Fool's Errand (34 page)

Mordecai looked at the king sharply when he said this—wondering if he was making a sly reference to the fact that he'd been forced to beg forgiveness at their last meeting—but the king was seized by a coughing fit so sudden and violent that he did not appear to notice.

When his fit was over, he gave Mordecai a wan smile and said, “Lord Atticus surprised me with a hawk to replace the one I recently freed on account of its attitude problem. Afterward, he suggested that we wrestle awhile.”

“So while poor Lady Aurelia was pacing the floor of her chamber, fretting that you'd forsaken her, you were
wrestling?
” breathed Mordecai, who could not believe that the fool had kept him waiting that he might roll around getting grass stains on his breeches.

“We were,” grinned Lord Atticus, whose watery, red eyes kept sliding to the slattern's overripe melons. “And I dare say that my future brother-in-law, the king, must be the finest wrestler in all the realm for I'd thought myself unbeatable and yet he beat me every match!”

Mordecai felt a familiar flare of irritation as he listened to these words of fawning praise—praise of a kind that no courtier ever seemed to feel the need to heap upon
him
. Praise that was obviously a lie, for though his soft belly and womanly legs hardly recommended Lord Atticus as a champion, he was healthy and probably outweighed the king by forty pounds. The notion that the pale, sickly king had repeatedly bested him was utterly ludicrous.

“Take comfort in the knowledge that my charming bride-to-be need fret no more, Your Grace,” the royal fool was saying now. “Nor shall she be kept waiting much longer, for I suspect that my bath has already been prepared and my betrothal outfit laid out. Am I correct, Meeka?”

“You are, Your Majesty,” she replied with a smile that bordered on coquettish and a curtsey so brisk that it set her bosom bobbing and Lord Atticus's head with it.

“Very well,” said Mordecai through his teeth. “I shall return to the chapel and announce your
imminent
arrival.”

“Good,” nodded the king, as though Mordecai had just agreed to obey a command instead of having subtly given one. “Lord Atticus, I would ask something of you, as well.”

“Anything, Your Majesty,” said Atticus, puffing out his chest and stepping past Mordecai with all the swagger of one whose family's star is on the ascendancy.

The king coughed violently again—this time into a handkerchief, which told Mordecai that there'd probably been blood. Then he pulled a diamond-encrusted sapphire ring from the little finger of his left hand and held it out to the young lord. “Please go at once to your sister's chamber and give to her this token of my esteem, along with my apologies for my thoughtlessness,” he panted, wincing as he pressed an elegant hand against his rib cage.

Licking his fleshy lips, Lord Atticus stared greedily at the exquisite bauble before plucking it from the king's grasp. Then, with a bow to the king, a nod to Mordecai and a final leer at the servant girl, he turned and strode out of the room as smartly as was possible for a half-drunk laggard.

After he was gone, Mordecai longed to scream at the king for … well, for
everything
, but he resisted the urge, for the betrothal ceremony was too important a part of his own personal plans to risk further delay. So, choking down his fury, he tersely ordered the king to get ready. King Finnius—whose shoulders had begun to slump the minute Atticus was gone—nodded wearily and wordlessly made for his waiting bath.

The instant the bedchamber door closed behind him, Mordecai fixed his cold, dark gaze upon the slattern.

“I despise servants who do not know their place,” he informed her. “Smile at the king like that again, and I will have your face slashed. Offer me your thoughts regarding his feelings again, and I will have your tongue cut out. Do you understand?”

For a long moment, the slattern only stared at Mordecai so expressionlessly that he began to wonder if she'd heard him.

Then she dipped him a curtsey so perfect that as he turned and began lurching out of the room, it fleetingly occurred to him that he might actually have to stop thinking of her as “the slattern.”

When he thought of her at all, that is.

Less than an hour later, Mordecai stood at the front of the chapel beside the kneeling king, struggling to hold his heavy head high and striving for a fatherly countenance so that none of the watching nobles might suspect that their king had reason to feel anything but affection for the trusted counsellor who'd guided him from infancy.

Mordecai looked from the bowed head of the king to that of Lady Aurelia, who was wearing the sapphire ring, a gown of brilliant blue and the unmistakable air of a bright-eyed little bird who'd just caught the juiciest worm in the garden. He was torn between gloating that he'd brought his plans this far and worrying that they might yet come to naught. Even setting aside the certainty that Lord Bartok would attempt a double-cross now that he had what he wanted—an attempt that Mordecai would just as certainly thwart—there was the matter of the king. Mordecai had been more disturbed than he cared to admit by the scene that had played out earlier in the royal chambers. For though the king had thusfar done all that he'd been commanded to do, there was something about the manner in which he was doing things these days that was making Mordecai feel vaguely uneasy. Moreover, there were moments when Mordecai thought he detected a fleeting look of rebellion in the fool's eyes. Or, even more dangerous than rebellion: kingliness. Those moments never failed to leave Mordecai with the disconcerting feeling that he'd peered into the eyes of a caged lion biding its time, and he liked that feeling not at all.

Still, he was not
certain
that he saw these things in the king's eyes. And even if he did, as long as he had the coughing fool and those he cared for under his thumb, Mordecai knew there was no real harm the king could do to him or his plans.

