you," he said, "and so is His Majesty. He
sends his thanks and his congratulations."
He would have done if he had thought of it.
Nor did Durendal's face give away
anything when he returned to the party that was rapidly
turning his quarters into a rook's nest--not even
to Kate, who could usually read his features through
an oak door, and who at last sight had been
wearing the gold chain he was seeking but was not wearing
it now. He summoned her with a glance. Frowning,
she came squirming through the merrymakers to reach
him. He backed out to the corridor. At close
quarters she sensed the absence of his binding and lit
up with a smile like a fanfare of bugles.
They hugged.
"At last you're mine!" she said. "And I am
Baroness Kate?"
"And Countess Kate after the next dubbing."
"Oh?"
"He made me chancellor."
Her smile wavered. She tried to hide her
feelings behind coquetry, which she was never good at.
"I shall need a whole new wardrobe!"
"If that's all it takes to compensate you, then
I'm a far luckier man than I deserve."
He kissed her, wondering what he had ever done
to deserve such a woman. "Can you forgive
me?"
Someone roared his name, the old name he had been
so proud to bear.
Her smile was back--a little thinner, but very
fond. "Forgive? I am bursting with pride. You
wouldn't be the man I love if you'd refused
him. Can I wear the chain sometimes?"
"Only in bed."
"That sounds a little bizarre."
"Wait and see--we'll both wear it."
Even his bedroom was packed with revelers, so
he could not shed his Guard livery yet. He gave
the party a few more minutes, then slipped away
again and plodded off in search of his predecessor,
whom he found alone in his office, setting heaps
of papers in rows on the desk. For once--perhaps
because he was stooped or because the room was dim--his
flaxen hair made him seem old. He looked
up with a smile and lifted the chain from his shoulders.
"You knew!" Durendal said with relief. "You
might have given me a hint!"
The ex-chancellor shook his head. "I
guessed, that's all."
"You put him up to this!"
"I swear I did not. We never discussed it.
You are the obvious choice. There just isn't
anyone else he would consider for a moment. Here."
He set the chain around Durendal's neck.
"Suits you. Congratulations."
"Condolences are more in order."
"Oh, you'll be a great chancellor, but I
admit that there is a sense of relief." He
sighed contentedly. "I've had seven years of
it--he's drained me." He was showing no
bitterness, no regret. He had always had
grace. "I was terrified he'd appoint some
birdbrain aristocrat. Oh, by the way, that chain
is gilded copper, not gold. Make sure the
receipt you give Chancery for it says so, just in
case someone accuses you of embezzlement one
day."
"You're joking!"
Montpurse chuckled. "Some of our
predecessors fell into even sleazier traps
than that. Now, I've sorted these by urgency.
Start at this end." He waved his successor
to his own chair and took another. "Let's
see. What isn't in here? What's too
secret to be written down? Well, as one
ex-Blade to another, let me warn you
about Princess Malinda."
Durendal wondered how soon he could
resign. Would half an hour be too short a
term? "You are telling me that the King's children are
my concern now?"
"Everything is your concern now," Montpurse
said cheerfully. "She's sixteen and has her
daddy's temper only more so. The sooner you can
get her judiciously married off, the better."
Amen to that! Durendal had already had some
clashes with Princess Malinda, but if
Montpurse had not heard about those, then he need
not be troubled with the information now. He was a free
man.
"And there's the war," the free man said.
"There's only one way to stop that, of course."
Durendal realized that he knew very little about the
Baelish War. The council never discussed it.
"Which is?"
Montpurse gave him a long stare. "You
don't know that story?" He spoke more softly
than before. "No hints, even?"
"I haven't a clue what you're talking
about."
"Ambrose started it. The whole bloody
Baelmark disaster is all his fault. I'm
astonished it hasn't leaked out by now." He
smiled, a smile much like his old smiles.
"Well, Lord Chancellor, in this case what you
don't know won't hurt you. Keep as far away
from that whole Fire Lands business as you can.
Perhaps, but only perhaps, it will end when Ambrose
is ready to make a groveling apology to King
Radgar. He knows that, but I've never had the
courage to suggest it. Good luck there."
"I am not qualified for this! You have tact
and--"
"But you have courage, friend, which matters more. That's
what he needs--someone to tell him the truth when
he's wrong and save him from himself. You're the
man." Montpurse leaned back with a smile.
