“What did you learn?” Yona Parmi asked him quietly. Rosha pulled up close behind to hear as well, which prompted Carlad to edge closer.
“Nothing any half wit doesn’t already know. Stay out of the mouths of fishes, don’t think you can walk in the dark without running into the walls, and never trust a woman to be where you expect her.”
“What?” Gerrig asked.
Carlad, at least, was chuckling. “I know what you mean, fool.”
Pelmen glanced back at him and smiled brightly. “I’m sure you do!” He looked back at Rosha. “Who decided to make you an actor?”
“I d-d-did,” Rosha responded carefully.
“A wise choice,” Fallomar nodded, his eyes holding onto Rosha’s as he added, “I’ll wager a Queen’s consort has a lot of acting to do.”
“He does indeed.” Carlad laughed, missing the exchange of looks entirely, “And this lad’s already done a fair share of it!”
Now the clown looked at Carlad. “Has he now? And how about you?
Aren’t you also an actor of sorts?”
“Of some sort, I suppose.” Carlad chuckled.
“Then perhaps we should find a role for you as well.” The clown smiled, catching Yona Parmi’s eye. Parmi nodded.
“Me?” the guard asked. “No…” he went on, shaking his head, but it was clear he could be cajoled.
“Why don’t you two go on to rehearsal while the three of us think you up a part?” Fallomar suggested, and Carlad, charmed by the idea, eagerly led his young charge up the stairs.
“What are you getting us into?” Gerrig demanded. “First we get stuck with this young stutterer, now a castle guard! You miss rehearsals without a word to anyone! Are you trying to scuttle this performance altogether?”
“Why not teach Carlad my lines,” the fool suggested. “He seems eager enough, and it appears the Queen is determined to dominate my time.
That’ll keep him from staring at you suspiciously when you’re trying to rehearse.”
“Let a guard play the role of the clown King?” Gerrig asked, incredulous.
“Why not. You’ve always said any oaf could act as well AS me. Hasn’t he, Parmi?”
“He has, indeed.” Parmi nodded. “But what about the lad?”
“Let him play himself suitor to the Queen.”
“Stuttering suitor to the Queen,” Gerrig snarled. “I wouldn’t say that around him, Gerrig,”
Pelmen advised. “Not if you fancy keeping your head where it is.”
Gerrig’s eyes widened, then he nodded. “Very well. But I don’t mind telling you all this is making me very nervous! I’m ready to get out of this place.”
“Funny,” said Yona. “You wanted so much to get in.”
“Close it up, Parmi, or 111 stuff this in it!” Gerrig shook his ham-sized fist in Yona’s face, but the round-faced actor Seemed unconcerned.
“Do it and I’ll kick you in the shins,” he replied honestly. Yona had never been a fighter. Nevertheless, his association with Gerrig had at times involved him in unsought, yet unavoidable, altercations. He often got his face punched, but no adversary left a fight with Parmi without tows of blue bruises on each shin. Parmi looked at Pelmen.
“Can we help in any way
“Not yet, my friend. Take care for what you say,” he added. “I think the walls may be listening,” Pelmen then stalked up the stairs toward his tiny cell.
“What did he mean by that?” Gerrig asked. “What does he ever mean?”
Parmi shrugged. “Come on, we have to rewrite a play.”
As Pelmen walked toward the game room a sense of dread built inside him. Something had roused Ligne’s suspicions, and Pelmen wondered if he were walking into the jaws of a trap. There was little he could—
Got you!
Pelmen scrambled around to face the speaker, his heart in his throat.
There was no one behind him.
Not that! Don’t do that!
Pelmen felt a little dizzy. He was hearing words that weren’t words at all. He listened to the fluctuations of temperature in this corridor and comprehended them as thoughts.
Are you blind? Her red column is sitting on your flank!
Drax. The castle was talking the language of Drax, And Pelmen understood it
If the House found any redeeming feature in the vain woman who presently wore the crown, it was her compulsive urge to spend hours at the Drax table. Of course, the game had advanced considerably during the castle’s extended nap. The openings were now far more sophisticated and the end game much more subtle, but it was still the same vicious pastime the castle had enjoyed so long ago. It was fortunate for the occupants of the palace that the board’s shape and the basic moves had not been altered in the last thousand years. The Imperial House was a Drax purist, and would have been enraged at such trifling with perfection,
It was studying an animated match being played by the Queen, her Prime Minister, and one of Ligne’s ladies maids. “Come on,” Ligne goaded the woman. “I’ll loan you the gold!”
“But I’m already so deeply in debt,” the maid protested. “Oh please, my Lady, can’t we just play this game for fun?”
Absurd! the House sniffed. Drax was played for blood and gold not fun. The castle reflected back on ancient games, played with power shapers not so dense as this Fallo-mar fellow.
It chuckled, recalling how one night it had lost one of its gold-inlaid floors, but won it back the following day, along with the wizard’s tunic, vest, and pantsl . Savage game, the Imperial House snickered.
“Ah-ha!” Kherda said with satisfaction, as he made his move and removed a red piece from the triangular table.
Ligne cursed, and her azure eyes devoured the board, searching for a move that would take this sudden pressure off her disc. Kherda always made sure she won, but she inevitably had to work at it. The Prime Minister considered his skill far superior to the Queen’s often it was a difficult task just to avoid winning. Occasionally he daydreamed about actually beating her…
Deliciously wicked! the Imperial House crowed in praise, as Ligne found the soft underbelly of Kherda’s defense and slashed into it with her star. The Queen’s eyes gleamed. She did not hide her glee.
“Fallomar, my Lady,” Pelmen said, ambling into the game room. “At your hand.”
“You took your time, didn’t you, clown?” the Queen said archly. “But no matter. I’m winning.”
“She always wins,” the maid explained, smiling at the jester flirtatiously.
“Indeed, Queens usually do,” Fallomar said.
“Do you play?” Ligne asked, eyes on the board.
“I am a player by profession, my Lady. Does a seamstress sew? Does a sewer man slough?”
“Such a graphic expression!” Ligne smiled, wrinkling her nose at her maid, who giggled merrily. “But do you play games?”
“Life is a game, my mistress, and I am alive, thus I must play it well.”
“Answer me directly,” Ligne said sharply. “Do you play Drax?”
“A penny less player?” he responded, his eyes wide, “Not without a wealthy patron to pay my bills.”
“Then you know the game?”
“Vaguely. Play on, and I’ll watch. You’ll find I pick up new moves quickly.” He winked at the ladies’ maid.
The game had often been described as something akin to a three-sided dagger fight in an alley. With lightning speed,
the pieces whizzed around the board, each move drastically altering the subtle balance of power. It was a game both of cutthroat diplomacy and studied tactics, changing far too rapidly for any player to develop a grand strategy. And it was quickly over, with Ligne the victor. The maid hid her eyes behind her hand.
“How much do you owe me now?” Ligne demanded of her, and the woman shrugged and smiled helplessly in response. “Too much to pay, I realize. And you, Kherda, I suppose you must owe me the entire treasury by this time,”