The King's Hand (64 page)

“You shall only miss them sorely if you don't keep practising,” Anderas answered.

“You are wise beyond your years, captain.”

“As for myself, it isn't the rides I will miss,” Anderas added quietly. “It is you. I will not be alone in that.”

“We will endure this too, Anderas,” Eamon answered. “The East Quarter will endure it. The city will endure it. I will endure it, and so will you, until the King comes.”

 

Eamon was in his office when Slater came to find him. The man's knock at his door was tentative, but Eamon admitted him without hesitation.

“Mr Slater,” he said with a smile, “is everything ready?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do congratulate Mr Cook on my behalf. I imagine it was a morning of hard work.”

“May I ask when the guests will arrive?” Slater asked. He looked anxious, and Eamon smiled.

“Shortly. But before they do, I would like you to summon the household.”

Slater stared at him. “But, my lord, the dining room is –”

“I know, Mr Slater. There will be time before the guests arrive.”

“Very well, my lord.” Slater bowed and left. Barely able to contain his smile, Eamon set all his papers aside and stepped from his office.

He met Anderas in the corridor as he was on his way to the dining room.

“You're doing it again, my lord,” the captain told him.

“Is there a second witness, captain, to your heinous accusation?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then I fear you will have to obtain a confession from me.”

The captain gaped at him. Eamon grinned broadly and fairly ran down the corridor to the hall. The doors stood open before him and he swept inside.

The tables were beautifully laid with a deep red cloth, and set with the Handquarters' finest tableware. The first course was laid out on the table, and broad platters of fish also. The smell of fresh bread filled the room. Although the high table had remained unset, it had been covered with a tablecloth that bore an owl and ash. Light spiralled down from the tall windows, showing the blue sky high beyond the glass.

Eamon laughed. It was perfect.

“Are you expecting someone to lunch?” Anderas asked casually.

“Yes,” Eamon replied and laughed again. “Yes, I am.”

“My lord?” called a quiet voice from the doorway. It was Slater, and beyond him the rest of the household gathered. Eamon marvelled that Slater could summon them all so quickly.

“Mr Slater! Come in – bring everyone in.”

Nervously, Slater obeyed. Anderas watched the servants for a moment, and then turned to Eamon, wide-eyed.

“You aren't –” he began.

“This is going to be a spectacular example of that infamous Goodman style which you love so much,” Eamon replied with a smile. “Observe it well, captain!”

As the servants filed into the hall, Eamon went lightly down its length to the high dais. There he stood and waited while the servants filled the space at the far end of the room. They looked nervously at the tables and then to the doors, as though they expected lords and ladies of Dunthruik to come in at any moment.

Eamon waited until he was sure that everyone was in the hall. He gestured for Slater to close the doors, and the man did so obediently. Lines of faces, people whom he had commanded to avoid him, now watched him anxiously.

He searched the lines of servants until he found Cara and her brother. “Master Tenent,” he said, “step forward a moment.”

Callum paled. Many of the servants in the hall did the same. The boy stepped forward and bowed.

“My lord,” he whispered.

“You spoke unwisely to me last night.”

“Yes, my lord,” Callum answered.

“To speak to the Lord of the East Quarter, when he has not invited you to speak, or indeed, when he has expressly commanded you not to, is a folly that deserves punishment,” he continued. The other servants grew even paler. Cara trembled. Callum remained, silent and still, in the hall before him. “You will not do it again. Is that understood?”

Callum nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Callum,” Eamon said. As he spoke his voice changed, and the boy looked up. “You must never speak to a Hand as you spoke to me. Though your speaking was out of place, I will not punish you.”

Callum gaped. “My lord –”

“Don't interrupt.”

Callum fell silent. Eamon restrained a smile.

“I will not punish you, Callum,” Eamon told him, “for you spoke the truth, born from the heart of a true servant. I thank you for it.”

Callum looked at him, his mouth open in awe.

