She nodded. "He has heard your tale."

"And he's going to attack Meander?"

"No. He is doubling the number of patrols, to keep an eye on Meander and prevent matters from getting too out of hand. But he is not going to strike against the Vagabond King."

"Because he doesn't give a d.a.m.n about the life of one lousy wh.o.r.e."

"That is one way to view it," she admitted. "However, I am curious as to whether you've ever seen the result of a war with Meander." When I shook my head, she continued, "Devastation. Entire towns laid waste. Meander's consistent plan of attack is one predicated on total chaos, and much of that chaos spills over onto the helpless citizens of the land. I sympathize with you for your loss, Apropos. But is going to war over your mother worth the loss of lives that many other parents-and their children-will suffer?"

Her gentle voice, when putting the matter in that way, seemed to make eminent sense for some reason. There was none of the arrogance and preaching that was characteristic of the way that Justus had put it. Or maybe I was just viewing her with a lack of negative att.i.tude.

"Well?" she urged.

Her statement hadn't seemed to need a response, but since she pressed me for one, I found myself nodding regretfully. "I . . . suppose there's nothing to be gained from further loss of life. But-"

"But you still burn with a desire for justice or vengeance."

" 'Or'? They're the same thing, aren't they?"

"That," she said, "is a debate for another day." She was sitting on a small chair and she placed the cloth back in the basin. Then she leaned forward, her fingers interlaced. "Am I correct in a.s.suming that you have no plan for the rest of your life?"

"Well . . . nothing definite . . ." I admitted.

"The king is prepared to offer you a position as a squire."

"A squire." I looked at her askance. "That's absurd. You're mad, woman."

"Am I?"

"Yes!" Shaking my head, I informed her, "Squires are sons of n.o.blemen. Landed, t.i.tled individuals. I am Apropos of Nothing, as you so kindly reminded me. I stand to inherit nothing except whatever dirt I'm buried in when I die. No one is going to allow me to be a squire."

"The king was impressed by what he heard and saw," Bea said, appearing quite certain of herself. "You were brave and resourceful, standing up to Sir Justus and Sir Coreolis in a way that even the healthiest and stoutest of individuals would have hesitated to emulate. And you did so while you were ill."

"The illness clouded my judgment. That is all."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you have potential that you do not suspect."

My head thudded back onto the pillow. "Oh, G.o.ds, you sound like my mother. And what would be the purpose of my becoming a squire, even if such an impossible thing were, in fact, possible."

"The purpose would be that you would be trained. You would learn the ways of true soldiers. You would-if you were clever, brave, and smart enough-rise through the ranks. You would acquire friends and influence all your own. You would, in time, become more than a match for the evil individual who deprived your mother of her life. And at that point, you would be able to seek him out yourself and take your vengeance upon him."

"But you speak of a time years hence. Meander and his men could be anywhere by then."

"That is true," she allowed. "And that is indeed part of it. After all, if you track him down over land and water as a freelance, take him down and kill him . . . that would be so far removed from Isteria that it could not rebound against us. I admit, it would be a challenge for you. But only you can know: Are you the type who shrinks from a challenge, Apropos?"

I started to think about it. In point of fact, I had very little to lose. Considering the huge and boisterous point I had so foolishly made of "refusing" the money that had been offered me, the notion of now taking the funds was anathema to me. The sneering looks of contempt I would get from the knights, the validation they would receive for their own arrogant view of the lowborn . . . it grated on me fiercely.

"No," I said, sounding far more confident than I felt. "I am not the type who shrinks from challenges."

"Then it is settled," and she slapped her open hands on her thighs as if indeed there wasn't a single other thing that could possibly be discussed. "You will be given lodgings with the other squires. They will be instructed to treat you in all matters as their equal. You will be a.s.signed a knight who will be your mentor. You will learn and grow. You will become skilled and knowledgeable in matters of honor, and in time, you will discover your destiny."

I moaned softly. There was that d.a.m.ned word again.

But even as I heard it, I recalled the tapestry that hung on the wall, the one of a rider astride a phoenix. I asked her about it.

"That?" she said. "That tapestry was woven by a farweaver, years ago."

