“Yes, yes, nobody wants to hear all that,” Obyann cut him off.

  Arranulf gave his friends an indulgent smile.

  “Come on, guys, we need to find out who really killed Mistress Iselda.”

  “Who could have stolen your dagger, Nurmie?” Rahendo asked.

  “Almost anybody could have,” Eynurm answered. “Yesterday afternoon our group had training. We put our stuff under the trees bordering the training field, as per usual. Everyone was focused on the lesson and was looking at the demonstrations of hand-to-hand combat by some veteran soldiers. Anyone could have come from the road that runs on the other side of the strip of woods, lurking in the bushes, swiping the dagger and slinking away again. Nobody would have noticed.”

  “So, this mysterious young merchant from Dermolhea could have stolen your dagger?” Obyann frowned. “The question is how would he even have known you would be there?”

  “That’s what we need to find out,” Ryhunzo said.

  “Pookie, the Dermolhean is just one possible suspect. We need to find out why he—why anyone—would kill Iselda.”

  There was no immediate and obvious answer.

  “And we will, my Radiant Rainbow after a Stormy Night of Despair,” Ryhunzo said for lack of anything better. He embraced his lover and kissed him on the cheek. Rahendo blushed.

  “Oh, Pookie, don’t. There’s people around.”

  Ryhunzo grinned without the least sign of remorse.

  “Let’s go to our room, Pookie,” Rahendo gave his lover a meaningful look. “I’m feeling, eh… tired.”

  The two youngest pages took their leave.

  Chapter 4

  The Peasant Boy

  As always when neither of them was on duty, Rahendo and Ryhunzo slept in and made lazy love upon awakening. Eventually they got up, washed, and went to the communal room for breakfast. This late in the morning they usually had the place to themselves. Afterward they went back up to their room and undressed again for some more leisurely activities.

  “If we want to find out who murdered Iselda, we have to approach this in a systematic way,” Rahendo said after they had made love.

  They were still lying on the bed, enjoying the afterglow.

  “I agree with you, of course, but it is with the greatest reluctance that I will leave this bed and your naked presence.”

  “My naked presence is going to look for a wax board. Maybe you could pour us some water with just a smidgen of wine in it?”

  Moments later they were sitting, next to each other, at the table. They hadn’t bothered dressing.

  “First, let’s make a list of suspects,” Rahendo said.

  He wrote Eynurm’s name first.

  “He’s a suspect all right.” Ryhunzo grinned. “I think he should be first on the list, but you should strike out his name. We’re not considering him.”

  “No. As long as we don’t have a clear and convincing reason to the contrary, we won’t consider him. There is this rich merchant’s son… The one who lives here, in Lorseth.”

  “Ah, the one who dumped mistress Iselda. Gildo was his name, I believe.”

  “Exactly.” Rahendo wrote him down. “Then there is this young merchant from Dermolhea.”

  “The mysterious Dermolhean. My money is on him.” Ryhunzo raked the fingers of both his hands through his curls. “We don’t even have a name for him.”

  “Yes, we do. Cormack. That’s what Iselda said his name was.” Rahendo stared at the ceiling. “By now he may have left Lorseth,” he mused.

  “If he has killed Iselda, he would be wise to make himself scarce. Unless he feels safe. Nobody knows who he is or what he looks like, after all.”

  “The landlord of the Shield and Arrow knows what he looks like. Maybe he also knows the name of the merchant firm. A pity we didn’t ask Iselda while we still could. She might have known something as well.” Ryhunzo kissed his lover’s neck. He smiled when he noticed he had caused a visible reaction on a totally different body part.

  “Pookie, I need to concentrate…”

  “Couldn’t we just outright ask the landlord?”

  “Maybe our young merchant has given the landlord and Iselda an alias. You know what she said. Cairman has a reputation for being very discreet. That must attract a lot of shady people. I doubt he’ll tell us anything. And if he is prepared to tell us something, he probably wouldn’t know—or care—if it bears any relation to reality.”

