“Well, that tells you what that hooraw was on the road. Must have been Quench trying to get you there without your knowing.”
I didn’t answer him. I was too angry with myself. I went back to the message. Riddle and Quench were being brought to the Bright Demesne together with some others of those who had escaped from the holocaust of the magicians. Riddle had decided he needed help of some kind, and so on and so on. Peter was to feel free to go on to the north if he liked. They sent their affectionate regards.
“Why,” I grated at Chance, “why did Riddle do that to me? I would have helped him if he’d asked me. Why! I can’t believe he’s an evil man.”
“Well, if you won’t believe him evil, then think up a reason why he’s not.”
That was Chance. Think of a reason. Before I had a chance to think of anything, we heard someone outside the door and Chance eased himself out with vague words about breakfast as Queynt oozed himself in.
“Well, young sir, so quick to place orders among kitchen staff? Hardly an instant, and breakfast ordered already? Ah, but what it is to be young! Isn’t that so? Enormous energy, enormous strength, eat like a fustigar and sleep like a bunwit when one is young. One might ask why not wait to order breakfast until supper has been consumed. One might ask that, but Vitior Vulpas Queynt will not. No! Queynt has learned that each man has his oddities, oh, my yes. Ha-ha. Oddities, which if not questioned can be safely overlooked, but if mentioned must be dealt with, considered, judged! Isn’t that so? Now, your tub, young sir, and me off to mine in the instant. Below us, supper soon awaits our pleasure.”
He beamed at me and was gone, giving way to three struggling servitors, one bearing a tub on his back like some kind of half metallic turtle, the other two laden with tall ewers of water, one hot, one cold. All was set down and poured into and arranged to my satisfaction (to my annoyance, rather) before they trooped out to be succeeded by others bearing towels. I had never been so overserved in my life. Whether King Kelver was responsible or Vitior Queynt, I desired most heartily that all of them would leave me alone for a time.
But when I was scarce out of the tub — which the same servitors had come to haul away with much gesticulation and pour with loud shouting down some drain or other — the door was again tap-tapped and Jinian opened it a crack to whisper whether I were dressed or not. I told her I was not, but she came in anyhow. I was decent enough in the towel — more decent than we had been together several times on the road.
“My, you are in a temper,” she said, seating herself on the bed and arranging her flounces. “Silkhands made me dress up. She said otherwise would be an affront to the King.”
“I am not in a temper,” I growled. “I am perfectly all right.”
She widened her eyes, played with her hair with one finger, fluttered and pouted. “Oh, ta-ta, Gamesman, but if you go on in this way, I will think I have offended you.” She laughed, a high, affected little titter, then spoiled the effect by sneezing with laughter. I could not help it, but laughed with her.
“No,” she went on. “You are in a temper. Do you know why?”
“Not really,” I growled, “except that Queynt is too sudden an addition to our journey, and Silkhands seems too ready to trust him. She has told him too much, I think. He knew I was a Shifter, though I am not dressed so. He knew we were being hunted. How else did he know but Silkhands told him? She knows better!”
“Put not yourself in another’s hands,” agreed Jinian. “But she may not have done. You know, Peter, I don’t think Silkhands wants to go on with you to Waeneye.”
I felt my face turn red. “Nonsense. Of course she does. She’s a little tired just now, but Silkhands would not let me go on alone to solve this thing.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she said, her voice breaking a little at sight of my face. “She would rather not go.”
“I have known Silkhands for years,” I said, stiffly, and even more angrily. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to attempt to tell me what my friends would or would rather not do as it concerns me. If Silkhands did not want to go to Waeneye, she would tell me. She has not told me. Has she told you?”
“No. Not in so many words.”
“Not in any words,” I asserted, slamming my hand down on the sill and hurting the thumb. This made me angrier still. “You are very young, Jinian. I’m afraid you do not understand the situation at all.” The last person I had heard use these honeyed tones was Laggy Nap, trying to poison me.
She did not answer. When I turned at last, it was to see a tear hanging on the fringe of her eyelashes, but she still regarded me steadily, even though her voice shook a little. “No. Perhaps I don’t.” And she turned to leave the room. In the door, she turned. “However, Peter, it was not that I came to talk to you about. I came to say it is easy to stop listening to Queynt. He talks so very much, to so little purpose. One stops hearing him. However, it would be wise for us to listen to him carefully at all times.” And she shut the door behind her, leaving me with my mouth open.
Oh, the ice and the wind and the seven devils, I said to myself. Now why did you do that?
You did that, I answered me, because Jinian is right. Silkhands does not want to go to Waeneye. Moreover, she does not want to journey like this at all. Moreover, her eyes when she looks at King Kelver are calm and considering, like the eyes of a cook choosing fresh vegetables for a banquet on which his reputation will rest. And the time when you and Silkhands might have been lovers is gone, Peter, and that is why you are angry.
That, at least, had the virtue of being true, whether I liked it or not, and I did not. Still, Windlow had seen me in the northlands with Silkhands. So what would she do now?
I could not make my face happy when I went down to the supper which King Kelver had arranged. I bowed to Jinian and apologized for my bad temper. Her lips smiled in response, but there was something distant and dignified in her eyes. So. We went in to dinner.
We had sausage grole, of course. Anyone within fifty leagues of Learner will eat sausage grole. I do not remember what else we ate. I do remember Chance being much in evidence, in and out of the room, directing this or that servitor; platters in, soup bowls out, flagons in, dessert bowls out. There were candles on the table. I saw Silkhands’ face, dazzled in the light, rosy, laughing eyes turned toward the King. I saw Jinian’s as well, hearty, simple, regarding me from time to time under level brows. Then we were drinking wineghost from tiny, purple vessels which were only glass though they could have been carved from jewels the way they broke the light, and the King was speaking.
“We are all well met, new friends all, and I have a wish that this friendship be not cut short without good reason. Therefore, as you go toward Learner on this journey you have set yourself” (and I wondered what Silkhands had told him), “we of the Dragon’s Fire Purlieu beg your consent to accompany you.” He smiled directly at me. “You will not forbid me, young sir?”
I nodded my courteous permission, gnashing my teeth privately. If there had been any better kept secret, the whole world seemed to know of it now, and it would be difficult to do anything secretly with such a mob gathered about us. Not to be outdone in courtesies, Queynt was talking.
“Ah, how generous an offer, King Kelver. How generous an offer and how kind an intent! Why, I have not seen such courtesy since the time of Barish, when courtesy was an art and sign of true refinement. Things change throughout the centuries, isn’t that so? But courtesy remains the same, today as in any century past.”
I would not have heard him except for Jinian’s warning. As it was, only Jinian and I did hear him. He had not seen such courtesy since the time of Barish, eh? And where had he been in all that time? Was he a dreamer? Madman? Mocker? Or a Gamesman with a deeper Game than we knew? His eager little eyes were upon me, and I let my face seem as slack and wine-flushed as the rest.