And me? Chert could not help thinking. If they kill Chaven, the royal physi¬cian, what will they do with a mere Funderling who is his accomplice? The only ques¬tion will be whether anyone ever learns of my death. Ah, my dear old Opal, you were right after all-/ should have learned to stay at home and tend my own fungus.
He took a deep breath to try to slow his beating heart. Perhaps it was only Chaven's own servants after all. Perhaps…
"I promise you, Lord Tolly, there is nothing else here of value at all." The reedy voice wafted down the stairwell, close enough to keep Chert stock-still, holding the last breath he took as if it must last him forever. To his horror, he saw Chaven's eyes go wide with that mindless, inexplicable rage he had shown earlier, even saw the physician make a twitching move toward the staircase itself. Chert shot out his hand and clung as if his fingers were curled on scaffolding while he dangled over a deadly drop.
The other's voice was lazy, but with a suggestion somehow that it could turn cruel as quick as an adder's strike. "Is that true, brother, or are there things here that you think might not be of value to me, but which you might quite like for yourself?"
Confused, Chert guessed that Hendon Tolly and his brother, the new Duke of Summerfield, stood in the hallway above them. He could not un¬derstand the expression of heedless fury on Chaven's face. Earth Elders, didn't he realize that the Tollys owned not just the castle now but had be¬come the unquestioned rulers of all Southmarch? That with a word these men could have Chaven and Chert skinned in Market Square in front of a whooping, applauding crowd?
"I tell you, Lord, you already have the one piece of true value. I promise that eventually I will winkle out its secrets, but at the moment there is something miss¬ing, some element I have not discovered, and it is not in this house…" The man's thin voice suddenly grew sharp, high-pitched. "Ah, keep that away from me!"
"It is only a cat," said the one he had called Lord Tolly.
"/ hate the things. They are toots of Zmeos. There, it rum away. Good. " When he spoke again his voice had regained its earlier calm. "As I said, there is nothing in this house that will solve the puzzle-I swear that to you, my lord."
"But you will solve it," the other said. "You will."
Pear was in the first one's voice again, not well hidden. "Of course, Lord. Have I not served you well and faithfully for years?"
"I suppose you have. Come, let us lock this place up and you can go hack to your necromancy."
"I think it would be more accurate to call it captromancy, my lord." The speaker had recovered his nerve a bit. Chert was beginning to think he had guessed wrong-that one of these was a Tolly, but not both. "Necromancers raise the dead. It is captromancers who use mirrors in their art."
"Perhaps a little of both, then, eh?" said his master jauntily as their voices dwindled. "Ah, what a fascinating world we are making…!"
When the two were gone and the house was silent Chert could finally breathe freely, and found he was trembling all over, as if he had narrowly avoided a fatal tumble. "Who were those two men?"
"Hendon Tolly, to give one of the dogs a name," the physician snarled. "The other is the vilest traitor who ever lived-an even filthier cur than Hendon-a man who I thought was my friend, but who has been the Tollys' lapdog all along, it seems. If I had his throat in my hands…"
"What are you talking about?"
"Talking about? He has stolen my dearest possession!" Chaven's eyes were still wide, and it occurred to Chert it was not too late for the royal physician to go dashing out into Southmarch Keep and get them both killed. He grabbed Chaven's robe again.
"What? What did he steal? Who was that?"
Chaven shook his head, tears welling in his eyes again. "No. I cannot tell you. I am shamed by my weakness." He turned to stare at Chert, des¬perate, imploring. "Tolly called him brother because the man who helped him pillage my secrets is one of the brothers of the Eastmarch Academy. Okros, Brother Okros-a man who I have trusted as if he were my own family."
Chert had never seen the physician so helpless, so defeated, so… empty.
Chaven put his head on his arms, sagged as if he would never rise again. "Oh, by all the gods, I should have known! Growing to manhood in a fam¬ily like mine, I should have known that trust is for fools and weaklings."
"Are you mad?" Teloni could not have been more astonished if her younger sister had suggested jumping off the harbor wall into the ocean. "He is a prisoner! And he is a man!"
"But look at him-he is always here and he seems so sad." Pelaya Akua-nis had seen the prisoner a half-dozen times, and always the older man sat on the stone bench as quietly as if he listened to music, but of course there was no music, only the noises of birds and the distant boom and shush of the sea. "I am going to talk to him."
"The guards won't let you," one of the other girls warned, but Pelaya ig¬nored her. She got up and smoothed her dress before walking across the garden toward the bench. Two of the guards stood, but after looking at her carefully one guard leaned back against the wall again; the other moved ex¬actly one step closer to the bearded man they were guarding, which was apparently the solution to some odd little inner mechanics of responsibil¬ity. Then the two guards resumed their whispered conversation. Pelaya wished she looked more like the dangerous type who might free a prisoner, but the guards had judged her correctly-talking to him with her friends and the man's guards around her on all sides was quite enough of an ad¬venture, however she might like to act otherwise.
As she reached him the man looked up at her, his face so empty of emo¬tion that she was positive she could have been a beetle or a leaf for all he cared. She suddenly realized she had nothing to say. Pelaya would have turned and walked away again except that she could not bear to see Teloni give her one of those amused, superior looks.
She swayed a little, trying to think of how to begin, and he only watched her. For a moment the garden seemed very silent. He was at least her fa¬ther's age, perhaps older, with long reddish-brown hair and beard, both shot with gray and a few curling wisps of pure white. Even as she examined him he was surveying her in turn, and his calm gaze unnerved her. "Who are you?" she said, blurting it out so that it sounded like a challenge. She could feel the blood rising in her cheeks and had to fight hard once more against the urge to flee.
"Ah, my good young mistress, but it is you who approached me," he said sternly. He sounded serious, and his face looked serious too, but something in the way he spoke made her think he might be mocking her. "You must
name yourself. I lave you never been told any stories, have you read no books on polite discourse? Names are important, you see. However, once given, they can never be taken back." He spoke the Hierosoline tongue with a strange accent, harsh but somehow musical.
"But 1 think I know yours," she said. "You are King Olin of South-march."
"Ah, you are only half right." He frowned, as though thinking hard about his words, then nodded slowly. "It seems that, in fairness, you must tell me half of your name."
"Pelaya!" her sister called, a strangled moan of embarrassment.
"Ah," said the prisoner. "And now I have received my due, will you, nill you."
"That wasn't fair. She told you."
"I was not aware we were involved in a contest. Hmmm-interesting." Something moved across his lips, fleeting as a shadow-a smile? "As I said, names are very important things. Very well, I will do my best to guess the other name without help from any of the bystanders. Pelaya, are you? A fair name. It means 'ocean. »