The Sleeping Beauty (17 page)

The orchards ended at an extremely high wall; Leopold pulled out a key and unlocked the door. He motioned Siegfried through.

On the other side of the wall was a city.

Siegfried was astonished; he’d had no idea there was such a thing so near the Palace; all he had ever seen was the side that fronted on the forest. It was a big city, too, houses crowded so closely together that there wasn’t enough room to put your hand between them. The door dropped them straight into the middle of it, the wall looming on one side of the street with temporary stalls all along it, a row of houses and shops on the other. Leopold emerged from the doorway and locked it behind them, put the key in his belt-pouch, and stood for a moment, grinning at the street and the traffic on it, breathing the air deeply.

“Now this is my sort of place!” the young man exclaimed, and
slapped Siegfried on the back. “Come on, admit it, that Court is enough to put you to sleep, with gossipy hens shrilling in one ear and self-important asses in the other!”

“Well,” Siegfried admitted with a slow smile. “Yes it does. But this does not suit me, either. I am not fond of cities.”

Leopold looked surprised, then motioned to Siegfried to come with him. “Why not?”

Siegfried walked along beside him, keeping a wary eye out for trouble. Thieves often made the mistake of seeing a big man who moved deliberately as being an easy target. They always discovered their mistake. Depending on how old the thief was, that discovery could come at the cost of a broken finger, broken wrist or broken arm. “I’m not comfortable being in a place this crowded that is not an army camp,” he said. “I’d rather be in the wilderness, or a small village. It’s a matter of…knowing I always have to watch my back for trouble.” He shrugged, saw a very young pickpocket approaching, and swung his foot out sideways to knock the boy’s feet out from beneath him just as the lad reached for his belt-pouch, sending the child facedown in the road. Leopold raised an eyebrow as Siegfried walked on, leaving the young thief sprawled in the dust behind them.

“You’re better than I thought,” the Prince said. “Not as dumb as you look.”

Siegfried shrugged again. “There are thieves in my land, too,” he pointed out. “They are just usually a lot more obvious about it. Thieves where I come from tend to come straight at you, and bash you with something heavy. There’s nothing subtle about trying to hit you with a club. The subtle dangers are from the wildlife. But once you learn what to be alert for—“

The child was back. Persistent. Possibly thought the tripping had been an accident. This time Siegfried waited until the fingers were on the pouch. Then, fast as a snake, he had the child’s wrist in his
hand and hauled the thief up by one arm until his face was level with the child’s.

The boy dropped the tiny knife he was going to use to cut the pouch off Siegfried’s belt. Leopold caught it. The boy’s face was white.

“When I was your age,” Siegfried said, carefully, so that the boy would be able to understand every word even though the Hero knew he had a thick accent, “I had already killed two poisonous serpents twice as long as I was, a wolf four times my size, a bear as large as I am now and a man. I had a necklace made of their teeth. Yes, even the man. In my land, someone caught trying to steal is killed. Now, I have learned that this is a land where it’s not a good thing to kill every man who annoys you, so I am going to let you go. First, because you are not a man yet and there is no glory in killing you, and second, because killing you would disturb my friend. But I suggest that you find another line of work, because the next person who catches you with your hand on his money might not have a friend along, might not be as concerned about glory, or might have a hangover.”

By now, they had collected a small audience that watched and listened in silence.

He dropped the boy, who landed on his rump, turned without looking to see what the child did and walked off in the direction Leopold had been going. The crowd, seeing that there was no more entertainment coming, dispersed.

Leopold ran a couple steps to catch up with him. “Clever.”

“Not very. I’ve only discouraged the young and the less skilled. Now the most skilled will think I am a challenge.” Siegfried sighed. “And I will have to break some bones. That probably
will
discourage the rest. It is difficult to ply the trade of thief with a broken hand, and weighing the odds of small profit from me against high probability of not being able to cut purses for a month, they will leave me a—”

He reached behind himself and caught the wrist of the hand on his
belt-pouch. It felt adult, so without even looking around, he twisted and jerked upward. He felt the bones breaking as he did so, and dropped the man before the fellow even started to scream with the pain.

