Lute nodded and went to the door.
In the courtyard, Reynald paused, looking at me. Will decided it would be a great chance for a surprise attack and struck. Reynald stepped out of the way without looking. Will’s axe whistled past the blademaster. Reynald kicked the back of Will’s right knee and shoved him forward, his gaze still on me. Will went down. His knee slammed on the ground. He grunted.
“Hey!” Gort growled. “That was a cheap shot, boy!”
Lute jogged back to me from the front door. “He says his name is Earl Berengur.”
Oh.
I jumped to my feet. “Please ask him to wait. Clover!”
She stuck her head out of the kitchen window. “Yes?”
“We have a visitor. Could you please fix my hair?”
She beamed. “Of course, my lady!”
I sat at the table by the wine tree, wearing my green gown, with my hair hastily braided and pinned into something Clover deemed decent. She waited on my left. Reynald assumed the bodyguard position behind me and to my right. He had changed into a dark jerkin, put on a cloak with the hood up, and pulled the lancer’s coif over his face. The menace meter had gone all the way up.
“Do you know Earl Berengur?” he asked quietly.
“Not personally.”
“Do you know why he is here?”
“He’s looking for his brother.”
“How did he find you?” Reynald asked.
“That’s what I want to find out.”
He nodded and waved at Lute, who waited by the tunnel. Lute went to the front door. A moment later two men emerged from the tunnel into the courtyard.
The first was about six feet tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He wore Southern scalemail, a kind of knee-length tunic of overlapping metal scales, and a plain metal pauldron on his left shoulder. Solentine’s pauldron had been a fashion statement. This one was functional, with a rerebrace, almost a full metal sleeve. The man didn’t carry a shield, and he would use that arm to block in a fight. A simple sword hung from his belt. His skin was an even, warm beige, his features were sharply cut, and his hooded eyes were alert and watchful.
His bodyguard was larger. He loomed three or four inches over Berengur and wore the same armor, except for a full-face helmet, which hid his features. He also carried a simple sword.
They could have been private guards, mercenaries, men-at-arms, or sergeants of some knightage. If you met this pair on the streets, you wouldn’t give them a second glance. This was not their real armor. They didn’t want to be recognized.
The dark-haired man approached the table and put a crest on it. Regular crests, the kind trusted servants and guards carried to show their affiliation with a noble household, were painted over wooden pucks, lacquered, and then wrapped with a cord, so they could be suspended off belts or wrists. Sometimes they were embroidered on clothes. This thing was solid metal. A miniature shield, a green background with a white tower, wrapped in rising rose vines bearing blue flowers. The crest of Berengur.
Whohadsent him my way? It had to be the Shears. I couldn’t think of anyone else, but I had to find out for sure.
“Please sit, my lord.”
I invited him to a chair with a sweep of my hand. Clover and Reynald had been teaching me etiquette, and I was getting better at imitating a noble.
Berengur sat. The huge man parked himself behind him, directly across from Reynald. I couldn’t see his face because of the helmet, or Reynald’s because he stood behind me, but I would’ve bet money that the two of them were staring impassively at each other.
“What can I do for you, Lord Berengur?”
“I’m told that you sell information. I’m looking for a man, and I will pay generously.”
That’s what I thought. To tell him or not to tell him? That was the question. If I told him, would it make things worse? I wasn’t worried about the impact on the timeline. I was worried about Pelegrin. If I made a mistake, he would lose his life.
Berengur waited for my response.
Silence stretched.
