Avery glanced down at the city of York, his hand on the door that led from the cloverleaf-shaped tower roof and into the small square uppermost floor of the tower. The ducal chambers still felt like the mysterious innermost sanctum of the old duke rather than Avery’s new bedroom, study, library, and office, protected from the outer portion of the keep by thick stone walls as if the keep walls, the walls of castle bailey, the river channel serving as a moat, and the outer walls of the city of York were insufficient to ensure the duke’s security.
“I can't be in town for long,” James said as Avery closed the heavy door behind himself. “Richard's castle… my castle, I guess, thanks… needs a lot of taking care of. And my wife. And her friends.”
In the bright daylight that filled the ducal chambers, James was not an imposing figure, his head barely level with the shoulders of the wolfhounds. In a family with a less complicated inheritance, his mother would have been suspected of cheating on his father; his halfling stature, though, was shared by some of his ancestors. In his own way, James was almost as much of a throwback as Avery; they had that in common.
You know I'm never more than a thought away. Your new master of hounds will have to be Gregor. I just have to take care of a few things with the pack first, and take a few more hounds back with me. And there's something else I can do for you. James's mental voice was quick and clear as always. You said you were worried about learning who to trust. I can help with that, if you want, but it will take several hours of me messing around with your head. You'd have to cancel whatever else you had scheduled for the afternoon.
“Great to see you again, James, even if you can't stay long,” Avery said aloud. He knelt down to give his older cousin a hug. How does it work?
“I swear, you're still getting taller. You're going to end up even taller than the old duke at this rate.” James chuckled. If someone thinks what they're saying is false, it will usually feel dissonant, like a musician playing out of tune. This is not foolproof. Sometimes people don't think at all about what falls out of their mouths until after they've said it and some people are deluded. And someone very well trained may be able to mask themselves on that particular emotional level.
That sounds fantastic, Avery thought back.
It might sound great, but people lie to you for your own good all the time. You will lose comfort for security. James looked him in the eyes. It will take me the rest of the afternoon, if it goes well.
What if it doesn't go well? Avery frowned.
You might lose your ability to process language entirely. I know how to fix that, eventually, but it's a pretty terrifying experience while it lasts. Could take a few days. James tapped his head.
Avery felt his stomach sink. He couldn't do his job as duke if he couldn't understand what anyone was saying. A lot could happen in a few days. But the alternative was worse – losing everything in his world because he had put his trust in the wrong person.
“Let's do it,” he said aloud. Marcus, James is going to help me with my trust problems. Clear my afternoon schedule. Isolde will just have to be disappointed. If things go badly, you and Maude may need to cover for me for a few days while I recover from the procedure.
Yes, your grace. Are you sure this is wise? Marcus’s mental voice was distant and weak in comparison to James’s voice.
No, Avery replied. He sat down cross-legged and took James’s hands in his own, guiding them to his temples.
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Avery opened his eyes, blinking. He was in bed. James?
“Right here, Avery. Can you understand me?” James sounded tired.
“Yes. So that means you were successful?” Avery looked around the chamber.
“No, I'm afraid I had to amputate your leg at the knee,” James said, in a strange grating voice.
Avery sat up bolt upright and then peeked under the blanket. “You did not! Unless you reattached… wait. That was a lie? That's what it sounds like? It's almost like I hear two voices at once.”
“And that means I've been successful. Two voices isn't quite what I hear, but everyone interprets these things a little bit differently. It's hard to fit new senses into the mind, and easiest to link this one to hearing,” James said. “I really should go now, check in on Gregor and the hounds. Just remember what I said. You're used to hearing a lot of lies that are told to you for your own good.”
“You'll ride through the night? You should at least stay for dinner first,” Avery said. “You look ready to fall over.”
James sighed. “You have a point. Fine. I’ll stay the night, leave in the morning.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his forehead. The two of them walked towards the dining hall.
Isolde was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She looked angry.
James smiled weakly. “Sorry about this. It was my fault.”
She glared at him, and pointed upstairs. “Please tell me you didn't just abandon me to my guests because you two wanted to talk for six hours in private.”
“No, no. Not at all,” Avery interjected hastily. “I'm very sorry I missed your thing.”
“It was no problem.” Lie. “It was a lovely afternoon.” Also a lie. “Your suitors barely even missed you, and nobody had anything interesting to say anyway.” Two more lies. “Avery, do you have a headache?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Avery pulled his hands away from his temples. He hadn't realized he'd been reacting visibly to the uncomfortable sensation of Isolde’s dishonesty. James shared a sympathetic look with him. “No, not yet,” Avery said. “I really need to eat something, though.”
“Food always makes things better,” Isolde lied again, trying her best to sound reassuring. “I always feel better after I eat,” she added, equally falsely.
You warned me. Avery shared a look with James. I didn't believe you.
I didn't believe the old duke when he told me. James shrugged. You might get used to it eventually. Gregor will have to, as well, if he’s to take over as master of hounds.
You can take care of that in the morning, Avery sent.
Isolde gave each of the two of them another glare. She could guess that a silent conversation was passing between the two men, and it bothered her greatly that she didn’t know what it was about.
James cleared his throat. “There are many matters that needed my attention. Gregor will be taking over as master of hounds, so I should speak with him.”
Avery blinked. We didn’t talk about your replacement.
