Дэйв Дункан - Magic Casement

“Accomplices?”' Rap could look extraordinarily stupid when he wanted to. He turned his idiot expression on Inos. “Your Majesty? Do I answer this man’s questions?”

Foronod spun on his heel. He was already at the door before Inos had scrambled to her feet.

“Factor! We did not hear your request for permission to withdraw.” Was that her, really her?

The tall man swung around and returned her glare. “Good night, miss!” He bowed perfunctorily.

“That is not sufficient!” But she was too shrill, and she had almost stamped her foot.

Foronod was not intimidated by juvenile females. “It will have to do for now, miss. I shall inform the soldiers that their leader is dead. I expect they will wish to take suitable action.”

Rap! He had tried to help her, and Inos would have to defend him somehow. She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “You will do no such thing!”

Foronod’s bony face was well suited for registering disdain. He paused with the door already open. “Indeed? And what do I say when I am asked where the proconsul is?”

Now there was a very good question! Inos looked at Rap, who shrugged; at Mother Unonini, who frowned; even at the goblin, who scratched his disgustingly bare chest and grinned all over his ugly, bristled face.

Aunt Kade sighed resignedly. “Tell them he is in conference in the queen’s bedroom and must not be disturbed.”

That suggestion was greeted with shock and silent outrage.

“What is this tale of Thane Kalkor?” Inos inquired.

The factor smiled, thin-lipped. “He has been informed of the situation. We expect him as soon as the pack ice clears the shore. How many men he is bringing I am not sure, but I expect they will suffice. A ratio of one jotunn to four imps is usually ample.”

She noted the scowls on the faces of the imps present, a few grins from the other jotnar. But the door was still open and she must buy time to think before they all started pouring down the stairs and everything got out of hand.

Not that things were very well in hand at the moment.

“Kalkor is coming at your invitation?”

“An invitation of which I was one signatory, miss. Jotnar will not accept rule by a woman.”

Half the population of Krasnegar were jotnar.

“That may be the law in Nordland, but there is no such law here. Chancellor Yaltauri, how do you feel about this treason?”

“You needn’t appeal to him,” Foronod said. “Months ago he sent off a letter to the imperor, petitioning for a protectorate status.”

Inos wavered on the edge of despair. What use now was Kinvale? What use dancing and elocution and scales on the spinnet? What use embroidery and sketching? Why had her father not taught her some statecraft while there was still time —given her fencing lessons, even, or explained politics and what made men act like beasts?

Somehow she managed to step back from the abyss. “Very well!” she said. “You may withdraw, but you will not mention the proconsul unless you are asked. In that case you may follow my aunt’s recommendation, and I shall worry later about my reputation. All those of you willing to accept me as your rightful queen please remain behind. The rest of you may leave.”

Then she stood there and watched her hopes dribble out the door, one by one, defiant or apologetic or shamefaced. The last one to go was Mother Unonini, who stood by the door and hesitated.

“I offer you a blessing, child.”

“If you were a loyal friend you would not be leaving,” Inos replied waspishly. “If you are leaving I don’t want it.”

The door thunked closed.

Inos stalked across in a most unregal fashion and slammed the bolt. Then she turned to survey the wreckage of the room, chairs awry or shattered, one rug bejeweled with smashed china and a sea of tea stain, another a charred mess stinking of burned oil, another bearing a prostrate giant in shredded green garments, glaring death wishes at her. The fire had gone out and many of the candles, also. The stench of burning hung in the shadows, and the place looked like the aftermath of a riotous party. She wondered what the time was—it felt like the small hours of tomorrow.

Kade and a goblin… and Rap.

“I seem to have inherited a very small kingdom,” she said bitterly.

Still standing guard over the prisoner, looking absurd in his tattoos, Rap sent her a very faint, wry little smile. “Then I can be master-of-horse and sergeant-at-arms both?”

“Oh, Rap!” He thought he had been helpful, and certainly he had meant well, but he had cost her any chance she might have had of winning her kingdom. By exposing Andor he had made her seem a fool and had also made the members of the council feel duped. They all resented that and they were blaming her. Obviously in their eyes she was not fit to be a queen. Without their support she had nothing. Had Rap not intervened, she would have been married to Andor by now and in a better position to face down the terrible Kalkor.

Or perhaps she would have been Yggingi’s prisoner.

Or wedded to that horrid Darad ogre, also? She shuddered.

So Rap had helped and apparently he was the only one loyal to her. At the same time as she wanted to scream at him, she also wanted to run and hug him.

And for a moment their eyes passed that message. But it would not be fair. They were not children anymore. Don’t smile too much at the servants, her aunt had taught her. She managed to walk over to him calmly, and she took his hands in hers. Big, strong hands. Man’s hands. “Thank you, Rap! I am sorry I ever doubted you. I was horrid to you in the forest—”

“It was Andor did that! He made me steal horses, too!”

“Well, I’m very grateful for all your help and your loyalty.”

For a moment he just stood there, staring dumbly at her, and she actually saw the shiny gems of perspiration appear on his forehead. Then he blushed scarlet and looked down at his feet.

“My duty, Majesty.”

So the danger was past. Oh, poor Rap!

“The first thing we have to do is to think how to get you out of here,” she said. “You hid in the top chamber, I suppose? Rap, I do so want to hear how you worked all these miracles! But first we must get you to a safe place.”

“There isn’t one,” he said somberly. “That bolt won’t stop a couple of thousand imps, and they’ll be coming soon. I’d better just turn us in, me and Little Chicken. If they put off the execution until the jotnar get here, then Kalkor may pardon us. Maybe.”

Inos clenched her fists. “There has to be a better idea than that! Aunt Kade?”

“I don’t know, dear.” Her aunt was leaning back on the sofa, looking old and bedraggled and utterly weary. “I managed to ruin your reputation, but I think I agree with Master Rap—it won’t hold for very long.”

“Rap, who is Little Chicken? A friend?”

“He’s my slave.” Rap was turning pink again. “And he won’t let me free him.”

Slave? Torture? “How did you… Why not, for Gods' sake?”

Rap had never been much of a man for smiles, but once in a while he had been known to indulge a sort of shy grin, and momentarily that showed now. Strangely she discovered that it was the most welcome thing she had seen all day.

“Because he wants to kill me. It’s quite a complicated story.”

“It must be!” But it would have to wait. Inos looked down at the prisoner, Darad. Had she been going to marry this? She shuddered again. “And this horror is Andor?”

“I don’t know. He changes into Andor, or Andor into him. And I think they’re Sagorn and Jalon the minstrel, too.”

“Sagorn?” she said. “That must be what Father meant! He said I could trust Sagorn, but not the others, except maybe Thinal. Who’s Thinal?”