Magic Casement (3 page)

Like
the town itself, the castle was all up and down, and she was soon puffing again
as she hurried up the endless steps toward her chamber. Halfway there she met
old Kondoral, the seneschal, picking his way carefully down an especially dark
staircase. He was small and stooped and white-haired, with gray, withered skin
and eyes so rheumy that she did not like to look at them... but quite a
pleasant old relic when he did not talk your ears numb. His memory for recent
events was failing. He repeated the same stories endlessly, yet he could
remember the remote past quite well.

“Good
day to you, Master Kondoral,” she said, stopping.

He
peered down at her for a moment, clutching the rail. “And to you,
Highness.” He sounded surprised, as if he had expected someone much
younger.

“Do
you know a minstrel called Jalon?” Inos was still bothered by her
inability to recall that polite young man. Minstrels came but rarely to remote
Krasnegar.

“Jalon?”
Kondoral frowned and pulled his lip. “Why, yes, my lady! A very fine
troubadour.” The old man beamed. “Is he come here again?”

“He
is,” she said crossly. “I don’t remember him,”

“Oh,
no, you wouldn’t.” The old man shook his head. “Dear me, no.
It has been many years! But that is good news. We shall hear some fine singing
from Master Jalon if his voice has not lost its thrill. I remember how he
brought tears to all our eyes when he sang `The Maiden and the Dragon’--”

“He
doesn’t look very old,” she said quickly. “Not much older
than me.” Well, not very much.

Kondoral
shook his head again, looking doubtful. “I can recall hearing tell of him
when I was young myself, my lady. This must be a son, then, or grandson? “

“Perhaps!”
she said, and dodged quickly by, before he could start reminiscing.

Several
staircases later she reached her summer chamber, at the top of one of the
shorter spires. She had taken it over the previous year and loved it, although
it was much too cold to use in winter. It was circular and bright, with walls
so low so that the high conical ceiling swooped almost to the floor. There were
four pointed dormer windows and from here she could look down on all of
Krasnegar. She laid her precious packet of silk on the bed and started pulling
off her riding clothes and dropping them on the rug.

To
the north lay the Winter Ocean, sparkling blue now and smiling under the caress
of summer. The swell broke lazily over the reefs, showing hardly any white at
all, and seabirds swooped. To the west stood the castle’s towers and
yards, roofs and terraces, a thicket of black masonry. Southward she could see
the town, falling away steeply to the harbor. Beyond that lay the beach and
then the hills, rounded and grassy. Those hills were certainly part of her
father’s demesne. He also claimed the moors that lay beyond the horizon,
although she had seen those only rarely, when she had gone hunting with her
parents.

Stripped
to her linen, Inos grabbed up the silk and attempted to drape it over herself
as Mistress Meolorne had done for her. She did not succeed very well, but the
effect was still spectacular. Never had she seen such a fabric. She had not
known that threads could be so fine, so soft, so cunningly woven; nor that it
was possible to make such pictures with a loom. Gold and green and bronze-the
colors shone even brighter in her room than they had in the dingy little store.

And
there was so much of it! She tried arranging a train and almost fell over,
making the golden dragons writhe. Originally it must have come from distant
Guwush, on the shores of the Spring Sea, Meolorne had said-a great rarity in
these parts. She had bought it many years ago from a jotunn sailor, who had
probably looted it in a trifling act of piracy. Or perhaps it had come over the
great trade routes and been pillaged from some unfortunate city. But it was old
and very splendid and obviously destined to display the royal beauty of the
Princess Inosolan of Krasnegar. Three and a half imperials!

Inos
sighed to the mirror. Her father must be made to understand. Suicide was the
only possible alternative.

But
why had she promised that the money would be sent that very day? She should
have left herself more time for strategy. Yet a gown fashioned from this glory
would be worn only on special occasions, so it would last for years. She had
stopped growing taller, so she would not grow out of it. She still had to grow
more in other directions-she certainly hoped she had more to grow in other
directions-but that could be handled with a little discreet padding that could
be removed when it was no longer required. She wondered how much padding Aunt
Kade would allow.

