It was Prince Traanzo’s custom, on the first Marketday of every month, to visit the local market in person. He chose Marketday for this activity for reasons that should be clear without the need for an explanation. When he made this sojourn, in which he was always looking for especially good seafood and weaverfruit, which he pretended kept him in a state of robust health and improved his prowess, he would always bring along two servants to carry his selections, as well as two of his guard to ensure he was not jostled by peasants as he engaged in his perusals.
On this occasion, however, he failed to purchase anything, for the simple reason that his excursion was interrupted by some eight armed individuals, all wearing the blue and white of the House of the Tiassa, who surrounded him as he was about to enter the market. One of them, who seemed to be the leader, said, “I beg Your Highness’s pardon, but if you would be so good as to accompany us, my mistress Whitecrest begs a word of you.”
Traanzo frowned, looked at his two guards, then at the eight in Tiassa colors, and said, “Begs?”
The other bowed assent, agreeing that this was, in fact, the word she would choose.
“Well, and if I refuse?”
“I will be required to insist,” she said.
“And yet, I am a prince, and she is a countess. So by what right, then, does she insist?”
“Your Highness must understand that he is in the County of Whitecrest.”
“Well, and then, am I under arrest?”
“Your Highness has understood exactly.”
“And my guards, may they join us?”
“If they surrender their weapons, they will be most welcome.”
“But I? Am I to surrender my weapon as well?”
“If Your Highness would be so kind.”
“But, this is intolerable! Upon what charge am I arrested?”
“As my instructions are to bring Your Highness without delay into the presence of her ladyship, well, I am convinced this question will be answered quickly.”
Traanzo glared, then, unbuckling his sword belt, said, “I yield to force, but under protest.”
“Your Highness’s protest is noted, I promise.”
“Very well,” said Traanzo. “Then I accompany you.”
“There is a coach around the corner, so you need not be seen walking under arrest.”
“The countess is thoughtful,” said the prince.
In due course, the carriage rolled up to Whitecrest Manor, the door was opened, and Traanzo emerged, his teeth clenched, his hands in fists. He was duly escorted inside, through the front door as if he were a guest, yet with a pair of the countess’s guards ahead of him and behind him. He was brought through the house and out to her study, where, as he entered, the countess rose and bowed.
“Your Highness,” she said.
“What is the meaning of this?” said the prince.
“Please, sit down, Your Highness.”
“I will not. I demand to know why I am here.”
The countess shrugged, remained standing herself, and nodded to one of her guards who had been positioned by the door the entire time. The guard left, and, in a moment returned with three individuals: one was a Jhereg, the second appeared to be a Chreotha, the third an Orca.
“This,” said the countess, “is Halvar, of the House of the Jhereg. He is about to testify to illegal activities carried out for you, through an intermediary known as Arin.”
“Arin! But, he used forged papers to gain employment with me!”
“Indeed, and here is the forger, Sajen, whom no doubt you recognize, as he spent some time in your dungeons. He will testify, moreover, to having worked with this man, Gystralan, as part of a plot to defraud an Iorich of her land and titles.”
“But,” said Traanzo, “it wasn’t my plot! This Gystralan, well, I have never seen him before!”
“No,” said the countess. “But you know the others. And here is someone else you know.”
At that moment a man in Iorich colors came in, arms held by two guards, who seemed, in fact, to be there less to guard him than to keep him from falling over.
“The director!” cried Traanzo.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “they made me!”
“Ah, if we are having a reunion,” said the countess, “here are some more.”
At that point two others came in, both of them wearing the colors of the House of the Jhereg.
“Arin!” said the prince. “But who are you?”
“I am called Daifan,” said the other.
“Well?”
“Once I was called Eremit of Cryden House. Ah, I perceive you recognize the name?”
The prince did not respond at once, but then, at last, he emitted the word, “You!”
“Why yes, it is I. I have much to say about the jail in which you illegally detained me for a number of years.”
“That … there is no Empire to indict me for that!”
Eremit shrugged. “But there is a countess to indict you for the criminal activity between you and Halvar, to which both Halvar and Arin can testify. Arin, moreover, can testify to more than that, as he is, in fact, Kefaan, son of Cerwin, one of those against whom you conspired with Dorin. And, of course, you know very well what the director can tell. Shall we begin reciting our testimony before the countess, Your Highness? Because, once this recitation has begun, well, it will not stop until you are stripped of all land, all titles, all holdings, and all monies, and cast into the dungeons beneath this very room we now occupy. Or—”
“Yes, or?” said the prince, unable to disguise the eagerness in his voice.
“There is another possibility.”
“What is that? You perceive, I am listening with all the ears of my body.” And, it seemed, he was doing just that; at any rate, he was leaning forward, perspiration glistening on his face, his eyes wide, and his face going through remarkable changes in color as, in the space of a few breaths, it would become flushed, then drained of all color, then flushed again.