“—lone,” he finished. “Well, that took less time than I thought. This must be a very sophisticated city.” Behind him, a man sat in the dust of the street, holding his wrist and hand against his chest, howling with agony. Siegfried had gone for the maximum amount of damage this time. It was possible the man would never be able to lift a purse again. “That’s good. It means word will spread quickly. You were saying, Prince Leopold?”

LEOPOLD GRINNED. “I WAS ASKING WHY YOU
didn’t like cities. Obviously it isn’t because you can’t take care of yourself here. So, is it a matter of needing to be absolutely alert all the time?”

They pressed up against a wall to let a wagon pass, then resumed walking.

Siegfried nodded, very pleased with Leopold’s understanding. “Exactly so. I know the wilderness. I know it so well that I do not have to think about when I may be less on guard and when I must be completely on guard. In a small village, everyone knows everyone else, and I can tell by how they react to each other who cannot be trusted and who is harmless. And an army camp is disciplined and busy. A busy man does not have leisure to make trouble. Discipline keeps each man in his place, and when he is out of that place and up to no good, he stands out. Besides, in an army camp, a lawbreaker knows that troublemakers are going to be harshly dealt with. Army laws are harsh ones, you see. Thieves generally are hung on the spot.”

“I suppose I have the same instincts—or maybe training—in the city that you have in the wilderness,” Leopold said thoughtfully.
“Interesting. Well, you will be safe enough from thieves in the tavern we are going to, if that makes any difference to you. Bar fights, maybe not. If a fight breaks out, the owner will eject the fighters if he can and guard the stock if he cannot, and then it is every man for himself. Card cheats, probably not—the owner doesn’t care if someone cheats others in his establishment. But the owner has a charm on the place that keeps cutpurses and other thieves out.”

Siegfried raised an eyebrow. “I have never heard of that, but it is a wise thing, if possible.”

“Oh it costs him a pretty penny to get it renewed every month, but he told me that what it brings to his door in extra custom more than makes up for the cost.” Leopold grinned up at him. “Think about it. If you were alone in this city, how much more for a room would it be worth to you, if you knew that anyone who was going to rob you couldn’t get into the building?”

Siegfried mulled that over in his mind. “Quite a bit, actually. It would let me sleep sound of a night. A good sound sleep is worth more to a fighter than anything other than a good full meal.”

They continued on in relative silence—relative, because a city is never quiet—with a wary eye on their backs on Siegfried’s part, in case the fellow with the broken wrist had stupid friends. This was a fairly clean city; someone came along with a cart, scooping up droppings, quite frequently. And unlike places he’d seen where people just tossed nasty stuff into the gutters and waited for the rain to wash it away, it seemed that no one tossed anything into the street here.

There were just so many people…the only other time he was crowded like this, it was on a battlefield.

“And here we are.” Leopold gestured at a building, which had the usual signs of a tavern and inn on it. A hanging sign above the door with the name of the place—which Siegfried could not read, since the gift of tongues granted by the Dragon’s Blood didn’t extend to
the written language—and a picture, a pair of crossed arms with a crown, which probably meant “The King’s Arms.” Down one side of the door frame were carved images of a wheat sheaf, a bunch of grapes and a beehive. So they served beer and ale, wine and mead. Down the other, a loaf of bread, a bed and a horseshoe. They served food, served as an inn where travelers could stay, as well as a tavern, and they had a stables. Above the door, a hammer and a leaf.

They would admit and serve Dwarves and Elves.

Those were signs he hadn’t seen too frequently outside of his homeland.

“Dwarves and Elves?” he said aloud.

“Is there a problem?” Leopold asked, brows knitting as he paused on the threshold.

“Not at all, I learned forging from a Dwarf. But I have been through some Kingdoms that don’t believe they exist.” He entered as Leopold held the door open for him. “And I was in one that considered them to be anathema.”

“I have, too. But this is a land whose wealth is based on mining, and where there is mining, you’ll find Dwarves.” Leopold nodded at a table full of them off to one side, all of whom looked up as they came in. Siegfried saw their eyes light up with purpose. “Um,” Leopold added, seeing the same thing. “I think they know what we are. They’ll probably want to talk to us—”

Before he finished the sentence, one of the Dwarves had already pushed his stool away from the table and was heading in their direction.