Well,
there was nothing to be gained by standing in front of the mirror. She must
talk to her father. She began to fold the silk again, while pondering what to
wear for the interview. Probably her dowdy brown worsted, too small now and
patched. That would do very well.

It
took Inos some time to locate her father, but she was eventually informed that
he was in the royal bedchamber, which was astonishing news at that time of day.
It also meant more stairs, but anywhere meant more stairs in Krasnegar.

The
royal chamber was located at the top of the great tower, known as Inisso’s
Tower, and she wound her way up the spiral stairs that ran within the walls.
There were far too many levels--throne room, presence chamber, robing room,
antechamber... Pausing to catch her breath in the withdrawing room, Inos
wondered, and not for the first time, why in the names of all the Gods her
father did not move his quarters to somewhere more convenient.

The
withdrawing room was her favorite, though. When Aunt Kade had returned from
Kinvale two years ago, she had brought a whole roomful of furniture-not the
heavy, antique, stuffing-falling-out furniture that cluttered most of the
palace, but supremely elegant gilt and rosewood, with incredibly slender legs,
with roses and butterflies embroidered on the cushions, and the woodwork all
glossy. There was no room more gracious in all of Krasnegar. Even the rugs were
works of art. While Inos would never be so disloyal to her mother’s
memory as to admit the fact, she loved the withdrawing room as Aunt Kade had
remade it.

Sufficiently
recovered to move, she crossed the withdrawing room, went up more stairs,
across what they now called the dressing room, but which had been her bedroom
until quite recently, and finally-more slowly than when she had started-up the
final stair to her father’s door.

It
was ajar, so she walked in.

With
very mixed feelings, she glanced over the clumsy, massive furnishings. She came
here rarely now, and for the first time she saw how shabby they all were, the
trappings of an aging widower who clung to old familiar things without regard
to their state of wear. The crimsons had faded, the golds tarnished, colors and
fabrics become dull and sad. The drapes were shabby, the rugs a disgrace. Her
mother’s portrait still hung over the fireplace, but it was blurred by
smoke stain.

Many,
many icy mornings Inos had cuddled into that great bed between her parents,
under the heaped furs of winter, and yet those memories were overlain now by a
last transparent image of her mother, burning away in fever when the great
sickness had come on the first ship of spring and stalked all that terrible
summer through the town.

Never
mind that...

No
one was there!

Furiously
she pouted, glaring around as if the furniture itself were at fault. The drapes
on the four-poster were pulled back, so her father was not in bed, and she
could not imagine him going to bed in the middle of the day anyway. She eyed
the wardrobe, but the chances that King Holindarn of Krasnegar would hide
inside a wardrobe did not seem worth crossing a room to investigate. The
windows were deeply recessed, but on those, also, the drapes were open. There was
nowhere...

Uneasily
Inos turned to retrace her steps and then hesitated. A vagueness niggled at the
back of her mind. She took another quick glance around, shrugged, and moved
toward the stair again... And stopped again. Her scalp prickled. There was something
wrong, and she could not place it.

Well!
Setting her teeth firmly, she faced the room. Forcing oddly reluctant feet to
move, she began to walk very slowly all around the chamber, looking
suspiciously at everything, in everything, and even under everything. This was
her father’s bedroom and she was a princess and there could not possibly
be anything dangerous to explain this curious apprehension she--The high
dresser at the far side had been pulled forward, away from the wall.

No,
that could not be important...

WHY?

Why
had the dresser been moved? And why had she not noticed it at once? With goose
bumps crawling over her arms, she forced herself to peer around behind this
errant dresser. The door there was ajar. The shivery feeling vanished, leaving a
sense of disapproval. Why had Inos never known that there was a door there? She
glanced up at the horizontal beams and the planked ceiling. In all the other
towers, the top room had a pointed roof, as her own chamber did. So there was
another room above this one! She had never realized.

How
very curious!

