The Innocent Mage (39 page)

He held up his hands. ‘Gar —’

Gar sat back. His face had lost its colour and the look in his eyes was unbearable. ‘Well, well, well. You know, I pride myself on being something of a judge of character, but you certainly had me fooled. Congratulations. A whole year as my trusted assistant, my indispensable right hand, and you never talked about your brave little plan to go home and buy fishing boats. Not once. Not even in passing. Instead you insinuated your way into the Tower. Into the City. Into my plans. And smiled, saying nothing, as I gave you more and more responsibility. More and more … trust. As I increased your wages. Twice. Days turned into weeks,

weeks into months, and now here we sit a year later. And in all that time, Asher, with all the opportunity in the world, you said not a single, solitary word about leaving.’

‘I never thought I had to! I told you when you first gave me the sinkin’ job, I told you I’d not be staying in the City above a year!’

‘But you have stayed above a year.’ Gar’s eyes were glittering and he spoke with great care. ‘Quite some time above a year, as it happens. The anniversary of your arrival in Dorana came and went, Asher, unremarked by you. So what was I to think? That you’d perhaps forgotten? Or changed your mind?’

‘Well if that’s what you thought, why didn’t you say somethin’? Why didn’t you ask me?’

‘Why should I? It was for you to speak, Asher. Or stay silent. And you did stay silent, even as you continued to accept my money. Naturally I drew my own conclusion. What’s more, you continued to stay silent as we looked to the future of Lur. Why, not three days ago we were making plans for the new Thatchers’ guildhouse cornerstone ceremony. Remember? The ceremony where you were to make the speech, instead of me?’

‘Of course I bloody remember,’ Asher snapped, slamming his glass onto the table beside his chair. ‘And if you remember, I didn’t want to talk about it! It can wait, I said. We got enough to worry on with this bloody festival, I said. But no, you wouldn’t leave it alone. You had to talk about the bloody cornerstone ceremony then and there. Just like you had to talk about this, even though I made it clear I didn’t want to!’

‘Were you even going to tell me? Or were you intending to slip away while my back was turned?’ Gar was still holding his brandy balloon. If his fingers tightened any more he’d smash it to pieces and slice all his fingers off too, most like. Well, wouldn’t that just serve him right? Poking and prying and not taking no for an answer …

‘Of course I was going to tell you! What kind of a man d’you think I am?’

Gar smiled. ‘I don’t know. But I’m beginning to find out.’ Bastard. Asher shoved himself out of his chair and started pacing. It was that or smash his fist into Gar’s face. ‘1 meant to tell you weeks ago. But things kept happenin’, I kept puttin’ it off. And then your da —’ Gar’s lips tightened dangerously. ‘His Majesty, you mean?’ ‘Aye,’ said Asher, glaring. ‘The king.’ ‘What about him?’

‘That day he wanted to see us. See me. He asked me straight out, were I stayin’ in Dorana or goin’ home. And when I told him goin\ and soon, he made me promise not to say anythin’ to you till after Sea Harvest.’

Slowly, precisely, Gar put his brandy balloon down on the floor. ‘I see.’

Cornered, Asher turned on him. ‘Yom should have bloody asked me, Gar. You should have bothered to find out if my plans had changed. I would’ve told you. I never been anythin’ but straight with you. But no. You just sat back and drew your own conclusion. Assumed my plans had changed, even though I never said so. What did you reckon, eh? That your fancy City and your fancy Tower and all my fancy clothes and gewgaws had somehow seduced me into staying? That I’d forgotten about my da back home in Restharven? Forgotten the promise I made to take care of him now he’s gettin’ on in years? Is that what you thought of me? Well, shame on you!’

Thinly, with fireshadows dancing over his face, Gar said, ‘And what about the promise you made me?’

Asher kicked the nearest chair, hard enough to shift it. Hard enough to hurt. ‘I bloody well kept that too and you know it! A year I’ll give you, I said. And so I have. A year and then some. And I never once shirked a day of it. I’ve worked my arse off for you, Gar. I may have taken your money every week, aye, taken it gladly, but there ain’t a single trin of it I didn’t earn honest, fair and square!’

Gar’s eyebrows lifted in delicate derision. ‘And yet you j seem to have left it all behind. An unfortunate oversight, surely?’

‘Course I haven’t bloody left it!’ he shouted. ‘Think I’m stupid, do you? It’s on the road behind us. Your da — no, excuse me, His Majesty the king — saw to it for me.’

