"
Saint Bruce was a warrior poet.
He lived in a cave, don't you know it?
He wrote sonnets and verses,
But never said curses.
He'll give you one chance—please don't blow it.
"
Feordina whimpered and flung herself out of the way, but then she always did.
I was waiting for her to say, "He must be in a good mood. Lucky you; he's accepted your poem," when I saw the sword begin its fatal swing down.
SUBJ: URGENT—Deadline
DATE: 5/25 04:17:06
P.M.
US eastern daylight time
FROM: Nigel Rasmussem
<
[email protected]
>
TO: dept. heads distribution list
Our numbers concur with Japan's: Giannine may or may not have time to complete one more lifetime. There definitely won't be another chance.
She is making a valiant effort but may not be able to make up for time lost in her initial attempts to break through level 1.
Medical personnel standing by.
Members of the press are aware that there is a situation but do not have details. Please remain calm and refer all questions to Jim in PR, who is preparing a statement.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEI will try to remain calm, too, but I am sick at heart.
OK, so apparently when Feordina warned that Saint Bruce had a good memory, she didn't just mean he would recognize published poetry—apparently she meant a player had to make up a new poem each time.
Thanks a lot, Nigel Rasmussem.
OK: hill, Deming, Dad, shrine ... The next time I stood in front of the statue, I recited:
"
A poem in a cave:
Offering up all my hopes
On butterfly wings.
"
Feordina didn't wince and duck. She smiled and said, "Haiku."
"Yes," I said.
"Saint Bruce likes haiku."
"Well, good."
"Except..."
How had I known there'd be an "Except..."?
"Except, haiku's so
very
short..."
"Succinct," I corrected.
"Good word," she told me. "Haiku's so
very
short that if a poet offers up haiku poetry, Bruce
does
like two." She smiled her brown-toothed smile at me.
A
second
poem?
"Did I mention the time limit?"
So, on the spot, I made up another haiku:
"
The statue of Bruce,
Silent but waiting to strike:
Poem, do not fail me.
"
Feordina and I watched the sword.
"Not quite as good as the first one," she said. "But he must be in a good mood. Lucky you."
If I were lucky, my father would have forgotten my birthday.
But apparently, I thought as I hid the ring in my bodice, I had to make my own luck one step at a time.
So when, at the castle, Rawdon introduced himself) I wouldn't let him go. "No, you come into the Great Hall with me," I told him.
"Oh, but you're meeting your family for the first time," he said. "This should be a joyous private occasion."
I could have said, "Yeah, well, we both know it's not going to be and, anyway, I know where you're off to, you larcenous little weasel, you." But I didn't. I just said, pleasantly, "I insist. As your new king."
The royal family didn't care that I brought a witness with me; they were just as irritable and snide as ever.
I'd been thinking about which family member I needed to choose as an ally. They'd each had a crack at killing me: Abas had taken my head off in this very room; Wulfgar, in his wolf shape, had killed me both in the topiary maze and in the barbarian camp; and I was sure Kenric had arranged for me to be poisoned—whether or not he was also behind the death of King Cynric.
So, who to choose this time?
Wulfgar was unpredictable unless I used the ring on him; so if I needed the ring later on, I'd be out of luck.
Abas had prevented the barbarians from kidnapping me—which I had to believe was a good thing—except that, in saving me, he had killed King Grimbold, which the barbarians seemed exceptionally reluctant to forgive. Was there a way to get Abas to fight off the barbarians more ... gently?
"Abas" and "gently" in the same sentence:
Right.
Bringing me back to Kenric, who had been my first choice all those tries ago, based on his good looks—which were, come to think of it, what had gotten me into this game to begin with.
Kenric.
Well, Mr. Rasmussem had warned me away from him. Or maybe not. "Kenric and Sister Mary Ursula don't work well together," he'd said. Maybe all he had meant was that that pairing needed extra work.
How many more times could I afford to be wrong?
"Kenric," I called as the royals dispersed. "May Counselor Rawdon and I walk with you?"
