The old campaigner broke into a hacking cough. "Forty then, damn you," he gasped as the fit subsided.
"Forty more it is, Cleedis." With triumphant cheer, Pinch clapped the other on the shoulder. "In gems-mixed sizes and properly appraised. Don't try to cheat me on that. My friends have good eyes for stones. Agreed?"
"Agreed." There was hardly any cheer in Cleedis. "It will all be ready when you deliver the Cup to Manferic."
"Me deliver? No, I'll pass it to you."
"Our lord insists you bring it to him. The stones will be ready then." It was the chamberlain's turn to drive a hard bargain. "If you do not deliver, there will be no payment."
"When?"
"Tonight-after the banquet."
Pinch didn't like it but he could not refuse. There was still one more card in this game he needed to play. "Agreed, tonight."
Cleedis shuffled to the door. "After the banquet. Now, I must return before more bolt from my side."
Just as the old man started to open the door, Pinch played his last trump. "One other condition, Lord Cleedis. My mother-you will take me to my mother.
The hand stopped on the knob. "That's… impossible. She's dead."
"Don't lie to me, old fool. I know she's alive and that Ikrit guards her." Pinch was bluffing on a dead hand, but there was no need for Cleedis to see that.
"How much do you know?" the chamberlain whispered.
"Everything. Manferic, Mother, all of it."
They locked gazes, gamblers trying to read the bluff in the other's eyes. The stakes were new to Pinch, but the game he knew. Cleedis tried his statesman's best, but in the end the silent struggle went to the younger man.
"I can't," he whispered. "I didn't even know she'd survived all these year until you came. Ikrit was supposed to have killed her long ago."
Pinch smiled grimly. The bluff had succeeded; what he'd guessed was true. "Why, Cleedis? Why did he deny me for all these years?"
The chamberlain shook his powder-white head. "That you'll have to ask Manferic when you see him- tonight." With that, the weary official slipped away before Pinch could impose any more conditions.
The questions asked, Pinch suddenly felt the weariness of his life settle over him. He'd been about for days now with barely a rest, twice beaten, twice healed, underfed, and overimbibed. He couldn't take another revelation, another wonder, without first the benefit of sleep. With a perfunctory bow to the lords assembled, he took his leave of Cleedis's clique and headed for the relative safety of his rooms.
As he passed a small salon, he was hailed by a voice that could not be ignored.
"Cousin."
Pinch stopped and gave a weary bow. "Greetings, Prince Vargo."
"Cousin Janol, stay awhile. I want a word with you." With a sharp signal, the dark-haired prince dismissed those clustered around the chaise where he'd been lounging. "Sit here and attend me." Vargo pulled aside the sweep of his dressing gowns to open a seat for his guest.
Pinch inwardly cursed himself for blindly straying too close to the prince's orbit, but now snared he could not escape. A quick scan of Vargo's hangers-on revealed Iron-Biter was not present, and that was a small relief. There was no saying how the dwarf might greet him and Pinch was not ready to find out. Stifling his resigned sigh and falsely filling himself with enthusiasm, Pinch took the seat offered.
"There was word you were unwell, cousin," Vargo said as he sipped at his morning tea. He oozed the charm of an unquestioned superior merely marking time to his ultimate victory. "Everyone was concerned."
Pinch accepted the tea a servant offered. "My lord, as you see, I am quite well. You should be wary of those who spread gossip. Perhaps they sought to embarrass you."
"I considered my source unimpeachable." The false concern was slipping away from his royal host.
"And yet I'm here and your source has been impeached."
Vargo set his cup aside. "What service have you done for old Cleedis? I know you, Pinch. You're a guttersnipe playing at nobility, like you always were and always will be. Well, guttersnipe, name your price. I can make you a wealthy man. That's what you want, isn't it?" The words hissed with soft anger between them.
Pinch ignored the cut. His pride could not be wounded by hollow words. There was only one thing untrue in what Vargo said-he wasn't just playing at nobility. He had the blood in his veins-all these years. Vargo's taunt was the finger that released the bolt, the magical words that triggered what was locked inside him. All the memories that he'd forgotten, set aside, and ignored roiled back to the surface-the slights at his parentage, the constant reminders that they were greater than he, the threats and promises that always began, "When I become king…" Vargo was right, he did have a price. So why not steal from them the only treasure they cared for? It would be the grandest theft of all and it warmed the cold side of his heart.
Draining the last of his tea, he stood and politely bowed to his enemy. "What I want, you won't pay me, Vargo."
"Name it. Gold? Magic? Women? Charter for a thieves' guild? Iron-Biter? Maybe you'd like the dwarf for your revenge? Take him, do what you want. He's yours if you want him."
Pinch just shook his head. "Your crown, the one you covet. For that I might even give you back your life."
The prince's face went red, then purple, and Pinch thought for certain he was about to explode in a gale of rage. All at once Vargo burst into a thunder of laughter. The servitors and courtiers craned their necks to see what was happening even while they pretended not to notice.
"Wit-even in the face of defeat!" the noble kin croaked out through gasps of air. A tear moistened his cheek. "It is one of your most pointlessly admirable traits, dear Janol.
"But know this, cousin," he added as his fit subsided, "you've made a bad choice of stars to set your fate by. Bors will never be king. Should it be Throdus or should it be I, we'll pluck you from our scalp like the flea you are. Now begone. You no longer amuse me."
At another wave, the courtiers closed back in again. The audience was over. Pinch snaked through the chambers, brushing away the insignificants who wanted to talk to him, and returned to his rooms. There the magnificently overstuffed featherbed welcomed him with outstretched pillows. Pinch collapsed into it like a sailor drowning in the arms of the sea.
"Sprite, you here?" he asked as he lay staring at the canopy.
"Aye, Pinch," came the halfling's nasal voice in answer.
"Any troubles?"
"Getting in? No-slipped in behind you and you didn't notice," Sprite bragged. "You're getting almost as bad as those guards, blind as posts. It was an easy walk."
Pinch smiled where he lay. It was true, the halfling had managed to evade him completely. "What about out?"
"I can crack the door and slip behind their backs without notice," the little sneak answered with great confidence. "Like I said, blind as posts."
Pinch closed his eyes and felt the abandonment of sleep flowing over him. "Excellent, my friend. Now, get out of here and see that the others are ready, then be back. The meeting's tonight. Be ready to follow me when we leave. Don't fail me on this one, Sprite. I've got the feeling that this one could be my neck. Do you sense it?"
"Aye, Pinch. The fur of my feet's quivering," drifted in the halfling's reply, and then there was darkness.
The scrape of stone on stone alerted Pinch and he sprang out of bed, still fully dressed, with the expectation of constables pouring through the door. There were no constables, no bed in a cheap stew, no laughter of harlots down the hall, only the warm night air that played over the thick tapestries. In the moment it took to establish his whereabouts, the secret door in the bedroom wall swung open and a sword waveringly emerged from the darkness. Satisfied that no one was lying in wait, Cleedis entered the room, brushing dust and cobwebs from his robes.