The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III Read online

  Finally, Theovere simply glared them all to silence. “The people will learn to understand,” he said in a threatening tone that brooked no argument. “It is about time that the people became a little more flexible, just as it is about time that the Bardic Guild and the members of my Court and Council became a little more flexible, and the example can be set here and now, in my own household!” He glared once more around the table. “I am the King, and I have spoken! You work for me. Is that understood?”

  T’fyrr then saw something he had not expected, as the faces of the Council members grew suddenly pale, and they shut their lips on any further objections.

  What? he thought with interest. What is this? And why? They have been treating him like a child until this moment—now, why do they suddenly act as if they had a lion in their midst? What was it about that phrase, “I am the King and I have spoken,” that has suddenly changed the entire complexion of this?

  Silence reigned around the table, and Theovere nodded with satisfaction. “Good!” he said. “Now, you may all go attend to your pressing duties. I am sure you have many. You keep telling me that you do.”

  The Council members rose to a man in a rustling of expensive fabric, bowed, and filed silently out, leaving only T’fyrr and Theovere, and Theovere’s ever-present bodyguards. The King chuckled.

  “I am not certain, Your Majesty, that I deserve such preferential treatment,” T’fyrr said at last, after a moment of thought. I have had enemies made this day of nearly every important man in this Court. This appointment has just become a most comfortable and luxurious setting in which to be a target! “Perhaps if you chose to return to your original plan?” he suggested gently. “I am only one poor musician, and there is no reason to make my position in your household into a source of such terrible contention.”

  Theovere shook his head. “I meant what I said,” the High King replied. “They can learn to live with it. There has been too much talk of late about the superiority of humans—and you have just proven that talk to be so much manure, and you have done so in my open Court. It is time and more than time for people to learn better—you will serve as my primary example.”

  Thus making me a target for every malcontent in the city, if not in the Twenty Kingdoms! Thank you so much, Your Majesty!

  “I will call a page to show you to your new quarters, and have your friend, the Deliambren, sent there to meet you,” the King continued, rising to his feet. T’fyrr did likewise with some haste, bowing as the King smiled. One of the bodyguards reached for a bellpull, and as the King moved away from the table, a young, dark-haired, snub-nosed boy appeared in the still-open door, clad in the High King’s livery of gold and scarlet.

  The King acknowledged T’fyrr’s bow with an indolent wave of his hand, and walked out of the Council room, trailing all but one of his bodyguards. The one left behind, the one who had summoned the page, gestured to the boy as T’fyrr rose from his bow.

  “This gentleman is now the King’s Chief Court Musician in his personal household,” the bodyguard said to the boy in a voice lacking all expression. He kept his face at an absolute deadpan as well, and T’fyrr could only admire his acting ability. “His name is Sire T’fyrr. You will escort him to the royal wing, see that he is comfortably lodged in the Gryphon Suite, and from here on, see that his needs are attended to. For the immediate future, you will see to his special needs in furnishing his quarters, then, when Sire T’fyrr indicates, find the Deliambren Ambassador and escort him to Sire T’fyrr.”

  The child bobbed his head in wordless acknowledgement, and the bodyguard left, apparently satisfied that the King’s orders had been correctly delivered.

  As soon as he was gone, the boy glanced up at T’fyrr, and the Haspur did not have to be an expert in human children to see that the boy was frightened of him. His face was pale, and his fists clenched at his sides. If T’fyrr said or did anything alarming, the poor fledgling would probably faint—or forget his duty and bolt for someplace safe to hide!

  “I am a Haspur, young friend,” T’fyrr said gently, and chuckled. “We don’t eat children. We do eat meat, but we prefer it to be cooked—and we would rather not have had a speaking acquaintance with it before it became our dinner.”

  The child relaxed marginally. “Would you follow me, Sire T’fyrr?” he said in a trembling soprano. “Do you have any baggage that you will need brought to you?”