Procrastination
was not one of her failings. Carefully holding her precious silk away from the
cobwebby back of the dresser, Inos moved to that diabolically tempting door.

She
saw steps, of course, as she had expected-another flight curved around inside
the wall, just like all the other stairs. These were very dusty. The tiny
windows set every few paces were exactly as she would have expected, also, but
gray with grime and draped in cobwebs. The musty air was rank with the odor of
mold. A secret room? How very, very interesting! Now she did hesitate, but only
for a couple of seconds. Curiosity overcame caution and even the silk was
forgotten as she slipped through the narrow gap and started to climb.

Quietly,
though.

Probably
there was nothing up above here at all, and her father would welcome her just
as happily as he would do anywhere else. On the other hand, it was very
peculiar that she had never heard anyone ever mention this unknown room. It
could not be any of her business. She was trying to be on her best behavior.
She was holding a packet of silk that had cost three and half imperials.

She...

“
. . is much too young!” said her father’s voice.

Inos
froze against the icy stones of the wall. She was almost at the top and
obviously the door was open. The voice had echoed as if the unseen chamber were
bare and unfurnished.

“She’s
not as young as all that,” another voice replied. “You take a good
look at her. She’s very nearly a young lady now. “ Her father
muttered something she did not catch.

“In
the Impire they would regard her as old enough already,” said the other.
Who could that be? She did not recognize the voice, yet it must be someone who
knew her, for there could be no doubt who was being discussed.

“But
who? There’s no one in the kingdom.”

“Then
Angilki, perhaps?” It was a dry, elderly voice. “Or Kalkor? Those
are the obvious choices.”

Now
Inos could guess what was being discussed. She gasped, and for a moment
considered marching straight in through the door and announcing that she had no
intention of marrying either Duke Angilki or Thane Kalkor or anyone else for
that matter. So there! Only the packet of silk stopped her.

“No,
no, no! “ her father said loudly, and Inos relaxed a fraction. “Either
of those two, and the other would start a war.”

Or
I shall! she thought.

An
infuriating silence followed, one of those pauses when meanings pass without
words, in smiles or nods or shrugs, and the speakers are not even aware that
they have stopped speaking. But eavesdroppers are. It was not regal--it was not
even polite--to eavesdrop. Inos knew that. But she told herself firmly that it
was not polite to talk about someone when they were not there, either. So she
was perfectly entitled to listen to...

“I
never met Kalkor. “ That was her father again, farther away.

“You
can live without the experience, my friend.”

Friend?
She knew of no one who addressed the king that way.

“Bad?
“

“Rough!”
The stranger chuckled quietly. “Typical jotunn... winter-long drinking
parties, probably wrestles she-bears for exercise. Sharkskin underwear, I
shouldn’t wonder.”

“That
one’s out, then!”

Inos
certainly agreed with her father on that.

“Angilki’s
too old for her,” he said. “It will have to be a neutral. But you’re
right about Kinvale. Next year, perhaps. “ The stranger spoke quite
softly, so that she had to strain to hear. “You may not have that much
time, friend.”

Then
another pause, but not so long.

“I
see! “ Her father’s voice, curiously flat and expressionless.

“I
am sorry.”

“Hardly
your fault! “ The king sighed. “It was why I sent for you-your
skill and your honesty. Honesty and wisdom. And I knew you would not hold back
the truth.” Another pause. “Are you sure?”

“Of
course not.” Inos heard footsteps on bare planks, receding. Then the
stranger, from farther away: “Have you tried this? “

“No!
“ That was her father’s monarch voice.

“It
might tell you.”

“No!
It stays shut!”

“I
don’t know how you can resist.”

“Because
it causes trouble. My grandfather discovered that. It has not been opened since
his time.”

“Thinal
saw one like it once,” the visitor muttered. “It stayed shut, also.
For the same reasons, I suppose.” She had no idea what they could be
talking about. They seemed to have moved to the far side of the room, near the
south window. She strained to hear the voices over the thumping of her own
heart.