“—once they’ve made up their minds about it. Greetings and sound stone to you, friend,” Leopold finished, addressing the Dwarf. “What can we do for you?”

The Dwarf looked up at both of them. He was very well dressed, though not in the height of Dwarven elegance, Siegfried noted. His clothing was of leather, and not unlike Siegfried’s own, with light mail
over the top of it. Light by Dwarven standards, which meant it was as fine as knitted silk, but would hold off the blow of a broadsword in someone like Siegfried’s hands. Siegfried tried not to salivate at the sight of it.

His brown beard was neat, braided into a club, without being ornamented at all; his hair was pulled back and braided into a similar club. He had the usual hammer, which served a Dwarf as weapon and tool—and a club. That was fairly typical for a Dwarf among humans; no one with any sense picked a fight with them, so they felt quite safe going about without edged weapons on their persons.

“You’re one of the Princes come to Court, aye?” Dwarves were direct. Very direct.
Blunt
would be an understatement. Siegfried liked this about them very much; it made discussions much easier.

Leopold nodded. “And you would like to hear what’s going on straight from the Prince’s mouth?” Siegfried smiled at Leopold’s manner, for it was exactly what he would have said. Leopold was good; he went straight to Dwarven manners. “Well, talking is thirsty work. I would be partial to a good yard of ale, and my friend Siegfried here—”

“Mead for me. Aye, I am willing to sit and talk. And I should maybe like some plain food, if the talk goes long enough.” He shrugged.

The Dwarf nodded. They tended to have faces a cardsharp would kill for, with the ability to keep just about everything they felt behind their beards. But this one looked a little more relaxed at discovering that the two humans weren’t going to play what Dwarves called “word-mincing” with him. “Then join us, and well met.”

Siegfried was actually rather good at reading Dwarves, which came from being apprenticed to one. There were anxious faces around the table, which should have come as no surprise. After all, a war would be terrible for them. Not because they couldn’t get out of the Kingdom—they could probably tunnel their way out if they
had to, and it was unlikely that anyone would be able to stop them. But war would effectively close their mines. Even if the conquerors permitted them to continue operating, there would be enormous new taxes, and even larger export tariffs, and who within the country would be prepared to buy what they brought out? There were no Dwarven armies here; there was nothing to stop a conqueror from doing whatever he pleased.

So war would be as much a disaster for them as it would for the rest of the Kingdom. What did surprise him was that they were coming to people like Leopold and himself for their information. He would have thought that they would go straight to the source—the Queen—rather than get information secondhand.

Then again, maybe they didn’t trust the Queen. Given what he’d been hearing, they were probably right not to trust her.

Uncharacteristically, the Dwarves waited until the order had arrived before hunching over in a conspiratorial manner and fixing both of them with earnest gazes. “All right, what’s this Queen got in her head?” the one who had accosted them asked. “The King, rest him, dies, and there’s looking like an invasion any moment—”

“Bad for business, that, very bad for business,” one of the Dwarves muttered.

“Then of a sudden, there’s armies pulled back, and the Palace is full of Princes and adventurers—”

“Actually the adventurers are being put up in army tents on the drilling field,” Leopold interrupted. “Or the barracks, if they’re lucky. No princely pedigree—” he waggled his fingers in a shooing motion “—no bed in the Palace, nor pavilion in the garden. Rank does have its privileges.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the Dwarf replied impatiently. “The point is,
what’s going on?”

“The Queen must have studied my people,” Siegfried replied,
when Leopold said nothing. “She invited the lot of them to come, Princes got direct invitations, adventurers apparently smelled what was up and were allowed to join in. She told them they could all make a trial for the hand of the Princess, implied they might make a trial for hers, and now she’s got a city full of hostages.”

The Dwarf cast him a sharp look. “Northlander, are you? Aye, you’d know that ploy when you saw it then. Well. That’s a sharper notion than I’d have given her credit for. But how long will it work?”

Leopold shrugged. “Who’s to say? Don’t forget there’s that Godmother to reckon with. The longer the Queen can hold things off, the more time the Godmother has to do something about all of this.”

“Oh, aye, the Godmother.” The Dwarf pulled on his beard. “Not sure what she can do about an army—”

Siegfried shrugged. “I’m a Hero. I can challenge the champion to single combat, assuming they’ll appoint a champion and he’ll take it.”

