Redoubt (10 page)

That squared with Mags’ own thoughts on the matter.
:But what do you think?:
he asked Dallen, as the three of them walked toward Companion’s Field, which seemed
like a good place to go for now.
:I mean, you’ve got a lot of experience, and you’ve never been backward about giving
me an opinion before.:

:About Bear and Lena? I am impressed they have been thinking about their situation.
I approve of being proactive. It’s a solution, this idea of getting married. I simply
haven’t yet made up my mind about whether it is a good solution or not.:

Mags felt a little anxious.
:You think it’s not?:
If Dallen didn’t like it—well, he might go talking to Rolan about it, and then there
was no telling what would happen.

But Dallen’s reply both surprised and pleased him a little.
:Actually I think it is, I just want to make sure I have uncovered all the possible
negatives before I say so.:

“A copper for your thoughts,” Amily said cheerfully. “Because if I were a jealous
sort of person I would want to know why they weren’t centered on me.”

He laughed. “Nothin’ interesting. I was thinkin’ about that rope dancer, wonderin’
how long it’d take me t’learn that sort of thing, an’ if I would ever need to run
out on a rope that way myself.”

“Knowing you?” She made a face. “Probably.”

They bantered a bit more, with part of Mags’ mind still thinking about how the rope
dancer had performed her tricks and part of his mind mulling over Bear and Lena. And
still another part of him thinking about how strange it seemed; once he had only ever
been able to think of one thing at a time, and now he could think about two—
three
if you counted thinking about thinking about things—different subjects at once and
still hold a good conversation with Amily.

“Your Pa likely to want us to work again tonight?” he asked, finally. “’Cause I gotta
help in the kitchen after dinner.”

“He probably won’t know until then,” she told him, and shrugged, looking down at him
from Dallen’s back. “If not, I want to see the fire jugglers and the barges. And if
so, I still want to see them, if it can be managed.”

“Wonder if Lena could wangle a place for us on the bridge with the musicians,” he
said thoughtfully. “That would sure be a good place to watch. . . .”

“What about
under
the bridge? Do you think anyone would think of that? The banks are sure to be crowded.”
She patted Dallen’s neck. “It’s too bad you wouldn’t fit under there.”

“Given that’s one’a Corwin’s favorite spots t’ hide when he reckons t’ get outa barracks
cleanin’?” Mags chuckled. “I expect he’s already got his place staked out.”

:I wonder,:
Dallen said suddenly, breaking his mental silence,
:if it wouldn’t be better for Lena and Bear to just find an accommodating priest and
get married without asking permission first.:

Mags blinked with surprise. That was the sort of thing he’d expect out of—well, someone
like Pip. Not Dallen.
:Well,:
he said.
:That’s the last thing I would’ve expected you t’say.:

:Really?:
Dallen sounded mildly surprised.

:I thought you was all about playin’ by the rules!:
he responded.

:There are no rules about Trainees getting married,:
Dallen replied smoothly.
:And it’s often easier to ask forgiveness than beg permission. I’ve been thinking
about it, and every single one of the drawbacks to their idea has two or three points
countering it, in favor. They are very responsible. Bear is already being treated
as a peer and an adult by the rest of the Healers. He’s right about his father, and
I see no good solution to that problem as long as he is still technically a dependent.
It’s always possible—not likely, mind you, but possible—that some situation would
require the King and the Collegium to withdraw their protection from him. And I thought
of another thing. Lena is still a Trainee and has not yet begun to make a name for
herself—but when she does, I rather doubt at this point that she would care to be
associated with the name “Marchand.” However, “Bard Lena Tyrall” has a rather nice
ring to it, wouldn’t you say?:

Mags refrained from chuckling, because Amily would ask
why,
but he was highly amused at that. And Dallen was right.

:Of course I am. I generally am. Right, that is. But it is nice of you to agree.:

:And so modest, too,:
Mags jibed.

Dallen just curved his neck and posed.

