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For almost two full days, the city had been eerily quiet. In the night, the Gramiren troops sometimes made quick hit-and-run attacks at the closer barricades. But they didn’t seem interested in trying a full assault. Why would they, with Duke Lukas’s new army less than two weeks away?
Alfred spent most of Friday morning walking around the front lines, looking at the streets and alleyways on the other side of the barricades and trying to picture what the attackers would do. It was just possible to imagine that the very size of the Gramiren army might prove its undoing. Their men would be packed tightly into the narrow streets, easy marks for archers and catapults and people dropping things from the rooftops.
And then there was Grigory Sobol’s new archery machine. Alfred had never seen anything like it. No one had, as far as he knew. And yet, considering Sobol was inventing an entirely new class of weapon for the first time in history, he was making remarkable progress.
The prototype was already set up in the castle courtyard, wedged into an awkward angle between the armory wall and some goat pens. Alfred had seen its first real test shot, which had sent an iron-tipped war bolt through a straw target at the archery range fifty yards away with such force that the target had been blown to bits and the bolt had stuck fast in the stone wall of the guard barracks beyond.
The machine resembled a giant crossbow or an Immani ballista, except it had four bows, two horizontal and two vertical, joined like a cross, and they all drew and loosed one after another in a rattling, rumbling clockwork dance. It looked absurdly complicated, but it all seemed to work. Or at least it usually worked. Alfred gathered that the real problem was getting the bolts to load into the bows smoothly without jamming.
When he stopped by to look at the machine in the early afternoon, he found the professor and two of his assistants frowning at the big metal spring that pushed the bolts through the wooden hopper, or “magazine.”
“We will simply have to fabricate a new one,” said Grigory. “It is not providing even pressure, so the last five or six bolts always misfeed.”
Alfred asked if there were anything he could do, even though he was pretty sure there wasn’t. The best thing to do when surrounded by genius, he found, was to get out of the way and let the man work.
“I think we have everything we need,” said Grigory, wiping his oil-smeared brow. “Thank you, though. By the way, have you seen Princess Elwyn today? She was looking for you earlier.”
“Oh, Earstien,” groaned Alfred. “She wanted to meet me for lunch today.”
He hadn’t forgotten precisely. Earlier that morning, he had been quite looking forward to the rendezvous. But between one thing and another, the time had gotten away from him.
“She said she would wait at your office,” said the professor, smiling. “This was barely an hour ago. I think she is probably still there.”
Alfred thanked Grigory and hurried over to the palace, where he jogged up the steps two at a time. He hadn’t spoken much to Elwyn since they had slept together, and when he had seen her, it had been at meals or in passing through the corridors of the castle. They hadn’t been alone together since then. He hoped she wasn’t offended. It certainly wasn’t as if he had been deliberately avoiding her.
When he got to his office, he found her sitting at his desk in front of a plate of cold chicken and cheese and a nearly-empty bottle of wine.
“I am so sorry,” he said, bowing. “I was very busy in the city.”
“No problem. I started without you.” She wiped her fingers and lips on a napkin, then let out a little hiccup and a very uncharacteristic giggle.
“Oh, good. I’m glad you didn’t wait.”
As he came closer, she stood and stretched, and he saw she was dressed only in some slim, tight-fitting garment of blue silk. It looked almost like a shift. He could tell she had nothing on under it.
No, wait. It really was a shift. With a start, he realized that the pile of clothing on one of the chairs, which he had taken for her cloak, was actually her dress.
She picked up the bottle and took a sip before holding it out to him. “We’d better get another one,” she said with a lopsided kind of grin. “I was only going to have one little glass, but then you were later and later, and the bottle was already open.”
He took a glass from his sideboard and poured the remainder of the bottle into it. There wasn’t very much left.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Now it is. Things have been a bit tense with my mother. And then there’s my aunt dying and little Helena and so on. I’ve been trying to help out, but as usual, whatever I do turns out wrong.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“And then I was here waiting for you, and I kept thinking about how we were going to probably have sex again, except I’ve only done it that one time, and it happened so fast I didn’t have time to get nervous. But now I did, so I kept drinking until I wasn’t.” She giggled and let out a tiny belch. “Oh, pardon me!”
Alfred was powerfully reminded of her birthday party the previous August, and how she had gotten very drunk and thrown up on a tapestry—right here in this very room. Then later, he had seen her in Melanie Searle’s arms.
She sat on the edge of his desk and then lay down across it, one hand running through her dark hair. “I’m ready now.”
He sat on the desk next to her. “You’re a bit tipsy, aren’t you?”
“So what? Get another bottle and drink it, and then we’ll be even.”
That was one solution, and when she started running a hand up his thigh, he was strongly tempted. But he didn’t want to be another Melanie Searle. He didn’t want to be another distraction that Elwyn used to cover up her pain. If he loved her—and he was still sure he did—then he couldn’t let her keep doing this sort of thing, over and over.
He took her hand, just as she was about to start groping him through his trousers, and held it in both of his. “Elwyn, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.” She sat up, pouting, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
“It’s not a matter of fun. You and I need to think very carefully about what we’re doing here. What exactly do we mean to each other? What do you want from me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I should think it’s pretty obvious what I want from you right now.”
