did you feel that?

  What?

  An­other is here, try­ing to break in, to listen on our Skilling. One of Ga­len’s spy­ing brood of vi­pers.

  I did not think that pos­sible!

  Ga­len found a way, and schooled his pois­on­ous off­spring in it. Skill no more to me now.

  I felt some­thing sim­ilar to when he had broken our Skill con­tact the last time to save Shrewd’s strength, but much rougher. A sur­ging out­ward of Ver­ity’s Skill that pushed someone away from us. I thought I felt the ef­fort it cost him. Our Skill con­tact broke.

  He was gone, as ab­ruptly as I had found him. I groped tent­at­ively after our con­tact, found noth­ing. What he had said about an­other listen­ing in on us rattled me. Fear warred with tri­umph in me. I had Skilled. We had been spied upon. But I had Skilled, alone and un­aided! But how much had they over­heard? I pushed back the chair from the table, sat a mo­ment longer in the storm of my thoughts. Skilling had been easy. I still didn’t know quite how I had ini­ti­ated it, but it had been easy. I felt like a child who had worked a puzzle box, but was un­able to re­call the ex­act se­quence of moves. The know­ledge that it could be done made me want in­stantly to at­tempt it again. I set the tempta­tion aside firmly. I had other tasks to ac­com­plish, ones of far more weight.