Too Many Princes (15 page)

“
What?
”
Lottres gasped. Before Pikarus had to repeat himself, Lottres said,
“
No, I heard you. I'm sorry. Of course, we'll be right down.
”

Pikarus nodded, a sympathetic gleam in his eye for Lottres's confusion. He closed the door.

“
Wake up, Bras,
”
Lottres called.

“
I am awake,
”
Brastigan replied, though he didn't much sound like it.

“
Hurry, get dressed,
”
Lottres urged. He frantically grabbed for his own clothing. Slept late? How could they, when they were supposed to confront the tinker at breakfast?
“
We'll miss him. Brastigan, get up!
”

His brother responded by indulging in a long stretch.
“
That's what you get for staying up so late,
”
Brastigan said, but he did roll out of bed.

A few minutes later, Lottres rushed down the stairs to the common room. Brastigan followed at a deliberately slower pace. The soldiers made no comment on their tardiness, but Lottres could feel their eyes pricking at him. The two princes tied down their baggage while Pikarus settled their account with the innkeeper.

They had missed breakfast, but that wasn't the worst of it. All the other guests had already departed. There was no sign of the tinker on the road outside, either. They went on their way with slices of bread and cheese for the morning meal. Lottres chewed listlessly. His eyelids felt sticky and stiff. Brastigan's words of the night before,
“
if he is following us, we won't have to look for him,
”
gave scant comfort. They couldn't even try to hurry, or the tinker might realize they were aware of him.

Well, Lottres wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. As they rode, he tried to follow Eben's instructions. Lottres let his eyes slip shut and relaxed so that his body would adjust itself to his horse's strides.

“
Listen,
”
Eben had told him.
“
Be as one with the air. Listen, and breathe.
”

Eben called this the first form. Lottres had practiced it every day of the journey. So far, he had learned that a man could hear and smell many more things with his eyes shut than open. He knew the scent of a muddy road, the sharpness of green fields, even the slight difference in pungency between horse and chicken manure. Lottres knew all the men in Pikarus's squad by their voices alone. He had learned how frightening it could be when your horse suddenly jumped underneath you. He was also learning, slowly, to sense the horse's tension just before it jumped.

Perhaps Lottres was trying too hard, for he had never felt anything out of the ordinary. Most days, he heard only the singing of blood in his ears. He definitely couldn't hear past the drumming of horses' s hooves to the slither of wind in the turnip leaves—not the way Eben said he should.

Of course, Brastigan's teasing didn't help. Last night, when Brastigan came to fetch him, Lottres had been trying to use the second form, using fire to focus his senses. He had even been tired enough to let slip that he was listening for sounds in the fire. Fortunately, Brastigan had mistaken his meaning.

Lottres sighed and opened his eyes. Any idea that he and Brastigan would renew their boyhood closeness on this journey was turning out to be hollow. Brastigan never missed a chance to mock the falcon and their quest. Of course, Brastigan didn't know he was also mocking Lottres's fondest dreams. Even if he had known, Lottres couldn't guess whether Brastigan would have stopped baiting him or done it even more.

Lottres wasn't sure what his brother would say when he learned that Eben thought Lottres could be a wizard. Brastigan had made his feelings about magic quite clear. Even less did he like events that weren't his own idea. The sullen way he had been acting ever since Unferth announced the expedition gave witness to that. Look how he had corrected Lottres last night, speaking so scornfully, as if Lottres didn't know what he himself was doing.

It wasn't just that, however. Lottres had to admit that he liked having a secret. He wanted to keep this to himself for a while longer. After all, he might not be able to master even the first form. No one could ridicule his failure if they didn't know what he was trying to achieve.

Even with this doubtful safeguard for his pride, Lottres's confidence was flagging. Five days of effort, and nothing to show for it. Nothing but the jingle of harness and mumbling of the men. Except...

Except, Lottres reminded himself, he had been right about the tinker. It was little enough, but this minor achievement was sufficient to make him keep trying.

* * *

Lottres nudged Brastigan and whispered,
“
There he is!
”

“
I told you,
”
Brastigan muttered back.

With evening the tinker appeared again, though they hadn't seen him all day. As a test of Lottres's theory, Brastigan had told Pikarus to choose the most expensive inn. Though puzzled, the squad leader had complied. Now they sat with a much finer meal before them, pretending they weren't staring at the stranger two tables off and one down. Brastigan had no doubt that it was Wulfram. He could only speculate whether the man had shaved his beard as a disguise or for some other reason.

“
He's right over there,
”
Lottres said as he passed a plate of steaming roast mutton across the table.
“
What should we do?
”

Brastigan took it and speared a couple of tender slices.
“
I see him. Don't look around! He'll know we're watching.
”

“
Sorry,
”
Lottres muttered as he reached for the bowl of mashed parsnips.

“
Now, listen,
”
Brastigan began, but Pikarus interrupted.

“
Is it the tinker you're not looking at?
”

The squad leader was seated next to Lottres. He helped himself to the platter of meat, although Brastigan wasn't offering it.

Brastigan merely nodded, but Lottres leapt on the words.
“
You've seen him, too?
”
he triumphantly demanded.

“
Shhh,
”
Brastigan warned.

Pikarus nodded and ladled gravy over his platter before passing the gravy boat on to Brastigan. He kept his voice low.
“
I didn't want to alarm you, your highness, but Javes and I have been keeping an eye on him for a few days now.
”

“
You should've mentioned it sooner,
”
Brastigan answered, annoyed.

“
I could have said something the day after Rockaine.
”
Lottres seemed far too happy about the confirmation of his suspicions.