  “My friend Harperus will see to all that,” T’fyrr told him, and added as an afterthought, “He is the Deliambren. You should have no trouble finding him; he is the only being in the Palace who is dressed to look like a saint’s palanquin in a Holy Day Festival Parade.”

  That broke the ice, finally; the little boy giggled, and stifled the laugh behind both hands. But the eyes above the hands were merry, and when he turned a sober face back to T’fyrr, his eyes had a sparkle to them that they had lacked until that moment.

  “If you would come with me, then, Sire?” the boy said, gesturing at the door.

  T’fyrr nodded. “Certainly—ah, what is your name? It seems rude to call you ‘boy,’ or ‘page.’ ”

  “Regan, Sire,” the boy said, skipping to keep up with T’fyrr as the Haspur strode down the hallway. “But my friends call me Nob.”

  T’fyrr coaxed his beak into something like a human smile. He had learned that the expression made humans feel better around him. “Very well, Nob,” he said, projecting good humor and casualness into his voice. “Now, if you were in my place, granted a title and a new home, what would you do first?”

  “You mean, about the suite and all, Sire?” Nob asked, looking up at T’fyrr with a crooked grin. “Well, I might have some ideas—”

  “Then by all means,” T’fyrr told him, “let me hear them!”

  ###

  Harperus lounged at his ease on one of the damask-covered sofas in the reception room of the suite, watching T’fyrr try out the various pieces of furniture that Nob had suggested he order brought down from storage. Somehow, it all matched—or at least, it coordinated, as the main colors of the suite were warm golds and browns, with gryphons forming the main theme of the carvings. Padded stools proved surprisingly comfortable, as did an odd, backless couch that Nob particularly recommended. And to replace the bed—

  When T’fyrr had sketched what a Haspur bed looked like, Nob had studied the sketch for a moment, and then snapped his fingers with a grin of glee. He hadn’t said a word to T’fyrr, but he had called another servant—an oddly silent servant—and handed him the sketch with a whispered explanation.

  Six husky men appeared about an hour later, just as Harperus arrived with more servants bearing T’fyrr’s baggage. The men took the bed out without a single word and returned with something that was the closest thing to a Haspur bed that T’fyrr had ever seen in these human realms. He stared at it, mouth agape, while Nob grinned from ear to ear.

  He had a suspicion that there was more to this than met the eye, and his suspicion was confirmed when Harperus took one look and nearly choked.

  “Very well,” he said, mustering up as much dignity as he could. “Obviously, this is not the Haspur bed that it appears to be. What is it?”

  Nob clapped both hands over his mouth, stifling a laugh. “You tell him, my lord!” he said to Harperus, gasping. “I—nay, I can’t do it!”

  He turned around, growing scarlet in the face, obviously having a hard time containing himself.

  T’fyrr waited, curiosity vying with exasperation, while Harperus struggled to get himself under control.

  “It’s—it’s something no well-bred boy should know about at Nob’s tender age,” Harperus managed finally. “Let’s just say, it isn’t meant for sleeping.”

  Enlightenment dawned. “Ah! A piece of mating furniture!” T’fyrr exclaimed brightly, and clicked his beak in further annoyance when both Nob and Harperus went off into paroxysms of smothered laughter.

  I cannot, and never will, understand why the subject of mating should make the
se humans into sniggering idiots, he thought a little irritably. It is just as natural as eating, and there are no whispers and giggles about enjoying one’s breakfast! So that explains the ever-so-reticent servant that found the thing; in a place like this, there must be a servant in charge of romantic liaisons!

  By the winds, there was probably even a division of labor—one servant for discreet liaisons, one for very discreet liaisons, one for indiscreet liaisons, one for the exotic . . .

  Well, at least Nob hadn’t been so bound up in this silly human propriety nonsense that he refused to have the object sent for! It might be a piece of mating equipment to these humans, but it made a perfectly fine nest-bed, and T’fyrr looked forward to having one of the first completely comfortable nights he’d had in a very long time.

