“No,” Matt said. “One walks up to the nearest nobleman. Come on, let’s go find one.”
He turned away. Pascal glanced at the manticore, startled, but the monster only shrugged and jerked his head toward Matt. Pascal swallowed and followed the wizard. When they looked back, the manticore had disappeared. In this town it was always a short walk to the nearest boulevard. The districts changed from grungy to grand in two blocks. Matt took up station on a street corner and began to play. Pascal, with conditioned reflexes, threw down his hat. A passerby stopped to listen, then threw in a copper when the song ended. Another passerby joined him. Soon the hat was half full, and Matt had a crowd. Then he saw the nobleman’s retinue coming. Matt timed it so the nobleman would just be passing as he sang:
The carriage stopped and the aristocrat peered out through the door, no doubt wondering what there was about this minstrel that was so compelling-he didn’t sound all that funny. Matt went on:
The nobleman laughed, and his lady joined in. He wiped his eyes and said, “Well-spoken, minstrel! In fact, hilariously spoken! Climb up behind, for you must come with me to the king!”
Some show of reluctance was in order. “But your Lordship-”
“Get up behind, I said!” The nobleman frowned. “Are you under the illusion that you have a choice?”
“No, my lord! Right away, my lord!” Matt slung his lute across has back and leaped up to the perch on the back of the coach, calling, “Come on, Pascal!” Then, to the footman who had already moved over to make room for him, “He’s part of the act.”
“Part or not, there is no more room!” the man protested. “There is scarcely enough for three, let alone four!”
“Number four,” Matt said, standing up and grabbing a footman’s handle, “you’ll have to sit between my feet and hold onto my ankles.”
“Stand fast,” Pascal begged as he hiked himself up onto the moving seat, and off they went, with the disappointed commoners protesting loudly, and Pascal trying to count his hat with one hand, the other elbow hooked around Matt’s shin. Off they went, with Matt reflecting that either the mangled version of Gilbert’s verse had been funnier than he knew or his magic was getting stronger. Maybe it was just a matter of getting adjusted to the Latrurian environment. Matt just hoped he wasn’t adjusting too far. The sentries didn’t even bat an eye as their party drove over the drawbridge and into the courtyard. The coach drew to a halt and the footmen hopped down to open the doors. Matt and Pascal hopped down, too, and started to follow the nobleman and his wife, but a footman caught Matt by the elbow. ‘Through the kitchens, you! You’re no better than the rest of us!“ And he led Matt off firmly, while his mate took Pascal in tow. Definitely, he had not worked this spell just to meet the royal cook. ”But your master wants us to sing for the king!“
“He will send for you when it is time.” The footman clearly didn’t think much of this way of hiring new staff. “You’ll stay in the servants’ hall, or whatever sleeping chamber they afford you, until then.”
The “sleeping chamber” turned out to be a ten-by-six-foot space with a four-foot-high ceiling that sloped rapidly down to six inches-they were under the eaves. Matt warily eyed a dark spot in the overhead boards and decided not to rest his lute underneath. The loft was hot and stifling. He could hardly wait for dusk. “Everything considered, Pascal, let’s hang out in the servants’ hall.“
“ ‘Hang out’?” Pascal gave him a blank look. “Loiter. Idle. While away time when we don’t have anything to do. Pester the servants and find out about the king.” Pascal’s eyes lit. “Come on.” Matt headed for the curtained hole that served as a door. He tried out the strength of his new spell by singing it to the off-duty servants, then following it up with some popular songs from his own world and time that he had found singularly disagreeable. The servants gathered around with wide eyes and tapping toes, hanging on his every phrase. Grins broke out and people began dancing. Matt decided that the spell worked like a charm. Come to think of it, in this universe, it was a charm. Either that or rock music had a more universal appeal than he was willing to admit, even when it was played on a lute by a third-rate amateur… “Ho, minstrel!” It was the lord’s footman at the door again, the one with his face in a permanent sneer. “Your master summons you!”
“Why, then, I shall obey with alacrity!” Matt struck a final chord and nodded to Pascal. “Let’s go.”
The servants grumbled in disappointment as Pascal followed Matt toward the door. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back,” Matt assured them, then wished he hadn’t. Sometimes he had trouble keeping his promises. They wound a tortuous way through halls that had been accumulating sudden turns for centuries, then came up to a stout oaken door banded with brass and flanked by two guards. The footman announced, “The minstrel Matthew and his assistant Alacrity, responding to the summons of Conte Paleschino.” Matt turned to him, puzzled. “My assistant… ? Oh, right.”
The left-hand guard scowled. “We have permission for a minstrel to enter with you, but none other.”
The footman frowned, but Matt said quickly, “Don’t worry about it. Pascal can hobnob with the off-duty servants while he waits for me. In fact, I thought you had struck up an acquaintance with a young lady there, hadn’t you, Pascal?”
“Aye,” the young man said, giving Matt a very direct look in the eye. “There is a young lady there who is quite fascinating. She dwells with the women who wait upon the king, and seems to partake of their beauty.”
The footman frowned, incensed, but the guard gave Pascal a sly grin. “Aye, lad, back to the servants’ hall with you, to deepen your acquaintance. Can you find your way?”
“Oh, I shall ask if I have need.” Pascal turned away. “I shall see you when you have finished, friend Matthew. I trust you shall be well-received and shall play long for them.”
“Thanks.” Matt could take a hint. Pascal was trusting him to keep the king and his men occupied for a long time. Well, he would do his best to play along-a very long. He turned back to the guard. “Okay. Do I get to see the king now?”
“No. You see his Lordship.” The guard nodded to his mate, who swung the little door open. The footman pushed in front of Matt, snapping, “This way!” Matt let him go first, and followed him in. The huge room they entered was lit only by candles around the walls, and a row of small, narrow windows high above. Matt glanced up, just to check, and sure enough, there were guards stationed next to the windows, on a catwalk that went completely around the huge room. Those weren’t windows, they were arrow slits. Each embrasure was filled with tinted glass-tinted not by intention, Matt supposed, but by imperfect glass-making. Still, the muted background light that it gave the throne room was really very pleasing, especially when it was highlighted by the two ten-branch candelabra at either side of the steps that led up to the throne. The dais wasn’t really very high-only three feet or so-but it was enough to make the king decidedly the center of the room. Matt took a quick glance-all he could manage, as he followed fie footman who was weaving through the crowd. But he retained the image of the king and studied it until he could look again. He didn’t have time, though. The footman was standing by the nobleman from the coach, who didn’t seem to be anywhere nearly as tall now that he was standing on the floor. In fact, he was shorter than Matt, if you didn’t count all the hair piled up on top of his head. “Milord.” The footman bowed. “The minstrel is here.”