Part 21 (1/2)
The squire came in and said that the bonesetter was not to be found. Gaston sent him for his surgeon. Dewar stared at the mica-paned lantern and sipped mechanically at the wine, fighting the coldness of his wet clothes.
”Of what did Prospero speak?” Gaston asked softly, when the squire had gone.
”Oh, all kinds of things. You. War. Her. Suchlike gossip.” Dewar drank again, suddenly nervous. Thinking about Aie made him perspire at the best of times. He emptied his gla.s.s and rubbed his hands over his face. The bruise just tingled now.
Sorcerer and a Qtntieman 191.
”Her?”
”He knew her. Knows her. Seems like her kind of fellow. My dear, dear mother.”
”Why, who's she?” Gaston tried.
”Thought I told you. Odile of Aie. Most dangerous woman in the universe, Oren used to say. Did you never hear of Aie?” Curious: this time when he said her name, there came no stabbing fear. Had he lost that with the geas?
Gaston prompted quickly, ”So th'art from Aie?”
”Left as soon as I could,” Dewar said, yawning, leaving his eyes closed, dozing an instant and snapping upright as he began to slump, glaring at the Fireduke. ”What's in this? Is this one of your exotic soporifics?”
”Nay, nay. Pure fruit-essence, nothing more. Tis nigh to dawn; th'art weary. So Prospero knows Odile.”
Dewar shuddered. ”Yes, it seems so. He behaved very bizarrely. Said he wanted to know when I was born. Guess he wanted to cast my horoscope.”
”What didst tell him?”
”I gave him a broad answer so he couldn't. I'm not stupid. Then he wanted to know where I studied and all kinds of things, and when I didn't answer he dismissed me. With his cindered little ignis.” Dewar slumped in the chair, clumsily turning the tumbler in his dull fingers. ”Said we'd meet again, and he'll tell me of my ancestry . . . Has he always been so eccentric?”
”Aye,” Gaston said, and poured a little more into Dewar's gla.s.s. ”Didst know he knew thy mother?”
”No. I dough nidea. I'd no idea. I must have walked a score of miles tonight. In the dark. d.a.m.n' bug. Prospero. Wine at dinner was good, though. Humph.” He sipped, emptied the gla.s.s again in two swallows, and slouched further, eyes closing without interruption. He was so tired. Gaston wouldn't mind if he just rested for a moment.
Gaston watched Dewar's face relax, the courtier and sorcerer leaving it, weary youth remaining. Why had Prospero released him?
192 -3 'E&zaBeth. 'Wittey His hands, his hands were gone, become hooves-his tongue was thick and unlimber-a frightened bleat began in his chest, and his body jerked. Awake, Dewar stared down at his body. His body. Not the other. Bandages around his hands, mittening them. The bandages had set off the nightmare. He looked around him, unsure where he was. He couldn't recall returning to his tent. No, this wasn't his tent. Armor hung on a stand beside the tent-flap- It was- Sun above, it was Gaston's. He was in the squires' anteroom. What had he done? he wondered, and he moved and felt his foot twinge. It brought the night's events back to him. There was a note pinned to his jacket, which was on a stool beside the bed, his boots underneath. See me. G.
Prince Gaston had helped him out of the ditch and brought him back here. Yes. Dewar had fallen asleep before the surgeon had tied up his foot, though. Gaston's d.a.m.ned inflammable intoxicant had knocked him out and left him with a tooth-aching headache.
He should have known better than to drink anything the Fireduke swallowed without cutting it with nine parts water; Gaston's gullet seemed to volatilize the strongest distillations. Dewar made a disgusted sound and threw aside the blankets with which he'd been tucked up. His own cloak was on top of the pile, brushed, and he reached for it. The surgeon had cleaned and lightly bandaged his hands. He lifted them, staring: thumbs, fingers, wrists-all there, covered with smooth human skin and linen, not the hooves and hide of his nightmare. Dewar pushed the dream from him: it was over, gone. Another bandage was around his head. He didn't recall being that badly hurt, but when he put his feet on the floor and felt the bruises along his body wake up, he thought that he might have been very lucky not to break his neck.
Respectful of his aches, he pulled on his boots and gloves.
The bandage made the left boot fit tightly, but the tightness supported him better, and Dewar was able to walk, limping slightly.
One of Prince Gaston's pages ran up to him as he lifted Sorcerer and a QentCeman 193.
the tent flap and stepped outside, a boy with glossy, evenly-cut hair and an unbroken, piping voice.
”Lord Dewar, Prince Gaston's respects, and he'd like to see you.”
”Yes, he left a note,” Dewar said. ”Is he free?” ”I'll take you to him, sir,” the page offered-Dewar shrugged and nodded.
Gaston stood at one side of the practice ground, arms folded, watching one of his sergeants put a tough-looking group of Golias's men through a formation drill. The page ran ahead to the Prince Marshal and tugged at his sleeve, speaking to him; Gaston looked down, nodded, and left the sidelines to join Dewar, who was leaning against an oak-tree up on a low rise. The page ran off on some other errand.
”How boots thy foot?”
”I think it will be all right. I don't even remember the surgeon.”
” Twas Gernan. Hast cracked a small bone belike, but 'tis not significant an thou favor it.”
”Thank you for picking me up.” Dewar smiled. ”What did you want to see me about?”
Gaston's eyes flicked over his face. He stood on the lower side of the slope, so that the difference in their heights was eliminated, and he was eye-to-eye with Dewar. ”Last night didst thou tell a curious tale, and I'd be sure I heard aright.”
Dewar lifted his eyebrows expectantly, hiding a sinking feeling.
”Thou saidst Prospero was acquainted with thy mother.”
Had he said that? To Gaston? Dewar supposed he must have. ”That's what he told me.”
”Lord Dewar, canst thou repeat his words exact?” The Prince kept his voice casual and friendly.
”I can, but I don't know if I care to do so,” Dewar said.
Gaston bit his lip. ”I ask not to idly pry, Lord Dewar.”
Dewar gave him a closed look of veiled hostility. Gaston did nothing accidental; Dewar was certain he'd been given the strongest liquor the Marshal had, to loosen his tongue.
194 -^.
”I'm sure you don't. I consider the conversation a professional encounter not pertinent to anyone else. Is that all? I've work to do.”
”Dewar!” The Marshal caught his arm-he did not want Dewar to be angered by his questions, yet he felt he must have the answers, or partial answers if the whole truth could not be told. ”Where lieth Aie?”
Dewar began to answer and stopped; Gaston's urgency was familiar to him from other places, other times. What had he said of Aie? Nothing, he hoped; nothing, he was certain, for he loathed the place sincerely. ”I'll do you the favor of never telling you, Prince Gaston,” he said softly, and shook his head.
” Tis in Phesaotois?” guessed Gaston.
Dewar blinked.
”I'm correct.”
”Yes. Prince Gaston-”
”I've no plan of faring thither.”
”Gaston-”
”Dewar.”
”Look, I-”