Andrew rose, putting his reading glasses in his pocket.
“Da’?” Ben asked.
“I’ll go,” Andrew said.
Let it only be some traveler, lost in the dark and seeking shelter, he hoped, but when he opened the door a soldier of the King stood there on the stoop, stolid and broad-shouldered. A leather hel-met-the helmet of a fighting man-clung to his head. There was a shortsword in his belt, near to hand.
“Your son,” he said, and Andrew felt his knees buckle.
“Why do you want him?”
“I come from Peyna,” the soldier said, and Andrew under-stood that this was all the answer he was to have.
“Da’?” Ben asked from behind him.
No, Andrew thought miserably, please, this is too much bad luck, not my son, not my son-
“Is that the boy?”
Before Andrew could say no-useless as that would have been-Ben had stepped forward.
“I am Ben Staad,” he said. “What do you want with me?”
“You must come with me,” the soldier said.
“Where?”
“To the house of Anders Peyna.”
“No!” his mother cried from the doorway of their small living room. “No, it’s late, it’s cold, the roads are full of snow-”
“I have a sleigh,” the soldier said inexorably, and Andrew Staad saw the man’s hand drop to the shaft of his shortsword.
“I’ll come,” Ben said, getting his coat.
“Ben-” Andrew began, thinking: We’ll never see him again, he’s to be taken away from us because he knew the prince.
“It will be all right, Da’, “Ben said, and hugged him. And when Andrew felt that young strength embracing him, he could almost believe it. But, he thought, his son had not learned fear yet. He had not learned how cruel the world could be.
Andrew Staad held his wife. The two of them stood in the doorway and watched Ben and the soldier break their way through the drifts toward the sleigh, which was only a shadow in the dark with lanterns glowing eerily on either side. Neither of them spoke as Ben climbed up on one side, the soldier on the other.
Only one soldier, Andrew thought, that’s something. Maybe it’s only for questioning that they want him. Pray it’s only for questioning that they want my son!
The Staads stood in silence, membranes of snow blowing around their ankles, as the sleigh pulled away from the house, the flames in the lanterns jiggling, the sleigh bells jingling.
When they were gone, Susan burst into tears.
“We’ll never see him again,” she sobbed. “Never, never! They’ve taken him! Damn Peter! Damn him for what he’s brought my son to! Damn him! Damn him!”
“Shh, mother, “Andrew said, holding her tightly. “Shh. Shh. We’ll see him before morning. By noon at the latest.”
But she heard the quiver in his voice and cried all the harder. She cried so hard she woke little Emmaline up (or maybe it was the draft from the open door), and it was a very long time before Emmaline would go back to sleep. At last Susan slept with her, the two of them in the big bed.
Andy Staad did not sleep all that night.
He sat up by the fire, hoping against hope, but in his heart, he believed he would never see his son again.
65
Ben Staad stood in Anders Peyna’s study an hour later. He was curious, even a little awed, but not afraid. He had listened closely to everything Peyna said, and there had been a muted chink as money changed hands.
“You understand all of this, lad?” Peyna asked in his dry courtroom voice.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“I would be sure. This is no child’s business I send you on. Tell me again what you are to do.”
“I am to go to the castle and speak to Dennis, son of Brandon.”
“And if Brandon interferes?” Peyna asked sharply.
“I am to tell him he must speak to you.”
“Aye,” Peyna said, settling back in his chair.
“I am not to say `Tell no one of this arrangement.'”
“Yes,” Peyna said. “Do you know why?”
Ben stood thoughtfully for a moment, head down. Peyna let him think. He liked this boy; he seemed coolheaded and unafraid.
Many others brought before him in the middle of the night would have been gibbering with terror.
“Because if I said such a thing, he would be quicker to tell than if I said nothing,” Ben said finally.
A smile touched Peyna’s lips. “Good,” he said. “Go on.”
“You’ve given me ten guilders. I’m to give two to Dennis, one for himself and one for whoever finds the dollhouse that belonged to Peter’s mother. The other eight are for Beson, the Chief Warder. Whoever finds the dollhouse will deliver it to Dennis. Dennis will deliver it to me. I will deliver it to Beson. As for the napkins, Dennis himself will take them to Beson.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-one each week,” Ben replied promptly. “Napkins of the royal house, but with the crest removed. Your man will engage a woman to remove the royal crests. From time to time you will send someone to me with more money, either for Dennis or for Beson.”
“But none for yourself?” Peyna asked. He had already offered; Ben had refused.
“No. I believe that’s everything.”
“You are quick.”
“I only wish I could do more.”
Peyna sat up, his face suddenly harsh and forbidding. “You must not and you shall not,” he said. “This is dangerous enough. You are procuring favors for a young man who has been convicted of committing a foul murder-the second-foulest murder a man may do.”
“Peter is my friend,” Ben said, and he spoke with a dignity that was impressive in its simplicity.
Anders Peyna smiled faintly, and raised one finger to point at the fading bruises on Ben’s face. “I would guess,” he said, “that you are already paying for that friendship.”
“I would pay such a price a hundred times over,” Ben said. He hesitated just a moment and then went on boldly: “I don’t believe he killed his father. He loved King Roland as much as I love my own Da’.”
“Did he?” Peyna asked, apparently without interest.
“He did!” Ben cried. “Do you believe he murdered his father? Do you really believe he did it?”
Peyna smiled such a dry and ferocious smile then that even Ben’s hot blood was cooled.
“If I didn’t, I should be careful who I said it to,” he said. “Very, very careful. Or I should soon feel the headsman’s blade go through my neck.”
Ben stared at Peyna silently.
“You say you are his friend, and I believe you.” Peyna sat up straighter in his chair and leveled a finger at Ben. “If you would be a true friend, do just the things I have asked, and no more. If you see any hope for Peter’s eventual release in your mysterious summons here-and I see by your face that you do-you must give that hope up.”
Rather than ring for Arlen, Peyna saw the boy out himself -out the back way. The soldier who had brought him tonight would be on his way to the Western Barony tomorrow.
At the door, Peyna said: “Once more: do not stray from the things we’ve agreed upon so much as one solitary bit. The friends of Peter are not much cared for in Delain now, as your bruises prove.
“I’d fight them all!” Ben said hotly. “One at a time or all at once!”
“Aye,” Anders Peyna said with that dry, ferocious smile. “And would you ask your mother to do the same? Or your baby sister?”
Ben gaped at the old man. Fear opened in his heart like a small and delicate rose.
“It will come to that, if you do not exercise all your care,” Peyna said. “The storms are not over in Delain yet, but only beginning.” He opened the door; snow swirled in, driven by a black gust of wind. “Go home now, Ben. I think your parents will be happy to see you so soon.”