“Of course they are,” Mags sighed. Because there was one big question that no one had been able to answer.
Why had that crazed assassin taken one look at him and exclaimed “You aren’t supposed to be here?”
Sure enough, first thing in the morning, even before breakfast, a page from the Palace was tapping on his door.
He’d been expecting it, of course; Rolan had warned Dallen, who had gotten him up early. He’d put on his best set of ordinary Grays, and followed the page up to the Palace in a state of dread and resignation.
He was ushered into a small room crowded with people; there was a throne there, and the King was on it; he was surrounded by Guardsmen bristling with weapons and resentment, and besides the Guardsmen, Nikolas and the entire Council were there.
And so was a group of dignified looking men and one woman, all in long robe-like garments that at first glance were very unimpressive—
Until you realized, at second glance, that the subdued colors of their garments were woven in patterns so intricate that Mags had never seen anything like them in his life, and the threads that composed the fabric could not possibly have been thicker than a human hair.
One thing was certain. Their costumes looked nothing at all like those of the arrogant “merchant princes” who had so abused the Crown’s hospitality.
They all studied him, as he stood there awkwardly. Everyone studied him. The Guards studied him in a way that suggested that some of them hoped he might try and bolt so that they could bring him down.
“Well, my lords?” the King said, when the uncomfortable silence had stretched on for far, far too long.
“Is beink chust ordinary boy, Highness,” one of the envoys said with a shrug. “Is lookink nossink like anyone ve know uff.”
“Not like some notorious assassin? Infamous thief?” Mags almost cast a sharp glance at the King, for even if his Councilors didn’t detect the edge of sarcasm to his words, Mags certainly did.
“He is not beink look effen like native of our land, nor those around it,” the Envoy said firmly. “He is beink little and dark, and ve are beink large and golden.”
Well that was certainly true.
“He is not beink look like Shin’a’in, either,” the woman observed. “They are beink dark, but tall. Werry tall.”
The King spread his hands and turned to his Councilors. “There, you see?”
“This only proves that the real envoys from Seejay don’t recognize this Trainee as looking like anyone they know, Majesty,” said the Seneschal, with reluctance. “And we still do not know where the false envoys came from.”
“And I prefer to believe that poor Mags is the victim of that old saw, that everyone has a double somewhere,” Nikolas put in.
The King laughed. “The most likely explanation that comes to my mind is that we don’t actually know what the assassin thought he saw. The man was mad, and he might have been hallucinating. For all we know, he looked at Mags and saw his brother, his mother, or his worst enemy.”
“And how likely is that?” the Seneschal asked, pulling on his beard a little.
“Very likely.” The Head of the Healer’s Circle had been mostly hidden by the others until he spoke. “Hallucinations of this sort are a common component of a deep level of insanity. There are even cases of people murdering beloved members of their families, convinced that the people trying to help them are mortal enemies, or demonic entities. I have known of sufficiently mad women who murdered their own infants, certain that the children had been taken away and demons left in the cradle.”
“I’m satisfied,” the King said. “You can go, Trainee Mags. Thank you for coming.”
Mags bowed himself out hastily. So far as he was concerned, he couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.
The team was waiting for him in the corridor, though not looking particularly anxious. Well that was the advantage of being Grays; your Companions kept you abreast of what was going on. Thank goodness. Pip punched him lightly on the arm, and Gennie threw him a smile, but nobody said anything until they all got inside and were seated.
“So?” asked Bear.
He told them what had happened. Or, more precisely, what had not happened.
Gennie raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s interesting, but it doesn’t prove or disprove anything except that those men were lying, and we already knew that.”
Mags nodded—then thought of something. “Mebbe one thing. They didn’ seem ter recognize me, nor think I looked like summun else.”
“True, true,” said Pip. “Hmm. Well, put this in a logic tree.” Pip, began tracing an invisible diagram on the table with his finger. “The real envoys didn’t recognize Mags. The fakes didn’t recognize Mags, but they did know him after being here a while. The assassin who was working with the fakes, did. Why?”
“Could be we’ve been looking at this all backwards,” Halleck said slowly. “Well, there’s three possibilities. The first is what the Healer said. He was out of his head. That’s the likeliest, and he could have thought Mags was anybody. I mean ‘You’re not supposed to be here—’ that sound more like what someone says when he sees someone who really isn’t supposed to be there, that it’s impossible for the person he thinks he sees to be there.”
“All right, and the other two?” Pip prompted as Mags listened intently.
“It could be the killer was from somewhere else, and actually recognized Mags as looking like someone he knew... but then you have to wonder why he was working for the fakes and how they found him. So the next likeliest is that the fakes told him about Mags, the killer went and had a look at him, did everything he could to keep Mags from finding Bear, and when he did anyway, had that reaction. That’s even more likely if he was expecting the fakes to get rid of Mags. After all, Bear is Mags’ best friend. If there was anyone likely to fight like a wildcat to save him, it would be Mags. So obviously, you wouldn’t want Mags to find him.”
Pip nodded. “And there’s nothing mysterious or sinister about that.”
“Why would the fakes wanta get rid ’a me?” Mags asked—then answered his own question. “Because I shamed ’em, they’re bullies, and fellers like that likes t’ get even.”
“Exactly.” Pip spread his hands. “Easy explanation, and you know what they say, the simplest answer is generally the right one.” He grabbed a plate of bacon and began shoveling it onto the plates of the others. “So let’s eat. I’m starving. We’ll let the nags discuss it among themselves, then pass it off to their Chosen.”
:Nag? I heard that!:
It was as if the gods were trying to muck up his life as badly as possible. The timing for this could not possibly have been worse. But he’d promised... and he wasn’t going to go back on a promise. Especially not now.
As always, the team was waiting for him to escort him into lunch. He approached them with his head hunched down. They weren’t going to like this.
“Where’s Lena? And Bear?” asked Gennie, craning her neck to see if they were somewhere in the corridor behind him.
Mags took a deep breath. “Lena got bumped on her Contest; she’s comin’ up right now an’ Bear got called away. That Councilor Chamjey is s’pposed t’ be answerin’ charges, an’ he took sick; reg’lar Healers can’t make heads nor tails of it, an’ they called Bear, so he’s down in city. We both promised Lena we’d be watchin’ her Contest. . . .”
He trailed off, just as Herald Setham approached their table.
“Mags, Dallen said you needed to speak with me?”
Mags blurted it all out a second time. “So—I know ’tis practice—” he said desperately. “But—”