Talon of the Silver Hawk (29 page)

“I assume you'd want to talk to me about the murder.''

The Constable's eyebrows lifted. “Yes. Who'd want to kill you, Tal?''

“Me?” Tal said, feigning surprise. “I assumed it was a jealous lover or someone who had it in for the girl, Salmina. She was the one he killed. I think he went after me to stop me from identifying him.''

Drogan reflected on this a moment, then said, “Did you ever see the man before?''

“No. As a matter of fact, I was curious if he was someone known to you.''

“No, none of my lads has ever seen him before. We searched the body before we dumped it in the lime pit and found nothing that might tell us anything about him, save he must have been recently in from the Isles, since he had some Kingdom silver coins on him.”

Tal sat back as if pondering. “Well, that's a puzzler, then, isn't it? Maybe it's a lover come back from a trip who was unhappy to find Salmina working at the baths?''

“She's been working there more than ten years, my friend. If it's a lover who finds that surprising news, he's a lad who's not been around for a bit.''

“Well, that was the first thought that sprang to my mind,” Tal replied.

“It's an obvious choice, and that usually proves to be the right choice. But I don't think so this time. If someone wanted to kill the girl, why not wait until she's on her way to her crib? No, it's more likely someone wanted to catch the best swordsman in Roldem on his stomach naked, a room away from his sword. That's my guess.''

“But who would want to send an assassin?”

“Who said the lad was an assassin?”

“I've never seen him before, Dennis. There may be one or two men who have a grievance against me, but certainly I'd know them by sight. If someone wants me dead, then it follows this man was hired to kill me. Although I don't think it likely.''

“Why not?” asked the Constable.

“Because there may be a father or two who would rather not have me see a daughter or two, or even a lady
who might
wish
me dead, but there's no one I know who would seriously send someone to do the job.''

“You know what's oddest about this?''

“What?”

“No one saw the man enter the bathhouse. To get to where you were attacked, you have to enter past half a dozen attendants and porters. From the moment the baths open in the morning to the minute the doors are locked at night, there's no way into that part of the building.”

“Yes, very odd, isn't it?''

“You have any idea how he could have appeared there, as if by magic?''

Tal leaned back, with a rueful smile. “Magic? That would make things far more . . . odd, wouldn't it?''

“It would mean that if someone wanted you dead, they were willing to pay a great deal to have the deed done. Not only paying someone to wield the blade, but also paying someone else with the magical ability to get him into the building unseen.''

“An invisibility spell?''

“Something like that. My uncle has a friend who knows a magician. I asked that fellow some questions, and he says that's the most likely spell to have been used. To send the man into the room from another place . . . that's very difficult, and only a few magicians could manage it.”

Tal thought it best not to mention he knew at least three or four who could achieve that result. Leave it for the Constable to discover such facts for himself.

“So, no one knows anything about this man?''

“No, sorry to say.''

“So, you can't even be certain which of us was the intended victim?''

“No, we can't. I just have a problem with all this bother over a woman who's little more than a common whore.''

Tal stiffened. “Salmina was never common.''

“So I've heard,” said Dennis.

Tal stood. “Well, I'll not keep you from your duties. If you find out anything else, please let me know.''

“Rest assured, I will.''

They shook hands, and Tal left the office and headed back toward his quarters. He was frustrated that no information about the assassin was forthcoming, even though he had not really expected it to be.

Still, he had to turn his mind away from the imponderables of life and turn his attention full on the tournament. It was less than two weeks away, and if he was to win, he could not be distracted further.

The contest drew nearer, and Tal found his anxiety increasing. No matter how much he employed the mind-calming exercises Magnus, Nakor, and Robert had taught him, no matter how much he attempted to divert himself from thinking about the tournament with dice, cards, or lovely company, he found himself constantly haunted by thoughts of the coming contest.

Not even an invitation to the palace, two nights before the tournament was to commence, eased his fixation. He killed hours at a tailor, having the latest in court fashions cut and sewn to fit. It was a gaudy bit of foppery, consisting of a pair of tight trousers, tucked into polished black boots that were absolutely useless for anything practical. They were too low at the calf for riding—the top of the boot would grind the calf to blisters in an hour—and too tall to wear on the march. But they had lovely silver buckles and a red stripe of dyed leather down the side.The trousers were tight to the point of being constricting, but the tailor
assured him this was the current fashion at court. He forwent the codpiece that was also said to be the rage. There were things he found too silly to bear, even for the sake of court fashion. The shirt was a work of frippery, being open at the neck and gathered below the breastbone by a series of pearl buttons, with a lace collar and more lace at the sleeves. The
jacket was completely decorative—a gold-thread-on-red-brocade monstrosity, designed to be worn on the left arm only, hanging by a golden cord across the right, with pearls sewn at the collar and cuffs. The crowning glory was a hat, a broad-brimmed thing of snow-white felted fur, with a handcrafted silver-wire band, in which a dyed plume had been placed. Tal's plume was black, so the contrast was dramatic. The tailor assured him the outfit was as fine as any that would be worn at court, but Tal could not help but feel someone had put the man up to this, so that his arrival for his first appearance at court would be greeted with laughter and derision.

