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He stared at me, shaking his head. "Oberon& how do you get yourself into
these things? I will talk to her parents. We cannot have such a match."
"Not that they would let her marry the son of a traitor," I said.
He looked at me oddly. "Not a traitor& the founder of a new dynasty!"
"I'd be happy to make it through this whole mess alive."
He shook his head and pulled out a Trump I had never seen before. This one
had been carefully finished, unlike the hastily sketched Trumps he had made in
Juniper, and it looked old a favorite place he had been many times before, I
guessed.
It showed an ancient tavern with ivy-colored walls, small-paned glass windows
glowing warmly from within, and a pair of huge brick chimneys from which smoke
rose. The sign of a boar's head hung over the doorway.
"You're taking me drinking?" I asked, letting a hopeful note creep into my
voice.
"I need help," he said, "to correct a great mistake I made many years ago.
And this is where we are going to start."
"Aha," I said. "The theft of the Jewel of Judgment, I assume."
"What do you know about that?" he demanded, regarding me warily.
Unconsciously, he touched his chest& just about the place a pendant would
hang. Or the Jewel, if he had it on a chain around his neck. I studied him.
"It's all everyone is talking about in the Courts. People keep asking me if I
know where you hid it."
Shaking his head, he forced a laugh. "Next time they do, tell them I never
had it."
"All right," I agreed. No sense in tipping my hand any more than I already
had. "Now, about this tavern& "
He smiled happily. "A friend of mine runs it," He said. "Come on. I do need a
drink now!"
Taking my elbow, he raised the Trump and concentrated on the image. It seemed
to come to life, rising and expanding before us, a low stone building with ivy
running up the walls, plenty of open windows with curtains fluttering in the
breeze. I heard voices raised in a cheerful drinking song, smelled baking
bread and roasting meat on the faint wind that now touched my face.
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He stepped forward, pulling me with him. My feet left the wooden floor, and I
trod on hard-packed dirt.
It was early afternoon, and we stood in front of the tavern. A warm wind
blew, heavy with the smells of trees and grass and summer. Birds sang and
insects chirped.
Through the open doorway of the tavern came a minstrel's voice, accompanied
by the strumming of a lute, and suddenly a dozen voices joined in on the
chorus.
I smiled; this was the sort of place I liked. Leaving Chaos made it feel like
a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would not go back easily
to that nightmare place.
Dad started forward, and I fell in step behind him, one hand dropping to the
hilt of my sword. For all I knew, this might be a carefully constructed trap.
If our enemies knew Dworkin frequented this place, what better spot for an
ambush?
Fortunately, we found no hell-creatures inside just a dozen men, who seemed
to be locals in for a quiet evening of cards and gossip, plus a couple of
serving maids and a portly man behind the bar, whose eyes lit up with honest
pleasure as he spotted my father.
"Dworkin, my old friend!" he cried, coming around to greet us. "It has been
far too long!"
Laughing, the two clapped each other on the back like old drinking buddies.
"This is my son, Oberon," Dworkin said with a nod to me. "Oberon, this is Ben
Bayle. Not only is he a good friend, he is one of the best vintners I have
ever found."
"One of the best?" said Bayle.
"All right," laughed Dworkin, "the best of them all!"
"That's more like it!"
"A tavern-keeper who makes his own wine?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"And who better?" said Bayle, but he grinned happily. "You must try last
year's red," he said to Dworkin. "It was a very dry year, and the wine has an
extra piquancy. I think it's one of our best, on par with the red of '48."
"That good!" said my father. "Set us up." He glanced around the room; nobody
paid us the slightest heed now, wrapped up in their own drinking and
conversation and a couple of card games. "The corner table," he said to me,
indicating the one he wanted with a quick jerk of his head.
I headed over and sat with my back to one wall, my sword on the chair next to
me. Dworkin sat with his back to the other wall. We could both see the door. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]