  “We have just three suspects and only two worth considering.”

  “For all we know, dozens of people could have held a grudge against Iselda. That’s one of the things we need to find out. Whoever it was took advantage of the fact that Iselda dumped Eynurm to throw suspicion on our friend.” Deep furrows appeared on his forehead. “It’s no use,” he said after a few minutes, “we need more hard facts.”

  “I have an idea.” Ryhunzo’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “Why don’t I go around—as discreetly as Master Cairman—and try to find out what I can. There must be some stories doing the rounds by now. I could go to the Cranky Goat and listen to what people have to say. I could go to the village square of Lorseth Market, to the stalls and the shops. There’s always a lot of people there, chatting and gossiping. I think there are a few taverns, too.”

  “All taverns are out of bounds for us, including the Cranky Goat, but a lot of pages go there anyway from time to time.”

  “Ah, yes, but see, I’m not going as Ryhunzo of Uberon, head page of His Highness, Prince Anaxantis. I’m going as Ry, a poor, though likable, peasant boy for whom the humble town of Lorseth Market is like a big city full of wonders.”

  “Oh, Pookie, no…” Rahendo whimpered. “That’s all kinds of dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  Ryhunzo’s grin grew even wider.

  There they are again. Varsia sighed inwardly when she saw the curlicued page and the one with the death stare enter her shop.

  She had been the castle’s seamstress for many years, but it was only with the arrival of the princes Anaxantis and Ehandar, and the Army of the North, that she had become busy. She didn’t mind, as she was paid by the piece for each order.

  Not too long ago she had made a nice profit because somehow the two young men had convinced—forced, more like it—one of the masters of pages to pay for maroon mantles out of the communal treasury. There was no earthly reason why they needed them, but need them they did. As far as Varsia was concerned that was perfectly fine, as long as she got paid. It was just that the gloomy one scared her. He always looked at her as if he knew the precise moment and circumstances of her death. Which was always soon and unpleasant.

  “Peasant clothes, eh? Some of you young lords sure like slumming it, don’t you?” she said, smelling a new profit to be made.

  “Are there a lot of us?” Ryhunzo asked.

  All at once there never had been a more innocent page, Varsia thought. The harbinger of doom and destruction, on the other hand, wrapped himself in ominous silence she noticed, grateful for small favors.

  “I wouldn’t say a lot. Some. Most won’t go as far as dressing up as peasant boys, though.”

  “Some of us like to escape the stuffiness of the court. Not that I’m complaining, but wild oats need sowing. No offense meant, Mistress.”

  “Non taken, My Young Lord. I understand completely, believe me. As unlikely as it may seem to your youthful eyes, there was a time I too… but let’s not get into that.” Her thoughts returned from her all too brief and unsatisfying younger days to the mercantile present. This was a sale she wouldn’t have to work for. The young lord was doing both the selling and the buying. “As luck would have it I have a set of peasant clothes ready. The young lord who ordered them was called home. Rather unexpectedly, I’m afraid. I’ll let you have them for a good price.” She didn’t mention that she always made her young customers pay in advance. The whole sum. The young noble was indeed called home urgently—some family crisis—and had forgotten to ask for his money back. Not that Varsia would have given it to him. After all, whether he could use the garments or not, Varsia had put in the work, and so she deserved to get paid. Whatever she managed to make the curly one pay was pure gravy.

  “They’re probably a bit too large for you, but I can take the seams in, and besides, clothes for peasant boys never fit too well. They’re made to last a long time and to grow into. You’ll blend right in when you wear them.”

  “Can you fix them right now?”

  “I can start right now, but it will take some time. Forgive me, My Lord, but my eyes are not what they used to be. I’m an old women and I need my rest.” Her tired, old eyes blinked at Ryhunzo. “Do you have the money? I’m used to getting paid in advance.” To her horror she noticed too late that she had let the cat out of the bag. As luck would have it, neither of the young lords seemed to understand the implication that she had already been paid for the peasant outfit.

