And he did have the proconsul’s sword.
Inos felt supernatural fingers stroking her scalp—a wraith? Why would Rap’s ghost haunt her, of all people?
Everyone else in the room seemed to have been turned to stone.
“Where is Proconsul Yggingi?” Foronod demanded.
Rap glanced down at the inexplicable sword. “Was that his name?” He coughed, as if feeling nauseated. “He’s dead.”
No, he was no ghost. Inos gasped with relief. It was Rap.
A mutter of shock was followed by a flickering of eyes as everyone tried to work out what his news meant—two thousand Imperial soldiers in town and their leader murdered?
“Rap!” Inos said. “You didn’t!”
He shook his head angrily. “But I helped!”
And another youth stepped through the door behind Rap, a young goblin, shorter and heavyset, with dark khaki skin and short black hair, big ears and a long nose. He wore boots, hose, and pants, but from the waist up he was bare, and the company hissed in disgust at this vulgarity.
He grinned widely, showing long white teeth. He held up a stone dagger—proudly, like a child bragging. Hand and blade glistened with fresh blood.
“This is Little Chicken of Raven Totem,” Rap said. “He just avenged that village your proconsul slaughtered.”
“I thought goblins preferred their victims tied up,” Andor remarked coldly.
Rap seemed to notice Andor for the first time, and his gaze slid down to where Andor and Inos were holding hands, and back again. “This one made an exception. And I don’t blame him.”
Foronod moved to the downstairs door.
“Stop!” Rap shouted, lifting his sword slightly.
Inos glanced around the room. Only Andor had a weapon. The imps had disarmed the city.
The factor did stop. He turned to glare at Rap, who blushed.
“Sir… Sir, I guided your wagons for you once, didn’t I? And that messed up my life. I need your help now… Sir?”
Foronod’s blue eyes were chips of polar ice. “A horse thief? A murderer?”
“Sir!” Rap hesitated. “Sir, when you heard I was the one who’d stolen the horses… were you at all surprised?”
The ice-blue eyes stared hard at him for a long minute. “Maybe I was at that.”
“Then grant me a chance to explain,” Rap pleaded. “It must be done now. There is another horse thief—and another murderer.” He pointed his sword at Andor. “Ask him what he did with Doctor Sagorn.”
Stunned silence. Then Andor squeezed Inos’s hand and led her over to the table and a sofa, near Aunt Kade. “I think you had better stay here a moment, ladies,” he said coldly. “There may be some danger.”
“Danger?” Inos repeated. From Rap?
Then her missing wits seemed to fall back into place. “Rap!” she said. “How did you get here from Pondague?”
Rap looked surprised at the question, then a wisp of a grin crossed his face. “I ran.”
“Inos, my darling,” Andor said, “I don’t think this is truly the boy you used to know.” He made a scoffing sound. “Ran? That’s quite impossible, obviously. Chaplain, Holiness—I think we may have a demon here. It appeared to us in the mountains on our way here. I’m quite sure that no one could have passed us on the trail.”
Inos was looking at Rap’s legs. He had grown taller since last summer and his face was thin, but she could not recall ever seeing hose filled more authoritatively than his were now. Ran?
Everyone else seemed to be leaving the situation to Andor. He strode forward a few steps. “Now, you—boy or demon or whatever you are—put the sword on that table. You’ll be given a fair trial. Isn’t that so, Chancellor?”
There was a silence, while nothing happened. Rap seemed to set his jaw more tightly, but he did not speak. The goblin grinned, eyes flickering around the faces.
Foronod was scowling. “Out with it! What are you implying about Doctor Sagorn?”
Rap answered without taking his eyes off Andor. “Only two of us left here, sir. You know that by the gear we took—saddles and bedrolls. I was never up in this part of the palace, but Andor was. What did he do with Doctor Sagorn?”
The factor looked at Andor, who said simply, “I know nothing about Doctor Sagorn. I left alone, on two horses I had purchased in good faith. As I told you, I had no idea that they were stolen. I got them from this boy, or whatever he is.”
Foronod considered and then said, “There will have to be a trial. The proconsul is apparently dead and the Imperial forces will demand that we hand over the perpetrators.”
Again he turned toward the door, and again Rap said, “Stop!” He looked to Inos and said stiffly, “Sorry, Inos. I have to do this. Factor, you owe me a little more time. Bolt the door please, so he can’t escape. That man is a sorcerer.”
Inos had to shout over the sudden babble. “Rap, stop that! You insulted Sir Andor before and I won’t have it! He’s a fine gentleman and I am going to marry him.”
Rap shook his head, looking miserable. “I am truly sorry, your Majesty, truly sorry, but I have to. I wish it could wait until longer after… Well, it has to be done now.”
“What exactly has to be done?” Andor inquired softly.
Again Rap appealed to Foronod. “Sir, if I ever did anything for you, will you please bolt that door?”
The factor frowned, shrugged, and went over to the downstairs door, picking up a massive pewter candlestick on the way. He shot the bolt, turned, and stood with his back to the door, holding the candlestick like a club.
Inos caught a pained look from Andor and said, “Rap!” angrily.
“Please, everyone stand back,” Rap said, and there was a stampede away from Andor, leaving him in isolation. With studied unconcern he unclipped his cloak and tossed it gracefully over a chair. He was showing how a gentleman should treat such rudeness, and Inos felt proud of him.
“Inos—your Majesty, I mean.” Rap blushed at his error. “When that Andor is in danger, he turns into something else. It’s the only way I know to show him up. I’m sorry.”
Inos gasped at such insanity and the audience muttered. She felt very sad. “Oh, Rap! What happened to the old Rap I used to know? He was a sane, solid boy, not given to mad suspicions and delusions. I depended on that Rap! I… I liked him.”
Rap turned very pale. He licked white lips and said, “Sorry, Inos,” so quietly she could hardly hear him.
The calmest person in the room was Andor.
“Are you planning to challenge me to a duel, young man?”
“Sort of,” Rap said.
“Just you, or your goblin friend as well?”
Rap shook his head. “Not Little Chicken.” He turned his head and snapped something in goblin dialect. Little Chicken shrugged and moved away. That put him closer to old Kondoral, who became alarmed and edged sideways, out of reach.
“Well, go ahead!” Andor said. “If you won’t drop that sword I shall have to make you drop it, as I am the only one armed.”
“You know you’re a much better swordsman than I am.”
Andor shrugged. “A reasonable assumption, but we shall see.”
Rap looked disgusted. “But you already know. You gave me lessons. Didn’t you tell her Majesty that?”
Inos knew that Andor had felt confident of beating Yggingi, a professional soldier. “Darling,” she muttered, “please try not to hurt him any more than you must.”
Andor might not have heard that quiet appeal. His blade hissed out, flashing gold flame back at the sconces. “Last chance! Drop that weapon.”
Rap shook his head. “This is what you told me once, Andor—do you remember? No more wooden swords, you said. And something about earning the prizes or taking the punishment. So we play for real—showdown! Those are the rules. Ready?”