That indeed caught my full attention. True farweavers-magic users who depicted scenes of the future with the combined skills of their hands and their sight-were among the rarest of all weavers. "And . . . what is it supposed to signify?" I asked.

"The coming of the greatest hero. The one who shall rule over all Isteria . . . indeed, some believe over all the known world, and unite the kingdoms into a golden age." She c.o.c.ked her head and looked at me with amused interest. "Why? Think you that you are that great hero?"

"Me?" I laughed. "Madam, if I am a great hero, you are the queen of Isteria."

There was a knock at the chamber door. I saw that there was a woman-in-waiting standing near the door, but she made no move to open it. Instead she looked at Beatrice, clearly waiting for some sort of instruction. Obviously Beatrice was the head of the housekeeping staff. "Come," called Beatrice.

The door swung open and the king entered, his great purple cape sweeping about him lightly on the floor.

The chamber woman immediately went down to one knee, bowing her head in the appropriate response. Since I was already reclining, and in a sickbed at that, protocol did not require that I immediately genuflect.

Beatrice, to my astonishment, rose to her feet and simply stood there, her hands placed daintily one atop the other, as she smiled at the king and nodded once in acknowledgment. The king crossed the room, took her hands in his, and gently kissed them on the knuckles. "How fares the young sir whose mouth outstrips his prudence?"

Confused, I said, "I . . . I . . . fine, Highness . . ."

Beatrice told him, "I had given him your offer, milord. He seems a bit . . . skeptical. Perhaps," and she showed her pure white teeth, "perhaps he believes that a mere woman would not be privy to the king's offers or business."

He looked taken aback, although he reacted in such a mannered way that it was clear he was feigning outrage. "Say you what? He doubts the word of the queen herself? A saucy lad, this one."

"The . . ." I looked from one to the other as if they were tossing a ball back and forth between themselves. "The . . . the queen?"

"Queen Bea, at your service, squire," she said, and curtsied slightly.

"At my my service?!" I was totally flummoxed, and now felt the need to leap to my feet and try and show proper respect. Unfortunately, leaping wasn't exactly my forte. Furthermore, since I'd been lying unmoving for so long, most of my muscles were rather flaccid. So in my rush to try and display respect, all I wound up doing was tumbling weakly to the floor. service?!" I was totally flummoxed, and now felt the need to leap to my feet and try and show proper respect. Unfortunately, leaping wasn't exactly my forte. Furthermore, since I'd been lying unmoving for so long, most of my muscles were rather flaccid. So in my rush to try and display respect, all I wound up doing was tumbling weakly to the floor.

"Very dignified," said Runcible, shaking his head.

Queen Bea automatically reached down to help me up, but I waved her off and Runcible, gently, but firmly, took her elbow to indicate to her that she should let me be. Slowly, summoning all the willpower I had at my disposal, I forced myself to stand. I was wavering slightly as I did so, but at least I wasn't on my back. I was bare-chested, but I endeavored not to be deterred by my partial state of undress, even in the presence of the monarchs of the state of Isteria. I lowered my gaze so I was not staring either of them straight in the face. I had the uncanny feeling, however, that the queen was smiling.

"May I be so bold as to ask," I queried, still without looking up, "why the queen herself would be tending to my bedside?"

"Because it amused me to do so," she replied. "And believe it or not, Apropos, one of the main endeavors for a queen is to find ways of distracting herself from the boredom that is so frequently a part of her station."

Not caring particularly about matters that were concerning me, Runcible asked brusquely, "Is he accepting my offer, yea or nay?"

I snuck a glance in their direction, and saw that Queen Bea was looking at me expectantly.

"I would be ten times of an ingrate, Your Highness, were I to turn away from such a tremendous opportunity to learn and grow."

"Indeed," said Runcible. "She did mention the counteroffer . . . ?"

"Counteroffer?" I looked at her in puzzlement. She shrugged.

"Yes," continued Runcible. "Twenty dukes if you simply leave. That is nearly twice the amount you were offered."

I felt my throat closing up. Nearly twice as much. I would have no problems, ever again. It was . . .

It was . . .

It was too perfect. Too pat.

