Lord Beollan did his best, yet Wyln had still been able to squeeze in next to Jusson—though the enchanter was more interested in the crossbow bolts that we’d carried back in shields, saddles and bodies, than in the king. The bolts were stacked next to the map and Wyln picked up one to examine it. Laurel joined him and they both bent their heads over it, muttering to each other. As far as I could tell, it looked like an ordinary crossbow bolt, but I shifted to the far end of the desk, wanting as much space as possible between me and them.
“You stopped too soon, sire,” Thadro said. Also picking up a quarrel, he pointed at the map. “They were waiting for you there and there.”
“But wouldn’t they have also shot each other?” Magistrate Ordgar asked. Recovering from his staring contest with Dyfrig, his gray brows were knit as he stared at the facing buildings.
Thadro shook his head. “You heard Lord Beollan and the rest. They were on the balconies, shooting down.” He traced a path on the street with the quarrel tip, stopping at a point between the buildings. “If you had continued thus, sire, your casualties would’ve been worse.”
“Much worse,” Jusson said. “Fortune truly smiled on us.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I agreed, staring at the map. “But why an ambush in the first place?”
A southern lord gave me a patronizing smile. “Politics—”
“Here?” I interrupted. “In Freston?”
“Remember the tavern, Lord Rabbit,” Chadde said. “The tapster was aiming at Lord Wyln, thinking he was the king. When Bram realized his error, he aimed at you.”
“All right,” I said. “Kingdom politics here in Freston. But if there’s a sorcerer with a pet demon running about, then why ambush us with regular weapons? Were the snipers working with whoever raised Rodolfo? Or were they just taking advantage of the confusion of the moment? And if so, does that mean there are two separate factions? Or is it just one working at cross-purposes?”
Jusson smiled. “Those are very good questions, cousin.” He too picked up a crossbow bolt, tapping it against his palm. “But let’s start with the simplest and easiest to answer: Who owns these buildings? Magistrate Ordgar, do you know?”
“Owns?” Magistrate Ordgar gave Jusson an owlish look. “Uhm, I—”
“Ednoth owns them, Your Majesty,” Chadde said. “In fact, he and Gawell own most of the property along here.” She traced a section near the Kingsgate. “All acquired before Eastgate closed.”
Jeff, peering over my shoulder, gave a near-silent whistle while I blinked. “Before it closed?” I asked, eyeing the prime real estate. “They must’ve made a killing with the rerouting of all the trade traffic.”
“So they did,” Chadde said, her face calm, her eyes gleaming. “Others did too.”
“Now just a moment, Chaddie Laddie,” Alderman Almaric snapped.
“Again our peacekeeper is abused before us,” Jusson said.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Almaric said. “But Chadde’s insinuations—”
“Are also very interesting,” Jusson interrupted, “and we will talk about them later. In depth. At present, getting to our missing soldiers is more important than shady dealings.” He tapped the map with the bolt. “So we figure Gawell and Ednoth are behind this—”
The town elders shifted as if they would protest the mayor and head merchant’s innocence. Jusson’s gold gaze stabbed at them.
“Would you argue otherwise? After what has been revealed, could you?”
Magistrate Ordgar ran his hand over his face. “No, Your Majesty,” he said, tired. “I suppose not.”
“I am absolutely, positively sure not,” Jusson said. “Think on it,” Jusson held up a finger for each point. “Gawell’s kinsman is killed to raise this demon. As assassination is attempted by a taverner who has ties to rebellious Houses and smuggling rings, and who also has ties to Ednoth through contraband goods. And now an ambush from property Gawell and Ednoth own. Plus, there’s the absence of the soldiers from the garrison—the same garrison both were sent to earlier.” The king closed his hand into a fist before lowering it. “The stench of corruption hangs heavy around both the mayor and head merchant. Can you argue otherwise?” Jusson looked around, but no one seemed inclined to take him up on his offer. “No?” he asked. “Then tactics, messirs. Let us discuss ways and means to confound them.”
Finally settling on a big sodding mob with lots of weapons, Jusson put the bolt down and stepped away from the table, his gaze traveling over the drooping townspeople, continuing past the bleary-eyed aristos, guards, armsmen and watchmen, and coming to rest on me. “Those who wish to accompany us, be welcomed. Those who do not, no shame to you.” He headed for the door. “We left in a rush earlier. Anyone who needs to retrieve anything, do so now. Cais, I wish to speak with you regarding the defense of the house—” He exited the room with the majordomo at his side, Thadro and the Own at their heels, the rest of us following them. In the hallway, some of the guards split off and hurried to the back stairs—those who’d been lost with the Lord Commander going to get their armor.
Since my presence hadn’t been commanded, I did my own hurrying, thinking to change my torn tabard before we left. Going up the stairs as fast as my wobbly legs would take me, I walked into my bedchamber. It never looked more welcoming. There was a cheerful fire in the fireplace and my bed was made, with the covers turned down. Resisting the call of fine linen, I started for the clothespress, but stopped as I caught sight of myself in the washstand mirror. No wonder Jusson had been staring. In addition to my torn and dangling tabard, my shirt and trousers were stained, my face dirty and beard-stubbled, and my feather forlorn as it drooped in my unraveling braid. Wincing, I turned away from the mirror just as the bedroom door opened and Laurel, Wyln, Jeffen and—to my mild surprise—Dyfrig and Arlis trooped in. Laurel was still carrying that same damn crossbow bolt as he, the doyen and the enchanter went to the window, where they continued their muttered conversation, while Jeff went to his footlocker, flinging it open to rummage inside. Arlis, however, sat on one of the trundle beds, his head down as he now stared at his hands dangling between his knees, his face drawn. I supposed that was not surprising as, by my reckoning, he had just one night of sleep since we arrived in Freston three days ago.
But then we were all operating on short rations.
Idly thinking that Dyfrig’s robe must’ve gotten wet and shrunk during his fight with Rodolfo, I started for my trunk to do some rummaging of my own. At that moment, the door opened again, this time revealing Finn with a clean uniform on one arm. “I thought you might want to change, my lord,” he said, stepping inside.
Smiling, I finished undoing my sword belt and placed it on my footlocker lid. “You thought correctly, Finn. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my lord,” Finn said, carefully laying out the uniform on my bed. Then, without seeming to hurry, he was at my side, helping me remove the torn tabard. “I understand there was an arrow strike? Perhaps we should remove the chainmail too so as to dress your wound.”
“No, we won’t,” I said. “We don’t have time—”
“Do so, Rabbit,” Laurel said, without raising his gaze from the bolt. “I want to look at the wound more closely.”