Gar flinched as though he’d been struck. ‘Did he?’ His voice was a whisper. ‘Did he indeed? How very considerate of him. Well … damn him. And damn you too, Ashet. Damn you both beyond the —’

A brisk knock sounded on the parlour door and then it opened, admitting a capped and aproned maidservant pushing a trolley laden with an uncorked wine bottle and covered dishes trailing delicious aromas. Seeing the prince, she bobbed a breathless curtsey. ‘Your Highness, sir, the meister and mistress’s compliments, sir, and here’s dinner for you and your assistant, just as you requested.’

Gar nodded stiffly. ‘My thanks to your meister and mistress.’

With a nervous sideways glance between the two of them the maidservant began unloading the trolley onto the parlour table. First the food, then the wine, and then a place setting of glass, knife, fork and spoon. That done, she began on the second setting.

‘Thank you,’ said Gar. ‘I’ll be dining alone. You may go-‘

Her startled gaze flickered from him to Asher and back again. Her cheeks flushed deep pink. ‘Yes, sir, Your Highness. Enjoy your dinner, sir.’

Once the door was closed behind her, Gar seated himself at the table. Poured himself a glass of wine then lifted the cover on the first chafing dish, revealing lightly poached salmon in a dill sauce.

‘I believe staff meals are served in the kitchen.’

Asher dragged his hands over his face. Well, hadn’t this turned into a fine mess of fish guts? Bloody Borne and his damned bloody meddling … He bit his Up. Took a step dining table and cleared his throat

ig taDie anu uwivu .„„___

said this job was for good. I never said closer to the ‘Gar. I never that.’ Gar savoured a bite of the fish. Explored the second chafing dish: roast duck. In the third, garden fresh vegetables swimming in herbed butter. He helped himself to both.

‘My meal is getting cold.’

Asher scowled. So the prince was going to sulk, was he? Spoiled, stupid pillock that he was. Trying to make out he was the injured party. Conveniently forgetting — and oh, wasn’t that just like royalty — that other people had lives and plans and promises that mattered just as much as theirs.

‘You sure the servants’ hall ain’t too grand for the likes of me? Maybe I should go out to the kennels, eh? See if the hounds have left some bones for chewin’? “Would you like that better? Sir?’

Gar speared a mushroom on his fork. Chewed. Swallowed. ‘It seems to me, Asher, that what I like doesn’t interest you in the slightest. I suggest you please yourself. It appears to be what you’re best at, after all.’

Asher slammed the parlour door behind him so hard it was a wonder the hinges didn’t spring free of their housings. Stamped back into his boots and banged his way along the corridor, down the stairs and back out to the stables where he knew he’d be welcome. He didn’t care about dinner. He’d lost his appetite. For food, for friendship, for everything else except getting home … and leaving all things Doranen behind him, once and for all.

Once the parlour door closed and he was alone, Gar pushed his laden plate away. His stomach was churning. If he ate another mouthful he’d be sick.

That his father could do such a thing. Could conspire behind his back with Asher like that. That Asher would keep such a secret. It was so demeaning. So patronising. So painful.

In his mind’s eye he could see them: heads bent c together as they plotted his unnecessary protection.’ Gar,’ they must have whispered. ‘He’s the only choici the festival, we have to send him, but Barl knows it’s a rf So let’s not tell him you’re leaving, shall we? He mig all upset and ruin everything. We’ll keep it our little i ‘Certainly, Your Majesty. Anything you say, Your Maja ‘Excellent, Asher, and here’s a little something extra| your trouble

How could they do this to him? How could his do it? Treat him like — like a cripple?

In silence he stared at the dining table and its burda abruptly unwelcome food. The old inn creaked around! settling for the night, and the fire slowly crumbled if glowing cinders. But still he sat there, because it occurred! him that Asher might come back to argue some morel state his case or beg for pardon or hurl abuse, or plates. Barl knew they’d had their disagreements over i past year. Loud, long and heated disagreements, some ( them. But in the end they’d always worked things out. I the end they managed to find their way back to comn ground and even laugh about whatever it was that had; them fighting.

They’d never walked away without shaking hands, even if it meant agreeing to disagree.

But Asher didn’t come back. The food grew cold, thet colder, then congealed into pig food. The fire went out an the candles burned down to their sockets.

Eventually, he went to bed.

Standing by the touring coach the next morning, waiting for the signal to leave, Wilier glanced left and right, made certain no underling’s flapping ears were close enough to hear, and said eagerly to Darran, ‘Well? What did you find out?’

Darran looked down his long nose. ‘Really, Wilier. You make me sound positively clandestine.’

