“Oh, Alfred, no! Don’t be ridiculous. You belong here, with us, with your people—”
“Do I?” Alfred asked her seriously, so seriously he stopped the words on her lips. “Orla, what happened to the others?”
“Others? What others?” she asked, perplexed.
“The others, the heretics. Before the Sundering. What happened to them?”
“I ... I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
But Alfred saw that she did. She had gone extremely pale; her eyes were wide and frightened. Her lips parted, as if she would say something more, but no sound came from them. Turning hurriedly, she almost ran from the garden. Alfred sat down unhappily on the bench.
He was beginning to be extremely frightened ... of his own people. The meeting between the Sartan and the mensch was arranged by the dolphins, who, as Alake had said, loved to feel important. What with swimming back and forth from one group to another, suggesting times, changing times, confirming times, discussing where and how and with whom, the dolphins were quite busy and did not think to mention their suspicions concerning Haplo and the dragon-snakes.
Or perhaps, in the excitement of the occasion, the dolphins simply forgot all about the Patryn. As Grundle said, what do you expect from the mind of a fish?
Haplo was on guard, always present when the dolphins were around, careful to request that the dolphins speak one of the mensch languages so that he knew what was being said.
It was a needless precaution.
The royal heads of household had far more urgent worries, didn’t have time to listen to idle gossip. The mensch were currently arguing over where to hold the meeting with the Sartan: on Sartan ground, as the Sartan wanted, or to insist that the Sartan sail out and meet the representatives of the three races midway.
Dumaka, who had already decided he didn’t like these Sartan, was in favor of forcing them to come to him.
Eliason said it would be more polite for them to go to the Sartan. “We’re the ones coming as beggars.”
Yngvar grumbled that he didn’t care where the meeting was held as long as it was on dry land. He was sick and tired of living in a damn boat. Haplo sat quietly nearby, watching, listening, saying nothing. He would let them argue, get it out of their systems, and then he would step in and tell them what to do.
As it turned out, the Sartan insisted that the meeting be held on Surunan or there would be no meeting.
Haplo smiled quietly. Out in a ship, in the magic-nullifying waters of the Goodsea, the Sartan would be completely at the mercy of the mensch ... or anyone the mensch happened to have with them.
But it was early days for thinking of that. The mensch were in no mood to fight. Not yet.
“Meet the Sartan on Surunan,” Haplo advised. “They want to try to impress you with their strength. It won’t hurt if you allow them to think they’ve succeeded.”
“Impress ME!” Delu repeated in disdain.
The dolphins sped back with the mensch agreement, returned to say that the Sartan had invited the royal representatives to come early the next morning. They were to appear before the Sartan Council, present their requests in person to that august body.
The royal representatives agreed.
Haplo returned to his berth. He had never, in his life, experienced such excitement. He needed quiet, solitude, to calm his racing heart, burning blood.
If all his plans worked out, and he could see—at this point—no reason why they shouldn’t, he would return to the Nexus in triumph, with the great Samah as prisoner. This victory would vindicate him, pay for his mistakes. Once again, he would be held in high esteem by his lord, the man he loved and revered above all others.
And, while he was at it, Haplo intended to get his dog back, too.
27
Alfred knew quite well why he’d been invited to attend the meeting between the mensch and the Sartan Council members, a meeting to which, under normal circumstances, he would have never been asked. Samah knew that Haplo would be accompanying the mensch. The Councillor would be watching Alfred carefully, closely, in an attempt to catch some sort of communication between them. Had Alfred and Haplo met under normal circumstances, Alfred would have had no cause to worry. Haplo would have disdained to acknowledge Alfred’s presence at all, much less speak to him. But now Alfred had the dog. How he had managed to end up with the dog, how Haplo had managed to lose the dog, were questions beyond the Sartan’s ability to answer.
Alfred had the feeling that once Haplo saw the dog, he would demand the dog back. Samah would most likely get what he wanted tonight—evidence that Alfred was in collusion with a Patryn. And there wasn’t anything Alfred could do to stop it.
He considered not attending the meeting, considered hiding himself somewhere in the city. He considered, wildly, fleeing back through Death’s Gate. He was forced to reject all these ideas for a variety of reasons—the main one being that Ramu attached himself to Alfred, stayed with him everywhere he went. Ramu marched Alfred and the dog to the Council hall, led them both into the Council chambers. The other Council members were present, already seated. They glanced at Alfred, looked severe, and averted their gazes. Ramu indicated a chair, requested that Alfred be seated, then stood directly behind him. The dog curled up at the Sartan’s feet.
Alfred attempted to catch Orla’s eye, but failed. She was quiet, composed, as cold as the marble table on which she rested her hands. She, like the others, refused to look at him directly. Samah, however, more than made up for his colleagues.
Alfred glanced in the Councillor’s direction and was disconcerted to find Samah’s stern eyes glaring straight at him. Alfred tried not looking at the Councillor, but that was worse, for he could feel the eyes, if he could not see them, and their hard, suspicious glare made him shrivel up inside. Absorbed in his own vague terrors, yet having no idea what he feared, Alfred wasn’t aware of the mensch’s arrival until he heard those Council members around him start to mutter and whisper.
The mensch walked into the Council Chamber. Heads held high, they walked proudly, tried not to look awed and daunted at the marvelous sights they’d seen on their way.
The Council members weren’t paying all that muttering attention to the mensch, however. Their eyes were fixed on one figure, on the blue-tattooed skin of the Patryn, who entered last and who kept back behind the mensch, retreating to a shadowy corner of the large room.
Haplo knew they were watching him. He smiled quietly, folded his arms across his chest, leaned back comfortably against the wall. His eyes flicked over the Council members, rested briefly on Samah, then their gaze came to rest on one person.
Blood rushed to Alfred’s face. He could feel the heat, hear it beating in his ears, wondered miserably that it wasn’t gushing out his nose. Haplo’s smile tightened. He glanced from Alfred to the dog slumbering quietly beneath the table, unaware that it’s master had entered. The Patryn’s eyes came back to Alfred.
Not yet, Haplo said to him silently. I won’t do anything yet. But just wait. Alfred groaned inwardly, his arms and legs curled up like those of a dead spider. Now everyone in the room was staring at him: Samah. Orla. Ramu. All the other Council members. He saw scorn, contempt, in every gaze except Orla’s. But in hers, he saw pity. If Death’s Gate had been anywhere nearby, he would have hurled himself into it without a second thought. He paid no attention to the proceedings. He had the vague impression that the mensch said some polite words, introduced themselves. Samah rose to his feet, was responding, introduced the Council members (not using their true Sartan names, but giving the mensch equivalent).
“If you do not mind,” Samah added, “I will speak the human language. I find it the language best suited to conduct such business as this. I will, of course, provide translations for the elves and dwarves—”