“We can’t all be semiliterate baboons like you and your brother,” I responded.
“I can read, so can Garnet.”
“I said semiliterate, not illiterate. Yes, you can read in that ‘see the dog run’ fashion you think is adequate, but it unsettles your stomach, doesn’t it, all that brain juice flowing? And killing things is so much more fun.”
“It’s not about fun-” she began.
“I know,” I interjected, “it’s about principle. It’s about honor and chivalry and sunshine and the forces of light. I heard the litany, Renthrette, so spare me.”
“I’m just verbalizing,” she said. “I thought that was what you liked: words.”
“Thank you,” I muttered bitterly. “You’re a chipper little thing when you’ve got an evening with Sorrail to look forward to, aren’t you?”
“Not just Sorrail,” she said. “The whole court. It will be tremendous. So tremendous that even your presence won’t spoil it for me.”
“Mine?”
“You’re going, too.”
She reached out, brandishing a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax and edged with gold. My name was etched in a curly script marked by so many flourishes that the letters were almost unreadable.
“Your invitation,” she said, staring at me significantly. She didn’t actually say don’t screw this up for us, but it was there in her face. I reached for the envelope and she pulled it fractionally away until I met her eyes and gave a shrug of acknowledgment. Then she gave it to me.
And so were my evening’s plans made. It might even be fun. And, besides, I was still floating slightly on the knowledge that Lisha had trusted me while Garnet and Renthrette didn’t even know she was around. When Renthrette taunted me, it was all I could do not to whistle I know something you don’t know. But I said nothing. It was more fun that way.
In truth, I was faintly relieved. Being at the banquet meant I would be safe and could put off any attempts to break into the library until some less rational hour. Tonight, I thought, I would do my best to enjoy the pleasures of the court by blending in, something that would have been close to impossible were it not for assistance that came from a rather surprising quarter. An hour or so before we were due to go, Garnet appeared at my door with one of those earnest looks in his emerald eyes.
“I’ve brought you something,” he said, kind of sheepishly.
“Come in,” I said, trying to see what he was holding behind him. “What is it?”
Garnet lowered his eyes, hesitated, and, with a sharply intaken breath that suggested both embarrassment and resolve, he whisked a suit of black silk and brocade out from the bag he was clutching. It was adorned with a white lace collar and cuffs-not too flouncy, but enough for elegance-and buttoned with silver. I gave a long, tuneless whistle. “Where did you get this?”
Garnet muttered something and walked over to the window with a nonchalance that was totally unconvincing.
“What?” I said.
“I found it in the town,” said Garnet, fidgeting and looking pointedly out of the window.
“You what?” I said.
“I found it,” said Garnet, looking at me suddenly with something like defiance, “you know, in the town.”
“What, lying around?” I demanded.
“Of course not lying around,” he snapped, irritation clouding his brow.
“You bought it?” I exclaimed.
There was silence for a moment.
“Kind of,” said Garnet, dropping his eyes again and gesturing vaguely so that he knocked a small flower vase off the window ledge. It broke and he instantly stooped to pick up the pieces.
“Kind of?” I repeated. “What does that mean? Did you buy it or not?”
“Yes,” he hissed, not looking up.
“You bought this for me?” I persisted. “Garnet, I didn’t know you cared!”
He looked up, and his usually chalky face was flushed with pink. “Don’t make a big deal of this, Will,” he spluttered. “I got it because you’ll need it for tonight. That’s all. I don’t want you embarrassing yourself. Or us.”
“That’s really very sweet of you.”
He rose quickly and his fingers flexed as if he were looking for the axe he normally wore in his belt. “Listen, Will, don’t start. . ”
“I’m grateful, Garnet. I really am,” I said, honestly. “I’m just surprised that you would think to do this for me. Was it expensive?”
“I got a good deal on it,” he said, a little sulkily.
That I didn’t doubt. He and Renthrette would argue for hours to save the kind of change you find under bar stools. The suit was unlike anything I’d ever worn before, excepting some of the cast-off fashions with which the nobility had supplied the Cresdon theaters. I felt the fabric. It was flawlessly smooth, and the brocade felt like the pelt of a meticulously groomed mink. I grinned at Garnet and he shuffled.
“Thanks, Garnet.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, and meant it in all possible ways.
I changed quickly. The suit was a perfect fit. Garnet had completed the outfit with suitable hose, boots, jewelry, and a tastefully discreet codpiece. I felt like an impostor at first, but I walked up and down a few times and practiced holding one arm crooked while the other hand rested on the pommel of my sword, and the role started to feel more natural. I began to walk slower and straighter, with my head back and my lips curled in a self-satisfied sneer. Soon I was bowing fractionally, practicing delicate little smiles and applauding with two fingers of my right hand against the palm of my left. Garnet rolled his eyes.
“It’s just a suit,” he said. “You’re not supposed to change your entire identity.”
“Rubbish,” I said, admiring myself in a pocket mirror. “I am what I look like. Enter Viscount William, courtier, poet, sophisticate, and lover. This is going to be fun.”
And indeed it was. For a while.
SCENE XVI A Fly in the Ointment
It was, as you might imagine, a glittering affair. The entire court, serving maids, footmen, and nobles, counselors, and the king himself, were all turned out as if panache, elegance, and looking like they had been rolled in something very sticky and then pelted with jewelry would save them from the goblin hordes. As they filed formally into the banquet hall, each one seemed more dazzling than the last, each vying to outsparkle the polished crystal of the great chandeliers with their gold and diamonds. Each wore a paper-thin veil of humility over self-satisfaction verging on smugness, and each dropped their witty words like a king on a balcony casting rubies into the outstretched hands of the peasants below. In seconds the hall was buzzing like some insane beehive, all poetry and studied laughter, clever songs and felt-lined applause. And in the middle of it all, dressed to kill and brandishing his rapier wit and disarming charm, was Sir William Hawthorne.
Well, let’s face it, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s fake pretty much anything. More to the point, what passed for wit and wisdom here was pretty obviously the usual recycled courtly twaddle about beauty, truth, taste, etcetera, and if I couldn’t fake that by now I wasn’t the duplicitous cad I prided myself on being. I had heard it all before and I was sure I could match the best of them. Pretty sure, anyway.
Now, there may be a handful of people out there who live for bad love poetry and dressing up as lovelorn and unfeasibly wealthy shepherdesses, but I’m banking that they’re few and far between, so I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about the wonderful costumes and the wonderful speeches and the wonderful songs and the wonderful smiles that were smiled so wonderfully at the wonderful poems. To those few of you who thrive on this kind of saccharine and overpolished pigs’ offal, my apologies. Here, then, are the salient facts, unadorned by satin and pearls.