Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

"I'm honored you remember me, Minister," Rojer said, bowing as the others followed him out of the kitchen.

"Of course I remember you, Rojer," Janson said. "How could I forget the boy Arrick brought back with him, sole survivor of the destruction of Riverbridge?" The others looked at Rojer in surprise.

"Still," Janson went on, his nose twitching again, "I would swear I read a report last year from Guildmaster Cholls that said you were missing and presumed dead."

He looked down his glasses at Rojer. "Leaving a considerable unpaid debt to the Jongleurs' Guild, as I recall."

"Rojer!" Leesha cried.

Rojer put his Jongleur's mask in place. The money had been restitution for breaking the nose of Janson's nephew, Jasin Goldentone. Of course, Jasin had already taken payment in blood.

"Did you come all this way to discuss the Jongleur?" the Painted Man asked, moving in front of Rojer. His hood cast his face in shadow, giving him a dark countenance frightening even to those who knew him. Prince Thamos put a hand to the short spear strapped to his back.

Janson twitched nervously, his tiny eyes darting from one man to the other, but he recovered quickly. "Indeed not," he agreed, turning his attention from Rojer as if he had been doing nothing more significant than examining a ledger. He shifted his feet as if he were ready to run and hide behind the prince if anyone made a sudden move.

"You'd be…him, then?" he asked.

The Painted Man pulled back his hood, showing his tattooed face to the prince and minister. Both of their eyes widened at the sight, but they gave no other sign that they had seen anything out of the ordinary.

Janson bowed deeply. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Flinn. Allow me to present Prince Thamos, captain of the Wooden Soldiers, youngest brother to Duke Euchor, and third in line for the ivy throne. His Highness is here as my escort." He gestured to the prince, who nodded politely, though his eyes lost none of their challenge.

"Your Highness," the Painted Man said, bowing smoothly in accordance with Angierian custom. Leesha dropped into a curtsy, and Rojer made his best leg. Rojer knew the Painted Man had met both men before, in his Messenger days, but it was clear that even Janson, whose memory was legendary, did not recognize him.

Janson turned to his left, where a boy who had been lingering in the doorway appeared. "My son and assistant, Pawl," he noted. The boy was no more than ten summers old, small like his father, with the same lank black hair and ferretlike face.

The Painted Man nodded to the boy. "An honor to meet you and your son as well, Lord Janson."

"Please, please, just Janson," the first minister said. "I'm as commonborn as any; just a clerk with a visible post. Forgive me if I seem a bit awkward at this. The duke's herald, my nephew, usually handles this sort of thing, but as luck would have it, he's out in the hamlets."

"Jasin Goldentone is the duke's new herald?!" Rojer exclaimed.

All eyes turned back to him, but Rojer hardly noticed. Jasin Goldentone and his apprentices beat Rojer and his guild sponsor Jaycob a year ago, leaving them for dead as night fell. Rojer had survived only because Leesha and a few brave city guardsmen had risked their lives for him. Master Jaycob had not. Rojer never made charges, however, pretending not to recall his assailants for fear Jasin might use his uncle's connections to escape punishment and come after him again.

Janson, however, seemed to know none of this. He looked at Rojer curiously, his eyes flitting to the side, as if checking some forgotten ledger.

"Ah, yes," he said after a moment. "Master Arrick and Jasin had something of a rivalry once, didn't they? I'm sure he won't be pleased to hear about this."

"He won't hear," Rojer said. "He was cored on the road to Woodsend three years ago."

"Eh?" Janson said, his eyes widening. "I'm sorry to hear it. For all his faults, Arrick was a very good herald and served the duke well, not only for his heroism at Riverbridge. It's a shame about the brothel incident."

"Brothel incident?" Leesha asked, half amused as she turned to Rojer.

Janson turned bright red, and he turned to Leesha, bowing deeply.

"Ah…Ah…Forgive me, good woman, for bringing up such indelicate matters in the presence of a lady. I meant no disrespect."

"None taken, Minister," Leesha said. "I'm an Herb Gatherer, and used to indelicate matters. Leesha Paper," she extended a hand for him to take, "Herb Gatherer to Deliverer's Hollow."

The prince's nostrils flared and the clerk's nose twitched again at the new name the people of Cutter's Hollow had chosen, but Janson only nodded, saying, "I've watched your career with some interest since you apprenticed to Mistress Bruna."

"Oh?" Leesha said, surprised.

Janson gave her that same curious look. "It should come as no surprise. I review the duke's censuses every year, and take special note of prominent citizens in the duchy, especially ones like Bruna, a woman who registered every year since the first census, taken by Rhinebeck the First more than a century ago. I've kept watch over all her apprentices, wondering which would inherit her mantle. It was a great loss when she passed last year."

Leesha nodded sadly.

Minister Janson gave a respectful pause for the deceased, then cleared his throat. "While we're on the subject, Mistress Leesha," he looked down his glasses and affixed her with the same reproachful stare he had given Rojer, "your annual census report is months late."

Leesha blushed as Rojer snickered behind her.

"I…Ah…We've been a bit…"

"Preoccupied with the flux," Janson nodded, "and," he glanced at the Painted Man, "other concerns, of course, I understand. But as I'm sure your father can tell you, mistress, paper makes the engine of state run."

"Yes, minister," Leesha nodded.

"Please, Janson," Prince Thamos interposed himself, pushing the first minister to the side. His sharp eyes took in Leesha's body with a predatory seeming, and Rojer bristled. "The Hollow has been through enough of late. Spare them a moment of your endless paperwork!"

Janson frowned, but he bowed. "Of course, Highness."

"Prince Thamos, at your command," the prince told Leesha, bowing low and kissing her hand. Rojer scowled as Leesha's cheeks colored.

Janson cleared his throat and turned to the Painted Man. "Enough shuffling the papers. Shall we address the duke's business?"

When the Painted Man nodded, Janson turned to Jizell. "Mistress, if there were a place we could speak quietly…"

Jizell nodded, escorting them to her study. "I'll bring in a fresh pot of tea," she said, and returned to the kitchen.

Prince Thamos offered Leesha his arm on the way, and she took it with a bemused look on her face. Gared hovered near them protectively, but if Leesha or the prince took any notice of him, they gave no sign.

Pawl took his father's paper case and scurried to Mistress Jizell's desk, laying out a sheaf of notes and some blank pages. He set a quill and inkwell at the ready with a blotter, then pulled out the chair for his father, who sat and dipped the pen.

He looked up suddenly. "No one minds, of course, my penning our discussion for the duke?" Janson asked. "I will, of course, strike anything you consider inaccurate or indiscreet."

"It's fine," the Painted Man said. Janson nodded, looking back to his paper.

"Well then," he said. "As I told Mistress Jizell, the duke is eager for an audience with the representatives of…ahem, Deliverer's Hollow, but he is concerned about the authenticity of that representation. May I ask why Mr. Smitt, the Town Speaker, has not come in person? Is it not the first and only legal duty of the Speaker to represent the town in instances such as these?" As he spoke, his hand was almost a blur, taking down even his own words in an indecipherable shorthand, his quill flicking back to the inkwell every few seconds, with never a drop spilled.