* * *

In the end, the question of whether Nikolas was going to ask the two of them to continue
their eavesdropping was solved by the new Princess. They had just settled in to listen
to a consort of lutenists in a riverside pavilion, when a page found them and delivered
invitations to both of them from Lydia. She wanted her old friends about her for the
barge viewing, and he and Amily were being invited to share her viewing stand.

Mags had to laugh at that. “That’s better’n the mudbank under the bridge, I’d say,”
he said cheerfully.

But Amily looked thoughtful. “I think there’s a little more to this than is on the
surface. I think we should talk to Father.”

Before Mags could suggest it, Dallen was Mindspeaking with Rolan, and he came back
with a reply

:Oh, I may faint with surprise. He’s actually not busy. Rolan suggests we all join
him for some dinner, then you can take care of your dinner duties before the barge
procession.:

“Yer Pa says we should come join him for dinner, Dallen says,” Mags relayed, looking
at her for her reaction.

He was relieved when she smiled. “My instincts are still good, then! He’ll have gotten
something brought to our rooms, they are the only place you can find privacy at a
time like this. Well, shall we?”

Dallen had drifted off somewhere, not being interested in the lute playing, so the
two of them made their way slowly to the King’s Own’s quarters, under Amily’s own
power. Under other circumstances, Mags might have been impatient, but their path was
so impeded by other people that there was no way they could move other than slowly.

Amily had been right; though people streamed and thronged everywhere in the grounds
and even the Collegia, as soon as they opened the door to the Heralds’ Wing, they
were met with an empty corridor and relative silence. Mags let out a sigh, not realizing
until this moment how the crowds had begun to wear on him.

“It’s been fun and exciting, but it’s time for everyone to be gone,” Amily said firmly,
as if she had read his mind. “It’s just as well that people are getting tired of being
crowded into shared rooms here and in the Great Houses on the hill.”

The celebrations would be continuing for the rest of the week down in Haven, Mags
knew—but that sort of thing would not interest most of the highborn and wealthy. There
would probably be private fetes and parties, but those would be held in the Great
Houses, and the Great Houses would be taking in select guests. Tomorrow would see
the clearing out of everyone who didn’t actually have ongoing business with the Crown
or Collegia. And he would not be unhappy to see them all go. Although he had gotten
much, much better with his shields, the press of so many people’s thoughts against
them was just a trifle wearing.

They walked quietly down the corridor to Nikolas’ quarters. Amily tapped on the door,
then opened it. Nikolas was seated already, waiting for them, with food laid out on
a small table. “I thought by now you’d be sick of the wedding fare,” he said, indicating
what he’d had brought. “I asked for something a bit less fancy. You should have seen
the cook’s face when I requested what
they
were eating.”

Mags examined the food with approval as he helped Amily to her favorite chair and
took one himself. Salad, some nice crusty bread, hard-boiled eggs, some soup, and
fruit. “Never thought I’d say I was tired of pocket pies, but I’m weary of pocket
pies,” he admitted. “Even Dallen is tired of pocket pies.”

Amily made a face and helped herself to salad, bread, and a bowl of soup. “I’m tired
of all the sweets. There really
is
such a thing as too much of a good thing. So, Father, I assume you know Lydia has
invited us to sit in her gallery for the barge procession?”

“I should be, since she consulted me about it.” He waited while they helped themselves,
then waved his fork at them. “It occurred to me that this would be a good chance for
Mags to take the temper of her new ladies and their parents.”

The curtains at the windows blew in the continuing breeze. Somehow—perhaps because
of the plantings outside the window—all the noise was muffled to a pleasant murmur.

He nodded. “Any trouble?”

“Not that we’ve foreseen, but it’s not going to harm anything to be sure,” Nikolas
replied. “This is more a matter of information gathering, Mags. Unfortunately, she
has a limited number of friends who can serve as her ladies-in-waiting. Most of the
ones in the running for the position are the daughters of the nobly born; she does
not personally know most of them, and all of them will be sitting in the stands tonight.
I would very much like you two to observe them so we can at least eliminate the ones
she absolutely will not want. Most of them know each other. Lydia is going to surround
herself with her oldest friends just for tonight—but I want you two to sit down at
the back and center of her stand so you can listen and observe.”

