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of slap-the-peasant. It would be quite another thing entirely to invite a
member of a lower class into one's home only to insult him or to invite one's
noble guests to insult them. I'm sure that it would not be done by any no-ble
of Glen Derenai, or of Den Oroshtai, or of Patrice," Penkil Ner
Condigan continued, bowing low toward ViKay, Arefai, and Demick in turn.
Minch's lips were white. "I didn't hear you mention Merth's Bridge in that
recitation," he said.
"Ah." Penkil Ner Condigan nodded. "My apologies for the error. Of course, I
could not imagine a noble of Merth's Bridge acting so boorishly," he said, no
trace of sarcasm in his voice or expression.
I had never heard a shtoi insult phrased better, and I couldn't imagine a
weaker reason for insulting
Minch than the huntsman had. After all, I wasn't really of his profes-sion;
the only reason that I had paid a courtesy call on him or the wizards was that
the nobles hadn't had any-body more appropriate to choose.
Dun Lidjun threw back his head and laughed, almost of-fensively loud. "No,"
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the old man said, "I am sure no noble of any sort would behave so boorishly.
And certainly not one from Merth's Bridge."
I barely caught Lady Estrer's slightest movement of her head, and if I hadn't
been watching for it, I
wouldn't have thought that Arefai had either, but he broke into chuckles as
well.
"Penkil Ner Condigan," he said, in between chortles, "you are a funny fellow."
As if to confirm, the silverhorns and zivver split off into an arpeggio that
reminded me of a young girl's laughter. If old Lady Estrer hadn't been looking
so pleased with her-self, I would have thought it arranged, not coincidental,
but the withered old woman would surely have managed to keep the satisfaction
off her face if she had arranged for the music to supplement Arefai's
chuckling.
Edelfaule wasn't going to be the only lord from Den Oroshtai not so amused,
and his own somewhat forced chuckles were picked up by the surrounding
nobility in general, those of us of lower class carefully keeping our faces
blank, and presumably; I know I was wishing for the cloak of invisibility that
Spennymore supposedly wraps himself in before his nighttime prowling.
Minch got control of himself only with visible difficulty. I was beginning to
think that Lord Demick had chosen the wrong device for creating trouble here.
Minch's temper ran just too high, and while he no doubt was able to
com-pensate for that on the dueling field, he would have to be far more clever
than he was if he wanted to find himself facing Arefai instead of Dun
Lidjun.
Dun Lidjun was still standing next to me.
"Lord Dun Lidjun," I murmured, "pardon the frankness, but do you think you
would have any problem beating Minch?"
Dun Lidjun didn't appear to hear. He just laughed some more.
"A funnier suggestion I have never heard," he said, rais-ing his glass.
I found myself in the garden at midnight, just after the hour of the bear gave
way to the hour of the lion.
The musicians were still playing in the Great Hall, but all I could hear was
the occasional tinkle of the chimer, or a glissade of notes from the
silverhorns; the rest was drowned out by the distance, and the whisper of the
wind, and the rustling of the leaves in the trees.
The small rise where I had lunched with the wizards was empty, and liable to
remain empty, so long as I made enough quiet noise to keep lovers from
trysting there. The only light was from the uncaring stars above, and below,
where through the trees I could see the occasional flicker of the torches
lining the courtyard, snapping and popping in the wind.
The wind picked up, carrying with it a cold smell hint-ing of a storm to come.
When you don't know what to do, juggle. I don't swear that it's the solution
for every problem, mind, but it doesn't hurt anything, and it can let your
head clear. I hadn't gone up to my rooms for my bag, but that didn't matter: a
half dozen walnuts from the grass would do.
Catch-throw, catch-throw, catch-throw, catch-throw, and invisible blades were
still approaching my exposed neck from any direction. Juggle, juggle, juggle,
and the politics of our beloved ruling class were beyond my experience and
ability to deal with, and&
Voices came from below. I juggled softly, catching each walnut shell gently
before sending the next one looping on its way.
"No, no, no, Esterling," ViKay said, "I have met you this last time, but that
is all." Her voice was light but low, pitched to carry only a little way. If
the wind had not been blowing it toward me, or if I hadn't stopped in my
jug-gling to go to the retaining wall and listen more closely, I could barely
have heard it.
I couldn't hear the other voice rumble, but the only rea-son I had no doubt
that it was Lord Esterling was because ViKay had identified him as such.
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The conversation went on, his low rumble insisting, her voice resisting. I
thought about making noise, or about in-terfering, and decided against it. I
know it doesn't sound gallant or heroic, but I was more concerned about my
be-ing caught listening than I was with ViKay's safety. Then again, her safety
wasn't really at issue. Given that they were in the courtyard of her father's
keep, all she would have to do would be to raise her voice, and a score of
armsmen would be all over Esterling.
Besides, I'm neither a gallant nor a hero; that's for our beloved ruling
class, not us bourgeois types. Let Toshtai make me a noble, and then he can
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