Matt felt the vein of poetry in the words, and that was no metaphor-he could feel magical forces around him twitch in response to even so mild a flight of structure in wording. It gave him a chill-he had met a poet who couldn’t control himself, kept spouting verses at odd moments, and accidentally made some very strange things happen. “Say-you do know how to write, don’t you?”
“Aye.” Pascal turned to him in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“Just make sure that if you get hit with a sudden attack of verse, you write it down instead of speaking it aloud, okay? You do seem to realize that poetry isn’t much of a basis for marriage, though.”
“Aye.” Pascal’s gaze lowered. “I am a poor choice, I know, for I have no money, no handsomeness of face or figure-and, now that I have rebelled against his tyranny, will no longer inherit my father’s house and lands! Still, I hope to make my way in the world, to win fame and fortune-and if I can only persuade Panegyra to wait for me a year or two, I may prove worthy of her love!”
Five years or ten, more likely-assuming the kid worked hard and had good luck. “But you have to reach her before the wedding.”
“Aye!” Pascal sprang up and rolled up his blanket “There is not a moment to spare! I thank you for waking me, Sir Matthew-I must be off!”
Well, Matt hadn’t wanted to say it. “Hold on a minute, friend.” He held up a cautioning hand. “You won’t get very far, running on empty. How about a bit of breakfast first? Besides, you may find it’s not all that easy to get into Latruria.”
“It shall be, for me! There is a clandestine route, one known only to a few families. I would not call it truly secret, but if the king’s soldiers know of it, they certainly pay it no heed.”
“Oh, really?” Matt pricked up his ears. “Say, I’ve got some journey rations here. How about we pool breakfasts and I tag along when you go?”
“Why, since you offer,” Pascal said, surprised. “I own I came away in such haste that I brought only a loaf. Nay, let us become road companions, then!”
“Great!” But Matt’s conscience bothered him. “I do have a little problem, though. There’s this monster that seems to have fixated on me, decided he’s going to have me for lunch, no matter where I cross the border-and he has an uncanny knack of knowing exactly where I am.”
“A monster?” Pascal looked up, suddenly alert. “Is it a manticore?”
Matt stared. “How’d you know?”
“Because it has been long known to my family. Never fear, friend-I have an old family charm that will tame the beast.”
“A family charm!” Then Matt remembered. “That’s right-you said your grandfather was a wizard. You mean you inherited his talent?”
“What, a knack for crafting verses and the sensing of unseen forces?” Pascal said it almost contemptuously. “Aye, I do. All of my family have it, in one degree or another.”
“Magic as a dominant trait,” Matt muttered, watching the young man as he knelt to feed the coals and blow them into flame. “How much do you have?”
Pascal shrugged “Enough to recite the old family spells and make them work-to summon brownies to the bowl of milk, that they may aid us; to kindle fire, banish warts, and suchlike.”
“Such-like getting rid of manticores?”
“Only the one.” Pascal held up his index finger. “It is almost kin, my family has known it so long-and if there were more than one manticore in that county, ‘twould be surprising indeed.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Matt frowned. “If there were two, one of them would gobble the other up. Uh, may I ask why you didn’t include wizardry in your catalog of desirable traits for a suitor?”
“Wizardry has been no advantage, in Latruria,” Pascal said with a cynical smile, “not for many decades. Only sorcery is prized there-and I will be amazed if that state of affairs has changed greatly under King Boncorro’s reign.”
Matt frowned. “So you’re not interested in learning how to be a professional.”
“Nay.” Pascal shrugged impatiently. “What use is magic? Who respects the wizard? My grandfather was such a one-and all it brought him was advancement to the rank of squire!”
“You want to be something more, then.” Of course the kid did-he’d been born a squire, hadn’t he? No progress if he never became anything more. Pascal confirmed Matt’s guess with a nod. “There is little respect in being a squire, Sir Matthew. As you yourself know, one must be a knight, at least, to have any true standing in this world.”
“Well, there’s some truth in that,” Matt admitted. In fact, there was a lot of truth-being dubbed a knight magically gave a man better judgment and the power to prevail against his competitors. People listened to knights, but not to wizards. Matt had found that out the hard way, when he first came to Merovence. “I take it your father couldn’t become one, being the wrong kind of squire.”
“Oh, nay! A squire is a squire, after all, and he might have won his spurs-if he had wished to. But he was quite content to sit on his home acre, tending his peasants and watching them raise his crops.”
“You mean he never even tried?”
“Never,” Pascal confirmed. “But so little is not enough, for me! I shall have more, or die trying to attain it! Besides,” he confided, “the fair Panegyra might look more favorably upon me if I were Sir Pascal!”
Not much chance, Matt thought privately, unless some land and money went with the title-but he didn’t say so. They broke Pascal’s loaf between them, shared out some of Matt’s beef jerky, and Matt introduced the young man to tea, which was brand new in Bordestang, Queen Alisande’s capital. Matt guessed that some enterprising sea captains had found their way to China, and he wondered if those men came from Latruria, as they had in his own universe-where the peninsula was called “Italy.”
He expected he would find out very soon. They doused the fire and set off, Pascal actually whistling, now that he was on his way to the fair Panegyra, and Matt with a growing knot in his belly, now that he was on his way back to the manticore.
Alisande’s army stood gathered in the courtyard of her castle in the chill light of false dawn, shivering and grumbling to one another. “We have been waiting most of an hour already!” one soldier complained to his sergeant. “Did not the queen waken when we did?‘
“ ‘Tis no affair of yours when she rises or when she sleeps!” the sergeant barked. “It is your affair only to be on your feet and ready when she calls!” Privately, though, he wondered. The queen had never kept her troops standing about for more than a few minutes before. Had she really slept while they mustered? “The queen grows lazy,” one trooper griped to another. “She would have us up and marching while she sits abed nibbling sweet biscuits.”
Food, however, was the farthest thing from Alisande’s mind as her ladies supported her away from the basin toward an hourglass chair. “You must sit, your Majesty,” Lady Constance crooned. “And whatever you do, you should not be riding when you are in so delicate a condition.”
“Condition?” Alisande forced herself to stand straight and tall, though the chair appealed to her mightily. “What condition? A moldy bit of cheese for supper last night, that is all!”
“And the night before, and the night before?” said Lady Julia with a skeptical glance. ‘Tell that to the men, Majesty, but do not seek to cozen we who have borne children ourselves.“
Alisande deflated. Her ladies took the chance to ease her into a chair. “I have not deceived you for a moment, have I?” the queen muttered thickly. “Well, for a week or two,” the elder lady allowed. “But a woman gains a certain glow when she knows there is new life within her, Majesty. The men notice it, but fools that they are, they think it is due to their own presence!”