Eamon smiled at him, and then looked back across the hall. “Just as I have spoken to Callum, I have spoken to you all once before about your service,” he began. The servants looked at him in amazement. “Though I would not be wrong to repeat my high praise of it, I will not do so here. I will not speak of the depth of devotion that this house has shown me, even in these last few days.

“No, I will not speak of it. I scarcely have the words to express how dear it has been to me, and how much I will rue its lack now that I must serve the Master in another way, just as you will serve another master.

“The last week has been difficult for you all. But I had to test you, to be sure that you were ready to safely serve a man like Lord Arlaith. To do other would have been to send you out as sheep among the wolves.

“You have shown yourselves more than capable of that service. Indeed, you have set my mind at ease. I am confident that Lord Arlaith will find all that you have to offer more than satisfactory. You are ready to serve him.

“And so I wish to reward you.”

He saw a couple of shocked looks, but he smiled. “You can see that there is a very fine dinner here,” he said, a little more quietly. “I am told that Mr Cook and the kitchens worked very hard all morning to prepare it, and I thank them, as I thank you all. Mr Slater is worried that my speaking to you here, now, will interfere with the meal when the guests arrive. Of course,” he said with a smile, “the guests are already here. And I must say that they are among the finest ladies and gentlemen I have ever met.

“This meal is for them. It can go no distance in thanking them for what they have done for me, nor in expressing how little I wish to leave them all behind. It cannot assuage the fact that some whom I would dearly love to be here are not, nor the fact that some of those who are here have suffered punishment for my sake. But it is all I have, and so I give it. House of Goodman,” he said, tears in his eyes, “this meal is for you.”

The room was deathly silent for a long moment. The servants stared at him and he understood why. How could they make sense of him? He had commanded their silence and now he revoked that by doing something no lord of Dunthruik had ever done. It flew in the face of the whole city and yet he smiled as he did it. Anderas leaned against a wall at the back of the room, smiling and shaking his head.

Slowly, Slater stepped forward. He stood by the nearest table and lifted a bottle of wine. He carefully poured a small amount into one of the glasses at the table and then raised it.

“To the Master's glory,” he said, “and to Lord Goodman; well he bears that name.”

There was a moment of silence as all eyes fixed upon the glass. Then a sudden cry was on the lips of the household:

“To Lord Goodman!” It was accompanied by rapturous applause that grew and grew.

Eamon flushed with embarrassment and came down from the dais. He felt their joy and sorrow in the air: joy that they had served him, and sorrow in his departure.

As he stepped down, Callum stood nearby. Cara was with him, holding her brother's hand. Worried that he had frightened the boy, Eamon went to them.

“Are you well, Master Tenent?”

Callum nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“I am glad,” Eamon smiled. “Come and have something to eat,” he added, gesturing to the tables where the other servants took their places.

“Lord Goodman?”

Eamon turned back to him. “Master Tenent?” he asked quietly.

“You won't forget us, will you?”

Eamon smiled at him. “No, Callum,” he answered. “I won't.” Late that evening he went to see Anderas. The captain was in his own office, looking at some papers. His door stood partially ajar and, catching sight of him through it, Eamon knocked.

“Come in,” Anderas called. He smiled as he saw Eamon, though it was a weary smile, as one who knew that he stood on the brink of a long, dark vigil. “Good evening, Lord Goodman.”

“What are you doing?” Eamon asked. Anderas looked back down at the papers, then to Eamon.

“Nothing,” he replied at last. “I am pretending to look at reports from Lieutenant Mers.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” Eamon asked quietly.

“No.” Anderas had not stayed for the servants' meal.

“At least you're honest, captain.”

“A man must have at least one virtue to counterbalance his vices,” Anderas replied wryly.

“Well, you shall eat,” Eamon told him. “I have had your servant prepare something for you.”

“Thank you…” Anderas looked up, utterly bemused. “My servant?” he repeated. “I don't
have
a servant.”

