“Majesty,” Rebozo protested, “that entails scarcely more than a beating-and how can you be sure of an answer gained with so little pain?”
“By comparing it to the other answers, of course! Those given by the other servants! I tell you again, Rebozo, that an answer given to stop pain proves only that the subject will say anything he thinks you wish him to! And as often as not, that will be a lie! Though I do not think this would-be murderer will prove to be the same one who has striven to slay me these five years past.”
Rebozo stared. “How… how does your Majesty see that?”
“Because the other attempts required evil magic of a very difficult kind. To make a block of stone fall, when none were near it, and that at the exact moment I was passing beneath it? ‘Twas only my own warding spell that made me hesitate in midstep, to see that block of granite smash the paving in front of me! And the gargoyle who came alive, the cat with teeth like scimitars, the sword that leaped from the scabbard even as I buckled it on-these all required a lifetime’s knowledge of magic, or a pact with the Devil such as only a man of great importance could achieve!”
His gaze strayed; his voice sank. “A man such as my grandfather, King Maledicto, reaching out from beyond the grave…”
“Come, Majesty!” the chancellor scoffed. “If the Devil was so displeased with your grandfather as to withdraw protection, why would he now give him power to reach out from Hell?”
“Why, because his disappointment with the grandson has become even greater than the lapses of the grandsire!” Boncorro snapped at him, then looked away again. “But I shall not yield! I shall not become what that wicked old man was-a murderer, a child slayer-”
“What a notion!” Rebozo cried. “You who have no children, to worry about slaying them! Come, Majesty, bolster your spirits! We shall find and defeat this sorcerer yet!”
King Boncorro lifted a brooding gaze to him. “See that you do, Lord Chancellor, see that you do! Begin with the servants, all of them-but not with torture, mind you! Take each into a separate chamber and question him or her closely, then compare their answers and see if there is any agreement! If there is, bring word of it to me before you take any action-simple consensus is no proof of truth! It could just as easily be a sign that one person is disliked by all, and since so many of them are left from my grandfather’s court, dislike of one could mean that only he can be relied upon!”
“Majesty, it shall be done as you say.” The chancellor bowed. “May I congratulate you on your courage in having the determination to persevere in your reforms in the face of such concerted effort by the power of Evil to destroy you.”
Boncorro waved the compliment away. “There is little danger in it, Chancellor. The powers of Evil have little cause to be displeased with me, for whatever my purpose, it is certainly not the doing of good for its own sake. I attempt to gain power and riches, that is all.”
“Aye-by making the whole country more rich.”
“My wealth comes from the people, one way or another, Lord Chancellor. I saw that as I watched serfs plow and reap. If I would have greater riches, I must first inspire the people to produce greater wealth from which I may draw.”
“Yes, you have explained that many times.” Rebozo sighed. “That, however, does not explain your determination to see justice done, and to protect the innocent from punishment or abuse.”
“Does it not? People will work harder when they feel they are safe, Chancellor, and can bend their minds to their tasks without the constant worry that the sword will fall on their necks, or their goods be plundered at a lord’s whim. When they know they will keep a fair share of that which they grow, the farmers will work harder to grow more-and when serfs can be sure which efforts will not bring punishment, they will put more sweat into those that will be rewarded.”
“Yes, you have explained that time and again,” Rebozo said, “and that greater assurance of safety and greater wealth should lead people to use their newfound gains to buy pleasure.”
“Why, so they do.” Boncorro waved at his court. “Even here you can see it-they are better dressed than ever before, and come flocking to my castle to seek pleasure, the young most of all! For each of those you see here, Rebozo, there are a thousand serfs who are drinking more ale and buying the favors of wantons. Vice flourishes, so the Devil should be not only appeased, but even pleased.”
“Then why should the same Devil give a sorcerer power against you?”
Boncorro shrugged. “The greater the worry and fear, the happier the Devil. Look for an extremist in sorcery, Rebozo-one who believes that any human happiness is wrong if it is not wrung from the pain and suffering of others. There shall we find my would-be killer.”
“Majesty,” said the chancellor, “I will.”
“Then do.” The king waved him away. “Be about your task, Rebozo-but remember, no torture! Well, not much,” he amended. “Only a little, Majesty,” the chancellor agreed, “never fear-which, unfortunately, is what the servants and bottler and cooks shall say, no doubt. Still, I shall strive.” He bowed and turned away. Boncorro watched the old man leave the great hall, and frowned, still brooding, till he was out of sight. Then, with an effort of will, he threw off the mood, tested a whole pitcher of wine, then filled his own goblet and drank deeply. A duke’s daughter came by below the table, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Boncorro laughed and sprang down off the dais, crying, “Fiddlers! A dance tune! We shall caper before we taste the next course!”
The fiddlers struck up a gay, lively tune, and Boncorro began to dance with the beautiful young lady, devouring her charms with his eyes. She blushed demurely, lowering her gaze, but glancing up at him through long lashes. All about them courtiers left their meat and came to dance, quick to ape their king, quick to join in the attempt to cheer him, ever quick to curry favor. Rebozo slammed into his private exchequer, muttering darkly under his breath. LoClercchi, his secretary, looked up in surprise. “Good evening, Lord Chancellor.”
“Not when some amateurish idiot seeks to poison our king,” Rebozo snapped, “who commands me to find the culprit without delay.”
“Ah.” The secretary nodded in sympathy. “Not a good evening, indeed. I fear I must make it worse.”
“Worse?” Rebozo swung about, glaring. “How is this?”
“A message.” The secretary held up a scrap of parchment. “A carrier pigeon landed in the dovecote, just as the sun set.”
“News from a spy?” Rebozo snatched the message and sat down to puzzle out the tiny letters. At last he threw it down on the desk. “Oh, a pox upon it! Your eyes are far younger than mine, LoClercchi-what does it say?”
The secretary took the tiny parchment, but did not look at it, so Rebozo knew that he had already read it. “It is from your peasant spy on the estates of the Duke of Riterra, my lord. He writes from a market in Merovence-though not very far into Merovence. ”Far enough!“ Rebozo’s eyes kindled. ”What does he find that is worthy of report?“
“He writes that a wizard is nosing about the market,” the secretary said, “eavesdropping on conversations, and particularly interested in those who tout the virtues of Latruria. Our spy tested the man and thinks he may be the Lord Wizard himself.”
Rebozo rubbed his hands, nodding vigorously. “I had thought he must take notice of the remaking our young king is doing!”
“Especially since our folk have been boasting and bragging of it whenever they cross the border,” LoClercchi said with irony. “It is marvelous to have agents who work for free, my lord, and without even realizing they do our work. I do not know how you managed it.”
“Bosh! You know well enough that I sent one man about the border farms,gloating on the bragging hewould do in Merovence, on the next fair day! Does our peasant informer say what manner of test he gave the wizard?”