By “listen,” of course, Nikolas also meant that Mags should keep his attention open
for strong and malicious thoughts. Not overtly
read
minds, but if something should happen to be strong enough that it got past his primary
shields . . .

“Isn’t it possible there will be some sniping just because a couple of Lydia’s old
friends are . . . well . . . rather common?” Amily asked, doubtfully. “That alone
could give her some problems. There are some otherwise reasonable girls who are awfully
snobbish.”

“They won’t know.” Nikolas offered. “We’ve taken care to supply clothing for those
who don’t have it. These are all outfits that are at least the equivalent of those
that the potential ladies-in-waiting will be wearing,” Nikolas assured her. “And everyone
knows to be suitably vague about their backgrounds tonight.” He smiled a little. “The
only one who might give himself away with his speech and language is Mags, and since
he is the Kirball hero—not to mention the hero of Amily’s rescue—”

Mags made a face. “I could jammer like a mine-kid an’ they’d just giggle an’ say how
charmin’ it was,” he said.

Nikolas nodded. “I couldn’t have managed to contrive a better opportunity for you
if I’d tried,” he said. “While this is not
critically
important, you’ll be getting the chance to do what I do all the time in the Court,
and do Lydia a favor at the same time. And there is nothing vital hanging on the information
you gather. Lydia has been playing at politics for a very long time, thanks to her
association with Master Soren, and I very much doubt there is a young woman in the
entire Court she couldn’t handle on her own. But it would be a good thing for her—quite
the favor, in fact—if you could help her find the ones that are going to give her
the least trouble.”

Amily nodded. “We’ll leave it up to you and her to work out what sort of reasons you
are going to give to the ones you reject,” she said cheerfully. “The rest, I think,
we can manage.”

Mags had to chuckle a little at that. “I don’t suppose Bear and Lena’ll be included?”
he asked.

“You suppose incorrectly,” Nikolas replied, with an arched brow. “After all, Lena
is the most promising student in Bardic, and even if her father is in disgrace now,
he is still one of the most prolific and prominent Bards in the Circle. No one doubts
Lena’s Gifts. And as for Bear, he has, as a mere Trainee, successfully planned and
supervised a most difficult and complicated medical procedure on the daughter of the
King’s Own. Lydia would be a fool not to want to include such a prodigy in her circle
of friends, and I assure you, she is no fool. All the ladies will be eyeing Bear as
well, wondering if they should be making overtures to him to secure him as a Healer
should they need something that doesn’t require a Gift.”

“Well, then,” said Mags, feeling a bit more comfortable with the situation, “We surely
can’t turn down the chance at a bunch o’ good seats for the procession now, can we?”

A bell rang, reminding Mags that he might be a Royal Guest tonight, but at the moment
he was a kitchen boy. He excused himself, leaving Amily and her father to continue
to discuss whatever it was he wanted
her
to be on the watch for, and ran down to the kitchen to take his place at a sink.

He reflected, as he scrubbed away, on all the times he had longed to be one of the
kitchen drudges at the mine. Until he was old enough to actually work in the mine,
he’d been put to work in the kitchen, under the care of one of the other drudges.
He remembered her as being an old lady . . . but who knew? She could have been as
young as twenty, but wizened and aged before her time by the endless hard work and
constant hunger. He only remembered she had been as kind to him as she dared, and
she curled up around him at night to protect him. Life in the kitchen had been hard,
but nothing as hard as the mine. In the kitchen there was always the chance of snatching
a little extra food, and it was warm in winter at least. The master was so stingy
that he never wasted a twig of wood if he could help it, so the kitchen never got
punishing hot in summer, because all the baking was done in a clay oven in the yard
rather than in the oven built into the side of the hearth, which made very efficient
use of the wood, and kept the heat out of the house.

His first memory of the kitchen was from before he could walk; a bundle of rags would
be tied around him, and he would sweep up the kitchen as he crawled. No matter how
young you were at the mine, you were working, whether you were aware of the fact or
not.