“No?” Eamon feigned a surprised look. “That's very odd, because I encountered her just a moment ago. I said I was looking for the captain's servant, and she said that such was she.”

“You sly, engineering rascal!” Anderas accused, then added, “I have a whole college full of cadets, ensigns, and lieutenants waiting for the chance to endear themselves to me –”

“A chance that you rarely give,” Eamon countered, “because you are just and fair and would not saddle them with the unnecessary tasks by which most endear themselves to their captains, and because a man endears himself to you through his own merit.”

“What do I need a servant for?”

“Encouragement,” Eamon answered seriously. “Support.” Anderas stared at him, and Eamon offered him a quiet smile. “When I was first sent to Dunthruik by the King,” he said, “I was not sent alone. Mathaiah went with me. He was a source of strength and comfort. You will have need of both, Anderas.”

“And who will strengthen you, up in the palace?” Anderas asked. “You will be utterly alone.”

“I know,” Eamon answered, terrified by the thought. “But I will be comforted in knowing that you are not.”

At that moment the door opened and Eamon knew who would be there. The notion of asking her service had occurred to him a couple of days before, and she had answered him wholeheartedly. Mr Rose had willingly granted her leave to go with him when he had requested it earlier that day.

“Captain,” he said, “this is Toriana. She used to find service in the house of Lady Turnholt, but since that house dissolved, has served under Mr Rose. She is utterly trustworthy and she will be a strength to you. She is of our number.” She had been Lillabeth's support, much as Mathaiah had been his.

Anderas raised an eyebrow. “This city is crawling with wayfarers!” he laughed.

“If you know where to look,” Eamon smiled.

Toriana came forward and curtseyed. “Good evening, captain,” she said, and laid a plate on the table. Anderas looked at her, and his features softened at once.

“Thank you, Toriana,” Anderas breathed. “You didn't just come because he told you to, did you?” he added.

“No, sir,” Toriana replied with a gentle smile. “I came because he asked me to.”

Anderas looked back to Eamon. “Thank you.”

“I will see you again, Anderas,” Eamon told him. “Even if I must wade through wreck and ruin to reach you. And this parting will not seem so terrible to us then. In the meantime, we must both find the strength to do what we must.”

Anderas nodded firmly. “So we shall.”

“Go with the King's grace, to love and serve him and his city.”

“And you,” Anderas answered.

 

The hallway that led to the throne room had never seemed longer to Eamon than it did that misty morning. The banners creased in the breeze over his head, almost as though they, like every man he met, bowed before him.

He came in silence to the great doors. The doorkeeper bowed deeply.

“Lord Goodman.”

“Rise, doorkeeper, and let me pass.”

The doors opened and he passed through.

Before him stretched the throne room, long and broad. At the far end stood the Master. The Quarter Hands, dressed in the fullest of their robes, waited near the door. They fell into formation, flanking Eamon: Cathair and Dehelt to his left, and Arlaith and Tramist to his right. Dozens of lesser Hands from the city and the nearest towns lined the hall before them.

They walked the length of the room in solemn procession. Eamon knew that the Quarter Hands walked with him and that the other Hands watched him, but he focused only on the iron gaze that drew him towards the throne.

When they reached the steps to the throne, the Hands knelt as one body, so that the floor at the foot of the steps became a mass of stone swathed in black. The Master stepped down towards them.

“Rise, my Hands.”

They did so.

Only Eamon remained kneeling. His cloak and ring were taken from him, and in their places were set another cloak, this with a deep red trim, and another ring which bore on it a black eagle. The sight and feel of them turned his stomach.

The Master's hand fell on his shoulder. “Son of Eben, hold out your hand.”

Eamon stretched out his right hand. It shook. He held out his left to support his palm as he turned it towards the Master. The Master set his right palm upon Eamon's own.

“You shall be my Right Hand.”

Eamon's skin burned. Every sense in him heightened as red light cracked about their palms, meshing them together in a web of light. His senses reeled.