"Dear Pol," she said, "you look just wonderful." She embraced Aunt Pol warmly, and the two began talking together animatedly.
"Queen Layla," Silk explained briefly to Garion. "They call her the Mother of Sendaria. The four children over there are hers. She has four or five others—older and probably away on state business, since Fulrach insists that his children earn their keep. It’s a standard joke among the other kings that Queen Layla’s been pregnant since she was fourteen, but that’s probably because they’re expected to send royal gifts at each new birth. She’s a good woman, though, and she keeps King Fulrach from making too many mistakes."
"She knows Aunt Pol," Garion said, and that fact disturbed him for some reason.
"Everybody knows your Aunt Pol," Silk told him.
Since Aunt Pol and the queen were deep in conversation and already drifting toward the head of the table, Garion stayed close to Silk. Don’t let me make any mistakes, he gestured, trying to keep the movements of his fingers inconspicuous.
Silk winked in reply.
Once they were all seated and the food began to arrive, Garion began to relax. He found that all he had to do was follow Silk’s lead, and the intricate niceties of formal dining no longer intimidated him. The talk around him was dignified and quite incomprehensible, but he reasoned that no one was likely to pay much attention to him and that he was probably safe if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his plate.
An elderly nobleman with a beautifully curled silvery beard, however, leaned toward him. "You have traveled recently, I’m told," he said in a somewhat condescending tone. "How fares the kingdom, young man?"
Garion looked helplessly across the table at Silk. What do I say? he gestured with his fingers.
Tell him that the kingdom fares no better nor no worse than might be anticipated under the present circumstances, Silk replied.
Garion dutifully repeated that.
"Ah," the old nobleman said, "much as I had expected. You’re a very observant boy for one so young. I enjoy talking with young people. Their views are so fresh."
Who is he? Garion gestured.
The Earl of Seline, Silk replied. He’s a tiresome old bore, but be polite to him. Address him as my Lord.
"And how did you find the roads?" the earl inquired.
"Somewhat in disrepair, my Lord," Garion replied with Silk’s prompting. "But that’s normal for this time of year, isn’t it?"
"Indeed it is," the earl said approvingly. "What a splendid boy you are."
The strange three-way conversation continued, and Garion even began to enjoy himself as the comments fed to him by Silk seemed to amaze the old gentleman.
At last the banquet was over, and the king rose from his seat at the head of the table. "And now, dear friends," he announced, "Queen Layla and I would like to visit privately with our noble guests, and so we pray you will excuse us." He offered his arm to Aunt Pol, Mister Wolf offered his to the plump little queen, and the four of them walked toward the far door of the hall.
The Earl of Seline smiled broadly at Garion and then looked across the table. "I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Prince Kheldar," he said to Silk. "I may indeed be a tiresome old bore as you say, but that can sometimes be an advantage, don’t you think?"
Silk laughed ruefully. "I should have known that an old fox like you would be an adept at the secret language, my Lord."
"A legacy from a misspent youth." The earl laughed. "Your pupil is most proficient, Prince Kheldar, but his accent is strange."
"The weather was cold while he was learning, my Lord," Silk said, "and our fingers were a bit stiff. I’ll correct the problem when we have leisure."
The old nobleman seemed enormously pleased with himself at having outsmarted Silk. "Splendid boy," he said, patting Garion’s shoulder, and then he went off chuckling to himself.
"You knew he understood all along," Garion accused Silk.
"Of course," Silk said. "Drasnian intelligence knows every adept at our secret speech. Sometimes it’s useful to permit certain carefully selected messages to be intercepted. Don’t ever underestimate the Earl of Seline, however. It’s not impossible that he’s at least as clever as I am, but look how much he enjoyed catching us."
"Can’t you ever do anything without being sly?" Garion asked. His tone was a bit grumpy, since he was convinced that somehow he had been the butt of the whole joke.
"Not unless I absolutely have to, my Garion." Silk laughed. "People such as I continually practice deception —even when it’s not necessary. Our lives sometimes depend on how cunning we are, and so we need to keep our wits sharp."
"It must be a lonely way to live," Garion observed rather shrewdly at the silent prompting of his inner voice. "You never really trust anyone, do you?"
"I suppose not," Silk said. "It’s a game we play, Garion. We’re all very skilled at it—at least we are if we intend to live very long. We all know each other, since we’re members of a very small profession. The rewards are great, but after a while we play our game only for the joy of defeating each other. You’re right, though. It is lonely, and sometimes disgusting—but most of the time it’s a great deal of fun."
Count Nilden came up to them and bowed politely. "His Majesty asks that you and the boy join him and your other friends in his private apartments, Prince Kheldar," he said. "If you’ll be so good as to follow me."
"Of course," Silk said. "Come along, Garion."
The king’s private apartments were much simpler than the ornate halls in the main palace. King Fulrach had removed his crown and state robes and now looked much like any other Sendar in rather ordinary clothes. He stood talking quietly with Barak. Queen Layla and Aunt Pol were seated on a couch deep in conversation, and Durnik was not far away, trying his best to look inconspicuous. Mister Wolf stood alone near a window, his face like a thundercloud.
"Ah, Prince Kheldar," the king said. "We thought perhaps you and Garion had been waylaid."
"We were fencing with the Earl of Seline, your Majesty," Silk said lightly. "Figuratively speaking, of course."
"Be careful of him," the king cautioned. "It’s quite possible that he’s too shrewd even for one of your talents."
"I have a great deal of respect for the old scoundrel." Silk laughed.
King Fulrach glanced apprehensively at Mister Wolf, then squared his shoulders and sighed. "I suppose we’d better get this unpleasantness over with," he said. "Layla, would you entertain our other guests while I give our grim-faced old friend there and the Lady the opportunity to scold me. It’s obvious that he’s not going to be happy until they’ve said a few unkind things to me about some matters that weren’t really my fault."
"Of course, dear," Queen Layla said. "Try not to be too long and please don’t shout. The children have been put to bed and they need their rest."
Aunt Pol rose from the couch, and she and Mister Wolf, whose expression hadn’t changed, followed the king into an adjoining chamber.
"Well, then," Queen Layla said pleasantly; "what shall we talk about?"
"I am instructed, your Highness, to convey the regards of Queen Porenn of Drasnia to you should the occasion arise," Silk said in a courtly manner. "She asks leave of you to broach a correspondence on a matter of some delicacy."
"Why, of course," Queen Layla beamed. "She’s a dear child, far too pretty and sweet-natured for that fat old bandit, Rhodar. I hope he hasn’t made her unhappy."
"No, your Highness," Silk said. "Amazing though it may seem, she loves my uncle to distraction, and he, of course, is delirious with joy over so young and beautiful a wife. It’s positively sickening the way they dote on each other."
"Some day, Prince Kheldar, you will fall in love," the queen said with a little smirk, "and the twelve kingdoms will stand around and chortle over the fall of so notorious a bachelor. What is this matter Porenn wishes to discuss with me?"