Dan Chernenko - The Scepter_s Return

Lanius shook his head. If things didn't work out the way he hoped, plenty of people would be unhappy with him for wasting so much time and money. For now, though, he didn't have to worry about that. Even Grus agreed what he was doing was worth a try. As soon as the building was finished, he and Collurio could get down to some serious work there. In the meantime…

In the meantime, shrieks empted from the kitchens. Maybe that meant one of the cooks had stuck a knife in another. Such things happened every once in a while. More like, though…

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" A cook came running toward Lanius, waving her arms in the air. "Oh, there you are, Your Majesty! Come quick! It's that horrible creature of yours, Your Majesty! It's stolen a big silver spoon!"

"Sooner or later, we'll get it back," the king said. "Pouncer hardly ever loses them."

"Miserable thieving animal." None of the cooks had a good word to say for moncats. "Nothing but vermin. We ought to set traps."

"You will do no such thing." Most of the time, Lanius was among the mildest of men. When he wanted to, though, he could sound every inch a monarch. The cook blinked, hardly believing her ears. He went on, "You will not. Do you understand me?"

The cook turned pale as milk. "We won't do it, Your Majesty. Queen Quelea's sweet mercy on me, I was only joking."

"All right, then." Lanius knew he'd hit too hard. But she'd alarmed him. He asked, "Is the moncat still in the kitchens, or did it run off?"

"It went up the wall like it was a big, furry fly, and then in through some crack or other. It's gone." The cook regained a little spirit. "And so is that stinking spoon." She sounded as indignant as though she'd bought it herself.

"Maybe I can lure it back. Let's go see, shall we?" Lanius said. "A few scraps might do the trick."

Warmth from the fires and ovens surrounded him when he walked into the kitchens. So did the savory smells of roasting meat and baking bread. A pastry cook was drizzling honey over some fruit tarts. The cooks, men and women, sassed one another in a lively slang enriched by more obscenity and profanity than any this side of the royal army.

The old crack near the ceiling had been sealed up. The cook pointed to another likely one. The king clambered up on a ladder, a lamp in one hand, some scraps of beef cut from a joint in the other. That left no hands free in case he slipped. He resolved not to slip. This is very undignified, he thought, but only after it was far too late to do anything about it.

He held the lamp up to the crack, hoping to see Pouncer's eyes glowing yellow somewhere not far away. No such luck. All he could make out was a spiderweb with the pale spider that had made it squatting near the edge. The spider ran away when his breath shook the web. He climbed down the ladder and shook his head. "He's gone."

"Well, it's not like that's a big surprise," the cook said, but then, recalling to whom she was talking, she added, "Thank you for trying, Your Majesty."

"It's all right," Lanius said. "Sooner or later, the spoon will show up. Pouncer doesn't keep them."

She nodded. The cooks did know that. The moncat had lost a couple, but only a couple. Things could have been worse. As it was, Pouncer's thieving gave the kitchens something to complain about. Everyone needed something to complain about. It was as much fun as.. stealing spoons.

The past few years, Grus had spent every summer in the field. Coming back to the city of Avornis – coming back to the rest of the royal family – always took adjusting. This fall, it seemed to take more than usual. Estrilda greeted him with, "Any new mistresses I should know about?"

"No," he answered at once. He would have said the same thing had the answer been yes. He fought battles in the summertime; he didn't want to fight more of them after he got back to the palace.

His wife greeted his declaration with something less than a ringing endorsement, inquiring, "Any mistresses I shouldn't know about?"

"None of those, either," he told her. She sniffed. Here, though, he was at least technically truthful. The last mistress he'd had that Estrilda shouldn't have known about – and didn't – was Alauda, a widow he'd met during the Menteshe invasion of Avornis' southern provinces. Estrilda also shouldn't have known – and didn't know – about Grus' bastard boy named Nivalis. Grus made sure his son and the boy's mother lacked for nothing money could buy. He'd never seen Nivalis. He wanted to, one of these days.

Estrilda looked at him. "Why not?" she asked him, something approaching true curiosity in her voice. "Are you really getting old?"

"There are times when I think so," Grus admitted. There were times when he was sure of it. He didn't feel like admitting that, even to himself. He went on, "Besides – thrall women? They're only a short step up from the barnyard animals."

As though that would stop you. It hovered in the air, but Estrilda didn't say it. She did say, "What about after they've had the spell lifted?"

She wouldn't let it alone. Grus didn't suppose he should have been surprised. He'd given her plenty of reasons to doubt him – more reasons than she knew, in fact. But he wasn't lying when he said, "They still have a lot of growing up to do after that happens."

"Really?" Estrilda's voice was as chilly as any winter sent by the Banished One. "I saw the woman Otus brought back from south of the Stura. She looked all grown up to me."

"Fulca will grow up faster than a little girl would," Grus said. "Otus certainly did. But talk to her. You'll see what I mean."

Estrilda still didn't seem happy. In fact, she seemed determined not to be happy. She said, "What about when you go back next year? The women who were thralls will be all grown up by then."

"I hope they will," Grus said. Estrilda sent him a sharp look. He explained, "If they aren't, something will have gone wrong. Either we won't have truly freed them or the Menteshe will have found a way to enslave them again."

His wife looked as though she wanted to challenge that, too, but she couldn't figure out how. "Well, all right," she said reluctantly. "You really did beat back the Banished One, didn't you?"

Grus shook his head. "No. We beat back the Menteshe. They're still fighting among themselves, and that made it harder for the Banished One to do anything to us. I'm afraid we're not out of the woods yet, though." He told her why not.

"Oh," she said, and then, "Queen Quelea in her mercy grant that he can't do anything so wicked."

"May it be so," Grus said, doubting it would be. What had the gods in the heavens done to stop the Banished One since exiling him to the material world? Some people said they'd given Avornis the Scepter of Mercy. If that was true, though, why had they let the Banished One and his minions hold it for so many centuries? Grus had no answer for that, and didn't think anyone else did, either.

Changing the subject, Grus asked, "When did Ortalis start keeping company with these junior guard officers?"

'This past spring," Estrilda answered. "He goes hunting with them sometimes, when he's not with… the arch-hallow." She couldn't help reminding Grus that Anser was his bastard.

"Hunting," Grus said with relief. "That's all right, then." He wasn't going to worry about his son as long as Ortalis had some reasonable cause to hang around with the guardsmen. Ortalis had never shown himself to be very interested in politics.

"Limosa will have her baby before long," Estrilda remarked.

That wasn't quite a change of subject, though Grus wished it were. He said, "Maybe she'll have another girl. That will leave things the way they are."

"So it will." His wife looked at him. "What if she has a boy instead?"

"What if she does?" Grus answered. "It makes life more complicated, that's what. Crex isn't just connected to us. He's part of the old dynasty, too. Limosa's son wouldn't be."