“Aye, aye, that’s one way…” The Dwarf who had spoken chewed on his lip. “But what if they don’t?”

Leopold leaned back a little and looked utterly relaxed. “Well, that would be a problem, then. But look at it this way—this Queen is clever. She sends out invitations for hostages. That’s all well and good, but the first ones show up at
dawn
the next day! You don’t get that without magic help. So the Godmother here is meddling in this, as well. Maybe more than just her. Hmm?”

“I saw the first one arrive with my own eyes,” Siegfried said thoughtfully. “Looked like a Sorceress bringing him, not a Godmother. Actually, if I were making a guess about it, and you were to push me to tell that guess…looked as if it was his mother leaving him to try his luck.”

They
all
gave him an odd stare, and he shrugged. “Prince can’t have a Sorceress for a mother? Or maybe a sister? The thing is, where there’s one like him, there’s probably more—if not mothers or
sisters, then, well, patrons. Friends. Ties, that’s the point, ties to magicians. Yes? Bad idea to meddle in the affairs of magicians. Unless you like eating flies.”

“Or think that your crown would look better with all your hair burned off.” Leopold chuckled. “There you are, not only do we have hostages with fathers with armies, we have hostages with friends and family that can turn you into a newt. That will be enough to make the neighbors pause, I should think.”

The Dwarves made thoughtful sounds and contemplated their beer. Siegfried kept eyeing their armor, and thought wistfully that if he only had the tremendous sum it would take to buy a coat of that chain mail, now would be the time to strike a bargain with them.

But he didn’t. And there was no use even thinking about it. Gods got armor like that, not mere Heroes like him. Not unless they got a god to give it to them. Granted, his parents were half god but…his grandmother was more likely to send a thunderbolt to kill him than give him armor, and his grandfather was the one trying to set him up to marry his aunt and have that Colorful Doom descend on him. Dwarven chain-mail was no compensation for getting hacked to bits.

Or a King might give him such a thing. Kings could afford it, too.

Maybe if he ended up having to challenge a champion from one of the enemy armies, he could ask for a coat of that mail from the Queen. The good thing about chain mail, of course, was that it didn’t have to be made and fitted to you; it was easy enough to have a general size, and just as easy to add some or take some away, so he
could
just ask for a Dwarven coat and it would turn up the next day. He had made chain mail in the past himself—the Dwarf that had taught him had said it was important for him to learn “the patience of the metal”—but nothing like as fine as this. Sadly, he had outgrown it long ago, and at the point where it had become too small, he hadn’t had access to a forge to make the rings to extend it. Nor, truly, the
time to do so. With regret, he had bartered it for the breastplate, greaves and arm-guards he had now.

He forced his mind from the beautiful mail with an effort.

Leopold was deep in discussion with the Dwarves, about trade in gems and metals and how all of this might hurt them. Siegfried was surprised at first, but then he noticed something. Leopold was giving the impression of being knowledgeable, but what he was really doing was letting them talk, which they did with great enthusiasm and at great length. Leopold merely waited until they ran out of things to say, then asked a leading question based right out of the last things they had said. That set them off again, and like spirited horses with the bit between their teeth, they galloped on for a few more miles.

Siegfried accomplished much the same thing with his nods and “indeeds” among those people at the Palace. But not nearly as cleverly. Leopold really was getting a lot of information.

Finally the Dwarves were completely relaxed. They called over the serving boy—Leopold looked vaguely disappointed that it was a boy and not a wench—paid the reckoning and got up. “You’re good lads,” the chief of them said, as two of his fellows slapped Siegfried and Leopold on the back. “Best of luck in the trials. We’d bet on ye, but Dwarven folk don’t bet.” Siegfried had been ready for the slap and braced himself for it, but Leopold, like most folk who had never had much close contact with Dwarves, was not prepared for their strength, and nearly went over into his food. The Dwarves knew very well that they could catch the unprepared in this way, and were always hoping for it. This was the essence of Dwarven humor.

So it was Siegfried who gravely thanked them, while Leopold got his breath back. They trundled out, and it wasn’t until some moments later that Leopold stopped gasping. Dwarves really were very powerful.