Kest pointed at the remains of the cake, sitting unceremoniously next to a pile of dirty dishes. ‘I suspect that’s not raspberry sauce.’
Brasti looked at the red splatters on the icing, momentarily horrified, then he shrugged and used the head of one of his arrows to slice himself a second piece, this time taking care to cut around the red parts. ‘I’m going to miss this, you know.’
‘Desecrating dead men’s wedding cakes?’ I asked, following Kest’s example and carefully running a cloth along the blade of my rapier. The problem with killing people is that if you forget to polish the blood off your weapon, you’re liable to find it stuck in its sheath the next time you need to take someone down.
Brasti kicked an unconscious guardsman. ‘This. Travelling around the country together, beating the hells out of corrupt nobles and their thuggish lackeys.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Mark my words, Falcio, life will become terribly dull once Aline becomes Queen.’
‘You foresee a shortage of corrupt nobles and thuggish lackeys in our future?’ I asked. ‘Or is this because you’re going to abandon Kest and me so that you can run off and marry Darriana?’
He turned abruptly serious. ‘Come on, Falcio, it had to end sometime. You’ve done your duty: you’ve fulfilled the King’s last request; you’ve found his “Charoite” and pretty soon she’s going to be taking the throne. Our time is over. Let someone else take a turn at judging whose sheep ate whose grass.’
There was a certain logic to his words, of course, but it still struck me as highly optimistic – or pessimistic, perhaps, depending on your point of view. I didn’t really have the energy to contradict him, though, so I looked at Kest, who shook his head at me. ‘You forget, Falcio, when the King was in power we weren’t constantly racing about the country trying to save it. Most of the time we just rode our circuits, heard our cases and delivered our verdicts.’
Brasti blew a strand of damp hair out of his face. ‘Gods, those circuits: twice a year, the same bloody route, the same wretched towns and villages, and the same pressing need to work out how to saw a cow in half in order to settle some bloody-minded farmers’ dispute. I swear they glued the damned things back together after we left just so they’d still have something to fight over.’
Some part of me knew that Brasti was right – although hopefully, not about the cow. I felt an odd pang in my chest just then; I’d only recently discovered that I had a habit of remembering the past somewhat more . . . well, romantically than perhaps it deserved. Whenever I thought back to the early days in the Greatcoats, I remembered the deviously complex cases, the perilous duels and daring escapes. There’d certainly been a fair few, but they’d taken place over years, not weeks. Believe it or not, most trials don’t end in swordfights. Once Aline became Queen, the fate of the country would no longer be in our hands at every turn – we’d go back to being judicial functionaries. Bureaucrats. I’m sure I used to enjoy that life . . . so why did the mere thought of it feel so foreign now?
I felt Kest’s hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s not just you, Falcio. The mind can become accustomed to almost anything, even the chaos of an interregnum and the daily struggle to avoid death.’
Brasti jumped to his feet. ‘I have an idea.’
No good has ever come from those four words coming out of that particular mouth.
He waited patiently to be asked – almost a full second – then pointed at the deceased Margrave’s wedding barge. ‘We should become pirates!’ He caught my expression and hastily amended his suggestion. ‘I mean, good pirates, of course. Noble pirates.’
‘“Noble pirates”?’ Kest asked.
‘How would that work, exactly?’ I asked, having already forgotten my rule about Brasti and ideas.
He looked thoughtful, as if he’d given the matter extensive consideration. ‘Well, we only attack the ships of excessively rich and venal men, and then we . . .’ He made a series of gestures with his hands that made no sense to anyone, then explained, ‘We sort of . . . well, redistribute what we took, give it to those in the greatest need. Minus a reasonable commission, of course.’
Kest tilted his head. ‘You’re suggesting we switch from enforcing the laws to actively breaking them by stealing from those with wealth to give it to those without?’
‘Minus a reasonable commission,’ he repeated. He saw me staring at him and added quickly, ‘Not a big commission, of course! I’m sure Kest could come up with a suitable formula.’
‘“The Greatcoats”,’ I announced, ‘“stealing ships from the wealthy to give unto the poor . . . minus a suitable commission”.’ I slid my squeaky-clean rapiers back into their sheaths. ‘Not exactly the most memorable catchphrase.’
Brasti sulked. ‘Not the way you say it.’ He looked past me and grinned. ‘On the other hand, perhaps you can ask Rhyleis to come up with something more poetic.’
I turned to see the beautiful – and dangerous – Bardatti guitarist from the wedding walking towards us.
Brasti was suddenly close behind me. ‘You really should bed that woman, Falcio. I warn you, I won’t wait much longer before I make her a better offer.’
‘You already did,’ Kest said. ‘Five times, by my count.’
‘How dare you, sir!’ Brasti said, doing his best impression of a gentleman whose good name has just been slandered. He has to do it as an impression, of course, because he’s never actually had a good name. ‘I will have evidence from you, Kest Murrowson, or have no choice but to challenge you to—’
‘When we first saw her in that tavern on the road back to Aramor,’ Kest said, putting down his shield so that he could keep a tally using the fingers of his left hand. ‘You hadn’t even asked her name before you made some rather elaborate suggestions as to how the two of you might pass the time together.’
‘Aha! You see? I didn’t know her name, so it didn’t count.’
‘Then there was the moment when Falcio left the common room and you asked her again – we all knew her name by then.’
‘An innocent misunderstanding.’
‘Also at the Busted Scales, shortly before the battle against the Blacksmith and his God, then again during the fight.’
‘You propositioned Rhyleis during a battle against an actual God?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘The rest of you were busy.’ He turned to Kest. ‘That was only four times. I’ll have my apology, oh Saint-of-remembering-things-no-one-wants-remembered.’
‘Wait for it,’ Kest said to me.
Rhyleis approached us, hands on her hips. ‘Well, if it isn’t the King’s Heart, the Queen’s Shield, and . . . the other one.’ She looked up at Brasti. ‘I forget, what is it you’re known for, again?’
He grinned salaciously at her. ‘Why, I’m an explorer, Rhyleis, and if you’d like to come for a little walk inside the palace with me, I promise to explore you most thoroughly.’
‘And there’s number five,’ Kest said.