“Your Highness,” said the countess, observing this remarkable phenomenon, “may I bring you some wine?”
“No, no! No, my lady, thank you, but, I must know, what is the ‘or’ of which I have heard spoken.”
“Ah, you wish me to tell you that?”
“The gods! I think I do!”
“Then shall I tell you now?”
“If you do not, well, I will veritably swoon in this second, and then will be unable to hear.”
“Ah, well,” said Daifan. “Here it is, then. You give up your title as Prince, and your house here in Adrilankha you sign over to me. All of the wealth you have stored in this city, and all holdings, will pass to Livosha and Kefaan, and you will retire to your duchy, which, I am certain, would be overjoyed to see you. And, in addition—”
“Well?”
“You will send a trusted messenger, who is someone well known to Count Dorin, to that person, demanding he come and see you by the quickest available means.”
“That is all? And I can keep my freedom and my life?”
“Your freedom, certainly. Your life, well, I only promise you are safe from me, from the countess, from Halvar, from Kefaan, and from Livosha. That is to say, if there are others who discover you, some of those who have, perhaps, escaped from the island, well, I can offer you no promises on that score.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“Then you accept?”
“I accept, I accept! Ah, I have had a terror of being imprisoned since, well—”
“Since you learned of the illegal jail?”
He nodded.
“Then,” said Daifan, “here are the papers, and we have witnesses; come, let us begin the ceremony. And when we are done, we will escort you to your residence—or, that is to say, my residence—and you will select someone to carry the message to Dorindom.”
“I know just the one,” said Traanzo. “Her name is Hadrice.”
Once Traanzo had signed the papers, and left in the company of the countess’s guards to ensure he did what he had said, the director said, “What of me?”
Daifan considered. “Yes, you. Do you remember number seventy-two?”
“I do. I remember all of my guests.”
“Your what?”
“My prisoners.”
“Yes, well, number seventy-two, her name is Kelsama, and she is a Dragonlord.”
“Yes?”
“She is far from here now. But she is coming this way. Wherefore—”
“Yes, wherefore?”
“If I may do myself the honor to give you some advice—”
“You may! You may!”
“Run.”
The director’s eyes widened, he stood up, made a perfunctory bow, and ran from the room.
“Do you think,” said Kefaan, “that Kelsama will chase him?”
Daifan shrugged. “In truth, it is none of my concern.”
The next time there came a clap outside the barracks door, Ironhead, who happened to be taking his ease with Istamar and Kelsama, said, “My dear Clapper (for this was the nickname they had given Kelsama), if you are here, who would clap at a barracks door? And if you are not here, how am I speaking to you?”
“You have set a pretty mystery,” said Kelsama. “I confess, not only am I unaware of the answer, but thinking about it threatens to make my head spin as if I were again playing that game to which you introduced me at the Wriggling Dolphin, and which, I promise, I will never play again.”
“For my part,” said Istamar, looking at the door, “I think there must necessarily be two of her, and one is so pleased with our company that the other will also wish a post.”
“Well,” said Ironhead, “but there is no post, and so, she shall have to share it.”
“With herself,” agreed Istamar.
“This will certainly confuse me,” said Kelsama. “In fact, I have no doubt, it will confuse both of me.”
“I wonder which one it will confuse more?” said Istamar.
“Come now,” said Ironhead. “Surely if there was ever a question to which the answer is moot, it is that one?”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Istamar.
“Or perhaps,” said Kelsama, “we should call to whoever is at the door to enter. For my part, I am most anxious to learn if I am as attractive from a distance as I am from near-by.”
“With this plan,” said Istamar, “I agree.”
“Very well,” said Ironhead. Then he called loudly, “Come, and be one of our troop. You may join us in being given extra duty for striking a comrade by the sergeant, having your wages suspended for cursing by the lieutenant, and being cursed at and struck by the lord for whom we are pledged to risk our lives in exchange for wages that are too small even when not reduced.”
“Well said,” murmured Istamar.
This time, when the door opened, it was, in fact, a Teckla who stood there, a woman rather younger than middle years, and with her, as if it were a companion, was a large cask. She stood in the doorway, appearing uncertain what to do. Istamar stood and said, “Well, girl, who are you and what is that and what are you doing here?”
“I am Jerin, my lady, and this is wine, and my master Riffetra said it was his best, and I was to deliver it to the manor.”
“I haven’t seen you before,” said Ironhead.
“I am new, my lord.”
“Well,” said Istamar, shrugging. “This isn’t—”
“Any too soon!” interrupted Kelsama. “Just bring it right in.”
Istamar frowned at her, and said, “And yet—”
“Hush,” she whispered. “A keg of Riffetra’s best wine? Delivered to us? If your enemy were to spread his arms and cry ‘strike!’ would you hesitate?”
“But,” whispered Istamar, “the manor will not get its wine.”