  Finally, after many false starts, the page got himself back under control, although he would not or could not look Harperus in the eye. “If you need me anymore, Sire,” he told T’fyrr with a decent imitation of a sober expression, “just ring for me.”

  “Ring for you?” T’fyrr asked, puzzled, and Nob walked over to the wood-paneled wall, pulled aside a brown damask curtain, and pointed to a line of gilded brass bellpulls.

  “This is the guards—this is the kitchen, if I’m off running an errand—this is the bath servants, if I’m off running an errand—this is the maid, in case you need something cleaned. This is for me—I’m your page now, Sire. I’ll be sleeping in that little room just next to the bathroom. Unless you want someone older, I’ll be your body servant, too. That means I dress you.” Nob eyed the simple wrapped garment that T’fyrr wore for the sake of modesty. “Doesn’t look as if there’s all that much work tending to your wardrobe.”

  “Not really,” T’fyrr agreed. “Do you want to be assigned to me?”

  “Oh yes, Sire!” Nob replied immediately, and his artless enthusiasm could not be doubted. “There’s status in it; I’d be more than just a page—and you’ll be a good master, Sire. I can tell,” he finished confidently.

  T’fyrr sighed. “I hope I can live up to that, young friend,” he answered, as much to himself as to the boy. “Well, so what are all these other bells?”

  When Nob finished his explanations, Harperus intervened. “I can show him the rest, young one,” the Deliambren said easily. “My people built most of the complicated arrangements in this Palace. You go see to getting your own quarters set up.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Nob said obediently, as T’fyrr nodded confirmation of Harperus’ suggestion. “Thank you, my lord, I appreciate that—”

  As the boy whisked out of the suite, Harperus turned to T’fyrr. “Well, now you’re a Sire, and that lad is your entire retinue. The thing to remember is that Nob’s duty is always to you, first. That means if you keep him doing things for you all the time, he has no right to eat, rest, or even sleep.”

  T’fyrr’s beak fell open as he stared, aghast. Harperus just shrugged.

  “It’s the way these boys are brought up,” he said philosophically. “Chances are, he was hired as a child of four or five, and he doesn’t even live with his own family anymore—he probably doesn’t see them more than twice or three times a year. His whole life is in Palace service. Just remember that, and if you want the boy to have any time to himself, you’ll have to order him to take it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” T’fyrr said absently. Every time I think I have seen the last of subtle human cruelties, another pops up! Can it be that there are masters who would keep their servants so bound as to permit them no time to eat or sleep? Is that why he said he thought I would be a good master?

  “Well, come let me show you the bathing room, old bird,” Harperus said, oblivious to T’fyrr’s thoughts. “You’ll probably like it better than the one in the wagon; since this is a royal suite, there should be a tub big enough for you to splash around the way you do when you find a pond.” The Deliambren shook his head with amusement. “Honestly, you look like a wren in a birdbath when you do that!”

  “I do not,” T’fyrr responded automatically, but followed Harperus anyway. This room was bigger than the entire traveling wagon put together, tiled on the walls, floor and ceiling in beige and brown. The bathroom was all Deliambren in its luxury, every fixture sculpted into some strange floral shape, the floor heated, the rack for the towels heated as well. The sink was big enough to bathe an infant in, the tub fully large enough to have a proper Haspur bath, and the “convenience”—convenient, and discreetly placed behind its own little door. The “usual” Deliambren lighting could be made bright or dim as one chose. There was even one of the Deliambren waterfalls that Harperus called a “shower stall,” though it was much more luxurious than the one in the wagon. There were full-length mirrors everywhere, and T’fyrr kept meeting his own eyes wherever he looked. The Deliambren showed him the various controls, then ran water into the basin.

  “There,” he said under the sound of the running water, “if there’s any spies listening, and I’m sure there are, this should cover our conversation.”

  “Ah.” T’fyrr nodded cautiously and pretended to finger another fixture, as if he was asking questions. “Well? Did this proceed as you hoped?”

