Part 22 (1/2)

And then she said something that made my blood run cold.

”You could move closer, if you want.”

Oh dear heaven, I thought, I thought, the last thing I want is for her to form an attachment to me. the last thing I want is for her to form an attachment to me. Out loud, I said, ”I'm . . . fine right here.” Out loud, I said, ”I'm . . . fine right here.”

”Very well,” she said, her voice sounding a bit chillier, which was just fine by me. I had no interest in upsetting the status quo between us.

As was my custom, I said, ”Good night. Thank you for not burning the pub down.”

Every night that remark had been met with silence. Tonight, however, she replied, ”You're welcome.” And before I could say anything else, she added, ”And thank you for handling that . . . man. I would have done it, you know. I was going to . . .”

”Yes, I know. And you probably could have.”

”Thank you. But what you did . . . it was very brave.”

”Is that what it was?” was my only response. I guess it really had been brave . . . because it was so b.u.g.g.e.r-all stupid, and if there was one thing I'd come to realize, it was that bravery and b.u.g.g.e.r-all stupidity went hand in hand.

Chapter 18.

I stood over the corpse of the fallen dreaded Warlord Shank, a b.l.o.o.d.y sword in one hand and his head-still dripping from the severed neck-in my other. ”That,” I crowed, ”is what happens to the enemies of King Runcible of Isteria!” stood over the corpse of the fallen dreaded Warlord Shank, a b.l.o.o.d.y sword in one hand and his head-still dripping from the severed neck-in my other. ”That,” I crowed, ”is what happens to the enemies of King Runcible of Isteria!”

Everyone in the great room gasped in amazement and fled before my burgeoning wrath. The only one left there was Entipy, who made loud fluttery noises about how wonderful I was. Then the phoenix flew in through the window, its great wings stirring the tapestries on the wall and knocking over candlesticks and flowery ornaments before settling down in front of us. Then we climbed on its back and flew home.

It was a very pleasant dream, and one that I awoke to with startling regularity over the next several days. I wondered if my ” destiny” was calling to me, but then came to my senses and decided that it was insanity tempting me instead. There was absolutely no way that I was going to stick my neck out at the banquet and make some sort of strike against the warlord. First, the odds were that I would fail. Second, if I did succeed, I'd never make it out alive. And third . . .

Well, there wasn't a third, really. I hadn't seen much point in dwelling on it beyond that.

I did feel the need to caution Entipy, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred times, that we had to be as cautious as possible. Just because we had agreed there was risk involved, that didn't mean we couldn't find ways to minimize that risk.

”You may hear them say things about your father,” I warned her, ”or your mother. Or even about you. Insulting things, false things. It's not uncommon for people who are celebrating to curse the names of their enemies, since it's something they all agree upon and it gives them a degree of satisfaction that they can 'get away' with it since the person being discussed isn't present.”

”I know,” she said.

I continued as if she hadn't spoken. ”You cannot let anyone notice that this bothers you in any way, shape, or form. It will attract attention, and that would be bad. Not bad as in inconvenient, or naughty, but bad as in fatal.”

”I know,” she repeated more forcefully. ”Apropos, of the two things in this world that I do not care about the most, the first is my parents, and the second is what people say about them. As for what they might say about me-they don't know me. And even if they did, well . . .” She shrugged. ”What do they matter?”

It seemed a fairly positive att.i.tude to take. I could only hope that she abided by it.

The only other thing that made me nervous, as I'm sure you can surmise, was the comment about how the warlord tended to dismiss members of his staff rather permanently. Still, if I managed to keep my head low and not dispatch a guest with a skillet, I had no fear that I could avoid any serious problems. I only hoped that Entipy could be counted on to do the same. She was basically something of a wildblade, and having such a person guarding one's back is more than enough to make one very, very edgy.

Marie's disposition had improved not only toward me, but also toward Entipy. The princess maintained her usual reticence around the pub, but Marie eased up on her somewhat as well . . . probably because she believed that Entipy and I were lovers and therefore the new air of courtesy she was affording me extended to the princess. To that end, on the Sunday of the job, she even lent us a Heffer . . . an extremely long-haired horse that was specially bred for the harsh climes of the Outer Lawless regions. Having been given directions, we set off for the castle of the dreaded warlord.

I sat up front on the horse, Entipy behind me. She had her arms draped around me casually in order to hold on. She wasn't doing anything untoward beyond that, which relieved me no end. Her affections were not something I particularly wanted to deal with.

”I didn't burn it down,” she said abruptly. The castle was visible in the distance, or at least the upper towers were. The rest of it was obscured behind a great wall ringing the entire structure. We weren't anywhere close to sunset, but there was a gentle red glow suffusing the horizon.

At first I didn't know what she was talking about. I thought she meant the castle, and then I figured she was referring to the pub. I said nothing, and the only sound to be heard (other than the distant noises of revelry) was the steady clip-clop of the Heffer's hooves.

”The retreat. Where the Faith Women lived. I didn't burn it down.”

I wasn't sure which was more surprising to me: that she'd brought it up out of the blue at all, or that she was claiming not to have done it.

”You didn't,” I said, sounding skeptical.

”No, I didn't,” she repeated.

”The Faith Women seemed to be under the impression that you did.” I didn't even bother to mention the demented smile that she had flashed, which came across-to me, at least-like someone who was extremely dangerous and certainly capable of torching anyone or anything that offended her.

She did that little shoulder shrug of hers. ”I can't help what they think . . . or what you think.”

”You can tell me what happened.”

”Why do you care?”

”I don't. I just . . . wanted something to pa.s.s the time.”

She was silent for a time. I guess she was considering it. Finally she said, ”I didn't cause it. I just . . . didn't stop it. I hated the Faith Women.”

”Why?”

”Because they hated me.”

”Why did they hate you?”

”Because I'm better than they are. People always hate people who are better than they are.”

That one struck a little closer than I would have liked, but I tried not to show it. Instead I said gamely, ”Then by that logic, you hated the Faith Women because they were better than you. At least, that's one possible interpretation.”

She shook her head with a.s.surance. ”No. Sometimes you just hate someone because they're cretins.”

”Ah. I see. And you can distinguish one kind of hatred from the other?”

”Of course. Can't you?”

”All right,” I said, not wanting to get much further into a topic that made me quite that uncomfortable. ”You hated each other. But you didn't burn the place down.”

”No. Instead I prayed to the G.o.ddess for help.”

”Which G.o.ddess would that be?”

”Hecate.”

I knew the name instantly and was not especially cheered. ”Hecate. Isn't she a sort of G.o.ddess of dark magic?”

”She's been known to be,” Entipy replied in a calm, neutral voice that only chilled me more.