Sir Huhmfree gulped audibly. His face had gone white as curds under the campaign tan, and his dark-blue eyes were dilated with shock. But his voice was firm. “My lord count, will you but repeat the message once more, I shall deliver it word for word. But I pray, my lord, reconsider, for much as his grace respects and cares for you, you must know that he will not and cannot tolerate rebellion in any form. If I deliver such a message, he will certainly march on you with force, seize these two boys, and relieve you of your command and rank, if not of your life.”
Martuhn nodded wearily. “Thank you for your kind concern, Sir Huhmfree. I’ve known his grace for ten years and I know as well as do you what his certain reaction will be, but, you see, I cannot do other than what my conscience dictates.
“But wait, sit you down and partake of that ewer of wine. HI summon Bahb Steevuhnz to tell you of what occurred on the night this Urbahnos bought him.” “… and so,” Bahb concluded the tale unabashedly, having recounted it so many times, “when the black-haired pig tried to tear off my breeches, I stabbed him in the crotch, just to one side of his yard, with one dagger; and when he clapped both hands to himself, I used the other blade to open his ugly face. “When Nahseer came in, fully armed, he was ordered to take me alive for torture and promised torture and the loss of his eyes should he chance to slay me. Instead, he gave me a better weapon, his dirk. Then he tied the dog, spread-eagled, gagged him and cut out his nuts and threw the things onto the coals of the brazier.
“Then Nahseer thrust a chunk of hot charcoal into the swine’s emptied scrotum. You should have seen him then, chiefs son—I thought his little pig eyes were going to pop out of his head and roll onto the floor!” Sir Huhmfree, who had tried to evince disinterest to begin, had clearly been moved by the lad’s sorry tale. His mobile features were a study in ill-suppressed rage, his lip line thin as a whetted blade and his eyes slitted, while a tic jerked at one cheek and his right hand clenched and reclenched around the hilt of his dagger.
“Mere deballing were far too good for such an unspeakable and depraved animal. The Zahrtohgahn should have had of? his damned yard, as well, and his two kneecaps. It had been hoped that his grace had either eradicated all such unnatural creatures from his lands years ago, or at least made them understand that his duchy was a most unsalubrious climate for such subhumans as they.
“My lord count, due in part to the well-known fact of my paternity and to my personal efforts over the last few years, I own some small power and I am become influential in some circles. Now you know as well as do I that his grace is as stubborn as are you and will not back down or appear to change his mind on this or any other matter without good and clearly spelled-out reason. Mayhap I and my resources can supply that reason, can his grace but be kept mollified for the time it may take.
“Will you not now rephrase your reply?”
Martuhn tried, but his mind refused to conjure up lies and he could not bring himself to write down the suggestions of Sir Huhmfree, Wolf or Nahseer. Finally, Sir Djaimz Stylz, who had been one of the duchess’ scribes, penned a letter composed by himself, Wolf, Nahseer and Sir Huhmfree. Then they all badgered Count Martuhn until he signed it, and the next day Sir Huhmfree bore it back to Pirates’ Folly.
It was the first of many such over the next few weeks, citing illnesses of varying, but believable, sorts as the reason why the boys could not travel—first they were said to be suffering a bout of the bloody flux, then a mild case of camp fever, then a siege of large, painful boils in highly sensitive areas of their bodies.
The young knight was too shrewd to openly name the fictitious maladies. Rather did he describe the symptoms with an almost clinical accuracy—this achieved with the clandestine aid of Martuhn’s Zahrtohgahn garrison surgeon, Medical Sergeant Hahseem ibn Sooleemahn—leaving the duke to draw his own conclusions. Nor did Sir Djaimz further compromise Martuhn in this most dangerous game. He took to signing his own name over the official seal of the county, adding below, “Chief Scribe to the Most Honorable Sir Martuhn, Count of Twocityport.” Sir Huhmfree made no more appearances at the citadel during this period of subterfuge, but rather sent messages by way of one or the other of his squires. “My lord Martuhn,” he wrote, “there is a ‘place’ along an alleyway just off Shippers’ Row in Pahdookahport. You may know of it, for its open activities are legally licensed; it is called the Three Doors, and is ostensibly owned and operated by an old harridan who calls herself Lady Yohahna. The first door leads to a big hwiskee house and inn for sailors and other riffraff, the second door to a mean and dangerous gambling den, the third, of course, to the bordello. But I have determined that there is a fourth door and another and most shameful operation housed therein.
“At this point, all that I write is mere hearsay and my own suppositions, for some very powerful person (or persons) seems to be protecting this ‘place’ and so difficult is firsthand information to obtain that I have determined to have the so-called owner seized and brought to a place whereat I can have the truth wrung out of her, at leisure.
“What little I have thus far learned points not only to this Ehleen, but to certain of his grace’s most trusted officials and at least one of his advisers. But perhaps, when the ‘owner’ feels her bones leaving their sockets and sees the irons heating, she will give me and my witnesses some names and solid facts. “Your servant and admirer, Sir Huhmfree Gawlin.” But it could not last for long. The duke was not a stupid or unperceptive man, else he never would have risen to his present power. Near to the nooning of a day, it all came to a head.
Baron Hahrvee Sheeld, commander of the duke’s personal guard, arrived before the citadel with half a troop of the black-cloaked and -plumed horseguards. The baron had served the duke as long as had Martuhn, and though each respected the courage, prowess and accomplishments of the other, they had had their differences and had never been friends.
With his troopers in formation a few paces from the end of the drawbridge, the baron rode into the citadel alone. In Martuhn’s ground-floor command office, the grim-visaged visitor removed his helmet and cradled it in his arm, but brusquely refused offers of a drink or a chair.
“Count Martuhn, you have rendered his grace most wroth by your refusal to accede to his requests. I have here his warrant”—he reached under his breastplate and withdrew a folded document bearing the ducal seal—“to bear to him at his castle the persons of the two boys, Bahb Steevuhnz and Djoh Steevuhnz, be they sick or well, living or dead.
“You may accompany us back, if you wish. But my candid advice would be to shun the duke’s proximity for a while.
“I presume that you have mounts for these boys. If not, they can double up with a brace of my troopers as far as the Upper Town and the palace stables. “Please have them fetched at once. I am due back at Pirates’ Folly by dark.” “I’ll see the warrant first, if you please, Baron Hahrvee.” Martuhn spoke with as much cool formality as had the baron.