But as his carriage arrived at the palace gate on the night of the gala, he could see other young men of the city dressed in equally absurd rigs. He remembered with nostalgia the simple skins and fur jackets his family had worn in the mountains in the winter and going almost naked during the summer heat. As he mounted the steps to the palace, Tal decided that fashion was a conspiracy created by tailors to bilk the nobility out of excess gold. He knew from what he had heard at various social gatherings he had attended in Salador and Roldem that by this time next year everything he wore would be counted out of style, and new fashions would be all the rage.

Tal handed his invitation to the squire responsible for ensuring no uninvited guests appeared in the King's court. The squire was backed up by a squad of palace guardsmen, who despite being garbed in gaudy red-and-yellow livery
looked quite capable of repelling an invasion, let alone removing an unwanted guest. Then a page was assigned to escort him to the main hall. As they walked, the page said, “Sir, tonight the King has decreed there to be no formal seating. Everyone will avail themselves of a buffet.''

Talon didn't know the word and had to search his memory for it. “Boo-fay,” he said softly. The boy motioned to the long tables at the side of the hall, heavily burdened with food, and servants moving rapidly through the hall with pitchers of ale and wine, filling cups at request. Everywhere he looked he saw people in colors of riotous hue engaged in conversation, some holding a plate with one hand and eating with the other.

Then it came to him,
buffet
was a Kingdom word from the Bas-Tyran dialect. And it meant to eat from an open table without sitting.
Sometimes you only
think
you can speak a language,
Tal reminded himself silently.

He moved through the crowd, noticing half a dozen or so familiar faces, and those he smiled and bowed to as he made his way to the tables of food. Everything he could imagine dining on was laid out there, from smoked game birds and seasoned eggs to vegetables prepared in every conceivable fashion, from fresh out of the kettle to pickled and spiced, to cheeses and fruits—some expensively out of season—and sweets. He picked up a plate and found it to be lighter than he had expected, and a quick inspection showed him it was some sort of hard ceramic, rather than stone or metal. It had been hand-painted with the royal crest of Roldem, a dolphin leaping from a wave over a star. It was quite impressive.

A voice at his right said, “Yes, it is impressive, isn't it?''

Tal turned and saw Quincy de Castle, a merchant from Bas-Tyra with whom he had gambled several times. “Reading minds?” he asked with a smile.

“No,” answered the merchant. “If I could, I wouldn't have lost as much money to you at cards as I have, Tal. No, I saw you admiring the plate and guessed your reaction.”

“It is quite impressive,” Tal repeated.

“Well, as they say, ‘it's good to be king.' It allows one to indulge oneself in all manner of niceties.”

At that moment the Master of Ceremonies struck the floor with the iron-shod heel of his staff of office. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, the King!''

All eyes turned to the archway that led from the royal apartments, and there, sweeping into the hall, was King Carol the Sixth. A middle-aged man who still looked as fit as he had when twenty-five, the King escorted a plump but pleasant-looking woman wearing a small crown. “The Queen and the Royal Family!” announced the Master of Ceremonies.

Everyone bowed, and the King said, “It is our pleasure that you return to the festivities. We are informal tonight!''

A light round of applause greeted this message, and everyone attempted to return to their previous activities.

Tal said to Quincy, “Have you attended one of these before?''

“Yes, but not this sort of informal gathering. I hear that so many are in attendance for the tournament that there aren't enough chairs in the palace to enable everyone to sit down, even if there was a table big enough to accommodate everyone. So, instead we have this buffet, and one in the next hall, and the hall beyond that.''

Tal nodded. “I find myself feeling far less honored by my invitation than I did a minute ago, friend Quincy.''

The man laughed. “Don't feel slighted. For every one of us who has been invited, there are three outside the gates wishing they could be inside. I am here only because I've traded with the royal purchasing agent for twenty years
and have come to the competition before. This will be my third tournament. You are among the favorites to win the golden sword, Tal, and as such, you would certainly be invited to attend. Expect a few words from the King himself before the night is out.''

“I don't know what to say,” Tal replied.

“Say little, laugh at his jokes, and agree to anything he proposes. That's the way to deal with kings.''

“Thank you for the advice.''

They parted company, and Tal drifted through the three halls, saying hello to those he knew and nodding to anyone who nodded at him first. After two hours, a page sought him out, asking, “Sir, are you Squire Tal Hawkins?''

“Yes,” he answered.

“The King commands your attendance, sir. Follow me, please.''

The boy led him back to the center of the three halls, where the King was standing in the corner with Queen Gertrude and other family members, a boy of no more than thirteen who must be Prince Constantine, and two other boys and a girl. The younger children looked bored, but stood quietly, clearly on their best behavior.

The page spoke quietly into the ear of a servant, who in turn spoke in the ear of the Master of Ceremonies. The Master of Ceremonies nodded curtly in Tal's direction, then said, “Your Majesty, may I present Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake.”

Tal executed his most courtly bow and kept silent. He knew better than to speak before the King.

King Carol smiled. “I've heard of you, young sir. They say the smart money is wagered on you to win our tournament.”

“Your Majesty is kind,” said Tal. “I would be fortunate
indeed to prevail among all the master swordsmen who are coming to compete.''

“You're being modest,” said the King with a laugh. “I hear things. There are no secrets in the Masters' Court.''

“Your majesty,” said Tal, “that I can readily believe.''

The King's smile broadened. Then he said, “Ah, here comes one now who will seek to prevent you from winning the golden blade.''

Tal turned and saw a party of men approaching. The smile on his face froze as the King said, “Squire Talwin, may I present to you our cousin, Kaspar, Duke of Olasko.''