At which point Rawdon said, "You know what would be nice? Why don't the two of you have a cozy little chat—"
"No, no." I linked arms with both him and Kenric. "Let's all three of us walk together and get to know one another. Tell me, each of you, your impressions of King Cynric."
They both looked startled and maybe a bit worried at that thought.
I said, "Rawdon, you first."
"Oh," Rawdon blustered. "Well. Ah. What do you mean?"
"I haven't had a chance to know my father. It's very difficult to grow up without a father, you know. So many things make no sense if you don't have your dad—those mushy Father's Day cards every June, Father Christmas, 'Our Father who art in heaven...'"
They were looking at me as though my brain were dribbling out of my nose.
"Not that I'm bitter or anything. Was he a good man? Fair? Did he have any faults, like, was he overly trusting, perhaps?"
By then we were out in the courtyard. There was the supply wagon, though no barbarians were lurking behind it for the moment. And there were Captain Penrod and the other guard, yet again dragging the poacher boy between them.
"Oh, look," I said. "I wonder if this is something we need to make a decision about. Hello, Captain. I'm Princess Janine. What's happened here?"
Penrod said, "We caught this boy poaching. He killed a deer. The usual punishment?"
Before Kenric could ask me what I thought, I turned to Rawdon and asked, "What do
you
advise, Counselor? Are you an advocate of strict interpretation of severe laws to deter crime?"
I saw Rawdon gulp. His voice faint and maybe wobbling just the slightest bit, he said, "The law is the law."
The boy sniveled, "No. I didn't do nothing. I found 'im dead already. I was dressing 'im down so's the meat wouldn't go to waste, but I didn't kill 'im."
I pressed Rawdon. "So there's no room for compassion for one who has foolishly done wrong, then come to sincerely regret his crime?"
"I wouldn't say that," Rawdon whispered.
No, I wouldn't think you would.
I saw that Kenric was watching Rawdon appraisingly, no doubt wondering what had rattled him. I said, "Of course, in this case, we don't even know for sure that the accused is guilty. Or do we?" I turned to Penrod. "Did any witness actually see him kill the deer?"
"No witnesses," Penrod admitted. "But look at his hands."
I said, "Good point. But then, he admitted he was dressing down the deer once it was already dead. This is a difficult decision without witnesses. Do we know for a feet how the deer died, and how long it had been dead?"
"There was an arrow in its gut," Penrod said. "And the body was still warm."
"You're very good at details," I told him. His manner was friendlier, too, once I didn't simply dismiss him and declare him wrong and the boy free. "Was the boy carrying a bow?"
"Yes," Penrod said.
The boy hastily said, "I found it. It was just layin' there, like, on the ground, at the edge of the clearing. And I, uh, picked it up before I started in on the deer. Which was dead already. Killed by someone else. Who probably heard me comin', and thought it was you, and fled before I got there. Before
you
got there, too."
"That's not a very likely story," I told him. "But on the other hand, I don't see any way to disprove it." I looked at the men around me, none of whom was saying anything. I said, "I'm inclined to say that—since we can't avow that this boy is the culprit—it is better to err on the side of compassion."
Penrod looked about to object, so I added, "But neither can we be seen to let people flaunt the law. Still, killing the boy serves no purpose. The deer is already dead, whether by his doing or another's—and his death will not bring the deer back. Cutting the boy's hand off will only make him unlikely to find gainful employment, and he'll become a drain on society. If we jail him, we have to feed him and take guards off their regular duty in order to watch him. I think the best solution is to put him to work—for a period of ... a month?" I looked at Rawdon. "What do you think?"
"That sounds fair to me," Rawdon said weakly.
"Interesting," Kenric said, whether at my line of reasoning or at Rawdon's response.
"Captain, you decide what chores you think would be best to set for this boy. Keep in mind his age and his strength, but assign him whatever duties you see fit."
Penrod nodded. He ordered the other guard, "Bring him to the crew that's fixing the smithy roof."