“And then? Riffetra will get a tongue lashing, and this girl will get a beating. Meanwhile, we will get a keg of excellent wine.”
This logic proved too powerful to refute. “Yes, Jerin,” she said. “Roll it right in, and we’ll be sure to see that it gets where it is going.”
“You are very kind, my lady.”
“It is nothing,” she said.
Jerin bowed, turned, and left.
Just past the tenth hour after noon on the second day of the month of the Issola in the thirty-eighth year after the fall of the Empire, Berwick set down his cup, rose from his dinner table, and said, in exactly the words used by the prince the month before, “What is the meaning of this?” This is a question that, as a rule, is not one requesting an answer, but rather is a statement in the form of a question, which is to say, it is a means of asserting that, whatever is, in fact, happening at that moment is displeasing to, and does not have the approval of, the speaker. In this case, however, that is to say, upon the date and at the time to which we have already referred, it could also have been interpreted, quite reasonably, as a question, in that the event that had just transpired was one that could not but be puzzling.
Should the reader wonder to what event we, and Berwick, are alluding, we will answer at once: A broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, wearing brightly colored silk clothing of red, yellow, and blue, appeared at the table unannounced, holding in his hand a glistening curved blade.
Although Berwick’s remark could with great justice be considered a question as well as a declaration, he did not wait for an answer, but instead at once asked another question: “Where are my door wards?”
“They are occupied.”
“How did you get in here?”
“A few of us came in from upstairs, through a tunnel that you would have discovered if you had explored the manor thoroughly. Once in, and once we had rendered your guards unable to resist and locked your servants in the cellar, the rest of us came in through the front door, like gentlemen. Apropos, I am called Sheen, but you may address me as Captain if you prefer.”
Sheen approached the table as Berwick, standing, watched him with his mouth open; Berwick’s son, we should say, had not stood, therefore his mouth remained open while he sat. Sheen looked over the contents of the table, and selected some roasted kethna. He picked it up, bit it, chewed it, swallowed it, then reached over and took Berwick’s cup and drained it. “I am told,” he said, “that undercooked kethna may cause stomach upset, or sometimes even violent illness. And yet, is it truly necessary to burn it black? It hardly seems respectful to the kethna, who, after all, gave his life for this exact purpose.”
“What are you doing in my house?” demanded Berwick.
“Plundering it,” said Sheen.
At that point, a woman in similar garb to Sheen’s, and also carrying a sword, appeared and said, “There is jewelry of various sorts in the cabinet of the south bedchamber, Captain. Also, some small supplies of coin here and there. So far, no more than that. We are continuing to look.”
Berwick suddenly flew into action, which action was to reach for the pull rope next to him. He grasped it and pulled, and as he did so there was a flash from Sheen’s sword, and he discovered he was only holding the end of a rope in his hand.
Sheen picked up a piece of bread and remarked, “In truth, my dear Berwick, I don’t know why I did that. The few of your men who are awake have already been dealt with by my crew, and it will take more than a bell to wake the rest, who, with what was put into the cask of wine we gave them, would sleep through a cataclysm.” He bit into the bread.
“What—”
Sheen held up his finger. When he had swallowed, he said, “What was the question you were about to do me the honor to ask?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why? My dear Berwick, you must know that you have a reputation for wealth. And there are so many pirates operating along these coasts that soon we must begin to steal from each other, which would be humiliating, as well as difficult.”
“Well, but—are you going to kill me?”
“Oh, it is unlikely it will come to that.”
“How, unlikely?”
“Why, yes. We want your treasure. Once you give us that, why, we will be on our way.”
“But, I have no treasure!”
“Bah. You perceive, it is impossible.”
“I have considerable funds, but they aren’t in gold.”
“How, not in gold?”
“No, they are in the form of drafts on the Imperial Treasury.”
“But, there is no Imperial treasury.”
“Perhaps someday there will be. Also, I have some amount invested with a business partner.”
“That is all very well, except—”
“Well?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It is true!”
“Well, well. You perceive, there is nothing to be concerned with.”
“How, nothing?”
“I give you my word. We will look through the house until we find the treasure, then we will leave you alone.”
“But there is no treasure!”
Sheen shrugged. “We will lock you and your son in an upstairs room while we search, and, if we do not find the treasure—”
“Well, if you do not find it?”
“We will encourage you to tell us where it is.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, my friend. No doubt we will find it on our own, and there will be no need for matters to become unpleasant.” By this time, several more pirates had entered. Sheen signaled for a few of them and said, “Escort these two to one of the upstairs bed-chambers and lock the door. Not the master bed-chamber, as I may wish to rest. One of you remain outside the door, and another outside of the manor beneath the window. And, just in case the treasure is hard to find, prepare the questioning devices.”
They immediately carried out his orders, and he sat down at the table, looking over what more there was to eat.