"Anything I can do to make the transition easier,
of course, just ask. I'll be glad to help all
I can. But there is one more thing I must warn you
about."
Durendal fingered the accursed chain. "All
right, tell me the worst."
The buttermilk eyes were guarded. "We've
been friends a long time."
"Flames, yes! Ever since that
night I gave you your sword and you came and
thanked me--you realize how long ago that was?
And when I was a green Blade, just come to court.
... I disgraced myself and everyone else fencing with the
King. You could have slaughtered me and you didn't.
And what you did for me when the Marquis--What's
wrong? Why even mention it?"
There was sorrow in Montpurse's smile--and
amusement, of course, and appeal, perhaps. "Because
Parliament will have my head."
"No!"
"Or the King will. Be quiet and listen.
Princes are not easy to serve. They in turn
serve their realms, and realms are without mercy.
One of the first things you will have to do is--"
"I'll stuff this damned chain down his throat
first!"
"No you won't. I did the same to Centham.
Will you button up your lip a minute?
Ambrose has made a mistake, several
mistakes, but kings can't make mistakes. They
all have to be my fault. A chancellor's job
is to bear brunts."
"Kromman--"
"Kromman wins this round. He's too
insignificant to blame." The ice-blue eyes
seemed
to darken for a moment. "Never take your
eyes off that one, friend! Remember that Ambrose
loves to yoke the ox and the ass together and play them
off against each other. But you can handle Kromman.
Parliament is another matter."
"I won't be a party--"
"You'll do what the King needs. I tell you that
it is your duty, that I bear no malice, that I
did the same thing myself. May chance preserve you
when your day comes, brother!"
Durendal felt ill. "Fire and death,
man! If that's what's in the wind, then we've
got to get you out of the country, and fast!"
Montpurse shook his head resignedly.
"No. I swore long ago to give my life for
him, and this may be the way I have to do it. It will
give him a fresh start, and you also. Parliament will
simmer down once it has tasted blood. Now
I'm going to go home and tell my family the good
news. The bad news will come when it comes." He
rose and offered a hand. His palm was dry, his
grip firm, his gaze steady. "You'll see they
don't suffer too much, won't you?"
Many a fencing bout was decided by the first appel.
Some instinct told Durendal that he would never
meet the King's standards as first minister unless he
began with a decisive move. He had everything
to learn about fighting in this new arena, he had huge
amounts of backlog to absorb, and suddenly the
days were a third shorter than they had been--he
must waste the nights in sleeping. Nevertheless, he
had attended every meeting of the Privy Council for
more than five years. He knew the King, he
knew the issues, and he felt very confident when
he presented himself for his first formal audience as
chancellor.
He had to wait more than an hour for it to begin,
because the river had frozen over. His Majesty was
off roistering at a court skating party, complete
with an orchestra and marquees set up on the
ice. Ale was being mulled, chestnuts roasted, and
whole oxen turned on spits. The former commander
wondered how many of the Guard could attend their
royal ward on skates, but that was one worry he
had been spared, in return for the many hundreds he
had acquired. Eventually darkness ended the joyous
occasion, sending the King back to the palace and the
council chamber.
Durendal was relieved to see that the Blade
on duty by the door was Bandit himself--who had
guessed that Durendal was responsible for his
promotion and had almost forgiven him already. Bandit
would not tattle if his predecessor made an
unholy fool of himself in the next hour.
However, finding Kromman about to follow him
into the council room also, Durendal said, "Out!"
and shut the door in the Secretary's face.
Ambrose was already slumped in his chair of
state like a heap of meal sacks. He
straightened, glowering, as Durendal bowed to him.
"What did that mean, Lord Chancellor?"
"With respect, Your Majesty, I crave the
right to make my confidential reports to you
alone."
"Or?"
"No "or," sire. I merely ask that I
make my confidential reports to you alone."
He met the resulting anger squarely. He
could resign now, although it would hurt horribly.
The King drummed fingers on the arm of his chair.
"We shall reserve judgment. For now, you
may proceed. What are you doing about my
marriage?"
Even having watched the fencing at innumerable
council meetings, it still felt strange to be a
player. The question was designed to throw him off
balance, but Ambrose was not being deliberately
unkind to his tyro chancellor. It was just his
style. He treated everyone that way.