  “I’m overjoyed. You could not have done better,” Harperus told him gleefully. “You absolutely exceeded my wildest wishes.”

  “I didn’t do anything—” T’fyrr objected, feeling uncomfortable about taking praise for something he’d had no hand in.

  “You kept your beak shut and let the King have his way by not giving his Advisors anything to use against you; that was enough,” Harperus said. “Now, I’ll have to make my instructions very brief—there is one bag that isn’t yours; there are some devices in it that you will recognize. I want you to place them around your rooms; tell Nob that they’re statues from your home. Then talk to Nob about everything that happens to you that you think I should know. If there are spies listening, it won’t matter; they won’t be surprised that you’re asking advice from a page, they’ll think it shows how stupid you are, and they won’t know what those ‘statues’ are.”

  T’fyrr made a caw of distaste. “If they are what I think they are—I’ve seen those little eavesdroppers of yours. They are hideous, and you will make Nob and those spies believe that my people have no artistic talent whatsoever.”

  Harperus grinned and went on. “You’ll need to get directions eventually to a tavern called The Freehold. It’s owned by a Deliambren, and he’ll be your contact back to us if you need anything else.” He correctly interpreted T’fyrr’s dubious expression. “Don’t worry; before the week is out, people will think it’s odd if you haven’t visited there at least once. It’s the center of social activity for every nonhuman of every rank in Lyonarie—and a fair number of humans, as well. It’s like Jenthan Square in the Fortress-City. You might even go there just to have a good time.”

  T’fyrr nodded, relieved, and Harperus reached over and turned the water off. “You may want to leave specific orders with Nob for baths,” he said, as if he was continuing an existing conversation. “You know how the lights work, of course. Can you think of anything else?”

  His eyebrows signaled a wider range to that question than was implied by the circumstance. T’fyrr only shook his head.

  “Not really,” he said truthfully, spreading his wings a little to indicate that he understood the question for what it was. “I only hope I can serve Theovere as well as you expect me to. I am, after all, less of an envoy and more of a messenger of good will.”

  Harperus raised his eyebrows with amusement at T’fyrr’s circumspect reply. “In that case, I’ll leave you to settle in by yourself,” he said. “Once the boy finishes with his own gear, you should have him fetch a meal for the two of you. You’ll be expected to eat in your own quarters, of course—people are likely to be uneasy dining around anyone sporting something like that meat hook in the center of your face.”

  People will be offended if I dare to actually take my meals in publ
ic, with the rest of the courtiers and folk of rank. After all, I’m only a lowly nonhuman. I shouldn’t allow myself any airs.

  “Of course,” T’fyrr agreed, allowing his irony to show. “I’m not at all surprised.”

  Harperus took his leave—and T’fyrr swallowed his own feeling of panic at being entirely alone in this situation and went to look for “his” servant. He found Nob putting away the last of his belongings in a snug little room just off the bathroom. When he suggested food, Nob was not only willing, he was eager, suggesting to T’fyrr that it was probably well past the boy’s usual dinnertime.

  Or else, that like small males of every species, he was always hungry.

  But when Nob returned with servants bearing dinner, it was with many servants bearing dinner, and with three of the King’s Advisors following behind. T’fyrr welcomed them, quickly covering his surprise, and invited them to take seats while the servants made one small table into a large table, set places for all of them, and vanished, leaving Nob to serve as their waiter.

  “If you would arrange yourselves as is proper, my lords,” he said finally, “I have no idea of precedence among you, except that you are all greatly above my rank. I would not care to offend any of you.”

  His three unexpected dinner guests all displayed various levels of amusement. Lord Seneschal Acreon actually chuckled; Lord Secretary Atrovel (a cocky little man who clearly possessed an enormous ego) smirked slightly. Lord Artificer Levan Pendleton only raised his eyebrows and smiled. The Seneschal, a greying man so utterly ordinary that the only things memorable about him were his silver-embroidered grey silk robes and chain of office, took charge of the situation.