The Queen's Poisoner
Page 64
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As he drew closer, he heard Ankarette. “It is as simple as that, Dominic. I want the boy to survive. And I need your help. Give me another bit of news. Something not even Ratcliffe knows. Nothing pivotal—nothing that will harm you. But something that will lend credibility to the rumor that Owen is Fountain-blessed.”
“You are asking me,” Mancini growled, “to risk my life, trusting your word.”
“What she is askin’,” came a third voice, and Owen recognized it immediately as the butler Berwick, “is that you stop eatin’ in the kitchun and actually doo what Ratcliffe pays ya to doo! Look at yur flesh, man! You are lit’rally eatin’ yourself to death!”
Ankarette’s voice interrupted. “Patience, Berwick. You cannot coax a man beyond his willingness to suffer. If our friend wants to meet his end through his stomach, I have sympathy for that. We should not condemn him.”
“He’s increased the househoold costs of the palace fourfold!” Berwick complained.
“It’s a trifle,” Ankarette soothed. “When he becomes the head of the Espion, it will no longer matter.”
“That is still your plan?” Mancini demanded in a wary voice. “I may be fat. I may be lazy. But I am not often called a fool. When the boy spouted off about pinecones, you can trust every Espion in the palace began pointing fingers at each other. I was actually startled enough that my defense seemed plausible. I didn’t tell the boy anything!”
“Nor will you,” Ankarette said placatingly. “You will tell me, and I will tell him. And in such a way that it cannot possibly come back and hurt you. In such a way that it will ultimately benefit you.”
Owen heard the scratching sound of fingernails against whiskers. “I cannot believe I’ve been duped this easily. My pride is wounded.”
“Your liver is wounded,” Berwick taunted. “This woman is the queen’s poisoner. She’s the wiliest person in the kingdom, Fountain-blessed herself! I owe quite a bit to her, and I have kept foolk from wanderin’ up these steps for years. When she gives her word, she means it.”
“No one means it,” Mancini grumbled. “Trust is an eggshell. Bah, I’m going to get myself killed. If I could run away, I would. My legs would protest, unfortunately.”
“Still he complains,” Berwick muttered darkly. “Finish him now, lass. A little drink of that black vial would rid you of him.”
“That’s supposed to inspire my confidence?” Mancini wailed.
“You must pardon Berwick,” Ankarette said. “He is loyal. I’ve kept his secret for years and he’s been rewarded for turning a blind eye to my movements. I’ve helped him, just as I’ve offered to help you. Now . . . repeat again what we need from you.”
“My unflinching courage,” Mancini snapped.
“Goch, he’s tiresome!” Berwick complained.
“Let him speak,” Ankarette soothed.
“I need to provide you with some news that is going to reach the king through Ratcliffe. But the king must hear it from the boy first. So the tiding must hearken to something slightly less interesting than treason but more important than the rising cost of butter and treacle in the palace kitchen. Something short and easy to remember. Something that will make the boy look more mystical.” He sighed wearily. “I’m going to regret this. I’m already regretting this. Why did you make me come up all these steps? Maybe you thought to kill me by exercise.”
“No, Dominic,” Ankarette said. “It’s to show that I trust you. This is a delicate dance. You trust no one. But I promise you, when this is done, the king will value you so much that he will name you head of the Espion. And you’ll be worthy of the post. I haven’t forgotten my promise to teach you my history. How I came to live in this tower. But that will be another night. Go find us your news, Dominic. Give it to Berwick, who can reach me faster.”
There was a deep, troubled sigh. “Very well, my lady. Is it true that you were hung from a gibbet? That is the legend anyway. That you survived?”
“It wasn’t a gibbet,” she answered softly. “It was a waterfall.”
It is a dangerous thing to try and grasp a snake by the tail. If you are not fast enough, it will bite you. If you are too fast, you will kill it. If it is dead, you cannot harvest its venom or use it to frighten someone else. I wish I were ten years younger. My hands are trembling.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You are asking me,” Mancini growled, “to risk my life, trusting your word.”
“What she is askin’,” came a third voice, and Owen recognized it immediately as the butler Berwick, “is that you stop eatin’ in the kitchun and actually doo what Ratcliffe pays ya to doo! Look at yur flesh, man! You are lit’rally eatin’ yourself to death!”
Ankarette’s voice interrupted. “Patience, Berwick. You cannot coax a man beyond his willingness to suffer. If our friend wants to meet his end through his stomach, I have sympathy for that. We should not condemn him.”
“He’s increased the househoold costs of the palace fourfold!” Berwick complained.
“It’s a trifle,” Ankarette soothed. “When he becomes the head of the Espion, it will no longer matter.”
“That is still your plan?” Mancini demanded in a wary voice. “I may be fat. I may be lazy. But I am not often called a fool. When the boy spouted off about pinecones, you can trust every Espion in the palace began pointing fingers at each other. I was actually startled enough that my defense seemed plausible. I didn’t tell the boy anything!”
“Nor will you,” Ankarette said placatingly. “You will tell me, and I will tell him. And in such a way that it cannot possibly come back and hurt you. In such a way that it will ultimately benefit you.”
Owen heard the scratching sound of fingernails against whiskers. “I cannot believe I’ve been duped this easily. My pride is wounded.”
“Your liver is wounded,” Berwick taunted. “This woman is the queen’s poisoner. She’s the wiliest person in the kingdom, Fountain-blessed herself! I owe quite a bit to her, and I have kept foolk from wanderin’ up these steps for years. When she gives her word, she means it.”
“No one means it,” Mancini grumbled. “Trust is an eggshell. Bah, I’m going to get myself killed. If I could run away, I would. My legs would protest, unfortunately.”
“Still he complains,” Berwick muttered darkly. “Finish him now, lass. A little drink of that black vial would rid you of him.”
“That’s supposed to inspire my confidence?” Mancini wailed.
“You must pardon Berwick,” Ankarette said. “He is loyal. I’ve kept his secret for years and he’s been rewarded for turning a blind eye to my movements. I’ve helped him, just as I’ve offered to help you. Now . . . repeat again what we need from you.”
“My unflinching courage,” Mancini snapped.
“Goch, he’s tiresome!” Berwick complained.
“Let him speak,” Ankarette soothed.
“I need to provide you with some news that is going to reach the king through Ratcliffe. But the king must hear it from the boy first. So the tiding must hearken to something slightly less interesting than treason but more important than the rising cost of butter and treacle in the palace kitchen. Something short and easy to remember. Something that will make the boy look more mystical.” He sighed wearily. “I’m going to regret this. I’m already regretting this. Why did you make me come up all these steps? Maybe you thought to kill me by exercise.”
“No, Dominic,” Ankarette said. “It’s to show that I trust you. This is a delicate dance. You trust no one. But I promise you, when this is done, the king will value you so much that he will name you head of the Espion. And you’ll be worthy of the post. I haven’t forgotten my promise to teach you my history. How I came to live in this tower. But that will be another night. Go find us your news, Dominic. Give it to Berwick, who can reach me faster.”
There was a deep, troubled sigh. “Very well, my lady. Is it true that you were hung from a gibbet? That is the legend anyway. That you survived?”
“It wasn’t a gibbet,” she answered softly. “It was a waterfall.”
It is a dangerous thing to try and grasp a snake by the tail. If you are not fast enough, it will bite you. If you are too fast, you will kill it. If it is dead, you cannot harvest its venom or use it to frighten someone else. I wish I were ten years younger. My hands are trembling.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
