Sauly offered a friendly smile, but Amrath wasn’t buying. No one accused a loyal marquis of the realm of treason and smiled about it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that. What makes you think that he’s planning anything?”
“I don’t believe Chancellor Wainwright’s death was an accident. I’m convinced Lord Exeter killed him. He expected to be given the position of chancellor—then you and Alric would have suffered similar fates. With your appointment of Percy Braga, he’ll have to work quickly. Before our new chancellor develops loyalties that could challenge him for the throne. Is there any question that with you and Alric in the grave that he would rule?”
“That’s your accusation? That Simon doesn’t like me or how I run the kingdom? Are you just now learning this, Bishop?” He used his title rather than his name intentionally. He wanted the old man to understand that he was speaking to the king, not an old student.
The bishop looked disappointed but shook it off and spoke his next words with solid confidence. “Are you aware Exeter murdered the castle guard Barnes?”
“There was no murder. The man fell during some investigation regarding a party for Captain Lawrence.”
“But did you know that Exeter forced Sergeant Barnes out that window? And can you explain why the high constable has every man at his disposal looking for a girl who had been hiding in a wardrobe in the high tower? Could it be that the girl can implicate Lord Exeter in a plot on your life?”
“Seriously? That’s the conclusion you came to? That some party favor the guards smuggled in for Lawrence’s birthday has to be a threat to my life because she ran away? It couldn’t just be that Simon is trying to find the girl because, one, it’s his job, and two, he sees conspiracies everywhere? Always has. As to Barnes, Lawrence’s report did mention that Exeter ordered Barnes to attempt the climb. He was just trying to prove a hypothesis. Was it extreme? Certainly—but we’re talking about Simon Exeter here. Do you have any real proof that he is planning my death? Any at all?”
“I am merely informing you of the possibility based on what seems to me to be some very suspicious events.”
“I’m sure Simon’s zeal might seem nefarious to you, but let me shatter your innocence, Bishop. Simon Exeter has done far worse than throw a castle guard out a tower window, and surprisingly, I’m still the king.”
“I told you at the beginning that my thoughts were nothing more than speculation. I’m only thinking about your welfare.”
The bishop knew he had overextended himself and was retreating. If it had been Simon standing there accusing Saldur of treason, there would be no such withdraw. But then again, Simon wouldn’t have made an accusation without any proof. He’d be able to stand by his words. Simon was a man of steel and Saldur was a man of cloth.
“…and my conscience required me to make you aware of the possibilities. I could never forgive myself should something happen while I stood by in silence. All I ask is that you keep a wary eye on Simon Exeter.”
Amrath looked toward the door, where footsteps and voices approached. Guards, by the sound of their boots. There was a knock. “Your Majesty?”
“Enter,” the king replied.
Richard Hilfred and one of his men opened the door and bowed. “Count Pickering urgently requests your presence in the great hall.”
“What is it?”
“The Earl of West March and the Earl of Longbow are at it again, sire.”
CHAPTER 13
THE COACHMAN, THE LADY, AND THE DRUNKS
The carriage stopped in front of The Hallowed Sword Tavern on Merchant Square. With the closing of the shops, Hadrian had seen jugglers and pitchmen call it a day and join the musicians who had all moved inside to one of the three largest taverns. The Hallowed Sword was the nicest and the loudest, with shouts and song. The only people still on the street were the sheriff’s patrols. They had passed four of them just traveling from the Lower Quarter.
“That will be a silver, if you please,” the driver said, holding out his hand.
“We’re going to need a ride home as well,” Royce said. “So you’ll need to wait.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not tonight.”
“No?”
The driver shook his head, causing the long pheasant-tail feather in his hat to snap like a buggy whip. “There’s a big ta-do at the castle. Every driver has his rig in Gentry Square. Nobles pay handsomely.”
“That would explain why it took so long to find you.” This was a lie. They had passed on five drivers perfectly willing to take their business. They were just too big or too small. Number six was just right.
“And why I should be going. A silver tenent, please.” He leaned down farther from his perch on the carriage’s high bench, as if getting his palm closer would aid Royce in opening his purse.
Royce stared at him a moment. “Listen. It’s my birthday and I happened into a lot of money just this morning—a small fortune—and I want to celebrate. I plan to drink heavily and I’ll need a secure means of getting back to my friend’s house. Still, I can see that it would be unpleasant to sit out here for hours, so I’ll tell you what … why don’t you come inside as my guest. I’ll pay you the silver for the trip here and another for the trip home in advance, and I’ll buy you drinks while you wait. How does that sound?”
The man looked at him suspiciously.
“Or you can go sit in the cold all night in Gentry Square hoping to catch a couple of good fares.”
“Gonna be a cold night too,” Hadrian mentioned, pulling at his cloak and shivering.
The driver took his hat off and scratched his head.
“It’s my birthday,” Royce said forlornly, as if someone had just killed his dog and the driver was refusing to lend him a shovel for the burial. “I want to celebrate, but I don’t know anyone in town except Mr. Baldwin here.” Royce clapped Hadrian on the back. “You’d be doing me a favor. What do you say?”
The driver squinted his eyes and pursed his lips tightly, shifting them around in serious thought. “How many drinks?”
Royce smiled. “More than you can handle.”
“Ha. I wouldn’t count on that. It takes a lot to reach my fill. I’m a bottomless hole—that’s what my wife used to say.”
“I’m sorry. Has she passed?”
“Ran back to her family years ago, on account of my drinking.”
“Sounds like you could use a friend as well.”
The driver nodded, pulling the collar of his long carriage coat tighter. “I think you’re right. And it is getting bleeding cold out.”
The inside of The Hallowed Sword was as festive as the windows promised. A quartet comprised of two fiddlers, a pipe, and a drum stationed themselves on a balcony above the bar, working up a sweat. Below, folks danced and hammered the wooden floor with their heels. Tables circled the revelers, piled high with the empty mugs and cups the patrons were stacking in a contest. Two teams competed for the tallest tower and one daring lad was standing on his table, where he drained his cup and then gingerly placed it atop the swaying pillar. The moment he let go, the tavern burst out in cheers. Even those at the rival table applauded, then started drinking faster.
Royce found them a table not far from the fireplace and near the window. He offered the driver the chair that afforded him a view of the street so he could watch his rig. The man smiled at the thoughtfulness.
“I’m Pensive Stevens,” Royce said. He was absolutely charming, and Hadrian was amazed at the transformation. His hood was thrown back and the brooding specter had become a fun-loving, charitable man. “And this is my close friend, Edward Baldwin. What’s your name, good sir?”
“Dunwoodie, they call me.” The driver looked different in the light of the tavern. Out in the night, he appeared as a pale face lost in a bundle of dark clothes. Inside, the man’s cheeks and round nose were flushed red, his skin dry and creased from a life in the wind.
Royce held out his hand. The driver again seemed surprised. A smile came to his face and he shook with an approving nod of his head.