"Meanwhile," I said to Penrod as the second guard led the boy away, "I want you to come to me if there are any problems you or the other guards have with the way anything is done here."
"Yes, Princess," Penrod said.
"Anything," I repeated. "You and your men are the backbone of this castle. The work you do is invaluable, and I see that you run things smoothly, efficiently, and fairly, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that."
"Thank you, Princess," Penrod said.
"You know what?" I turned to Rawdon. "Here we are starting a new kingship, with a new way of interpreting the laws, and I think something else we need to do is give a better salary to our hardworking guards. What do you think?"
"Well," Rawdon huffed, but that was all he could get out.
I smiled at Penrod. "How much and how often do you get paid?"
"Actually," he said, "there seems to have been a problem with that lately. We've been shorted several times the last months, and we haven't yet been paid for the past fortnight."
"Really?" I said. Kenric was already looking at Rawdon, so I turned to him, too. "Who's in charge of the men's pay?" I demanded.
"You see," Rawdon told me, "as the king was getting weaker these past weeks, I began to worry that someone might take advantage of the situation, and once the king named you his heir, I thought,
Well, but the king's wife and her sons might refuse to acknowledge the king's wishes,
and I thought,
If they have access to the king's treasury, there's no telling—
"
Kenric took hold of Rawdon by the scruff of his neck. "Have you done something with the treasury?"
"No," Rawdon said. "That is, I just moved it—for safekeeping."
"Where?" Kenric demanded.
"I didn't mean that I mistrusted
you,
" Rawdon assured Kenric. "Of course, I knew
you
wouldn't try to make off with the money, but sometimes your brothers—"
Kenric gave him a shake.
"Fairfield," Rawdon admitted.
Kenric shook him even harder.
"How much did you steal?" I asked, because in this lifetime there was no way for me to know. "All of it?"
"No," he said as though that thought was ridiculous. "Just some. Just a little."
"Uh-huh," I said. "You've seen my mercy with the boy accused of poaching. I will spare your life, too, if you show us where you've hidden the treasury. You will be dismissed as counselor and instead will be put in charge of..." What was something bad, but not so horrible he'd rebel? I thought of our neighbors in St. Jehan and finished, "...in charge of raising the pigs."
Rawdon dropped to his knees, kissed my hand, and said, "Thank you, Your Gracious Highness."
"Good job, Princess," Captain Penrod said to me.
"Yes," Kenric acknowledged. Was he actually looking at me with respect? Yes, I was pretty sure he was.
Surprised
respect, but still...
I said, "Penrod, you take Rawdon and keep him under guard, while Kenric and I determine how much of the treasury is gone."
Penrod saluted, while Kenric held his hand out for Rawdon's keys.
I said, "And, Penrod, the queen mentioned the possibility of barbarian unrest. My instincts tell me this is a very serious danger. Double the guards around the castle wall, and make sure everyone is alert."
"Yes, Princess."
As Kenric and I turned back to the castle, I just barely caught a glimpse of Sister Mary Ursula as she reentered ahead of us. Apparently, if I didn't simply let the poacher go, she didn't approach me. Either that, or the fact that I was with Kenric kept her away.
"Who was that?" I asked since, in this lifetime, I hadn't met her.
"That is the singular Sister Mary Ursula," Kenric told me.
I let it go at that.
Naturally, when we got to the treasury room, there was quite a bit more than "some" of it missing. All that was left was what he would have made off with this day. "The first thing I think we should do is put Sir Deming in charge of counting out exactly how much is left," I said. Obnoxious irritant that he was, I had no reason to doubt his honesty; and Sister Mary Ursula had made clear her distrust of and disliking for gold. For all I knew, she might toss what was left into the lake to make the gold One with the water. "Then I want the guards paid, and I want them to get a bonus for their salaries being late, because the last thing we need is to lose credibility with them. Then we'll need to get wagons and guards to travel to Fairfield to retrieve the money."