“There did seem to be a lot of whispering and people glancing around and then ducking behind doors, yes,” Dauneth agreed, “and people rushing about, too-but isn’t that what usually goes on?”
“Gods, no, lad. If you’re up at court and want to show everyone how important you are, you don’t rush anywhere, see? You saunter unconcernedly and wear a little half-smile, like you know all sorts of secrets that these poor fools around you don’t, because they’re not half so important and close to the crown as you are. See?”
“I’m beginning to, yes,” Dauneth said, keeping weariness from his voice with the skill born of long schooling. The Marliirs had fought against Dhalmass at Marsember, had been part of the Redlance Rising, had made the mistake of backing the regent Salember, and had gotten into more sordid troubles with the Keepers of the Royal Rolls over taxes since. The family had to acquire certain skills merely to keep their necks away from executioners’ swords and their behinds out of dungeon cells. Smooth talking, superb acting, and a heightened sensitivity to the attitudes of others were prominent among these. Dauneth had acted the part of a gentle, considerate young man of breeding for so long that he’d become one somehow. One of chief skills of young nobles-if they wanted to become old nobles, that is-was the ability to mask boredom behind feigned interest and attention.
“If the dust grows on your eyeballs, lad, you’re doing it wrong,” the merchant whispered loudly across the table as he bounced a friendly fist off Dauneth’s forearm. Dauneth winced, the man had seen right through his politeness and had actually echoed a phrase one of his uncles had used once while teaching him how to sleep while appearing to be still awake. It had served him well with family-hired tutors ever since. “So the Marliirs are trying to get back in the royal good graces, eh? Well, they picked a fine time to send you here, what with the king dying and all!”
“I heard he died yesterday, and they’re just keeping it a secret,” the servingwoman said as she came up behind Dauneth with a platter loaded with two large, misted tankards, a round loaf of hardbread, and several covered pots and dishes. She set it down with a clatter.
“Gods, no, Braundlae,” the merchant said. “If the Purple Dragon was dead, all the up-noses like the lad here-ho, beg pardon, lad, I didn’t mean ill of you and your house, mind-wouldn’t have anyone to line up to talk to and arrange all those last dirty deals with before His Highness croaks!”
“Hah!” Braundlae put her hands on her hips. “Do you think the High Wizard keeps the place crawling with war wizards for nothing? They keep poor old Azoun’s eyes and mouth moving and a voice coming out and suchlike with magic, and all the high-and-mighties go away thinking they’ve made an agreement with the king, when all they’ve really done is-Oh, sir,” she broke off, turning to Dauneth. “I took the liberty of bringing you our home brew and some sausage rolls, as I heard Master Rhauligan praising them to you earlier! Would you like something different?”
“Ah, no, no. This’ll be fine, thank you, good lady,” Dauneth said hastily. The woman gave him a merry smile and bent in a court curtsey, saying to Rhauligan, “You’ll note the lad called me a ‘good lady,’ Rhauly. Good manners might not come amiss from you on occasion, mind!”
“Ah,” the merchant said, bending forward over the table with a leer, “but then the lad doesn’t know you as well as I do, does he? ‘Good,’ aye, I’ll grant that, but-“
He ducked the playful snap of her apron with the ease of long practice, snatching up the lid of his bowl in mock fear to serve as a buckler. Dauneth glanced idly at the contents of the bowl and then stared down at them in horrified fascination. The merchant caught sight of the look on the young man’s face and followed it down to his bowl.
“What’s the matter, lad? Never seen eels in mint-and-lime hot sauce before? If your family was originally from Marsember, by the dragon, you must have eaten eels once or tw-“
“Oh, I have,” Dauneth said faintly, “though they’re no favorite of mine. But I’ve never seen anyone eat them alive and still moving-“
The merchant gaped at him. “But that’s the best way, lad! Why, of course you disliked eels if they brought ‘em to you all dead and cold and rubbery! Why-“
“I think,” Dauneth said firmly, “that I’ll take my sausage rolls upstairs…”
“Why, yes, do that, lad-and when I’m done chasing these ‘ere eels around the table, I’ll bring you a second tankard. How’s that?”
“Splendid,” Dauneth said through clenched teeth. “Simply splendid.” He’d grown quite pale, and at the temples his skin almost matched the color of his gray eyes. “I’ll see you then…”
He rose hastily and clumsily, the heavy broadsword at his hip banging into his chair. He turned to leave with a dignity that was somewhat spoiled by his having to turn back to the table to take up his forgotten tankard, then strode to the stairs.
“Sir!” Braundlae’s voice was friendly but swift. “That’s a full tankard of our best Black Bottom, and three piping-hot sausage rolls with Silver Dragon Sauce, too! How will you be paying for that?”
Dauneth turned. “Oh. Sorry I thought that upstairs…”
“Is the Roving Dragon, sir. Caladarea’s place-not mine. I’m sure she’ll not mind you bringing in food that’s better than she’ll ever serve, but I’ll certainly mind if you walk out with it!”
“That was not my intention, lady,” the tall, gangly youth said stiffly, trying to fish in his belt purse with a hot covered dish in one hand and a tankard in the other. The purse looked heavy both Braundlae and the merchant noted professionally. He plucked out three coins and laid them in her palm. Braundlae peered at them rather suspiciously and then gasped.
“Three golden lions! Sir, one will settle everything ten times over! I’ll have to go hunting, this early, for coins enough to change-“
“Keep it,” Dauneth told her quickly. “And cover Master Rhauligan’s bill with it, if you would. Only don’t let him bring any eels upstairs.” And without looking back, he dashed up the stairs, bumping his elbow on the rail and his scabbarded sword on several steps along the way.
“Yes, sir! May the gods smile on you this month, and the next, too!” Braundlae said enthusiastically. When the young man was gone around the bend in the stair, she turned to Rhauligan and murmured, “Is he crazed?”
“No, just rich,” Glarasteer Rhauligan said cheerfully. “Probably one of the richest young men in all Cormyr right now. Of noble Marsembian blood, here to ingratiate himself at court.”
Braundlae lifted eyebrows that had seen much travel in their day and said, ‘Well, when there’s a healthy king again-or a new one-it won’t take long for the throne to smile upon him if he throws money about like that.” She stared down at the coins in her hand as if she still couldn’t quite believe it, which was the honest thing to do, because she couldn’t.
“No, wench, it’s loyalty the Obarskyrs value, not money. Loyalty.”
Braundlae lifted her eyes from the gleaming gold to stare at him, and then up at the empty stairs where the young noble had gone. “Disloyal? Him? I’ll not believe that.”
Rhauligan shrugged. “He just gave you far too much money, of course you’ll not think ill of him. What matters is how many young noblemen far shrewder than him buy friendships and allies daily.”
“I’m sure,” the hostess said cynically. “Besides, who’s to say the king he’ll be kneeling to will be an Obarskyr?”
“There’s Tanalasta,” said the merchant, “and Alusair.”
“Both hide from the task,” replied the hostess, “one in her account books, the other behind the sword. I repeat, will the next king be an Obarskyr at all?”
“How could it not be and this land still be Cormyr?”
Braundlae shrugged. “One family does not a realm make-or keep. There’re no secret male heirs locked up in palace closets so far as I know, so if the king and the baron go down, as everyone’s saying they will or in fact have already, there can’t help but be another line of kings on the Dragon Throne! Now, once someone has taken the crown, I don’t know how long they’ll be able to hold on, once all the nobles see how one of their own is lording it over them, and they start thinking about how easy it’d be to supplant them in turn.”