But it’s necessary. You know that; I do, too. Gregor will be suitable for the job. James smiled. “Good day to you, Isolde, my apologies for the inconvenience.”
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Back in the castle bailey, James tapped on the ladder up to the loft above the kennels. Gregor gave a start.
“You're to be the new master of hounds,” James said. “I've a castle and lands to look after. The duke will give you the official word on it soon, but I need to talk over a few things with you.”
And we have a long few hours of skull-work ahead of us, James sent silently. There are things I haven’t prepared you for yet.
"Yes, sir," Gregor said, nervous. Skull-work?
“That, and I wanted to come and sit with the dogs for a while. I miss them,” James said, for any ears that might be listening. None were, as far as he knew, but he also knew he had no way of knowing if a wizard were scrying. I need to help you hear lies, and to set better defenses in your mind. The master of hounds is always the duke's spymaster.
I couldn't possibly replace you, sir, Gregor sent back, a nervous look crossing his face. Not as master of spies.
Consider yourself my deputy, then, James sent back, climbing back down the ladder. But know I have responsibilities elsewhere now. More than just the castle and the lands, but also the wife. We'll be traveling soon on a matter of great importance and you'll need to take charge of the hounds and my network. Now come down, make yourself comfortable, and pretend you're just taking a nap next to me.
Gregor climbed down the ladder. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Two dogs turned to look at him.
“Hello, boys,” Gregor said, scratching their heads. He gave James a nod, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in through his nose, and then out through his mouth.
James nodded to himself. Good. Let's begin. He put his hands on Gregor’s temples, took a deep breath, and reached inside himself. His efforts with Gregor would take him most of the night; and most of the morning would be gone by the time he had slept and recovered.
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James watched the late afternoon shadows lengthen as the pair of mules slowly plodded away, pulling him along in a wagon filled with half a dozen lazy hounds. He had the company of a man-at-arms and a driver on his way out from York, the former more to help avoid trouble than for protection. The hounds would be enough.
Sorry to take so long, dear, James sent, staring at the distant horizon. I'm on my way now, and I'm bringing a few hounds back with me.
I know. I'm glad you're coming. I was worried about you. Her mental voice was clear despite the distance, the link between them as strong as any he'd ever forged.
I'm fine. Just had a lot of things to sort out before I left. James felt a brief flash of worry. I'm sorry I had to go again. Avery needs my help almost as much as you do.
You'll be back soon, though, right? Her mental voice sounded a little worried. We could come out to meet you.
Don't worry about me, I'll be fine, he sent. Worry about your comrades, and worry about the emperor. Things will be very complicated very soon in Cornwall and I don't have much of a network down there.
He rode on for several hours, stopping once to let the hounds stretch their legs, and once more for a meal. Eating on a moving wagon had always seemed to him to be a recipe for indigestion. Though he was outwardly silent, the inside of his head was a very busy place. Silently, he arranged meetings between Gregor and three of his key agents in York, agents that Gregor had not yet met. The agents needed to be told that they would be reporting to Gregor now, and that Gregor had his confidence.
That accomplished, he took a break from his work and contacted his wife again, begging from her a song. It was always different, hearing through someone else's ears; in her own ears, her voice was deeper and more resonant, but also murkier, coming from an uncertain direction. He wished the mules would move more quickly, so he could hear her sweet tones with his own ears.
Then James probed through the memories of the man-at-arms in the seat next to him, trying to gauge if the man would prove reliable as a sworn man. He'd taken on the soldier in York by way of a hired guard, since he was bringing back a wagon, but James needed more men-at-arms to staff his castle. Satisfied with what he found, he turned his attention to Cambridge, speaking with a junior faculty member at length about a symposium on Arthurian legends.
Glastonbury Tor had come up again, supposedly the place where the undying king rested, waiting for his return. The main topic of debate had been, James noted with interest, Arthur's appearance, and a letter from an archmage named Warin who claimed that his divinations indicated that in his time, the Pendragon had skin of shining gold and stood a head above most men. James thanked the junior faculty member, his mind drifting to his cousin’s height and metallic skin.
There was something there, he thought to himself, and then tried to turn his thoughts to London. Unfortunately, the muleteer had started to sing softly, singing the same song over and over again. It was a slow, sad tune, and James's concentration was starting to slip. He couldn’t seem to contact the bookseller he wanted to get hold of. Frederick was usually awake and available for conversation late into the night.
No good, he thought to himself, and then went to the next London agent on his list. The connection was clear, and the agent told him about a certain ball that had happened the previous night. He quickly relayed a summary of the relevant information to Gregor to write down in a report to Avery, and then contacted another of his London agents, this one who worked closely with the imperial necromancers at the city's morgue.
Regretfully, the coroner's assistant confirmed the demise of Frederick the bookseller. The death didn't seem to have imperial connections, but it was always hard to be sure in London. James sighed aloud. Books were a hazardous business sometimes, especially when one had wizards for customers.
“We're almost there, milord,” the muleteer said. “I can see it up ahead the hill.”
“Thank you,” James said, stretching. Honey, I’m home. Have the gate opened.
“Never knowed a lord with so little to say,” the muleteer muttered quietly to the man-at-arms. “You sure he's lord of that castle? Hate to have to set camp outside the walls after such a long ride.”
The man-at-arms shrugged, muttering something even more quietly back.
Whatever the man said had been below the threshold of his hearing, but it had been said honestly. James allowed himself a small smile and the gate opened.