As much as I wanted to lay claim to the coins-as happy as I would have been to take them and get the h.e.l.l out of there-something stopped me. And that something was suspicion. It was too easy, too d.a.m.ned easy.

I bowed slightly at the waist and said, "Thank you . . . no. I will not sell my mother's memory. It would not be . . . honorable," I said, faking sincerity with great elan.

Beatrice nodded approvingly. "Well said, squire. I have no doubt that, had you tossed aside the opportunity to become a squire to the great knights of good king Runcible-taking instead the empty comfort of money-my majestic husband would have-"

"Thrown you out with nothing in your pocket save your hands," Runcible was gracious enough to conclude for her. "Welcome, squire." That was all he said, and then he turned and walked out of the room. He paused, however, just before he left, and said six words that struck cold to my spine: "Report to Sir Justus for a.s.signment."

It was at that point that I was prepared to pull my clothes on and sneak out of the castle through the nearest exit, wherever that might be.

But then I envisioned the conversation that must have gone on between the king, or the queen, and Justus. You know that young fellow who nearly sliced off your privates, Justus? The one who made you look like a fool? Well, we've decided to put him on the training track toward knighthood. You know that young fellow who nearly sliced off your privates, Justus? The one who made you look like a fool? Well, we've decided to put him on the training track toward knighthood.

Oh, how Justus must have paled. How disconcerted by that news he must have been. But . . . but Your Majesty, But . . . but Your Majesty, he probably stammered, he probably stammered, you cannot be serious! He is lowborn! He is a threat to our sanctimonious little club! Why, for all I know, he's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of somebody right here at the castle! Perhaps even my own little b.a.s.t.a.r.d! you cannot be serious! He is lowborn! He is a threat to our sanctimonious little club! Why, for all I know, he's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of somebody right here at the castle! Perhaps even my own little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

What care I for your indiscretions, the king would have replied. the king would have replied. I have given you an order, Sir Justus, and you will disobey it only at your extreme peril! I have given you an order, Sir Justus, and you will disobey it only at your extreme peril!

My, what a lovely little chat that must have been.

I could always depart the palace at some other time. Granted, there were guards, but I could likely slip out without much difficulty. This, on the other hand . . . this had the promise of providing amus.e.m.e.nt. No matter how much Sir Justus would bl.u.s.ter and complain, the bottom line was that he had to a.s.sign me to a knight, who would serve as mentor to me. For a moment my blood ran cold as the notion occurred to me that he might hold on to me himself, or perhaps-even worse-toss me over to Sir Coreolis. But somehow, I didn't think he would. If he were out for vengeance, I doubted he would do something quite that overt. In fact, he'd probably a.s.sign me to one of the better knights of the realm, someone for whom there'd be no excuse if I failed to succeed in my efforts.

I was certain that was to be the case.

More fool I.

I had never seen a knight quite like Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions.

To say that he was not what I was expecting would be to understate it. In truth, I hadn't been entirely certain what to expect when-sufficiently recovered from my illness-I had been conducted to the magistrate chambers of Sir Justus.

Justus was seated behind a very wide and impressive desk. This was clearly where he conducted private business, and when I was ushered into his presence, at first he gave me not so much as a glance. Instead he appeared to be totally involved in reading some piece of parchment. Truthfully, I had no idea whether the paper was really that d.a.m.ned interesting, or whether he was simply keeping me standing in order to try and annoy me. In either event, I gave no sign that I was remotely inconvenienced. Instead I simply leaned on my staff and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. If he was out to ignore me, he could probably keep it up all day. Then again, so could I, and besides, I was used to being ignored.

But the silence only lasted a minute or so, and then Sir Justus put the paper down and looked up at me. "Well, well . . . Squire Apropos. I am told you will be staying with us for some time."

"So I was told as well, milord."

"I think 'sir' will do at this point, rather than 'milord.' " He seemed to consider the situation a moment, and then rested his hands flat on the table. "Obviously, squire, we got ourselves off on the wrong foot . . . no offense," he amended, casting a glance at my infirmity.

"None taken, sir," I replied. No reason not to be magnanimous.