  “Of course. How much?” the boy with the wild curls asked.

  “They’re worth a lot more, but I’ll let you have them for a hundred and twenty sarths.”

  Ryhunzo gulped. This was about half a month’s worth of allowance. On the other hand, he never spent his complete allowance and by now he had a nice sum set aside.

  “Of course that’s if you would be satisfied with receiving the outfit tomorrow. I still have a lot of work that I should finish first.” A blatant lie. There was no other work for the moment. But the lie served its purpose. The young lord seemed disappointed.

  “If it is really, really urgent…” she added in a slow, hesitating voice.

  “Oh, but it kind of is,” Ryhunzo said, trying to be both sincere and endearing. Rahendo glared at the seamstress which seemed to unsettle her, though not enough to bring the price down.

  “Maybe I could work on your outfit first, and do the other work later. Of course, it will give me a blinding headache, and the castle physician charges a lot for his potions. Not that they help, anyroad.” Another lie. Not about the remedies. They were indeed worthless, but Varsia herself was well versed in herbal lore. She knew the healing plants by sight, knew their properties, and regularly went to the forest to pick them. She dried them herself too. She had no use for some stupid butcher with a side-calling as a barber and who occasionally called himself a physician. He stank at all three callings.

  “Maybe I could pay you a little bit more. I really would like them this afternoon.”

  At least there are sensible brains under all those curls, the seamstress approved silently.

  “Oh, for… I don’t know, two hundred sarths I could finish them by early afternoon. Of course, there will be hell to pay, what with my poor, old fingers hurting as they do.”

  Ryhunzo gulped once more. Oh, well, in for a sarth, in for another hundred and ninety-nine sarths.

  “I don’t carry that much money on me,” he said, “but I live on the castle grounds. I’ll get it immediately.”

  “Meanwhile I will get the clothes from the storage room. You can try them on when you return and I’ll make the adjustments right away. They’ll be ready for you in a few hours.”

  Two hours after midday, two figures in dark cloaks crossed the courtyard on their way to the castle gates.

  Rahendo and Ryhunzo hadn’t put on their maroon mantles as they were far too conspicuous and would identify them immediately as head pages. Ryhunzo was carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder.

  “You realize that you were swindled, don’t you, Pookie?”

  “Of course. She had already been paid for the clothes. But what could I do? I wanted them, and there is—”

  “What a rare privilege of seeing you two outside when it’s not absolutely necessary,” Obyann said, walking down the three stairs from the donjon.

  “Ah, Obe, my man,” Ryhunzo said, not altogether sure how to continue.

  “I thought you preferred staying inside, even more so when the weather grows a bit chilly.”

  “We thought fresh air might do us some good,” Rahendo tried to explain. “And the weather is actually mild for the time of year.”

  “And why do you need that bag? What’s in it?”

  “What bag?” Rahendo asked, looking around.

  “That bag. The one over the shoulder of your accomplice.”

  “Oh, that bag,” Rahendo said, playing for time.

  “We thought to look for a nice, quiet spot in the woods and we brought a few snacks for when we get hungry,” Ryhunzo said.

  Obyann frowned.

  “Seems a bit bulky for just a few snacks.”

  Ryhunzo nodded, but he didn’t offer to show Obyann the contents of his bag.

  “We also brought some towels, which we’ll need after we’ve made—”

  “I know why you will need them, but I don’t want to know, even less picture the specific circumstances.” Obyann scraped his throat. “Anyway, be careful.”

  What are they up to? he thought. They’re not wearing their beloved maroon cloaks.

  “Ha, Ramaldah, joining the ranks of the perverts, are we?” a voice coming from the gatehouse called out.

  Sterff of Rivrant and Morneck of Miradano seemed in good cheers, judging by the broad grins on their faces.

  “Mind your own business, you two. You’re late for your riding lessons as it is,” Obyann called back.

