King of Foxes

Tal felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. There was something very familiar about the prisoner, about the way he moved and carried himself. Before the man’s features became clear, Tal was stepping back and saying to Will, “Follow me.”

 

 

Will hurried along as Tal returned to the kitchen. When they reached the kitchen, they found Royce asleep in a chair, head on the table, an empty brandy bottle lying next to him. One of Tal’s discoveries was that the ancient wine cellar of whatever noble had built this keep was intact, and while most of the wine still down there was long past being drinkable, there was an ample supply of spirits that hadn’t gone bad. Tal had also discovered that Royce was very manageable if Tal let him get drunk once or twice a week.

 

Tal looked around and Will softly said, “What is it?”

 

“The new prisoner, I know him,” whispered Tal.

 

“Who is he?”

 

Tal looked thoughtful. “Someone I never expected to see again, unless I was running him through with my sword. He’s Quentin Havrevulen, Duke Kaspar’s Special Captain.”

 

“You mean he was Kaspar’s Special Captain.”

 

“Apparently.” Tal thought. “Don’t talk to him when you take him his first meal. Just deliver it and see how he acts. I need to know if he’s really a prisoner here or if this is another of Kaspar’s schemes.”

 

“Why would the Duke exile his senior captain here?”

 

“That’s what I intend to find out,” said Tal, “but only when I’m ready.”

 

“We still go tomorrow?”

 

Tal had to decide quickly. Tal said, “Yes. We go tomorrow, but tell no one. I know exactly what it is I wish to do, and I don’t want anyone tipping our hand before it’s time.”

 

Will nodded. “I’ll do exactly what you say, Tal.”

 

Tal said, “So, let’s get back to making supper.”

 

Will said, “With luck, our last one on this rock.”

 

 

 

 

 

Royce finished his meal and yawned. “Think I’ll turn in.”

 

Tal said nothing, but nodded. When Royce’s door closed, Tal picked up his water cup and wooden spoon, put them on his plate, and carried them over to a big sink. Will followed suit. When they were as far away from Royce’s door as possible, Tal said, “What do you think of our new prisoner?”

 

“If he’s workin’ for Kaspar, he missed his callin’, Tal. He should’a been an actor. He’s no agent; I’ll wager my life on it. He’s got that look.”

 

Tal knew what Will meant. It was an expression of shock and disbelief, a sense that somehow a horrible mistake had been made. Only the hardened criminals didn’t have it. Seven prisoners had arrived since Tal, although four had died, despite Tal’s attempts to help. Three had simply not had the will to survive, and the fourth had suffered a gash on his hip that had turned putrid before it had been treated.

 

Zirga thought nothing of this, but to Tal every man lost was a lessening of his chance of survival. Still, he had a net gain of three men since he had formulated his plan, and those who had died would most likely have been among the first to fall after reaching the mainland.

 

Now Tal wrestled with what to do with Havrevulen. He would eventually see the man dead, and nothing would please him more than to leave him here with Zirga and the guards, except the risk that somehow Quint would turn that to his advantage and find a way to gain Kaspar’s forgiveness.

 

Even the slightest possibility that Havrevulen might somehow survive forced Tal to one of two choices: either kill him outright before they fled the island or take him with them. There was no alternative but to talk to the man.

 

Tal waited until Zirga and the guards were asleep, then woke Will. “One man at a time, have the prisoners come to the armory. Tell them to keep quiet until I get there.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To speak with our newest guest.”

 

Will and Tal parted company on the first landing of the keep, as Will continued going upward and Tal found Quint’s cell. Tal carried a kitchen knife under his tunic and made sure he could quickly reach it before he lifted the latch to Quint’s cell door.

 

Quint came awake as Tal entered. “Who is it?”

 

Tal stood in the gloom, his feature’s hidden. “Tal Hawkins,” he said quietly.

 

Quint rolled over and sat up on the straw pallet, his back against the wall. “How’d you find me?”

 

“You’ll find things are lax around here, and if you know how, you can wrangle a few privileges.”

 

“Hmm,” said Quint noncommittally.

 

Tal said, “What happened?”

 

Quint made a sound halfway between a grunt and laugh. “Failure is what happened. You know Kaspar when it comes to failure.”

 

Tal knelt, keeping his hand on the knife’s handle. “Tell me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m curious, and because I might be able to help.”

 

“Help? How?”

 

“I run the kitchen. If nothing else, I can make sure you get enough to eat.”

 

Quint’s expression was hard to read in the gloom, but Tal sensed he was considering this. “What have I to lose?” he said at last. “I’m not going anywhere. All right, I’ll tell you.

 

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