Hirundo said, “There ought to be clearly marked channels, so people know where they’re going.”
“Part of me says yes to that,” Grus answered. “The other part wonders whether it’s a good idea to show enemies how to get through the Maze—or, for that matter, to show people shut up inside the Maze how to get out of it. I had to dredge one place out so river galleys could get through the whole length of the Maze. They didn’t used to be able to, you know.”
“Maybe we should have gone around,” Hirundo said.
“Going through it is still the fastest way to get south,” Grus said. “We’re not crawling now. We’re just not going as fast as we would if everything were perfect.”
“Oh, hurrah,” Hirundo said sourly.
His general’s sarcasm didn’t faze Grus. He peered south, waiting for the steersman to find the channel of the Nedon, which ran south for some little distance after escaping the flat swampland of the Maze. As soon as the ships were in a place where they could easily tell the difference between the river and the countryside through which it flowed, they made much better time.
This left Hirundo no happier. As the river galleys sped up, their motion grew rougher. Every mile the fleet traveled south, Hirundo got greener.
Grus, by contrast, enjoyed the journey on the Nedon. Eventually, the river would turn east, toward the Azanian Sea. Since the Menteshe were fighting farther south, his men and horses would have to leave the galleys and barges then. He would have to get on one of those horses. That prospect left him as delighted as river travel left Hirundo.
When Lanius heard clanks and then a meow in the royal archives, he wasn’t very surprised, not anymore. He didn’t jump. He didn’t wish he were a soldier, or even that he had weapons more deadly than pen, parchment, and ink. He just got to his feet and went over to see if he could find the moncat responsible for the racket.
After some searching, he did. Pouncer was carrying a stout silver serving spoon. Lanius wondered how it had gotten the spoon from the kitchens here to the archives; they weren’t particularly close. For that matter, the chamber where the moncat lived wasn’t all that close to the kitchens, either. There had to be passages in the walls a moncat could go through, regardless of whether a man could.
The king scooped up Pouncer—and the spoon. The moncat twisted and tried to bite. He tapped it on the nose, hard enough to get its attention. “Stop that!” he told it, not that it understood Avornan. But it did understand the tap and the tone of voice. Both told it biting was something it wasn’t supposed to do. Little by little—about as fast as an ordinary cat would—it was learning.
Servants exclaimed as Lanius carried Pouncer down the corridor. “How did it get out this time?” a man asked.
“I don’t know,” the king replied. “I wish I did, but I’ve never seen it leave its room. I don’t think any cooks have ever seen it sneak into the kitchens, either.”
“Maybe it’s a ghost.” The servant sounded serious. The workers in the royal palace were a superstitious lot.
“Feels too solid to be a ghost—and I’ve never heard of a ghost that steals spoons,” Lanius said. The moncat twisted again, lashing out with its free front foot. It got Lanius on the forearm. “Ow! I’ve never heard of a ghost that scratches, either.”
“You never can tell,” the servant said darkly. He went down the corridor shaking his head. Lanius went up the corridor to the moncats’ chamber.
When he got there, he set Pouncer down. Then he had another small struggle getting the silver spoon away from the moncat. He watched for a while, hoping the beast would disappear down whatever hole it had used while he was there. But, perverse as any cat, it didn’t.
At last, Lanius gave up. He took the spoon off to the kitchens. As he walked through the palace, he wondered if Pouncer would get there ahead of him, steal something else, and then disappear again. But he saw no sign of it when he went through the big swinging doors.
One after another, the cooks denied seeing the moncat. “Has that miserable beast been in here again?” a fat man asked, pointing to the spoon in Lanius’ hand.
He held it up. “I didn’t steal this myself.”
He got a laugh. “I don’t suppose you did, Your Majesty,” the fat cook said, and took it from him. “But how does the moncat keep sneaking in?”
“That’s what I want to find out,” Lanius answered. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” the cook said. The other men and women who worked in the kitchens shook their heads. A lot of them sported big bellies and several chins. That was, Lanius supposed, hardly surprising, not when they worked with and around food all the time.
A woman said, “What do you suppose the animal’s been eating with that spoon?” She got a louder laugh than Lanius had, and added, “I suppose we’d better wash it.” The fat man who was holding it tossed it into a tub of water ten or fifteen feet away. He had perfect aim. The spoon splashed into the tub and clattered off whatever crockery already sat in there.
Lanius wondered whether they would have washed it if the cook hadn’t asked if the moncat had eaten from it. Some things, perhaps, were better left unknown. He walked out of the kitchen without asking.
He was walking back to his own chambers when he almost bumped into Limosa, who was coming up the corridor. She dropped him a curtsy, murmuring, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”
“Good morning, Your Highness,” the king answered. “How are you today?”
“I am well, thank you,” she answered. “May I please ask you a question, Your Majesty?”
Lanius thought he knew what the question would be. Since he didn’t see how he could avoid it, he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” Limosa visibly gathered her courage. “Is there any way you can release my father from the Maze?”
He’d been right. “I’m sorry,” he said, and did his best to sound as though he really were sorry. He knew he had to work at it, considering what he really thought of Petrosus.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who knew what he thought of the former treasury minister. Flushing, Limosa said, “I know you aren’t fond of my father, Your Majesty. But could you please free him for my sake?”
“If I could, I would,” Lanius answered, thinking, If I could, I… might. I did ask Grus not to send him to the Maze, so maybe I would. He wasn’t brokenhearted at having a good excuse not to, though. “But King Grus sent him away, and King Grus is the only one who can bring him back to the palace.”
“And King Grus won’t,” Limosa said. Lanius didn’t contradict her. Biting her lip, she went on, “He thinks my father tricked Ortalis into marrying me. By the gods, Your Majesty, I tell you again it isn’t true.”
“I see,” Lanius said—as neutral a phrase as he could find.
“It isn’t true,” Limosa insisted. “I wanted to marry Ortalis. I love him.” Lanius wanted to say, Are you out of your mind? Before either did more than cross his mind, Limosa went on, “He’s the most wonderful man I ever met—uh, meaning no disrespect to you, Your Majesty, of course.” She blushed.
“Of course,” Lanius echoed. He was too bewildered, too astonished, to find anything else to say. Ortalis? The Ortalis who hunted because he was fond of blood? The Ortalis who hurt women because it excited him? That Ortalis was the most wonderful man Limosa had ever met? Something, somewhere, didn’t add up. Lanius had no idea what. He did know the only individual to whom he less wanted to be married than he did to Ortalis was the Banished One.