  “Listen,” he said in a lower voice to the two pages, “try to stay out of trouble. We don’t need anymore aggravation—”

  He stopped abruptly as Sterff bumped into him from the back and made him almost lose his balance. Ryhunzo was just in time to catch him or he would have fallen.

  “Sorry, Ramaldah,” Sterff said without looking back. “Clumsy me. Accidents will happen and all that. My bad.”

  “He so did that on purpose,” Rahendo said. “Doesn’t he realize that he could get barred from the corps for pushing a master of pages? Maybe you should report him, Obie.”

  “No harm done,” Obyann replied, having recovered his poise. “You heard him. He’ll claim it was just an accident, and who knows, maybe it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Ryhunzo said, glaring after Sterff and Morneck. “It most certainly was deliberate.” As soon as it had come, his dark mood disappeared. “I’m afraid, we have to go now, Obe. None of us is getting any younger.”

  Obyann followed the two young pages walking to the caste gate with his eyes.

  Something is not right, he mused silently.

  The young pages gave the guard a nod and a smile as they passed under the gate house.

  Rahendo sighed with relief when they were outside the walls on the drawbridge. They followed the main road and passed the byway that led to Lorseth Harbor, one of Prince Anaxantis’s pet projects. At the next bifurcation, they turned into the road that would bring them next to the training grounds. They walked a few yards past the opening in the bushes and the trees that gave access to the field. They stopped, waited a few moments, looked behind them, and, seeing they were alone, disappeared into the woods.

  “See how easy it is?” Rahendo looked around. “We’re invisible from both the road and the training grounds.” He took the peasant clothes from the bag.

  “And if a group of pages were training there at the moment they would need to pay all their attention to whoever was giving the training, and to each other,” Ryhunzo added while getting out of his clothes. “If they were fighting or fencing, the ruckus would prevent them from hearing whatever was happening here. It would be all too easy to steal a relatively small item without getting noticed.”

  Ryhunzo was about to change into the peasant clothes and held up the pants, which were far too large. They sported a flap on the front and a rope to keep them up. There was also a coarse woolen shirt and a tunic, roughly sewn together with large stitches.

  “Do you know if peasants wear breeches?” Ryhunzo asked.

  “No idea. It doesn’t matter. They’re invisible under your pants,” Rahendo replied. “Aren’t they?” It sounded just a little suspicious and jealous.

  “Ha, ha… Yes, you’re right as always.”

  “Leave them anyway,” Rahendo said. “Yours are probably to fancy.”

  After he had put on his pants, Ryhunzo donned a cap to hide his unruly curls. Despite his efforts some of them escaped from under it.

  “The shoes, please?”

  “Peasant boys our age usually go barefoot, Pookie,” Rahendo said, handing them to Ryhunzo.

  “That’s were I draw the line. No breeches feels funny, yet delightfully roomy, but I’m afraid my soles are far too tender to walk around without footwear. Peasant children are used to it from a young age. We aren’t.” He rearranged his cap again. “How do I look?”

  “Handsome and brave, as always,” Rahendo said, stars in his eyes. “Even if you really were a peasant boy, I would still love you.” He thought for a moment. “I would wash you completely and very thoroughly before loving you, though.”

  “Ooh, I’d love to be washed by you. I think I’m going to be dirty when I come back.” He grinned. “Very dirty.”

  Rahendo giggled.

  “I’ll keep hot water and soap ready.” His face became serious again. “Pookie, please, I want you to be very careful. Just listen to what people are saying. No dangerous stuff, you hear me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Ryhunzo put his arms around his lover.

  “Don’t worry. Nothing could keep me away from you.”

  “Do you have your signet ring? In case you need to prove that your are not just another peasant boy?”

  “On a string around my neck.”

  “A dagger?”

  “Yep. Without escutcheon. It’s old and rusty. I used it for all kind of little jobs I didn’t want to use my good dagger for. It shouldn’t draw attention.”

  Ryhunzo crouched down and rummaged through the soft, mulchy earth. He looked at his nails and then showed them proudly to his friend.

  “Real peasant boy fingers.”

 

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