W he protested. ‘No, not at all, Darran. Discreet…Tactful.’

istead of answering, Darran snapped his fingers at a servant and nodded at the coach door. The servant led it, pulled down the little steps then stood back so his superior might enter. Darran acknowledged the :sy with a nod and took his place inside. Wilier, ing the servant, climbed in after him. ited in safe silence within the coach, Darran arranged :lf comfortably against the cushions. Unfolded his dng desk from the panel in the coach siding, extracted leaf of papers from the cunningly hidden pocket ith it, perched his glasses on the end of his nose and in reading.

Just barely, Wilier stopped himself from screaming. It a game, Darran’s favourite game, Tease the Assistant, he’d kiss Asher’s fingers and call him ‘sir’ before he’d jive Darran the satisfaction of another question. Instead he ;ed around in his own satchel of papers and pulled out order of events for the festival. He’d already memorised of course, but it was just another part of the game. The lore eager he appeared, the longer Darran would wait :fore sharing what he knew. But his eyes, skimming over Ithe notes, scarcely saw them and his mind was filled with (things other than the Great Gathering and the Sea Harvest lymn.

Through the carriage’s window, he watched as Asher ]had scowling words with a groom, all the while tugging at Ibis horse’s girth straps and waving his hands about. Temper ihung on him like a mantle, thick and black and red.

Movement from the inn’s rear entrance caught his attention. The innkeeper, that provincial rustic Greenhill or Grimfulk or some such name. And His Highness. Looking, Wilier saw with dawning delight, as mantled in bad humour as Asher. So perhaps the gossip was true. The prince and his ill-chosen personal assistant were at odds. At last, at longest, longest last, the first cracks in that Bad-forsaken alliance were beginning to show.

The urgency of preparations escalated sharply as the bustling servants caught sight of their royal master. Wilier, all pretence at reading forgotten, leaned forward to better see the look on Asher’s face. At first sight of His Highness the upstart froze, mid-complaint. His spine stiffened and his chin came up, all arrogant defiance, no proper humility, no deferential awe. Just pride and consequence and him nothing but an uneducated pedlar of fish carcases when he’d first arrived in Dorana, to fall into luck and attach himself to His Highness like a leech from Boggy Marshes.

Heart pounding, hands clenched, Wilier waited for the prince to notice the scullion. When their eyes met it was like the clashing of boulders, the grinding of ice floes in winter River Gant. Asher was the first to look away. Throwing his reins at the chastened groom he busied himself elsewhere as His Highness showed his back to the courtyard, pretending an interest in whatever the innkeeper was squittling about.

Pleasure, warm and liquid, bathed Willer’s skin in a languorous, golden glow.

‘You’re being obvious, Wilier,’ said Darran, chilly with disapproval.

Caught, Wilier felt his cheeks burn, and his hands scrambled on the forgotten paperwork. ‘No, you misunderstand, I —’

Darran raised sparse eyebrows. ‘I rarely misunderstand anything. Do cultivate a little self-control, dear boy. The man who controls himself controls the world.’

‘Yes, Darran,’ he muttered, and smoothed his creased paperwork back into its carry bag.

‘Come, come,’ Darran chided, thin lips curved in a smile, eyes alight with an unfamiliar fire. ‘This is no time for sulking. Our patience has at last been rewarded, just as I said it would be.’

After a long moment’s puzzling, Wilier shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Darran, but I don’t know what you mean.’

Darran’s smile broadened, revealing crooked teeth. ‘Asher has resigned.’

The shock of it stole his breath, so that for several heartbeats all he could do was gape like a country halfwit, mouth slack with disbelief. ‘No,’ he managed at last. ‘No! I don’t believe it! There must be a mistake!’

Darran looked at him. ‘I am not in the habit of being mistaken. I had it from His Highness himself who, I suppose you will allow, has some inkling of his own business.’

Resigned} Asher had resigned} But that wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t it at all. Asher was to be found out, brought down, revealed to all the world and reviled by it. He wasn’t supposed to just … just … walk away. Not unpunished. Not whole. How could that be?

Darran said, clearly put out, ‘He will remain behind in Westwailing once the festival has concluded.’ And when Wilier could still do nothing but stare, snapped, ‘What is the matter with you? Our dearest wish has at last been granted! Asher’s ruffian, unseemly influence will soon be gone from court. He will rapidly become nothing more than the memory of a bad taste in the mouth, and I, for one, am highly pleased by this turn of events. If you are wise, Wilier, you will be highly pleased too!’