He could hear laughter from the other patrons as she flounced away, but his ears were ringing from the blow and their gibes were no louder in his throbbing head than the noise of a distant river.
With a few tankards of ale in his belly, even the watery piss that Conary sold at the Mint, Puzzle had become positively animated. “But I thought you said the other day that you were commanded to go with the soldiers,” the old man asked, wiping a thin line of froth from his lips. “To be a war-poet or somesuch.”
Much of the good cheer had gone out of him now, but Tinwright did his best. “Oh, that I spoke of it to the castellan—Lord Naynor, his name is?”
“Nynor” Puzzle frowned a little. “Not a mirthful fellow. Never been able to make him laugh. Thinks too much, I suppose.”
“Yes, well I was eager to go, of course, but Nynor felt I would be of more use if I stayed here—to lift up the spirit of the princess, with her brother away and all.” In actuality, it had been Nynor who had come to him to make arrangements—he had heard of Princess Briony’s offhand commission through some source Tinwright could not even guess—and Tinwright had gone down on his knees, even wept a little, swearing that it was all a mistake, that someone had misunderstood one of Briony’s offhand remarks. Nynor had said he would have to speak with her himself, but that had been days ago and the prince regent and the army had ridden out since then, so Tinwright felt he was now fairly safe. Still, even thinking about it, he could barely restrain a shudder. Matty Tinwright going to war! Against monsters and giants and the gods alone knew what else! It didn’t even bear thinking about. No, his smooth skin and handsome face were suited only for battles of the more intimate kind, the sort that took place in beds and secluded hallways, and from which both combatants walked away unharmed.
“I asked to go,” Puzzle suddenly proclaimed. “They’ve no use for me here, those two. Not like their father. There was a good man. He understood my jokes and tricks.” In a moment he had gone from chucklingly cheerful to teary-eyed. “They say he is still alive, King Olin, but I fear he will never come back. Ah, that good man. And now this war and all.” He looked up, blinking. “Who are we fighting? Fairies? I understand none of it.”
“Nobody does,” Tinwright said, and here he was again on firm ground. “The rumormongers are running mad even in the castle, so who knows what they are saying out in the city?” He pointed to a group of men standing over a table, smoking long pipes and sharing a broadsheet. “Do you know what that scurrilous pamphlet claims? That the princess regent and her brother have murdered Gailon Tolly, the Duke of Summerfield.” He shook his head, genuinely angry. To think that someone could speak such calumnies of the lovely young woman who had recognized Tinwright’s quality and raised him up from the undeserved muck of places like this to the heights for which he was meant… He shook his head and downed the remains of his fourth or fifth tankard. He would have liked another, but Brigid was still serving and he dared not call her over again.
Puzzle was looking around, too. “She’s very pretty, that girl.”
“Brigid? Yes, pretty enough, but her heels are as round as the full moon.” He scowled into the lees at the bottom of his mug. “Be grateful you are past the age of such things, my good fellow. Women like that are the bane of man’s existence. A night’s innocent tumble and they feel they can tie a string to your freedom and drag it around behind them like a child’s toy.”
“Past the age… ?” Puzzle said, a little doubtfully perhaps, or merely wistfully, then fell silent. He was quiet for such a long time that Tinwright finally looked up, thinking that the old man had fallen asleep, but instead Puzzle’s eyes were wide. Tinwright stared around, wondering if perhaps Brigid’s dress had come entirely unfastened, but the old fellow was staring at the tavern door as it swung closed, shutting out the rainy afternoon.
“Curfew tonight,” Conary shouted from behind his table on the far side of the room. “Closing time is sunset bell. The jack-o’-lanterns will be here soon, so drink up, drink up!”
“But I thought…” Puzzle said slowly.
“What?” Matty Tinwnght set down his tankard, considered another drink, then tried to decide whether he would prefer a trip to the Mint’s unspeakable privy or to stand in the pouring rain emptying his bladder against a wall on the way back. “What is it?"
“I… I just saw someone I know. Chaven the physician—the royal physician. He was talking to that man in the hood over there.” Puzzle stirred. “No, the one in the hood’s gone too. Maybe they went out together.”
“What is so strange in that? A physician of all people must know the good that ale will do—the best physick of all.” “But he is gone or rather he is not gone, obviously.” Puzzle shook his head. “He has left the castle, gone on a sudden journey. Everyone was surprised. Ah, well, I suppose he has come back.”
“Clearly, he has been somewhere dire indeed, if this is the first place he visits on his return. “ Tinwright heaved himself up onto his feet. He was beginning to think that maybe he had drunk a bit more than he had thought, lost count somewhere. “Come, let us go back ourselves. They are a poor lot here at the Mint, despite the occasional doctor or royal poet.” He helped Puzzle up. “Or king’s jester, of course,” he added kindly. “No, they do not understand quality here.”
Briony had always liked Barrick’s rooms better than her own in some ways. She had the view down to the Privy Garden from her sitting room, and that was pretty enough, especially on sunny days, and on rainy days the doves all perched on the windowsill, murmuring, and it felt as cozy as pulling a blanket over her knees But from her window the stony bulk of Wolfstooth Spire took up most of the horizon, so her view was foreshortened, limited to the local and domestic. Barrick, though, could see out across the rooftops from the small window in his dressing chamber, past the forest of chimneys and all the way to the sea. As Briony stared out of her brother’s window now, the Tower of Autumn was glinting white and brick red, and beyond it lay the open ocean, blue-black and moody. The little storm that had just passed had left the sky sullen, but it was still heartening somehow to look out across all this space and open sky, across the roofs of the castle like mountainous small countries, and to think about how big the world was.
Did they give him these rooms on purpose, because he was the son and I was the daughter? For me the gardens, the quiet places, the old walls, to let me grow used to the idea of a life confined, but for him this view of the world that is part of his birthright—the sky, life, and adventure stretching out in all directions…?
And of course now her brother was riding out into that world and she was terrified for him, but also envious. It is two separate betrayals, not only to leave me behind at all, but to leave me with the throne and all those people clamoring, begging, arguing. Still, it didn’t diminish her love for him, but changed the powerful connection into something like an overfond child who wouldn’t stop pestering but could not be safely put down.
Oh, and Barrick is in danger, if what that strange potboy said is true. But there was nothing she could do—nothing she could do about anything except to wait and prepare for the worst. And the gods awakening, the strange man said, wouldn’t explain it. What did that mean? What does any of this mean? When precisely did the whole world begin to run mad?
A cloud slid past. A single ray of sunlight angled down, dazzled for a moment on the Tower of Summer, then was swallowed up in gray again. Briony sighed and turned to her ladies. “I must dress.”