The same could not be said for General Murdock, from whom he'd yet to receive a single report. For as much as Mordecai longed to be king, he longed even more fiercely to be well and whole. And this could only come to pass if the princess and the Gypsy found the healing pool before they realized they were being followed—and if, after killing them, Murdock returned to Parthania to tell Mordecai the location of the pool.

Though he knew there could be many reasonable explanations for why he'd not yet heard from his most trusted general, Mordecai could not keep suspicious thoughts from creeping in at the edges of his mind. What if the reason Murdock had sent no reports was that he'd followed the princess and the Gypsy to the pool only to find himself overcome by a sudden lust for its power? Not to cure any illness or deformity in himself, of course, but rather to be able to hold out the hope of healing to those willing and able to pay exorbitantly for it—a thing that would surely make Murdock the richest, most powerful man in the kingdom. True, Mordecai had never seen Murdock lust after
anything
. And true, the General had never sought riches or power and instead had always seemed to desire only to be allowed to continue to serve, but
still
. Mordecai knew how
he
would think if he were the only person alive who knew the location of the Pool of Genezing, and it was almost impossible for him to believe that anyone could think differently.

As the minister presiding over the betrothal ceremony droned on and the pain in Mordecai's neck grew steadily worse, he made an impromptu decision to dispatch orders to the commanders of every New Man outpost in the kingdom to be on the lookout for General Murdock and to secretly send word if he was spotted. Mordecai wasn't yet sure what he'd do with this information when he received it—much would depend on how much further into his mind his suspicions had crept. However, his cold heart already felt lighter knowing that he'd soon be casting a net that would enable him to catch and destroy Murdock if it turned out that the General was deceiving him.

Or perhaps even if it turned out that he
wasn't
deceiving him.

After all, if Murdock followed the princess and the Gypsy to the healing pool, he would know its location. And upon reflection, Mordecai thought it would really be rather pleasant to be the only person alive to know such a thing.

The betrothal ceremony lasted so long that by the time the minister finally bade the betrothed couple to rise, Mordecai had decided that the smiling wretch would shortly follow the recently fumble-fingered (now fingerless) barber to the dungeon that he might never again plague anyone with his endless oratory. This happy decision gave Mordecai the strength to continue to hold his head high all the long way from the front of the chapel, through the garden, across the courtyard and into the Great Hall where the betrothal feast awaited.

As Lord Bartok had promised, it was the most spectacular the realm had ever seen. The wine and ale were plentiful and of best quality; four-and-twenty meat dishes were followed by twice as many dishes of fish and fowl. Half of these turned out to be two or more creatures cunningly cooked one inside the other; each was accompanied by a sauce, jelly or gravy that perfectly complemented its particular texture and flavour. Supplementing these marvellous dishes were breads and pies and soups and greens and a host of sublime delicacies, some of which were so unusual that Mordecai himself could not guess their origin. Artfully presented cheese and fruit platters were followed by sweetmeats and pastries and marchpane confections of stunning creativity. The grandest of these was a perfect miniature of the imperial palace that was so detailed that the tiny king and his even tinier betrothed could clearly be seen waving from the miniature Grand Balcony. Indeed, this final confection was so elaborate that it had to be carried into the Great Hall on a litter borne by eight kitchen servants, and everyone but Mordecai cried out in genuine delight at the sight of it.

Truly, the betrothal feast was such a spectacle that it was hard to imagine how the coming wedding feast would ever be able to outdo it. As he sat staring out at the delighted noble gluttons before him, Mordecai sourly thought to himself that if there was anyone who could see it done, it would be the high-and-mighty bastard Bartok.

“Would you care for a piece of cake, Your Grace?” chirped Lady Aurelia, who'd taken Mordecai's usual seat at the king's right hand, and who now looked like a little bird who'd just
eaten
the fattest, juiciest worm in the garden.

“No,” said Mordecai shortly, even though he'd have liked nothing better than to grind between his beautiful teeth the two almond-paste figurines from the miniature Grand Balcony.

Lady Aurelia's prim little mouth tightened with displeasure at this curt reply, but Mordecai took no notice. Instead, he looked past her to the king, whom he'd noted had eaten little of the bounty that had been placed before him during the last few hours. As he watched the coughing fool compliment the beaming pastry chef on the genius of his creations, Mordecai was struck again by a thought that had occurred to him when he'd earlier sized the king up against Lord Atticus: namely, that he appeared to have lost a good deal of weight in a very short time. Though he was yet as handsome as he'd ever been—handsomer, even, owing to the sharpness of his features and the almost ethereal glow of his pale skin—there was no denying that he looked desperately ill.

Ill unto death, even.

“Y-you look pleased, Your Grace,” offered the girl seated at Mordecai's right side.

Swivelling the head that sat so heavy upon the thin, aching stalk of his neck, Mordecai regarded the girl without pleasure. Though her figure was pleasing enough, and she was dressed richly enough, and she came from sufficiently noble stock, he did not favour her. She had a big, crooked nose, and she stared at her platter when she spoke, which was infrequently. Though it was possible she feared being auditioned and banished—a reasonable fear, as it happened—Mordecai suspected she behaved this way because she believed it gave her the appearance of being a proper Erok maiden.