"We are all on the same side, after all. Nothing is to be served by carrying a grudge, eh?"

"I would like to think not, sir."

"It's settled, then," said Justus, and he certainly made it sound as if it were indeed settled. He even smiled in what appeared to be a most sincere manner. "So . . . if you are to be a squire here, then naturally you will need to be a.s.signed to a knight who is, in turn, in need of a squire. Correct?"

"That is my understanding, sir."

"Well, as it so happens," and he leaned forward, gloved fingers interlaced, looking quite pleased to be pa.s.sing the information on to me, "I have just the knight in mind for you. One of the most experienced in the king's service. Been with him for years, in fact. Years and years."

"And he does not presently have a squire?"

He sighed heavily, seeming a bit downcast that the subject had been broached. "Regretfully, no. Not at present. He is rather hard on them, I'm afraid."

I should have expected as much. Justus was going to a.s.sign me to a taskmaster. Someone who he was sure would be able to break me. Well, I might just have a surprise or two for them up my sleeve. It was just like Justus and his ilk to believe that I would be disposed of that easily. I would not leave until such time that I chose to. "You mean he's demanding of them?"

"Oh. No, not at all. They just, well . . ." and he shrugged apologetically, "have a habit of getting killed . . . usually in his defense."

"What?" I didn't quite understand . . . but then, a few moments later, I did.

For there was a clanking behind me that sounded more like tumbling chunks of armor spilling from a closet than the approach of a genuine knight who was fit to wear them. I turned and gawked at one of the most extraordinary knights I had ever seen.

He had thick white hair that grew from his head in all directions, as if it had exploded from his scalp. He sported a long white beard as well. His armor might once have fitted him properly, but apparently he had shrunk over time, and now seemed a bit lost in his own suit. He had tired eyes and a general air of fatigue about him. He was taller than I, but probably weighed about half of what I did. His sword hung low off his belt, his scabbard dragging on the floor, and consequently he was able to use his sword as a sort of walking stick, for he angled the hilt and leaned upon the scabbard every few feet to pull himself along.

"I give to you Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions," Justus said proudly. "Sir Umbrage . . . your new squire."

Umbrage licked his chapped lips and stared at me with tilted head. When he spoke, it was with a voice that was reedy and quavering. For a moment the sound of it startled him slightly. He seemed surprised that he was still capable of speech.

"New squire?" he said, blinked at his own voice, and then continued, "What happened to my old squire?"

"You remember." Sir Justus came around the desk and touched Umbrage gently on the arm. "That rather ugly business with the Blue Knight of the Marsh." He looked at me and half-whispered, as if Umbrage were not in the room, "Poor devil. Never seen a human being cut into quite that many pieces before. But at least," and he raised his voice for the latter part of the sentence, "at least Sir Umbrage got away."

"At least I did," said Umbrage agreeably, and then looked at Justus. "Away from what?"

"We have to talk, sir," I said from between gritted teeth.

"We are talking," Justus pointed out reasonably.

"Don't you have someone who's a bit . . ." I tried to find the most delicate word I could, and finally settled on " . . . younger?"

"Certainly you're not thinking of turning down this a.s.signment," Justus said in mock horror, overplaying it just enough that there was no longer the slightest chance of misunderstanding between us. This a.s.signment was not remotely coincidence. I had underestimated him, however: He had not chosen to a.s.sociate me with a brutal or difficult knight. Instead he'd tied me to an incompetent one.

"It had crossed my mind," I said in a flat tone.

Justus squared his shoulders and turned to face me. "Sir Umbrage is one of the king's oldest and proudest allies. I will grant you that he is not what he once was, but in his prime, no one could touch him. I have considered the options very carefully before deciding to a.s.sign you to the fine care of Sir Umbrage. I a.s.sure you, squire, that if you should turn down this offer, it will be nothing short of an insult to the king. And the king has very little patience where insults to his honor are concerned."

"But . . . but I . . ." For once my normally glib tongue was at a loss.

"There will be no 'buts,' squire. If you do not desire the king to take offense, then you will have to take Umbrage. Do I make myself clear?"

Slowly I nodded. I was completely boxed in. "Yes, sir."