“Yes, I know. But what about after that? What about after this battle and a year from now? What about ten years from now?”
“If I marry you? Oh, Alfred, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or next week, let alone ten years from now. What’s going to happen to us if Cousin Broderick breaks through and takes the castle?” She squeezed his hand. “I’m scared.”
“I don’t think they’ll break through. Have you seen Grigory Sobol’s new crossbow machine?”
She smiled weakly. “Yes. I’d like to try hunting with it.”
“And I would like to see that.” He stood. “But as for now, I think you’d better go back to your room and lie down for a while, or you’ll be sick before suppertime.”
“Fine. You don’t need to treat me like a child.” She climbed off the desk, collected her dress and shoes, and headed for the door. There, she paused to say, “I haven’t decided if you’re the most honorable man I’ve ever met, Alfred, or a colossal prick.”
He stared after her as she disappeared out into the hall. After a minute, when he had rung for a servant to clear away the empty bottle and the half-eaten food, he thought of several things he could have said in reply. But while they were all very clever, they were also rather unkind.
He didn’t want to hurt her, but she never seemed to return the favor. She loved to lash out at random. It reminded him of the big, lazy tabby cat that had lived in the barn of his parents’ estate when he was a boy. It had enjoyed being pampered and petted, but at some point, it would tire of games and bury its claws and fangs in his hand.
Should he go back out to the front lines again? He didn’t think he could concentrate on his job. He kept thinking of Elwyn. How could she make him so furious with a single word or gesture, and at the same time, make him want to make love to her all night?
In spite of himself, he couldn’t help remembering Norah, the girl who had broken his heart long ago in Annenstruk. Norah had toyed with him for months, doling out enough encouragement to keep him from doing the sensible thing and giving up the chase.
“Am I doing the same thing now?” he thought. “Here I was, thinking Elwyn kept making the same mistakes over and over. But what about me?”
Did he want to be married to someone like that for a lifetime? Assuming they both lived long enough to get married, of course. Assuming Grigory Sobol’s machine really worked and the Sigor army could hold back the enemy. If he and Elwyn were still alive in a month or two, what were they going to do? What did he want from her?
After the housemaid cleared away all the food, he realized he had never had any lunch. Of course, he could chase down the servant in the corridor, but he would feel like an even bigger idiot than he already did. So, he went downstairs and out to the courtyard, thinking he might go over to the kitchens, or perhaps out to one of the inns on Addle Street across from the castle.
Sir Presley Kemp had joined Grigory Sobol at the crossbow prototype, however, and they both called out and waved for him to join them.
“Have you eaten yet?” asked Sir Presley. “Grigory here is getting frustrated, and I told him it always helps to sit back and take your mind off the problem for a while—preferably with a nice pint of ale or two.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” sighed Alfred. “Sure. I’d love to join you.”
They left the Bocburg and went a few blocks down Addle Street to The Auld Chieftain, a Kenedalic tavern with tartan curtains and paintings of bagpipers over every table. They all remembered the place for its excellent lamb chops, but these days the menu was limited to salt pork and barley soup, which was more or less the same food the troops camping on the streets would get. The ale was still cold and strong, though, and that made up for a lot.
“Did you see the princess, then?” asked Grigory.
“Yes,” snapped Alfred. Then, seeing the shock on the faces of the two men, he quickly apologized. “Sorry. Look, I’m not the sort of fellow to talk about a girl, but she and I are.... It’s very complicated.”
Presley glanced at Grigory and nodded. Grigory winked.
“What is it?” Alfred demanded. “What’s that look for?”
“You’re clearly in love with her,” said Presley, dipping some hard crusty bread in his barley soup.
“I know that,” said Alfred, with an irritated wave of his soup spoon. “I asked her to marry me. Months ago. She still hasn’t given me a straight answer.”
Grigory chewed his bread thoughtfully, then said, “The princess is a delicate flower.”
“She’s a flower on a cactus, maybe,” grumbled Alfred.
Sir Presley snorted with laughter and had to wipe some ale from the front of his shirt.
But Grigory shook his head, quite serious. “Yes, that’s exactly it. She has this prickly nature, like a cactus. She protects herself because she doesn’t want to be hurt.”
“So, everyone around her gets hurt,” said Alfred, staring into his big crockery mug. “She’s amazingly callous.”
“No, you miss my point.” Grigory held up a hand, hardened and roughened by months of work on fortifications and war machines. “She is young and passionate. She has not had time to build up calluses like we have.” He gave his lover a fond look and closed his hand over Presley’s. “Love can be frightening if you’re not used to it.”
“I don’t know what’s happened between you and her royal highness,” said Presley, “but she has a good heart. I’ve seen that, myself. And even the queen, who suffers more from the princess’s temper than anyone, has told me she is capable of remarkable kindness and selflessness. She takes after her father, I’m afraid. She has a gruff exterior like King Edgar did, but if you can get past that, they are both good and decent, honorable and loyal.”
“She loves you,” said Grigory. “I am sure of it.”
“Then why does she find it so blasted difficult to say so?”
“Perhaps if she felt less, Sir Alfred,” said Grigory, “then she could say more. Give her time.”