hedgewitches can bite.”
“But why bring Gershom and his
Dogs
?” a third demanded. “Why not get the Ferrets? At least they know how to treat royalty, and nobility. They keep a proper distance.”
“Haven’t you noticed he doesn’t get along with the master of Ferrets any longer?” replied the one who’d called my lord an original, whatever that meant. “Not to mention the Lord of the Exchequer and the Lord High Magistrate. With what happened here, the murder of the Lord Chancellor and perhaps even His Highness, I wouldn’t trust anyone at court.”
“He’s also made the lords and the mages furious with the new taxes,” said the one who wanted our job turned over to the Ferrets. “I wouldn’t pay a copper cole for His Majesty’s life these days.”
“You talk treason,” the first speaker said harshly.
“I didn’t say I
wanted
it,” the Ferret-lover replied. “But do you think half of us would be greeting the Black God right now if His Majesty was still his old, lazy self?”
The voices moved out of my hearing, headed back toward the river. I crouched for a moment longer, clenching my fists over and over. Mayhap the split-tongued canker bums would stop for a drink from the water, below the pile that was melted corpses.
I stood finally and snapped my fingers for Achoo. Everyone knew His Majesty was at odds with his nobles as well as his mages. I found it very hard to feel sorry for the nobles or the wealthy great mages. The king had nearabout beggared the treasury to feed the poor over the winter of 247. What was unreasonable about asking those that had the coin to build the kingdom up again? They made enough riches off of us.
Today wasn’t the first treasonous bit of speaking I’d heard, either. Every time someone had a complaint about the realm, they whined about the “good old days,” when King Roger sported high and low and his younger brother Baird ruled the Privy Council and the Council of Nobles. Prince Baird was happy to oblige the nobility and tax the merchant class and the poor folk. I know what
I
think of their precious “good old days.” The number of them living in the Lower City had doubled as farmers lost their land to taxes and came to the cities for work that wasn’t there.
Talk of treason made my belly roll. The hungry winter of 247 and the food and wood riots of those days had given me all the taste of rebellion I could want. The only good thing that had come from it was the night I met Holborn at the Mantel and Pullet.
I stopped near the picketed horses. There. Mourning. For the first time in hours I had remembered Holborn. I wished passionately that I’d get to remain on this Hunt even when my lord Gershom did send the Ferrets out to hunt down the prince. Worrying about trails and tripping over bodies, meeting Their Majesties, I hadn’t once thought of my loss.
I went over to a tree and leaned there until I could breathe proper again. Only when I was sure of myself did I go on down to the water. I’d thought for a moment that hurt like a dagger’s stab that Holborn would have wanted to know what I had seen, what I had heard, and what Lord Gershom had said.
I spotted Master Farmer, Tunstall, and Lord Gershom. Tunstall nodded, and my lord turned so he could see me. “Cooper, why don’t you, Tunstall, and Achoo catch some rest? The lads will wrap what you and Tunstall salvaged from the remains while Farmer takes care of that pile of rot. They can get their hands dirty. You two have done enough.”
I wasn’t about to argue. No more was Tunstall. Still, I had questions I didn’t want “the lads” to overhear. I beckoned the three coves aside, away from the remains. “My lord, might this be some plot by the king’s own nobles?” I asked. I’d made sure we stood in the open by the river, with the water’s sound to cover what we said, and no nearby brush to hide any eavesdroppers like I had been. “Is that why you’re keeping this close to
“But why bring Gershom and his
Dogs
?” a third demanded. “Why not get the Ferrets? At least they know how to treat royalty, and nobility. They keep a proper distance.”
“Haven’t you noticed he doesn’t get along with the master of Ferrets any longer?” replied the one who’d called my lord an original, whatever that meant. “Not to mention the Lord of the Exchequer and the Lord High Magistrate. With what happened here, the murder of the Lord Chancellor and perhaps even His Highness, I wouldn’t trust anyone at court.”
“He’s also made the lords and the mages furious with the new taxes,” said the one who wanted our job turned over to the Ferrets. “I wouldn’t pay a copper cole for His Majesty’s life these days.”
“You talk treason,” the first speaker said harshly.
“I didn’t say I
wanted
it,” the Ferret-lover replied. “But do you think half of us would be greeting the Black God right now if His Majesty was still his old, lazy self?”
The voices moved out of my hearing, headed back toward the river. I crouched for a moment longer, clenching my fists over and over. Mayhap the split-tongued canker bums would stop for a drink from the water, below the pile that was melted corpses.
I stood finally and snapped my fingers for Achoo. Everyone knew His Majesty was at odds with his nobles as well as his mages. I found it very hard to feel sorry for the nobles or the wealthy great mages. The king had nearabout beggared the treasury to feed the poor over the winter of 247. What was unreasonable about asking those that had the coin to build the kingdom up again? They made enough riches off of us.
Today wasn’t the first treasonous bit of speaking I’d heard, either. Every time someone had a complaint about the realm, they whined about the “good old days,” when King Roger sported high and low and his younger brother Baird ruled the Privy Council and the Council of Nobles. Prince Baird was happy to oblige the nobility and tax the merchant class and the poor folk. I know what
I
think of their precious “good old days.” The number of them living in the Lower City had doubled as farmers lost their land to taxes and came to the cities for work that wasn’t there.
Talk of treason made my belly roll. The hungry winter of 247 and the food and wood riots of those days had given me all the taste of rebellion I could want. The only good thing that had come from it was the night I met Holborn at the Mantel and Pullet.
I stopped near the picketed horses. There. Mourning. For the first time in hours I had remembered Holborn. I wished passionately that I’d get to remain on this Hunt even when my lord Gershom did send the Ferrets out to hunt down the prince. Worrying about trails and tripping over bodies, meeting Their Majesties, I hadn’t once thought of my loss.
I went over to a tree and leaned there until I could breathe proper again. Only when I was sure of myself did I go on down to the water. I’d thought for a moment that hurt like a dagger’s stab that Holborn would have wanted to know what I had seen, what I had heard, and what Lord Gershom had said.
I spotted Master Farmer, Tunstall, and Lord Gershom. Tunstall nodded, and my lord turned so he could see me. “Cooper, why don’t you, Tunstall, and Achoo catch some rest? The lads will wrap what you and Tunstall salvaged from the remains while Farmer takes care of that pile of rot. They can get their hands dirty. You two have done enough.”
I wasn’t about to argue. No more was Tunstall. Still, I had questions I didn’t want “the lads” to overhear. I beckoned the three coves aside, away from the remains. “My lord, might this be some plot by the king’s own nobles?” I asked. I’d made sure we stood in the open by the river, with the water’s sound to cover what we said, and no nearby brush to hide any eavesdroppers like I had been. “Is that why you’re keeping this close to
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