"Nothing, sire." The real question was whether the
fat old man really wanted the fuss and bother
of a fourth wife at all, but he probably did
not know the answer himself. "Since no ships can
sail for at least a month, I wish to make a
humble suggestion that Your Majesty use the breathing
space to consider appointing a new emissary--a
fresh start to go with your new ministry."
The King grunted, which was usually a good sign.
"Who?"
"Have you thought of the Lord Warden of Ports,
sire?"
"Why?" There was sudden threat in both the question and
its escorting glare. The King might consider the
warden the greatest bore in Chivial, but the man was
an aristocrat and a sort of relative; and no
upstart gladiator was going to make fun of him.
"Sire, as a member of your family, he would
carry weight with the Gevilian royal house.
He is also an accomplished negotiator." And
Ambrose would love to send him overseas, far from
the royal ear.
"Talks like a pigeon, you mean." The King
grunted again, meaning he wanted time to think about it.
"You have to go before Parliament tomorrow. What are you
planning?"
This was the day's business, why Durendal had
come.
"I ask Your Majesty's permission to tender
this brief bill for its approval." Durendal
extracted a sheet of paper from his case and offered
it. He had spent half the night with two
attorneys on that one page: A Bill
Late Outrages at His Royal Majesty's
Palace of Greymere and Divers Other
Persons Transgressing by Conjuration Against the
King's Peace and Public Decency.
Ambrose would not admit that he needed
glasses. He heaved himself out of his chair and
stomped over to the window. He read the offending
document at arms' length, then returned
it with a shrug of contempt. He began to pace.
"Chicken drippings. Sparrow feathers. You
can't identify the culprits, can you?"
"The inquisitors say that's a job for the
Conjurers, sire, and the College says it is
up to the Dark Chamber. They may be able to narrow
it down to a dozen suspects between them, that is
all. Even then, they're only going by--"
"Don't blather. If you mean no! then say
no! Save the pig swill for Parliament.
Talk all you want there--although never, ever, tell
an actual lie, not even to some lowly, smelly
fishmonger."
The King continued to pace, warming to his task.
No one knew more about directing parliaments without
letting them know they were being directed than
Ambrose IV, who had been at it for nineteen
years and was now starting to train the fourth chancellor
of his reign. "The second thing to remember is that
everything has its price. Parliament is a great
beast that gives milk only when fed. If it
wants redress, it must vote taxes. If we
want revenue, we must make concessions."
Durendal wondered wh
at Bandit was making of
this, his first insight into the innermost kitchen of the
state.
The King turned at the window and stood with the
cold winter light at his back. "Tomorrow, they'll
start with a lot of huffing and puffing about the Night of
Dogs, with loyal addresses to me, demands for the
culprits' heads--the sort of drivel you just
showed me. Then they'll get down to business, and the
first thing you will tell them is that you have had
Montpurse arrested."
So soon! Montpurse had warned him, but must
it be his first act? "Sire! But--"
"I have not finished, Chancellor." Give him his
due, the King did not look as if he was enjoying
this. "I just told you, everything is done by trade.
We need revenue. We give them
Montpurse. If we don't, they'll pass
an Act of Attainder against him. Then he'll be
even worse off and we'll have gained nothing--
understand? And you're the new boy. We must make you
popular, the Champion of Parliament. If you can
just hang on to that for the first couple of sessions, you
may achieve something."
"Sire, my loyalty--"
"Is to me. The better Parliament likes you,
the better you can serve me. You've gone
over the books, I hope?"
"I have had them explained to me."
"That's what I meant. The Exchequer is
bankrupt. We shall have to give enormous
redress to win any additional revenue--your
predecessor's head will be only the start." The
King scowled and resumed pacing. "Our Great
Matter will be defeated now. They'll claim it
puts the stability of the realm at risk. You have a
hard campaign in front of you, sirrah! I
hope I have chosen a fighter to lead my
troops?"
So here it came, the lunge he was counting on.
He might doom his career as chancellor with this one
suggestion. Or he might win a glorious
victory and even manage to save Montpurse.
"Your Majesty's counsel will be invaluable to me.
I have so much to learn. ... But may I presume
to ask ... to offer a proposition, which is
probably out of the question because of some legal snag I
don't appreciate, but which in Your Majesty's
greater experience may--"
"You're blathering again." The King planted his
fat fists on his even fatter hips and eyed his
new pupil warily. "What would you do?"
"That bill I showed you--it would authorize you
to close down any elementary which offends against
public decency. If it is approved, I shall