“
Never mind,
”
Brastigan snapped.
“
I think I know who he is, and I have a plan to deal with him.
”

“
What plan is that?
”
Pikarus asked.

Brastigan had filled his mouth with food and had to chew before he spoke. He used this time to glance along the table, where he saw every man of Pikarus's squad who was in hearing distance was listening quietly. Good—there would be less explaining later.

“
Finish your supper,
”
he told them,
“
and don't get excited. Just do what you'd normally do. I'll pick the moment to have a friendly talk with him.
”
He smiled ironically at this description.

“
By yourself?
”
Lottres asked anxiously.

Pikarus asked,
“
Will you at least tell me his name?
”

Brastigan nearly refused, but then thought better of it.
“
Wulfram. From Carthell, or so he says. Ever heard of him?
”

“
No,
”
the man-at-arms replied after a moment's thought.

That was a good sign. If Wulfram had been arrested for a violent crime, Pikarus should know his name.

“
Are you sure it's safe?
”
Lottres pressed.

His worrying was an unpleasant reminder of the assassination attempt, which Brastigan had nearly managed to forget. He grunted,
“
Pup, I'm not sure of anything, but I'll hear what he has to say before I jump to conclusions.
”

Lottres looked unhappy, and Pikarus carefully asked,
“
Your highness, can we talk about this?
”

“
What's to talk about?
”
Brastigan retorted, irritated by their caution.
“
Do you think he'd start trouble in a place like this? There are too many witnesses.
”
He gestured to their busy surroundings and speared a piece of onion with his fork.

“
Agreed. However,
”
Pikarus said,
“
it might not be wise to let him know we've seen him. It could push him into something. Can we discuss our strategy beforehand?
”

“
Yes,
”
Lottres said.
“
I have some ideas, too. You can always talk to him later, if we all agree.
”

Brastigan looked his brother over while he chewed his food. It wasn't like Lottres to be so assertive. He wasn't sure he liked it. Still, he could see the conversation was about to get heated. That alone might draw Wulfram's attention. He shrugged, taking another bite of mutton to conceal his annoyance.

“
If it makes you old women feel better,
”
Brastigan said,
“
when you see me go upstairs, wait a few minutes and then join me. You two only.
”
He turned his dark eyes to Lottres and Pikarus.
“
The rest of you, keep your distance and act natural.
”

There were nods of assent along the table, though Lottres frowned at being called an old woman.

With a hint of relief, Pikarus said,
“
Very good, your highness.
”

Brastigan turned back to his meal. The mutton was rare and juicy, the vegetables tender, and he didn't let them get cold on his plate. Afterward, the ale warmed him nicely. Pikarus and his squad separated, some joining a dice game at a neighboring table and others strolling toward the fire, where a fiddle was starting to whine. Brastigan had to practically shove Lottres after them.

“
You've listened to the minstrels every night so far,
”
he growled.
“
If you don't do it this time
—.
”

“
I know, I know.
”
Lottres sulked off.

The common room was much like those of the other places where they stayed: noisy, crowded, and dark. Even a blazing fire couldn't completely light the cavernous spaces. This inn was newer than some, with fewer drafts and more comfortable chairs. As a result, the room grew warm rather quickly. Brastigan sipped his ale and waited for the atmosphere to get good and hazy before he moved.

While he waited, he considered the few details he had. Wulfram was what they called a
“
man of work,
”
which could mean anything, except that the work wasn't likely to be legal. There were less savory characters at the Dead Donkey, to be sure. Brastigan was reasonably certain Wulfram didn't cheat when he gambled. On the other hand, Brastigan had been trying to think if Wulfram had been at the Dead Donkey the day the knife was thrown. He couldn't remember.

Brastigan watched the tinker a while longer. Nothing raised his suspicions. Still, he didn't like the feeling it gave him. Hadn't he been thinking, earlier, that he didn't want to cross swords with Wulfram?

The dark prince drained his tankard and sauntered toward the stairs. The room he and Lottres shared was large and comfortable. There were two beds, a pair of dressers nearly buried in baggage, and a small table with chairs. A fireplace provided both light and heat. Brastigan added more wood to the fire and dragged three of the chairs over to the hearth. Then he checked his luggage to assure nothing had been pilfered in their absence.

The room was quiet, save for an occasional sputter behind the fireplace grate. Brastigan dug out oil and a honing stone. He sat down to give Victory a good cleaning while he waited for his comrades.

It wasn't long before Lottres arrived, scuttling in as if he were the one who had something to hide. His face was full of anxiety as he took the chair nearest his brother. The dark prince merely nodded and returned to his work. The honing stone hissed softly along the length of the blade.

“
I'm glad you didn't talk to him,
”
Lottres began.

“
I'm not,
”
was Brastigan's curt reply.
“
A man should have the chance to speak for himself.
”

An exasperated breath wafted the whiskers on his brother's chin as he slumped back in his seat. Brastigan almost expected Lottres to start staring at the fire again, but he folded his arms and fixed a determined gaze on Brastigan. Who, in turn, determinedly continued cleaning his weapon.

Some minutes passed in this stubbornness before a gentle knock sounded at the door. Pikarus entered swiftly, closed it behind him, and took the remaining chair.

“
I don't like the look of that tinker,
”
Lottres burst out, as if Pikarus's presence gave him courage to speak his mind.
“
He's dangerous. I can tell.
”

“
It could have nothing to do with us,
”
Brastigan reasoned. He gave Victory a final swipe and returned her to her sheath.